Random thoughts and things-going-on...

A publisher has responded to my query and is reading my new book. It's the only publisher I have submitted it to, so far. Thus, publishing with Amazon is on-hold until I see where this is going. Of course, if they accept, I have to vet them, as well, since one has to protect oneself against scams. If things are too easy, it either means it's a scam, or, some unseen power is facilitating matters. That could be one's own karma, or astral help (both of which seem to be afoot at the moment).

I've "discovered" something, and I put that in quotes because I've known it all along. We hear these pithy sayings and we file them away and forget them. Things like "A picture is worth a thousand words." What I've finally learned is that my comparison photograph--myself in my 30's next to Mathew Franklin Whittier in his 40's--impresses people with the reality of the match, when they are inclined to ignore everything I say. So that being the case, I am bringing it front-and-center, like a chess player bringing out his queen. Really, I should have a business card printed up with that image on the front (and maybe I will, someday, though it seems kind of cheesy...).

The community access TV interview in Mathew's hometown of Haverhill is definitely something I can show people, as well:


On the other hand, there are things which seem blocked, including my efforts to re-launch my radio show, "Metaphysical Explorations," and my attempts to find a job here in Portland.

Frankly, the impression I get is that Abby and her team are calling all the shots, now. I'm like the little boy who thinks he's playing the video game demo in the toy section at Walmart. My job is to show up--they'll handle everything else. Sort of like the old bumper sticker:

So I'm doing my part and I'm watching this thing unfold. Synchronicities are so common, right now, that I take them quite casually. Except for finding one of Abby's stories that I'd missed. It's so exceptionally good, and so incredibly revealing. I refuse to share anything else about it. It's the surprise in the Cracker Jacks box of my new book. I'm old enough to remember those things--I never liked Cracker Jacks, though. Ruining perfectly good popcorn-and-whatever with sticky cold syrup didn't seem like such a good idea, to me. (No-wonder they had to put a prize inside to induce anyone to buy it.)

I am just now beginning to understand the extent to which the New Age Sage market is overrun with wannabe experts and gurus. The competition is vicious out there, despite all the smiles, rainbows and butterflies. Everybody and his cousin has had an NDE, or has been abducted by aliens, or has had their kundalini rise. Maybe they have, and maybe they haven't, but they don't all have a matching photograph of their past-life self, with proven memories to support it. Even David Wilcock, who has the physical appearance of Edgar Cayce, doesn't have the matching, substantiated memories to go along with it, so far as I know. And what a character he is! I wonder if I'll ever meet him in the course of this journey I'm on. He's an expert on so many things, one doesn't even know what he's supposed to be an expert on, anymore. He's just so smart, he's assumed to be an expert in anything he comments on, I suppose.

Mathew had a 450 engine in the cranium like that; mine isn't quite so quick, today. I suspect this is the karmic result of Mathew taking to alcohol in his later years, when he knew better. The result is a brain that isn't quite as blazingly fast, or as well-rounded, as my previous one. What I have, however, is a sort of inner touchstone. And here's how I think I got it--I think I was a sociopathic liar in some distant past lifetime. So much so, that I became lost--I lost the touchstone of Truth entirely. That is a horrible business, let me tell you. Truth is not that "convenient" thing we imagine. Truth is Reality Itself. Think about it for a second and you'll see that it's obvious. Except we don't respect Reality. We think Reality is what makes the table hard when you knock on it. Oh, no. Reality is your very life's-breath. And Truth is Reality. Lose Truth, and you lose Reality...lose Reality, and you lose your very life's-breath. It's no joking matter.

So being utterly lost, I found (or was compassionately led back to) Truth, again. I know what it feels like, I know what it smells like, and I won't let go of it for anything. This happened a long time ago. After a number of incarnations of clinging to Truth like this, you develop an unerring sense. You develop the ability to dive to the core of an issue, to "see under" it, if you will. This is actually the essence of real intelligence. Real intelligence is not a matter of artfully buzzing about the surface of an issue, like so many acrobatic flies. Real intelligence is SEEING. And if you have clung to Truth for several lifetimes, like anything else one studies and practices for several lifetimes in a row, one gets good at it.

This is precisely what David Wilcock is missing; or rather, he is throwing it away, casual-like. I feel sorry for him. Next lifetime, if he keeps on going as he is, he won't be able to tell a skyscraper from a teacup.

My facility for seeing deeply into truth has developed so far, that I have excelled beyond Society's ability to believe me. It's essentially the opposite of what Wilcock is (or strikes me as) doing, though it looks similar. I found my past life in the 19th century, and proved it beyond any reasonable doubt; I found my true love from that lifetime (who had been my soul-mate in many past lives), and remarried her across the Great Divide; I correctly determined that I and she had written "A Christmas Carol," and that I was the author of "The Raven" and "Annabel Lee." I can likewise prove these claims--but nobody believes me. Why? Because they abandon Truth when it gets too scary, or too implausible. They aren't just abandoning me, personally--since I am holding fast to Truth, when they abandon me (or even ridicule me), they are abandoning Truth, itself; and, perchance, ridiculing Truth, itself.

That's bad news, for them--but it's fine for me, because Truth will out. Today, next week, next year, or next lifetime. But at the speed Abby and her team are making things happen, lately, I'd say it could be next week.

In the meantime, when Mr. Wilcock introduces me to a reptilian alien, I will most certainly offer him my heartfelt apologies.

Best regards,

Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.


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