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Queer Story

By Philip N. Ledoux
http://educate-yourself.org/pnl/queerstory05nov05.shtml
November 5, 2005

Ken,

Here is something I have to make an "end run" with, which you'll see why when you read the "story". Finally I am allowed to have a glimpse about why I do the things I have in the sequence that the Almighty has arranged.

Philip N. Ledoux

5 November 2005

The following "story" is something you would expect to find in FATE magazine, rather than on a wide-ranging board like educate-yourself and others. If for nothing more, read on at my expense, and have a good laugh.

As partial introductory material I make reference to Stephanie Relfie and her e-published "Mars Record" books . Stephanie has pioneered and invented a technique hybridizing dowsing principles, muscle testing principles, lie detector principles and electronics. She uses a "Wheatstone Bridge" as the key "detector" a piece of equipment any electronics technician would love to use, but only the "money is no problem" labs can afford, which Stephanie has managed to "snag." Many scoff at Stephanie's technique, but that bridge meter is so sensitive that I'll bet an etheric attack could be measured on it; Stephanie might laugh and call that an exaggeration, but sure as Hades exists somewhere, that thing is ultra sensitive, thusly I believe the "Mars Record" stories.

Stephanie's husband [Michael Relfe] had volunteered into a program that led him through a broom-closet's back wall that opened onto a long stairway that went down and down and ended up with him on the planet Mars. What is described is a psychic warrior defending Mars almost on a parallel to the Vedic epics. Eventually he completes his "hitch" of 20 or more years (retirement to the non-military minded), is brought back to earth, memory-blanked, sent back in time, youthed and brought back up those hidden stairs just enough moments later in time to not meet himself coming down them. He then completes his military service with no memories of his special assignment on Mars. Stephanie has him as a customer, and solves his "bad dreams" mysteries and other complications; and they marry. But they didn't drift off into the sunset, nor was the marriage without interference; especially psychic interference as well as physical. If you wish to dig into that story and check how well or poorly I synopsized two books for the unaware; go to metatech .org.

I read the first book in the series around 5 years ago. Ah ha, "suspicions confirmed" bells clang in my mind. I myself have been desiring to develop my etheric or psychic abilities for decades; procrastination, lack of time and lack of money seemed to be the problem. But about that same timeframe a friend snagged me to a local dowser's club meeting and I was off and running; much to the chagrin of TPTB (The Powers That Be).

About 2 years ago for about a week I had re-occurring what I thought had to be "weird dreams" and dismissed them out of hand; I'll return to them later. The dreams had occurred in that "neither asleep nor awake" state, where I thought I could wake up if I wanted to, but never did; and they were so vivid and realistic, and it seemed as though I were not creating fiction as one does in the daydreams of our youth and young adulthood. About a year later I answered an advertisement that offered free advice and help if a person had mind control experiences. Whoa! Right up my alley. It developed into an intense whirlwind "affair" where I seemed to be giving worldly advice via my experiences to a well versed, well experienced psychic. Some help was offered, but most importantly to me "we" discovered that my psychic abilities were purposefully being suppressed, and my guides and protectors informed her that the "story" was too complex to relate quickly. All her suspicions and psychic insights were valid, but it would take many, many etheric trips to begin to understand the complexity of it all even to her.

I thought it to be highly interesting, and probably the cause for so much of my supposedly "bad luck" since my military service days, which she confirmed. Said simply: TPTB were deathly afraid that my suppressed memories would surface revealing "things" they desperately wanted to be kept secret forever. Apparently I, like Stephanie's husband, are whisked away through those tunnels made famous in movies and TV shows; the tunnel opens through a near wall when we are deep asleep, kept deep asleep and moved off to some medical/psychological complex, and checked at least for loss of memory and loss of memory enhanced. Some kind of testing is done because one time during these later discoveries I just mentioned, my wife found the strangest semi triangular scars near my hairline which my hair covered (upper forehead). They eventually disappeared. I had nothing to "capture" the scars with, so I used my scanner and got clear pictures of them. The strange scars gradually disappeared. I also have unexplainable scars and scratches or bruises regularly as though I'd been in a teenage turf fight.

The old expression of "birds of a feather, gather together" seems so appropriate on the internet boards we sign into. So many like-minded, like-experienced, like-attacked people that it seems to be "not by accident." Well, in doing many a long-dowsing-session for a small board owner. At first I thought I was being "used" but as you will see I was being given answers to my own unasked questions!

A recent session had gone back over circumstances of his father's death; it revolved around "over-unity" devices and a circuit diagram given to this man when he was too young to realize what he had been given the privilege to see drawn before his eyes. Supposedly the father had become an alcoholic and then had a mistress, and finally had died in a VA hospital of alcoholism. Dowsing revealed that the father had been on secret "missions" in the Air Force and later in the development of the Minute-Man missile utilizing over-unity devices; further, the mistress was a government "plant" and the father had been poisoned purposefully, with "anti-alcoholism" drugs as a "cover" which put him into the VA hospital where he was slowly exterminated to contain the secrets of over-unity. (The man apparently had been secretly building the devices and giving them away. The above story within a story was the result of TPTB finding out.)

"Ask if you and my father worked together." That came out a yes. I had worked for the Air National Guard in Hayward California for a few years, but that hardly would have been a working relationship with an Air Force over-unity expert, my work was as the dispatcher-secretary in transportation. "Does 'Smitty' mean anything to you?" Yes, strong memories of working with 'Smitty.' "That was my father's nick-name." Well - shiver my timbers! "Was I named after you?" (We both have the same first name.) The pendulum swung strongly "YES". Whoa there boy! To combine my half-ashed dreams and dowsing sessions for this other Philip: I had been on a supply unit, which supplied everything needed on a moon base via a "tunnel" that was constructed electronically a là Montauk. Through attrition, accidents and deaths I gradually worked my way to commanding the unit as an "enlisted man". The moon-base commander new of upcoming big plans and needed a flawless supply channel to accomplish it, as an incentive to accomplish a Herculean task, I was offered the rank of a Naval Captain (just below Admiral) if a smooth supply channel were accomplished within a year. Now to any sailor, THAT is INCENTIVE!

This is a story about a group of men, not exclusively "my story," therefore I will omit most of my story to not distract too much from the others and still give the reader enough to understand the project and the men's mission.

The biggest problem "supply" had was communications. Regular communication channels were too slow because of priorities, coding, etc.; it was useless in preventing "jams" in and up the tunnel. The tunnel was "built" on a daily basis thusly no genuine communications were being used exclusively for the tunnel and the delivery was an electronic sling-shot of a "package" up the tunnel. A mis-judged sling-shot could jam the tunnel for hours on end, and nobody on either end was able to tell the other just how "close" or "far" the package was. About half-way through the year of the "captaincy-bait" proposition, I was able to capture "Wizard Smitty" for as long as needed to solve the communications problem. (The moon-base commander thankfully had given me a cart blanche.) Scottie had invented the needed equipment in two weeks, and the cart blanche snagged the needed one of a kind equipment required, etc. etc. By the end of a month Scottie had the whole shebang up and running! The biggest problem solved, the delivery system started to smooth out dramatically with deaths and accidents becoming a rarity on the tunnel system.

One of the most crippling factors on the moon end of "The Tunnel" (except for communications) was shade when the sun was "up." Cowboy was our salvation. He was an enlisted "grunt" who could take any kind of junk and make it into something useful with his welding skills. That shade solution seemed to be a "forever" project because when The Tunnel got working smoothly we were then able to cement the structures into something resembling the standard military storage handling facilities that civilians equate to a large city type car storage-parking facility.

Like any military establishment, forced retirement causes new openings that need replacements. "Ask your pendulum about the following names, see if you all crossed paths. Smitty, Cowboy, Allan, Crown, Ice, Tracy, Falcon, Tim, Hoot, Steven and yourself." Well, I'll be giggered! Everyone came up "Yes", they had been on this moon-project and all had at some time or other worked together. All had been recruited, taken out some kind of "hidden door" and later returned to their current "time line" memories with the project memories blanked; returned to back in time to just a moment later so they wouldn't meet themselves coming and going. All had done 20 to 30 years of military service time on this secret moon project, cheated out of retirement pay by being shot back in time to a much shorter military service which does not include retirement pay; only VA benefits which means in many cases - non-consensual human experimentees.

An interesting detail which all enlisted military will appreciate: When men are assigned to highly dangerous assignments, perks are included to "lighten the load." Yet, many a job should be classified that way that never rates the perks. Submarines are typical of the standard perks. When a sub hits port, within an hour everybody except on duty watch personnel are "on the beach." If a surface craft arrives in port at daybreak, the personnel have to wait for 16:00 hours (4 PM) before they can have "liberty."

On the moon-base project, the supply division was the most dangerous job in the whole project, yet these men were looked down upon by the ranks of the officers, all except the base commander. When I was given the rank of Naval Captain, I never put on a dress uniform. I was perpetually in work khakis (gift of the moon base commander) and working with my crews. But I rated entrance to the officer's club at both ends of the tunnel. With the attitude I mentioned, I was just above the level of a leper. But my crews needed perks, they had earned them. So I would bring in my crews to the Officer's Club. Near riots occurred! In secret negotiations with the base commander (whom I am suspicious was Tim) we were given a corner of our own with orders to serve us and feed us anything asked for. We had shut off every item requested by individual officers, one at a time until they recognized that "the asshole" of the operation really was the most important organ in the body.

Obviously, this is a very incomplete story. Currently Smitty, Cowboy and myself are the heroes; but I am certain that everyone that was listed, is as deserving of a hero's tale and honor. Currently we are trying to piece more details together as to dates of service on the Supply Tunnel so we can figure out overlapping service-time, job specialties, etc.. But of necessity I have to play a cat-and-mouse game with TPTB, thusly the pre-mature releasing of this story.

During our next to last dowsing session I read on my screen: "Ask if I am being RVed." YES. "Ask if I am being internet connection monitored." YES. The facility that monitored him and I have a warning flag pop up when either of us enter the internet. In the other Phil's case he is both RV and internet monitored with the personnel working at adjoining desks or panels. I expected that I too was similarly monitored because I was told by psychics that I was remotely viewed. I had wondered if my 9 inch on a side 3 sided orgonite pyramid with 15 crystals inside did any good. Checking about myself gave that I was only computer internet monitored. Ah haaa! A fringe benefit I didn't know I had. I keep one computer for internet work, another for work similar to this; thusly the pyramid sits right beside my mouse on this desk.

Associated to the above thinking, psychics have helped do something etherically on me so that I am able to dowse nearly all night long. To do it, they cannot tell me "be ready tomorrow night at 10 PM to receive a gift." It would be prevented or negated. So my friends and helpers have my cart blanché and sneak around the etheric black guards and do their helpful things and leave undetected. I, my friends, we all know that what I have composed here, would all be rewritten between transmission and receipt, were TPTB knew content and intent before hand. Therefore I have to make a sneaky end-run with quick internet transmission to many locations (especially public boards) with this story. So, kindly forgive me for a rather one-sided story about a group of men who were recruited for secret national defense projects, who served their time on mission into retirement, and who were "shot back in time" to complete a military career on this current time-line, very short of retirement benefits. And amazingly this same group are in semi-regular contact with each other via internet boards, chats, and private emails; all of whom until this story is published were never aware of the hidden connections.

Philip N. Ledoux

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