The Cassandra Syndrome by Colin Brookfield, Colin Brookfield (an ebook reader .txt) 📕

A fitting analogy

These realities are playing out as though lifted straight from the annals of Greek mythology (time-slipped into the 21st century) where we, as mere specks within the general scheme of godly affairs, have been enchanted away from its benign creator by a dark and predatory entity.

A further anomaly explained

A social taboo that needs addressing, concerns the dark cloud of antipathy that most people have towards the paranormal. In reality, the supra-normal adept is still in part connection with its (ancient dreamtime) neural pathways. Whilst on the other hand, debunkers, charlatans and predatory control personalities lack this cerebral augmentation – this being due to their ability having become atrophied and therefore, having no active faculty by which it could comprehend the supra-normal.

Dark entity stage-management

My parents had six children but were only dark and destructive to their earliest two (my supportive elder sister and me). This starkly differentiated offspring phenomenon, continued to the end of their days in this ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ style but I got used to it and moved on with my life but in more recent times, I had a reminder of that past.

We were informed that my younger sister who lived in Australia (whom my parents had embittered against me), had fallen ill. My wife and I were living in Cyprus at the time so I sent a letter of sympathy to my sister but there was more to follow.

The shadow strikes again

Several weeks later, my wife and I were sitting on our patio when something monstrous happened within me. I was battling to retain my very soul and, as I struggled inwardly, the tears ran down my face and I said, “I will never leave this place, I am dying!” My wife was utterly nonplussed.

The following day, we had a phone call from Australia to tell us that my sister had died at the exact moment (allowing for the seven hour time difference) that I had her dying experience and words replicated upon me. It seemed that I could have been her last thought in enmity as she passed over. That would answer why my soul became so embattled at her dying moment. Nearer to the truth, this phenomenon really did carry that same ongoing ‘stage management’ of infernal influence upon it.

The effect of that psychic attack took several weeks to throw off, not psychologically, but something deeper inside trying to repair. I moved on from this, adding it to my other great variety of supra-normal knowledge, that despite the occasional fright, I do at least feel privileged to have escaped the perceptual blinkers of conventions mindset.

The Ancient philosopher

(Hand in Hand with the Physicist)

I know that my writings will be difficult for conventional thinking to accept, so it therefore seems sensible to gather support from the science of quantum physics. That should get us back on the solid ground of empirical knowledge and as far away from the quicksand of the paranormal as we can. Well, not quite!

T
here is a great deal written on the subject of particle/wave duality, whether it be the positive proton in the atom’s nucleus or its spinning compliment of negative electrons. Nevertheless, there had been an irksome secret hiding in there. This secret was brought into the open by the famous two-slot experiment and it has thrown a ‘spanner into the works’ of our safe little world of science.

In this experiment, particles (they have substance) are fired from what is referred to as an ‘atomic gun’ and aimed at a small board with two tiny slots in it. A fired particle will pass through one of those slots and travel on to a device, recording its arrival. In the meantime, because all this is happening at speeds beyond human perceptual abilities, the activity is therefore, remotely observed. This is where things get very strange indeed. The particles know they are being watched. We know this because, when the remote viewer is turned off, everything that is fired from the gun reverts to its preferred alter-ego waveform that has no substance. It then washes through the two slots at the same time, like water waves would do and it is recorded as such.

This discovery implies, that it is the conscious expectation of the viewer that causes the non-physicality of wave to take on particle substance and through that, particles then take on structural form. We are almost forced to conclude, that without an observer, there can be no physicality. Does that not have a very paranormal feel to it?

There is an aboriginal saying that we are the ‘dream being dreamed’. They were indeed aware of some (dreamtime) realities that we have since forgotten.

All things physical also have their ghost

I began that exercise into the strange activities of the sub-atomic particle because in doing so, the evidence reveals that subatomic particles, which have substance and of which all things are constructed, also have their own non-substance alter-ego ghost – their own cryptic metaphysical sibling. More to the point, through this evidence, we are then forced to meet the reality of our own non-substance metaphysical sibling. Trying to dodge this reality is not rational because the very make-up of our physical form is a matrix of those self same sub-atomic particles. It is a particle world, a yesteryear fiction now proved factual. We cannot help but be astounded at the kind of mind and reasoning that caused our real, non-physical self to find itself entrapped within palpable particle form and within which to remain, until particle atrophy releases us back to our real selves, that aspect of us that never dies but travels on.

We now know that not only are our physical forms a construct of sub-atomic particles, so are the foods we intake, from which we then build our physical body. Moreover, this particle matrix physicality of ours, then has a ‘shelf life’, which of course is at variance from one person to another. Therefore, the misnomer ‘natural death’, is merely our particle matrix ‘shelf-life’ loosing its bonds of connectivity. Its decay is the release of those particles back into general usage for other things. (All that is borrowed must be returned).

What then of the real person? Having now realised there is no such thing as death, the deceased discovers that its new direction has already been set by its own prior preferences; its own pre-determined mindset and towards that, it then flies.

The purpose to all my writings is to move us on into a greater reality and away from our destructive fictions. It is a journey into wider consciousness but, only for those who let go of their (shadow imposed) conventional mindsets.

On rare occasions, hyper emotions distort the fabric of acceptability

From the worldwide evidence of this incredible interplay between the human spirit and that of physical construct, logic must sensibly draw us into the wider understanding of this interactive phenomenon. For example, there are many published case histories where the hyper-emotions of a deceased individual can actually distort the physical fabric of accepted normality, hence, the occasional otherworldly thought-form poltergeist activity of a murdered individual. I know by personal experience that such phenomena are factual.

At the age of nine, I had an experience that connects with these phenomena. It implied that in some extremely rare cases, hyper-emotional stress could distort the fabric of accepted normality. Put another way, it can physically re-apply local subatomic particles to unnatural reconfigurations. In my very rare case, there had been a domestic background involvement.

The Shadow has its familiars

My father was prone to violence; he would kick like a mule and thrash like a threshing machine at every given opportunity, during which, my mother always remained indifferent.

I came up with a couple of solutions to this, neither of which proved very clever. One was to avoid returning home from school until everyone was in bed. On the first occasion, he was waiting in the dark, ready to pounce. He screamed as usual, like an enraged bull and danced about thrashing furiously with his leather belt whilst I, had the usual position with my pants down, bent over the settee arm.

The second idea was never to utter a sound again during his beatings. That was a learning curve for both of us. He thrashed with such gusto for so long without my response that he finally collapsed, open mouthed onto a chair. I realised, at last I had found a weapon against his ego.

Every household in our street would have been well aware of the sounds of violence constantly emanating from our house but, the fact that nobody ever commented, is also very strange.

During this period, I used to sleep in our dining room under a wartime, indoor Morrison shelter that also doubled as a table. One night, following one of my father’s violent episodes, I had needed a drink of water from the adjoining kitchen and although the dining room was pitch-dark, I could easily navigate it. However, what happened next gave me a very nasty fright; the kitchen door was not there to be found.

I checked the wall inch by inch all around, only to discover I was surrounded by walls with no openings. It was a long sleepless night and a relief when daylight filtered through the heavy curtains to reveal the return of normality. It was not a delusion! Even at my young age, I had developed a good grasp on practicalities and, was certainly not somnambulistic.

In later years, following the full evidence of satanic influence, I realised that it had been that same destructive effect also at work in the above account.

One extra for the night

To begin this rather unconventional event, I need to move back to the 1930s.

For a brief spell, my parents sent me to stay with my grandmother at an isolated cottage in rural Shropshire. I remember overhearing that my father was on his way to collect me for return to London, so for that reason, I left my bed when all were asleep, then wandered out of the cottage to hide in the pigsty, joining the sow and her young. Of course, all was revealed at the sow’s early morning breakfast call.

Blown out of shop: the Shadow fails again

When I was about four years old, my father sent me to some newly built local shops to buy a packet of cigarettes (five Wild Woodbines). On the way home, I noticed a new open fronted shop with a large pool of water on the floor and as I had my Wellington boots on, meant it was an opportunity not to be missed. During my dance of excitement in the water, some of it had obviously soaked the nearby heavy electrical junction boxes. The explosion that followed literally blew me out of the shop and onto the pavement, whilst cutting off electricity to the local housing estate.

It was not until I got home that I noticed my hair was hard and fused together, my clothes were singed and, my skin was bright red.

It did not raise much interest with my mother and, the stutter had gone within a week.

Angelic helper takes control

At the ages of eight and seven, my sister and I found ourselves at the side of an excavation (later verified) 40 feet square and 12 feet deep. It had been completed ready for a public house to be built but all such work was suddenly brought to a halt at the onset of war.

Within a few months, the excavation had filled with eight feet of water and, it was not long before the local boys had a small raft floating on it and cajoled my sister to join them. That seemed to go well, until the boys started to rock the raft and my poor sister (who could not swim), fell into the water.

I have no idea what possessed me, as I found myself projected towards the raft, making a magnificent high