When my family was intact, I had off-world visitors in a variety of experiences. One such visitor was a Japanese-looking boy who insisted he was a Martian. His ability to pop in and out of areas was stunning, and we had interesting exchanges. My family was not interested in my reports about him, and casually explained the sightings away with “there’s no such thing as Martians”. The same phrase expressed their feelings about ghosts.
Paranormal activity was abundant in the wee hours of morning, none of it explainable by conventional terms, and all of it dismissed with 1959 thinking. Forty-some-odd years later I began to understand the type of soul I am, and from a Divine Intervention in 1977, I have come to understand that I have never really been far from the Indigo roots I came from. Recent metaphysical/spiritual information on fairly reliable websites state clearly there are a population of souls from Mars, long since destroyed by war, hence the reputation “The War Planet”. The spectrum of ancient souls trying every possible way to contact earth people is now becoming harder to explain away in order to retain our comfortable numbness. Earth, Herself, is being recognized as speaking to us in terms we cannot deny. Some still do.
Some still dismiss Indigoes, some still get drunk and beat their partners. A whole culture is built on lies they came to clasp to their chests and refuse to relinquish, fighting tooth-and-nail to preserve their comforts. Calling themselves “Christian” because it seems an indestructible identity, their actions are perfectly opposite of what Christ taught. They’re the first ones to march into my space, bibles in hand, and spew rhetoric from the tape recorder of their mind. Beliefs they never questioned…because they were instructed not to…from a book whose tampering they can’t comprehend. The scope of their history is only a few days in comparison to what has actually happened since the blobs of magma ejected from the sun and became planets.
They told us DDT was safe. Asbestos was a miracle fabric. There’s no water on the moon. Earth is the only place you’ll find water, in fact. They put lead into gasoline, considering automobiles’ existence more important than a human life.
They said there’d be snow for Christmas/ they said there’d be peace on earth.
They show us the latest cars zipping in and around race tracks, praising the modern advancements engineered into the vehicle. I majored in auto mechanics in high school, and I know that the only difference between a Model T Ford and an Infinity is that the tin has been replaced by plastic. Explosions still force pistons to push a crankshaft. You have to fuel them. They all, eventually, leak oil on the ground.
An ideal environment for an Indigo Child to be born into doesn’t exist in such a society. It speaks volumes for the Indigo Spirit to have volunteered to come to this planet, prompted by compassion, to help correct the wrongs perpetuated by the for-profit kingdom of comfort. And we’re tough customers, but not tough enough to not be beaten down by the sheer brutality that constitutes being “A Man”, expected to live up to impossible and spiritually foolish ideals. We’re not only thwarted at every turn, there is a conscious agenda to kill us off, and many from my tribe haven’t made the journey. Very few, over the years, have been able to clutch that tiny ember to our hearts, trying to keep it alive. Shivering under a packing quilt in thick bushes in front of the high school, my run-away hiding place, somehow positive spirits came to me when I was 6 and seven. You can read about Dick Greggory’s struggle, fueled by baloney sandwiches because it was all they could afford. If condescending character assassination didn’t work, total poverty might do the trick. If you get too smart, George H.W. Bush’s CIA might have a remedy. If you demand changes against the Agenda, don’t drive past The Grassy Knoll.
If you take another look at my childhood picture, notice the shirt I had to wear for school picture day.
What’s the matter, here?