“A Process of Balancing.” - Secondary Midwayer Sharmon (MNO-6).

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“A Process of Balancing.” - Secondary Midwayer Sharmon (MNO-6).

Post by Sandy »

Illawarra District, Australia, December 23, 2009.
Secondary Midwayer Sharmon (MNO-6).
Subject: “A Process of Balancing.”

Received by George Barnard.

Sharmon: “Well here I am, my lonesome human buddy, thinking you would appreciate some feminine company of the most charming kind – me! I see a glimmer of a smile below that furrowed brow. We can begin. Firstly, however, I must warn you that not all the questions that have arisen in your mercurial mind will be answered. They will not. You are an evolutionary being, not a created being, and for you the input of revelationary information is wisely curtailed.

“We have established so far that time has many segments, most of which are never noted by you, whilst one or two may be noted, just occasionally. We have managed to explain that everything in time-space has physicality – your mind, your soul, your thoughts, your emotions and more. Truly, how else could you walk into a room and sense ‘a right old barney’ of an argument having just been concluded there? Always there are exceptions, though, yes?

“For you it is most easily to understand that time-space is transcended by eternity, or rather that time-space has its foundation in eternity. And so it is possible for pure spirit – Thought Adjusters and others of pure spirit make-up – to be located within all pervaded space, nearby you, even within you, yet without their impinging on the time-space realm all of you humans, as well as us of morontia make-up, as well as all of Mother Spirit’s daughters (the angels) occupy.

“Now to specifics: On a planet of this nature, with a human population of great diversity, it is frequent that through circumstances of human birth, or even during the growth period to maturity, certain unbalances may occur. There may be an inborn, or developing, propensity for psychic ability, or there may be an inclination towards, or growth towards, spirituality. Indeed, these are not the same. Indeed, these can create a great unbalance in need of correction.

“With all of your lives, from the terrestrial start to your entry into Paradise, pre-known in infinite detail, adjustments are made to allow the individual to be that bright and shining ‘stone’ in his or her meant-to-be location of his or her mosaic of time, environment, and associations. Conveniently, the soul may be lifted out of the body, and spirited away for this real operation conducted at the Archangels’ circuit of the planet by those of great expertise, who temporarily dwell there.

“Here you see that in such an instance a ‘modicum of creation’ is frequently applied to the process of evolution, and is this a form of enlightenment? Call it what you will, my dear student, but see it as a deserved balancing of the human soul when a boost in psychic ability may help enhance great spiritual progress, or when a boost in spirituality may augment great psychic ability. Often it is yours for the asking, more often it is recommended by us, who so care for you all.

“This is Secondary Midwayer Messenger, Sharmon, signing off, and darting away to her next task, leaving you my love and best wishes.”

Receiver’s note: Sometimes there is (human) resistance to this process of having the soul taken from the body for balancing. It can be left in memory, as either vaguely uncomfortable, or a veritable nightmare of hugely distorted memories that just won’t go away. Let me know if you want to read about this. It’s about 5 pages long, called “The Vice-Regent.”

© The 11:11 Progress Group.
You lit a Flame, and it will become a Raging Fire — ABC-22.

www.1111AkashicConstruct.com
“We measure and evaluate your Spiritual Progress on the Wall of Eternity." – Guardian of Destiny, Alverana.
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Re: “A Process of Balancing.” - Secondary Midwayer Sharmon (MNO-6).

Post by Sandy »

For all those wishing to read "The Vice-Regent" that was mentioned in George's transmit, I am posting it below.
xxSandy
Chapter Three

The Vice-Regent

ALL OF GEORGE’S family regularly caught colds or flus. This time was no exception. The children were nearly always the first to suffer, and, likely, they brought all those germs and viruses home from school, kindergarten, and the little one’s playgroup. Generally, their father was lucky. He didn’t get all those colds and flus, and perhaps he was too busy to bother with them.

But being so overworked, knocked about, George did catch a touch of what was doing the rounds, and with a slight fever, he retired early for the night. He would sleep it off with the help of a big glass of strong, sickly sweet cooking marsala.

* * * * *
The sharp eyes of the Vice-regent of the Local Universe were upon him. Easily three metres tall, dressed in bejewelled robes, he looked awesome. George was convinced he would be shaking in his shoes, had he been allowed to bring footwear into the Vice-regent’s palace. The Vice-regent turned to the Seraphim who were so kindly supporting the mortal. ‘What have you brought me?’ he demanded to know. His voice sounded rather curt.

The Seraphim, invariably a twosome wherever they are found in the star systems, spoke up in turn. ‘Your Gracious Honour,’ said the one in the electric blue garment on George’s left, and in a rather deep, although pleasant voice, ‘the carbon-based life-form before you hails from a rather insignificant blue planet. Situated at the periphery of the Milky Way, it is called Earth. It has a rather backward population of mammalian, two-legged vertebrates. This is number 483, 217, 668, 112-B, a masculine version of the species.’

The Seraph in the orange gown, and to George’s right, spoke next. ‘Your Gracious Honour,’ came the more feminine, and friendly voice, ‘The Spirit Guardians of said planet have requested permission to recruit this mammal. They are seeking your permission to enrol the brute-of-a-creature into one of their platoons.’

‘It won’t even stand on its own flat feet,’ the Vice-regent commented.
‘It suffers dreadfully from space sickness on long, assisted flights,’ said the blue Seraph. ‘The creature is running a very high fever. However, it travels unassisted, and at thought/speed within its own limited realm through all facets of time, because it fully comprehends the eternity/time reality differential. It has also accepted eternity/think, that we were, are, and always remain, each other.

‘How interesting,’ the Vice-regent commented. ‘It has some borderline ability, but it looks extremely ordinary. I’m rather disappointed with its mode of dress.’ He was pulling up his big nose at the groggy, energy-depleted human wreck.

‘We lifted it, as is, from its resting place while it slept, Your Gracious Honour,’ said the orange Seraph. ‘This is its natural outer layer. It is in fact quite naked.’
George looked down to find he was indeed totally naked. Instinctively, he tried to cover his private parts with his hands, but he couldn’t move. Of necessity, it seemed, the Seraphim had a strong grip on his arms. Oh, well, he thought. Seen one, seen them all. What would this Vice-regent know? He doesn’t even have reproductive capabilities __ a product of Creation, not Evolution, he is. He might even be jealous. He should study good old Freud, and his penis envy ideas. Good one! Crack-up! the mortal thought.

But the big ‘man’ in the bejewelled robes had read the bedraggled human’s mind. His face had turned bright red. He might soon throw a fit if he wasn’t careful. There was anger in his eyes, thunder in his voice, ‘It has a bad, bad attitude,’ he growled.
‘We are forced to live there,’ the blue Seraph commented dryly. ‘Trust me, Your Gracious Honour, on that unenlightened, chaotic sphere, sadly, they are all like that. They are uncontrollable!’

George was thinking, Yeah! I love being uncontrollable! I love chaos!

‘Show me the paperwork on this consignment,’ the Vice-regent grunted.

Seemingly from nowhere, there appeared a two-legged, reptilian-like creature. It was less than a metre tall, but with huge, dark, wise eyes. George thought he had seen some of them before. Companions! But where? In a dream? A nightmare? A space journey?

Quickly its long fingers snatched the tattered notes from the orange Seraph and handed them to the Vice-regent for him to read. George could see there were lots of finger marks, inkblots, and crossed-out words on the standard application form. Every one of the Spirit Guardians, it appeared, had changed something on his form. But they had all signed it. I knew it! Hah! Spirit Guardians are always united in their endeavours.

‘This consignment is half Dutch, half French, and lives in Australia,’ the Vice-regent mumbled. ‘It wouldn’t know what, or where, it was! It owns a manufacturing plant, practises as a healer, and it studies the minds of its own deplorable species.’

He carried on, ‘It wouldn’t know what it was doing at any given time!’ He went on to read, ‘Spirituality: Irreverent... But open minded? Intelligence: Poor... But studies hard? Moral values: Honest and trustworthy... But not in amounts exceeding $100,000 of their local currency?’ Grim-faced, he looked down on George. ‘This shipment is of no use whatever!’ he claimed.

George wondered who had written all that on his form. That was so unkind! He knew he was honest right up to $200,000 of the currency. At least! Well... Perhaps somewhat less.
‘There are some personal notes from the Spirit Guardians attached, Your Gracious Honour,’ said the blue Seraph.

The big, important ‘man’ went on to read, ‘We, the Spirit Guardians of the Earth’s Unseen Realm, recommend recruitment of the mortal, 483, 217, 668, 112-B, male, locally known as George Mathieu Barnard, into one of our progress platoons. He is a pig-headed, opinionated perfectionist, and as such, most useful to us. Cheerful under difficult circumstances, simply because he doesn’t know any better, he continues to try hard to develop a sense of humour, which he will not achieve. We want him as a platoon mascot and as a challenge. Life is dull here. We need him. He is psychic and endeavouring to communicate with us, and we like that. Please consider our request favourably.’

The Vice-regent leafed through the many pages. Then he looked up in disbelief. ‘They all signed it!’ he cried out. ‘How can anything so useless be popular? And this is not a request! This is a petition! This is, in fact, so strongly worded, it kind of borders on... blackmail. It even carries the official seal of the United Spirit Guardians’ Corporation!’

He needed to think. He once more pulled up his nose at George’s ‘mode of dress’ and appeared to have made up his mind. ‘If they want the creature that much, they can have it. Take it out of here. Send it back. Economy class. Save yourselves the trouble. Use the catapult.’

George knew what the horrible thing looked like, even before he saw it __ a giant version of the one he owned when he was a kid. Might this all be a dream? It all seemed so real.

‘Sorry, George,’ said the orange Seraph.

‘Sorry, George,’ said the blue Seraph.

He was lying face up in the steaming-hot palace courtyard, about to be flung back into space. He couldn’t get up. He was so ill with the space sickness, and perspiring profusely with the fever. His head was throbbing.

The Seraphim were making some quick modifications to the slingshot, looking back at him from time to time. They did not want to do this to him. George knew that. But they had their orders, and Seraphim follow orders, always.

‘I’m not feeling very well, and I need your assistance on this long trip,’ he begged of them.

‘Earth is only eleven million, eleven hundred thousand light years away, give or take a light year,’ said the orange Seraph. ‘You’ll be there in a flash, George.’
‘We put new elastics on catapult number one,’ said the blue Seraph. ‘Your favourite slingshot.’

‘West-south-west of the sun places you within gravitational pull of the Earth by the time you get there,’ said the orange Seraph, ‘that’s when you’re on your own.’

‘Close your eyes and hold your breath as you pass the sun,’ said the blue Seraph.

He was fired into space, and immediately, he could feel the heat of the sun. He was already there! Space was shaking. His body was shaking. ‘I’m so hot,’ he complained. ‘I’m so hot. I’m so hot. I’m burning up...’

‘You are burning up!’ shouted a familiar voice. ‘Oh, God, Jesus Christ!’

Vaguely, George wondered who could be living so close to the sun. Whoever she was, she might have her eyes burned out if she opened them. She would get her lungs scorched if she was breathing in. He would keep his eyes closed. He wouldn’t breathe. No way! There seemed to be lots of people living near the sun. What a noisy place was this sun!

‘Here, soak this! Quick! Quick, Danielle!’ sounded that voice again. He knew it was a loud voice, but he could scarcely hear it.

Rivers on the sun? What a cute idea. He was feeling better now. Or maybe he was dying? Did it really matter? Probably not. At least his head was no longer throbbing. Although his eyes were closed, he could see a light in the distance. Over there would be a nice place to live, he thought. He was going there right now.

Rain on the sun? Why not? He could feel it on that body he used to own. It would certainly enjoy a rainstorm. It would also feel good, just like George himself.

‘Breathe, you slob!’ shouted the voice, right into his ear. ‘Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Open your eyes and breathe, you stupid clod! Don’t you dare die and leave me, you bastard!’ The voice sounded desperate, but so very far away.

Cautiously he opened his eyes. His wife, Jodi, was living on the sun! She was sponging him down.

‘Don’t burn your good nightie,’ he told her. ‘It’s very hot here.’
‘You were throwing one God Almighty fit!’ she was shouting at him. She was out of breath and crying with fear. ‘You were bloody well giving it a miss!’

‘They catapulted me back,’ he disagreed. ‘The Spirit Guardians all signed my application form.’ He had peeked at the red, waxen seal of the United Spirit Guardians’ Corporation.

‘You’re delirious, raving with the fever, and those damned imaginary Spirit Guardians have had you for fifteen, twenty bloody years by now. Jesus! Now, drink this!’ she ordered.

Cold water on the sun? he thought. I would have never believed it if I hadn’t tasted it. ‘Lucky you didn’t burn your favourite nightie.’ Wow! She almost lost that, he thought.

‘Go back to bed now, Danielle,’ Jodi said. ‘Daddy will soon be okay.’

* * * * *
A few days of reduced working hours soon had him back on track. Only Kevin Weiss knew his employer had to contend with sporadic epileptic fits of this kind, the result of a severe mugging, already so long ago. As far as everyone else was concerned, George Barnard could be anywhere, selling up a storm. No one had questioned his whereabouts during the previous week. They knew he always worked long hours. Things were back to normal, as normal as they ever got.

‘Almost all of us are working this evening,’ Kevin was telling his boss. ‘Are you?’

‘No way. The last blow was a doozey, Kevin,’ George answered, ‘and inescapable. The fit causes overheating, but overheating, apparently, can also trigger a fit. I only had a slight fever, but it was enough. You missed out on a promotion, son. General manager! But not by much. Keep hoping.’

‘Christ! Go home,’ he told George. ‘I don’t want the bloody job. Not like that, if at all. You’ve got hypnotherapy patients tonight, if anyone asks me.’

Barnard left. Had he stayed, he would have missed all the fun.
“We measure and evaluate your Spiritual Progress on the Wall of Eternity." – Guardian of Destiny, Alverana.
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