27 Jul The Gathering of the Eagles – Part One
Chapter One – The Littlest Hobo
“Aren’t the pigeons funny?” That was the first thing the disheveled old man said to me. “Aren’t the pigeons funny?” and with that I was launched on one of the most fantastic adventures that even a novelist in his wildest moments couldn’t have formulated. It has totally changed my life, as well as the lives of my wife Sharon and our two sons, Steven and Sean.
It was about eleven o’clock in the morning when I was asked that peculiar question about the pigeons. I had taken a few moments to stop for a junk food lunch at a drive-in hamburger joint on Kings way, in Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver, B.C. (Canada).
I had missed the coffee break crowd, and it was too early for the lunch rush. As a result, I was alone in the place. While I stood, sort of daydreaming, waiting for my food, I was startled when he spoke.
“Aren’t the pigeons funny?”
My first thought was to turn and look out onto the parking lot, usually busy with pigeons after the food scraps. But the peculiar thing was, THERE WEREN’T ANY THERE!
The man who asked the question was standing right behind me, so I had to turn around to see him. He was somewhere in his fifties, I’d say, bearded, somewhat disheveled. He was wearing a faded denim jacket and looked a bit like a farmer.
“I have this place in the country,” he says to me. “These birds will be gathered. They’re on this loft,” and he’s motioning with his arms. “They’re on this loft, and there’s this other bird over here. And a light comes shining through this bird and hits these other birds.” He said, “I feed all the birds.” And he told me quantities, in bushels. You know, he told me figures.
“Well, I thought he was a guy who just wanted someone to talk to, right? You know, sometimes some older folks just like to come up to you and talk. Well, I’m not doing anything anyway, so I stood there and listened politely. But all the time he was talking, he didn’t once look me in the eye. He was looking off into space telling me that something was going to happen to the world, but that there were enclosures to protect certain people. He assured me that me and my family would be protected. We’d be safe.
“Well, here’s my order,” I said, and prepared to leave. But before I could, he looked me straight in the eye for the first time since he started talking, and he said, “I’ll see you later.” Then he touched me on the shoulder and an electric like shock went through me. If he hadn’t done that, I probably would have dismissed the whole thing as some poor old lonely soul wanting a bit of an audience. But that shock like sensation simply underlined the whole thing.
I took my lunch and left, but as I was leaving, I looked back at this character once more. I was really puzzled about the encounter and seriously wondering just what the heck it was all about. He just stood there for a moment where I’d left him, then he turned a circle. He turned right around in a circle and walked out the door and along the side of the restaurant. He disappeared! He just sort of vanished into thin air.
“Well. That’s pretty weird,” I thought to myself. He never ordered. The waitress never asked him if he wanted anything, just as if he wasn’t there. I shook my head as if I were dreaming the whole thing. Day dreaming, you know, but he touched me. And there was that electrical jolt. I couldn’t deny that.
“Then I thought, “He’s probably gone to the washroom.” And I wanted to go into the washroom just to confirm that indeed he’d gone in there. But I got a countering thought. It said, “No, you don’t want to go in there, because if you go in there and discover that he’s not in there, how are you going to handle what’s just happened?”
What was going on was I was being told to leave things as they were. I mean, you could always rationalize that he’s in the bathroom, and that he was just some farmer that wanted to talk, right? So that’s where I left it, unresolved.
“About two years later, I’d just about forgotten the restaurant incident, when it happened again. This time there were two of them, looking like skid road bums. I was cleaning windows in downtown Vancouver at the time.
One of them stood back about thirty feet and watched while the other came up to me and said, “Careful for the height”.
What did he mean? Was he referring to my work as a window cleaner? My work on scaffolds, ladders, or hanging off of buildings? I turned to him and he repeated the phrase, “Careful for the height.” Then he said it a third time, and went on, “Me and my friend,” and he pointed to the other fellow standing off a bit, “Me and my friend have been here a long time. We’ve seen people come and go. We’ve seen people born and die.”
Then he said, “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re close by all the time.”
Then he touched me on the shoulder and said, “Just take care.” And when he did that, a warm electric sensation went through me, just like the time in the restaurant. He turned and walked to his companion and the two of them just sort of faded off the street right in front of me. Like they weren’t there. That was in 1973
In 1974, a wino came up to me on the sidewalk by one of those little parks in downtown New Westminster (British Columbia) right near the skid road area. He walked right up beside me, looking for all the world like a wino, or a hobo.
Even more strange, he had a wad of gum wrappers in his hand. Juicy Fruit and Spearmint wrappers. And he had them separated into two piles, one yellow and one green. He was just picking them up off of the street, and I couldn’t help thinking that he must be pretty weird to be doing that.
As if to reply to my thought he said, “I collect these you know. You should know about that.” And he looked right into my face and pointed at the wrappers. “These are the Protestants and these are the catholics,” he said, indicating the two colors, “You know, you can’t get just any. They can’t be torn or dirty.” He said, “These are special wrappers.’
Well, he kept on beside me as I was walking, and he was jabbering about something or other, and all the time I was thinking, “This guy is cracked.”
“You know,” he said, “there’s this wagon, and it’s pulled by some horses, this wagon load of wheat. And it comes to this elevator and goes up a ramp, and the horses are skittish, `cause they don’t like going up the ramp.”
Bang! My mind is blown away! He was going right into my head, into my memories of when I was a boy of about four. I was riding on this wagon load of wheat in Saskatchewan, going into the elevator with my dad. And, as the wino had said, the horses didn’t like going up the ramp into the elevator. When they get inside a hoist comes up and tips the wagon off of its front wheels and dumps the grain.
I was astounded because this guy is describing what occurred one particular day. He described the whole thing. I could remember going to the elevator and what happened there. But I don’t remember coming home.
“You got frightened of the machinery in the elevator,” he said.
Well, you know, there were three things I had been frightened about, and right there he told me all about the three of them, talking about the equipment and all. I was amazed. Now I’m really wondering who this guy is. What he isn’t, I thought, is a skid road bum. This guy is no wino. He has to be coming from some other dimension, some other level. But why? What for?
Questions aside, I was so astounded, and so excited about it, that I wanted to phone Sharon right then and there and tell her about it. I saw a phone booth and turned to it to make the call. But I discovered the phone cord was broken. When I turned back to the wino, he’d vanished.
In the fall of 1974, one particular day, I was washing windows down near the skid road area of Vancouver when all of a sudden, out of the clear blue, this thing got beamed into my mind. It was just as if someone was beside me whispering in my ear. And I started to get a poem coming into my mind. It was so compelling I had to stop work, and write it down. Now, I’d diddled around a bit writing some poetry before, but never anything like this.
That day, I wrote down the “Prince of Hope“. I didn’t compose it; I just wrote it down like it was being dictated to me. It started;
While on my travels
I met a man
who was most different
From others that I’ve seen.
On his chest
He wore a star-like symbol
That had more points
Than ones we’re prone to draw.
You know, we’re prone to draw the five pointed star and this was referring to the six pointed Star of David. And it went on;
And I saw this light shine from around him, and I asked if I could wear his coat…….
And it came out complete. It had a rather peculiar rhythm and rhyme, but there it was. And it goes on to describe how after taking the coat, the light didn’t come as well; that the light came from him, not his cloak.
Then I asked him where he was from and why he had come, `I am from shores so far away that ships of space which you possess will never touch. But yet so close that your heart can nearly see.’
I was just overwhelmed. It was just coming out of space, so to speak, complete, and all I had to do was write it down. Remember, I wasn’t psyching myself up to write poetry. I was cleaning windows when all of a sudden, ZING! In came the piece.
I got the complete first part right away, then the last part of it, then the middle parts just flowed in over the following couple of days.
In one instance, a waitress came up to me in the restaurant, and out of the blue says, “Why don’t you write something on patience.” Right out of the blue. But as soon as she said it… bang!… there it was, complete.
After I let it sit for a while, I published it myself with the help of a few friends. We hand bound the copies and all. Over the years since, it has been requested by and sent to most English departments in universities across Canada. It’s in the B.C. (British Columbia) Archives and so on. But of the 700 (copies) we’ve put out, I haven’t sold a single copy. I just had to give them away. After all, it was given to me.
In 1975, I had three visions. I saw what was going to happen in the future. I also saw that these visions were tied in with these strange encounters I’d been having and the strange thoughts and inspirations that had been coming to me. It was as if someone had been trying to get through to me from another dimension.
In the first vision, I was standing in the mountains on a grassy slope. Nearby was a powerful being, sitting just off to my left. He was beaming a ray at me which tranquillized me so I wouldn’t be frightened at what I was seeing. And what I was seeing was incredible.
I saw a mountain coming unglued. It was crumbling and the big rocks were just coming down like a waterfall. And as they fell, they turned into houses, buses, and other types of vehicles, all containing people. They were being crushed as they came down. I saw the people in anguish before they were crushed and killed.
The spirit guide who was off to my left interrupted my thoughts then with a command. “No! Don’t look at that, look over here!”. And out of this holocaust were tumbling some people. They were landing on the grassy slopes of the mountains unhurt. They were being thrown clear. I couldn’t identify any of them, they were just people. Then the spirit said, “That’s what you have to see. You will see that and you will see those people living.”
Here I was, surrounded by mountains, all of them intact except for the one directly in front of me which was breaking up. And I was being shown that people would land on these green grassy slopes and be alright.
Right after that I had a second vision which showed another aspect of this whole thing where there were groupings of people. Some of them were already in place, and others were moving to B.C. from all over the globe. They were being drawn, consciously and unconsciously, to safe areas or pockets of protection in British Columbia. That was in 1975.
At the beginning of 1976, my next encounter with a guide occurred. The older chap, the one who’d appeared to me first in the restaurant, appeared to me one night in a dream. He had me by the shoulders, he shook me, and asked me three questions.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Well, I’m Menno Pauls, window cleaner,” I replied. He didn’t like that answer. He shook me again and asked, “What are you doing?” And I told him I was cleaning windows. He didn’t like that answer either. He shook me again and said, “You should know by now who you are and what you’re doing; or what you’re supposed to be doing.” Then he asked, “Where are you going?” And he answered that one.
All of a sudden I was in a valley on an old farm, an old homestead. There was a barn on one part of it, and behind me, an old farm house. We were standing in a field of green crops of some sort. Maybe alfalfa, I don’t know, but it was really green.
That was the last thing I saw and then `poof’. Everything disappeared. Then it dawned on me. “With everything that’s been happening here,” I thought “from 1971 to 1976, you should start to get the drift of what your role is, and what you’re doing.”
After that I started getting directions almost in the form of commands. They’d say, “Go and talk to so and so”.
The first contact I made was with a couple who lived on a farm near Handy, up in the Fraser Valley. We had known them for maybe five or six years; they were very unique people. Only now did I realize why we were acquainted. When I went to see them, I knew exactly what to tell them.
“You know,” I said, “one day you’re going to come to in a green kind of a setting, a valley and mountain area. When that happens,” I told them, “something awful will have happened in the world, but no harm will come to you. You’ll be alright. It’ll be very strange. I’m telling you now so you’ll have a chance to think about it, let it soak in, so you can cope with what’s going to happen, and help others who will be there, but without the benefit of knowing why.”
Message delivered and accepted. I was on my way. Now the real work had begun.
Chapter Two – I Quit
In my awakening process, and you must understand, it’s not everyone’s awakening process, I had to start with a few pieces and build the picture as I went. As I grew with it, adjustments had to be made; some from within and some from without. It wasn’t without anguish. In fact, at one point, I was ready to chuck the whole thing and quit.
Early in 1976, I started to actively contact people and tell them the story. I wasn’t too far into it, maybe I’d contacted twenty or so, when I got this feeling to take a trip into the Laden area of the Fraser Canyon and see for myself what the pockets would look like; check them out first hand, so to speak.
“It was an exciting thought. I figured that I’d run into others in the same cause, doing related work, aware of what was going on. I was looking forward to meeting these neat people, exchanging notes, you know, like progress reports, on how our various missions were progressing.
Well, I went to the areas, and I was stunned. The places were there alright, but where were the provisions? There were people in these areas too, but they weren’t aware of what was going on. I figured that to go along with what I was doing, there’s be people who would be aware busily getting things all arranged. Stock piling food, supplies and getting ready for all these people that would be zapped into the pockets.
My scope of things was pretty small at that time, and it was this trip, this great let-down, that in fact helped to enlarge my view of what was taking place, and what was going to take place. But right then, out there in the country, I was one very disillusioned boy. I was thinking, here I am way out on a limb telling people the story about the protection, and the pockets and all, and what I was expecting to be in place to receive them wasn’t there.
I felt betrayed. And as I was driving home through the Fraser Canyon, I was talking away to whoever was in charge up there, “That’s it, that’s it! I quit!” I was feeling personally responsible for the whole thing. I’d gone way out on a limb on this thing and there’s nothing there. There are going to be a lot of disillusioned people there when the time comes and nothing is ready for them.
And I couldn’t handle that thought. I was angry. I was disillusioned and quickly becoming very depressed about the whole thing. Right there I was saying, “Go find someone else, I want out.”
There! I had my say, and I was all talked out. So I was driving along very quietly for a while, just like a long period of silence after a storm.
“Look!”, the voice came right into my mind, “don’t you realize that there’s no need to stockpile everything there? When it’s time, the material things will all be there.” Then the voice said, “Are you blind to the fact that the CNR, the CPR and the Trans Canada Highway go right through there (the Laden area)?”
Then I was told that any material goods that were needed could be supplied simply by arranging to have any quantity of commodities in the area when the event occurs. You know, trains of wheat and other foodstuffs, semi-trailers on the highway, they’d have nowhere to go anyway. There would be no east, no west, they’d be stuck right there. Later, in fact, I found out that some areas are provisioned and waiting, but not in this dimension. There’ll be more on that later.
They said they could even arrange for people to be stuck there, like the passenger train. And you know, what they were really telling me was to wake up. That if my end can be set up, then so can the rest of it. They can do whatever is needed, when it’s needed.
They were telling me that this part of it was not really my concern, that I wasn’t to fret about that end of the operation. “You do your job,” they said, “somebody else is looking after those aspects, don’t you concern yourself with that.”
Then I was told about the person who would be looking after things there. I was told about a shoe store manager in downtown Vancouver, that had coffee in the same restaurant that I did. They told me, he would be the one, but that for all kinds of reasons he wasn’t ready to be made aware of it at that time.
What I was also told was that I was trying to find limits, or put limits on the bank account of God, so to speak. They told me that when I was dealing with God, I had a blank cheque. That whatever I was moved to tell people, whatever scenario I was motivated to paint, would occur. In other words, whatever the bill I ran up, the cheque would be good for the amount. “You write the cheques, leave the accounting to us.”
“Well, there I was rather neatly put in my place. I sort of humbly went back to work. After that, my contacting escalated to about one a day to the end of the year, and by the end of 1977, I was up to two hundred a week at one point. But that trip was a major turning point in the whole thing for me.
“I had a dream one morning. In fact, the dreams were coming with such regularity that you could set your watch by them. They always came at five o’clock.
In this particular dream, I was working at a building washing windows on the sixth floor. Then I see myself talking with a man who looked just like Sean Connery. When I woke up, I told Sharon about the whole thing, then tucked it away and got ready to go to work.
On this same Saturday morning as the dream, I went to work cleaning windows. Time for a break. I came in from the outside of the building, onto the sixth floor. The whole floor was one big open accounting office with a board room at one end. While I was walking through the office, a man looked out of the open doorway to the board room……. and it was him; Sean Connery.
Well, he sure looked like him anyway. The same guy I’d seen in the dream. Then it clicked. “There he is, he’s the guy. Talk to him.”
I still had my safety belt and other paraphernalia on. But I walked into the office and started talking with the man.
“I got this funny feeling about you,” I said. “I’m not a psychic, but I get a feeling to talk to certain people…” Then I told him the story.
It’s funny, people are different, you know. I would sort of automatically be able to look into whatever level they were at, mentally and spiritually, and relate to that person. That’s the way I got the message across. And he was listening to what I had to say.
Anyway, while I was talking to Sean Connery, I noticed a young woman going by the door, which was still open. She seemed to have an ear cocked to what I was saying. I was sort of getting the feeling that I should talk with her as well. But when I finished talking with the man, I went back to cleaning windows.
The next thing I knew, the same man is at the window. “There’s a young woman in the office,” he said, “and she was sort of over hearing us and she wants to hear the story too.” I said I’d talk to her.
When we sat down to talk she said, “You know what astounds me about this whole thing?” she says, “I’m open to what you’re saying, but what really gets me is you talking to that man in there. He’s a sceptic. A real tangible, down to earth, third dimensional person. And it just got me how he was listening to you, and not laughing or kicking you out.”
I told her it happens all the time. That I was guided to people when their door is open. Somehow, somebody sets it up that I rendezvous with them at the right moment, throw the seed in through the crack and get the heck out. Then the door closes, but the seed is left behind. When the temperature gets to the right point, the seed germinates and it’ll take off.
Bizarre is the word you’d have to apply to the situation and circumstances surrounding who to see and when. My car wasn’t running right, so I took it to the shop for a tune up. I left it for the day and went to work. When I came back the car was ready. They’d done a major tune up and even steam-cleaned the engine.
For their trouble they wanted ninety dollars. I complained that I didn’t want done all of what they did, but what the heck, I decided to pay for it anyway rather than make too much of a fuss.
As I drove the car away, though, I noticed that the temperature gauge wasn’t working. Well, I got a little upset. Ninety bucks I’d paid for the work and I’ve got a temperature gauge that doesn’t work. And it was working fine when I took it in.
I went back to the manager of the shop and complained about it. He claimed that they hadn’t even touched the thing. I demanded that they fix it anyway since it was working when I took the car in. He mucked around trying to fix it, all the time saying that he can’t understand it, that they hadn’t touched it.
Now, with him still denying any funny business with the gauge, I was starting to get a little hot under the collar. When all of a sudden the gauge came back to life. I thanked the manager and left. But I was still suspicious, he was just too defensive.
Now, to add insult to injury, the next day the car started running rough, really rough. I was thinking, “The shop gave me a three month warranty on the tune up, but I really don’t want anything more to do with that manager…” when a shot comes to me. “It’s not his fault.” just like someone beaming into my head, I was being told, “You’re supposed to talk with him (the manager). That’s how we marked him for you.”
After the experience with him before, I wasn’t anxious to go back, but finally I decided I would. So I said to myself, right out loud, “Alright, I’ll go talk to him.” As soon as I said that, the car ran smooth.
I went to see the guy, and I apologized about the hassle over the gauge, and I told him that I had something to tell him. Now, I couldn’t really explain about the gauge and motor acting up, but in a round about way I did tell him the story.
I said that if he found himself in a mountain valley at some point, just like out of the clear blue, he would know why. I told him, “Around you will be people. They will all know you. And you will be extraordinarily calm about it all. You will be unnaturally calm, considering that in the twinkling of an eye you’ve been zapped from one world into another. All around people will be in a kind of shock. They won’t know what’s happened.
“At that time,” I told him, “all hell will have broken loose in the major world centers. But no harm will come to you. In fact, you’ll calm down these people.”
I didn’t say that he would try to calm them down, I said, “you will” and that he’d be the source of peace and comfort to these people around him.
“They’ll be looking to you. You’ll be the main gathering point, the nucleus, you and your wife, or whoever you’re with. They will all home in on you because you’ll be the common denominator.
This was the main message that I delivered to those I contacted. I also told them that the areas that they’d find themselves in would be protected as if there was an invisible shield covering the valley, protecting it.
If ever I had doubts about a contact, you know, whether or not I had the right one, strange things would happen to show that indeed I was on target.
I had a dream that showed me that I’d be talking to a bank messenger. “You go to (such and such) branch in Vancouver. He’s in the branch with four other messengers, but you’ll know which one. Go in and talk to him.”
So I went to the bank, and sure enough, there he was. So I told him what I had to say. When I’d finished, he said, “I don’t believe in that stuff. I’m closed minded about that.” I said, okay, maybe I got the wrong guy. I was told he’d be tough to reach, but I just excused myself and started to walk away.
“Wait”, he said. “I want to tell you something.” He called me back even though I was trying to break the contact. “It’s a strange life,” he says, “you know, I was in the war, the Korean conflict”, he says, “and I was in a valley with two hundred guys. It was an ambush. We were caught by the enemy and everybody was wiped out but twelve guys. I was one of the twelve,” he tells me. He thought that that was a miracle that he was alive.
“Well”, I said, “I just told you that you’ll find yourself in a certain situation and no harm will come to you. And now I leave it with you. You tie the two together. Why are you telling me this stuff right now when I’m leaving, crossing you off?” All the while though, inside my mind I get, “check… you got the right guy”.
Chapter Three – Will The Real Post Op Nurse Please Stand Up?
In 1976, I went to hospital for the first time in my life. As if in preparation for what was to come, in 1972 I awoke in the middle of the night in excruciating pain, right in the kidney. As I tried to nurse it along, it got worse. And then, as quickly as it came on, all of a sudden the pain stopped and that was it. The doctor surmised that I’d passed a kidney stone. So they ran several tests on me, some of which weren’t very nice. They turned out negative; all clear.
One evening, in the fall of 1976, I got a premonition that I would be going to hospital. My reaction was something else. “What?” I was really apprehensive, particularly because I’d never been in one before, at least as a patient. But there it was, just like someone telling me, “You’re going to hospital.”
I was also nervous about how I was going to come to needing a hospital. Would it be an accident? Would I get sick? How bad would it be? And why me? You know, I can really see why people don’t want to know their future sometimes. With something like that hanging over my head, I couldn’t concentrate too well on other things. Always looking over my shoulder to see what was coming.
Well, I didn’t have too long to wait for an answer. A couple of weeks after the premonition, I awoke in terrible pain. The worst I’ve ever experienced. And the answer was absolutely clear. It was another stone. Well, I tried to tough it out like I did the time before because I dreaded the thought of going to hospital.
Hour after hour, I hung on as the pain got worse, until finally I was told by my sister, a nurse, that what was going on with me was pretty serious and that I’d better get some help fast. I’d better get to a hospital.
So early that Saturday morning, I was checking into the Surrey Memorial Hospital. The pain was something indescribable. They gave me a shot of demerol and put me into a four bed ward. The rest of the day was a bit of a blur, just nursing the pain.
I remember though, even through the pain, that as they brought me into the room, I was attracted to two of the beds, which were empty, as if they were targets. At the time though, I couldn’t have cared less.
The next morning I passed the stone, so I began feeling much better. I told the nurse about it, and at the same time I enquired if my doctor had been notified when I was admitted. I was assured that indeed he had been. I wasn’t feeling right about it though because since I’d been moved from emergency, no doctors had come to see me, much less my own family doctor.
Later that morning, the bed across from me became occupied by a young man whose ailment they couldn’t determine. I overheard the doctors talking about this mysterious case across from me, and that they didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was in one of the beds I had been shown the day before.
Monday morning came and I was feeling even better than Sunday. In fact, I’d forgotten all about the feelings I’d had to make contacts. The only thing I was concerned about was getting out of there and going home. I was really feeling cooped up. So I phoned Sharon and complained to her about it. That I was feeling pretty good, that no doctors had come to see me, and that I just felt stuck in there. She came back, “Look, when the reason for your being in the hospital is over, you’ll be out. Just go back to your room,” she said, “and see what happens.”
I went back to my room and shortly after that a woman about 25 came in. She was visiting the patient beside me. We got to talking, just about things in general. But I knew she’d been targeted, so I got her name and where she worked for a future contact.
Then I linked up with the guy with the mystery ailment. Then I was shown some of the staff there. Some doctors, nurses, and so on. All targeted for later.
The next morning, this is Tuesday now, I just happened to walk out of my room into the hall, and almost literally into my doctor. He was surprised to see me and asked what I was doing in there anyway?
“I checked in on the weekend,” I told him. “Didn’t you know?”.
In short, nobody had notified him. Then he asked how I was feeling. He checked my records at the nurses station and turfed me out saying, “You’re on your way, no reason for you to be in here.”
Now, that was just fine with me, but the usual procedure is to notify a patient’s doctor on admission. And they’re supposed to let him know when the stone is passed. Not only that, but several times I’d been assured that my doctor knew I was in. You figure it out. I was kept there long enough to make the contacts and the targets, and that done, I was released.
Almost exactly a year later, in November of 1977, I again found myself in pain from a stone, and again, it was a weekend. So Saturday morning I was back in the same hospital again. I was in for two days, passed the stone after the first day and spent the rest of the time making connections. That time around I linked with seven people.
Now here’s the rub. This time when I passed the stone, I noticed it was totally different from the others. Usually they’re rough shaped with sharp edges. But this time the thing was shaped just like a kidney. I couldn’t help thinking about the guides and their peculiar way of getting messages through. I have to admit, the joke wasn’t lost, even if I wasn’t mightily impressed with their sense of humor.
Three weeks later, again on Saturday morning, I was back again. This time though the trip was to be quite different. I would spend a week in there.
Again, early in my stay, I passed the stone. But it was so small that the doctors just couldn’t believe that it was the whole thing. They figured that only part of a larger stone had come away. They decided that an exploratory procedure was necessary to make sure they got the whole thing.
“There’s something still in the tube,” the urologist told me, “we will have to go in and clean it out. I think we’ll likely go in on Wednesday.”
Now that was the last straw. Bad enough I have to come to hospital. But now they want to operate and I’d never had that done before, not even for tonsils. I didn’t want the operation; most of all I didn’t want to be put out with an anesthetic.
The urologist explained that they insert a catheter type device that has a grabber on the end. They put it right into the tubes and if there’s anything there they just grab hold and pull it out. Well, I wasn’t very happy about it, but it seemed as if I had no other choice, so it was all arranged.
Meanwhile, in my guise of secret agent, I spent my time well, making more contacts. One of the people I hooked up with was the head chef for one of the major airlines.
One morning I was in the patient’s lounge and I got to talking with a fellow. I thought, here’s another contact, so I opened up to him. When I’d finished, I got my check mark from the story he told me in return.
This man had been an officer on the British battleship HMS Hood. That’s the one sunk by the Bismarck when a shell went down the stack and went off in the magazine. Fifteen hundred men died in one instant.
He told me that just hours before they were to sail, he was ordered to Plymouth. The captain was fond of him and offered to have the orders changed, but he turned down the offer. He felt somehow that he was supposed to leave the ship. Check!
Making contacts, it seemed, was really the lesser reason for my being in this time. On the evening before the operation I had a couple of visitors. The first was the ‘post op’ nurse. She came in and told me all about the operation, what the procedure was and all that I could expect. They sort of clue you in so you don’t worry so much.
“After the operation,” she said, “you’ll find yourself in the recovery room. That’s where you’ll come to. Don’t worry if the surroundings seem strange. Just take a few deep breaths and that should help clear away any after effects of the anesthetic.”
Her visit didn’t do very much for me. I was feeling pretty depressed about the whole thing. In fact, I sort of felt that the whole thing would be a waste; that they wouldn’t find anything. But I was stuck, trapped sort of, and feeling very unhappy about it.
Midnight came and I was still stewing about it when my second visitor arrived. I had just closed my eyes, and there in front of me was one of my guides. I could see him with my eyes closed. As soon as I saw him through, he zoomed up and touched me on the forehead. It was all too fast for me to react, but the next thing I knew, he took me somewhere else, like into another dimension. I don’t remember much, but it was very, very pleasant.
When I came around the next morning, it was as if I’d been tranquillized. In fact, I was in such a state that I didn’t even need the pre-op tranquillizer. I was already out of it, just naturally tranquillized, or should I say, supernaturally tranquillized.
So, off I went to the operating room, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a strange room. I wasn’t alone. There were many others there as well, all unconscious. When the fog cleared away a little more, I realized that I was in the recovery room.
All that occurred within seconds, because in reality I came around pretty quick. In fact, I sat up on the gurney, bolt upright. The nurses had to talk me out of getting out of bed.
When I was back in my room, I was talking to the nurse and asked her what they had found during the operation. She said “nothing”. They’d come up with nothing.
You know, my first reaction was one of anger. After all, I knew they wouldn’t find anything. I knew it. I guess the part of me that took the biggest bruising was my ego. I sort of considered myself rather invincible. I’d never before been put under, and I wasn’t very happy about it now.
On the spiritual side though, things were really cooking. During the week I was in hospital, I managed about thirty contacts, doctors, nurses, patients, specialists, you name it.
One night, after I had come home, while I was still recuperating, I had a dream. In it I was told very clearly why I’d gone the route in the hospital.
“Look”, the guide said, “you are like the pre-op nurse. You go around preparing people for the operation. But until now, you had never experienced an operation where you were put to sleep in one place, to wake up somewhere else in strange surroundings. That’s what your contacts will have happen to them. Now you know how they will feel and respond.”
They were telling me that I wouldn’t be taken into the pocket areas that way, the way most would. So I had to have the experience ahead of time in order to appreciate what would be going on. It’s quite a striking analogy.
Chapter Four – Last Week I Would Have Said You Were Crazy
One afternoon, our family stopped in at a restaurant and everyone else waiting for a table was seated by a waitress. When it came to our turn, the manager came over and directed us to a table. There didn’t seem anything unusual in that in itself, but when he got us seated, he stood there for a few moments and told us a little about his life. Now it was getting a little peculiar.
Then he took one of our menus and turned it over and pointed at a picture on the back. It was a picture of the restaurant when it was full of people.There was the partial profile of a man in the one side of it, not enough to identify anyone from, but he pointed to it and said, “That’s me. I’m in the picture.”
Just as he said that, I got a flash, sort of amplifying the phrase, “I’m in the picture” and it came to me. “Yup! He’s in the picture.”
After that he left us and went back into his office. He didn’t bother with any other patrons. Sometimes I would be shown people without making the contact right away. I’d have to wait, to bide my time until I got the word that the contact was ready for the message. When everything was right the command would come, “Now”.
Another delayed contact involved one of my neighbors in New Westminster. I really didn’t know them except to wave hello as they passed down the street. Then one day I got the feeling that I’d have to talk with them. The feeling was clear, but so was the feeling that I was to wait for further instructions, as if it wasn’t ready to happen yet.
Several times after, I’d think of them and wonder when, but there would be no response. No feeling at all. Then one day while I was driving home, I found myself behind this neighbor’s truck, and the feeling came, “Now. Now is the time to talk with them.”
When I got home I told Sharon I’d be gone for a couple of hours and went over and knocked on their door. He recognized who I was, but stood rather defensively in the doorway as I told him that there was something he had to know. I guess he thought I was a Jehovah’s Witness or something.
Anyway, I started to tell him the story of how something would happen to society and how he’d be protected and so on. Then he stopped me and invited me into the living room, called in his wife and had me tell both of them.
I was telling them that they were being protected from harm, being looked after. When I had finished he said to me, “You know, if you had come last week, I would have said you were crazy.” He said, “If you’d come three days ago, I would have said you were crazy. But today, right now, I can’t say that because something happened within the last two days that I can’t shrug off or explain. I’m having trouble believing it, but I can’t shrug it off.”
He then told me of two events, unrelated, that had set him up for me. The first happened when he was coming home from work, and he stopped at the corner grocery store. He was talking to the Chinese owner and telling him that he had quite a stomach ache. The grocer said that he could fix it for him. He made some motion with his hands, then reached over the counter and touched him on the stomach. Instantly the pain vanished. Just like magic, it was gone. That happened the day before.
“Last night”, he went on, “in the middle of the night something very unusual happened. The oven timer went off, all by itself in the middle of the night. It started going, ding, ding, ding. That had never happened before. It just kept ringing and ringing.” He checked with his wife and she hadn’t been using it. So he got out of bed and went into the kitchen and shut it off. While he was doing that he noticed a light coming from the living room.
“I went in and found a candle burning on the window sill. My wife had forgotten to put it out when she went to bed. I also noticed that the window was open just enough to blow the curtain over the candle with every breeze and when I came along the curtain was ready to go up in flames.”
He told me that because it was an older house, he was sure that it would have gone up in a flash. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, we’d have been cremated, you know. Then I snuffed out the candle and as I did, I just said, ‘thanks’. I don’t know who I was saying it to, but it sure seemed appropriate.” Then he laughed, “Now you show up here and say somebody’s looking after us. How can I say you are crazy?”
The timing had to be just right though. I was shown this fellow about a month before, and it didn’t happen until he was ready to accept the message.
One day, our son Sean came home from school with an earache. He’d been in a fight or something and was hit on the ear. The pain got worse and the eardrum began to swell until around supper time, when we called the doctor. The doctor on call (not our own) said he’d see Sean that evening. So we took him in.
He was really in pain now. The ear drum was swelling and the doctor thought it was on the verge of bursting. He prescribed a pain killer and penicillin for the infection.
On the way home though, the most peculiar thing happened. Even before we got the medicine, Sean fell asleep. We picked up the medicine, but since he was sleeping we didn’t want to wake him up for that. We just put him to bed.
The doctor had warned us that he would probably be up most of the night because of the pain. But he slept right through the night. Next morning he awoke feeling fine; no problem with the ear at all. Sharon took him to the doctor’s office and the man told her that, had he not seen the report from the previous evening, he’d have a hard time believing there’d been a problem.
The evening before, when we’d taken Sean to the office, just before we went in, I had a feeling that I was to speak to the doctor. As with the others the feeling came, “Him, you talk to him”. I hadn’t done anything that evening, of course, because of Sean. But I did pay him a visit a couple of days later, and he was most receptive. Sean was the link.
Chapter Five – On The Road Again
After I’d served my apprenticeship in Vancouver, the guides started moving me around the country. They weren’t ones for giving me much notice either. Generally I’d get just a couple of hours warning.
One Thursday morning, for example, I was eating breakfast when the thought came, “You’re going to the prairies.” I didn’t really know whether to believe it or not, but my confirmation came in the form of a horoscope, of all things. I seldom look at the horoscopes in the paper, but just for the heck of it, right after the thought about the prairies, I turned to the thing and there under Libra, it said, “Travel plans are known by those in high places. It’s time you should know.”
I just said “Wow!”. I mean, there was somebody talking to me. When I got home that evening, I told Sharon, “I get the feeling that I’m supposed to go to Saskatoon.” She agreed with me, that my feeling was right, then surprised me by saying she felt I should go to Regina as well. So the next morning she drove me to the airport just as if I was going on a business trip.
I walked into the ticket counter, and you know, I really shouldn’t have been able to get on, on such short notice, but there I was, ticket in hand getting on the plane. Now, the people I was sitting beside told me that this was ‘the’ flight to take, to get to Saskatoon. It had a meal and so on. Most people preferred this flight over the others.
“You’re lucky to get on this flight,” they said. And I agreed. I guess I got really lucky all right.
On the flight, I talked with a teacher from Saskatoon, and left her with the message. When I arrived I had a feeling that I should go get a car from Budget. So I walked up to the desk, thinking maybe I’d get one of those neat Monte Carlos. But a countering thought came in and told me to ask for a ‘Cutlass’ instead. So I did, and was told they didn’t have one. I asked her to check again, and sure enough they did have one. But she said it was going back to Regina, and besides, it was reserved. Then she asked, “Is your name Pauls?”
Well, there it was. And you know, I hadn’t reserved it.
When I left the airport with the car, I just drove around for a while. Then I asked out loud, “Why do I have this car?” And right away the answer came. “There are two hitch-hikers just outside of town. Pick them up.”
Well, I countered that thought and asked again why I had the car. I could have taken the train, or the bus, or even flown to Regina, so why the car? And again I clearly got, “two hitch-hikers, just outside of town. You are to pick them up.”
So I checked into a motel for the night and the next morning I left for Regina. Just as I took the turn-off to Regina, there on the side of the road were my two hitch-hikers, pack sacks and all, and right on schedule.
They told me they were hitching across the country from Vancouver. One of them was from Nakusp, in the interior of British Columbia, and the other said he was from Montreal. They said that they hadn’t planned to come to Saskatoon, but a ride the day before brought them northeast to Saskatoon, rather than straight east to Regina.
“Well, I was supposed to pick you guys up,” I said. And we talked all the way to Regina and I told them the story. When I came to the Trans Canada highway in Regina we shook hands and parted company. End of mission, I was told, turn in the car and fly home.
These trips were like training flights. Sometimes there were contacts to be made; sometimes it would be a dry run in order to rehearse a new move, so to speak. Like I was being trained to accept direction as I went along. To go on faith without the whole itinerary laid out.
One of these dry run trips took me to Prince George. In fact, I got only a couple of hours notice that I would be going, and I was blissfully unaware that I was heading into one of the busiest periods that Prince George had seen. I arrived right in the middle of the B.C. Winter Games when there are thousands of athletes there from all over the province.
But that wasn’t all. The federal Liberals were having a meeting of some sort there too and the Prime Minister and many of his cabinet colleagues were there. Now, add to that the corps from the media and you’ve got a pretty busy time.
When I got off the plane, I got a feeling to follow one group of people as they got on the airport bus. They got off at The Inn of the North, the major hotel there. So I joined the line up waiting to check in. As the line moved, I could hear people without reservations being turned away, told that the hotel was booked. I persisted anyway. After all, it wouldn’t cost anything to ask for a room.
When it came to my turn I asked for a room and the reply came, ‘Do you have a reservation, sir?” I said that I didn’t, but instead of turning me away, she just looked at me for a moment, then walked back toward the office. After a few moments, she returned with a key and asked me to fill in the register. I had a room.
After I settled in, I came back to the lobby and it was even wilder than when I’d left it. And they were still turning away people, some of whom had reservations. It was rather an incredible scene, and into it all marched the Prime Minister’s entourage complete with cabinet ministers, press corps and all their paraphernalia.
Despite all this high powered talent around me, I had no feeling to contact anyone. I was told that I was simply on a trip to learn not to doubt direction no matter how impossible the odds seemed. Anybody could have simply walked away from the line-up after overhearing what I had about the lack of rooms. But I was shown that even the most apparently solid barriers can evaporate if something has to be accomplished. I was told that what I had to add to the mix was faith that everything would work out.
Another question I had about it all concerned the reason for my being in the midst of the governing powers of the land, and nary a contact. The answer back was that, “What you were shown was the government of the past, the government that will have once been.” In terms of what I was dealing with, it was the system of the old age. That in my terms it was no longer a power.
These guides of mine would go to some pretty startling lengths sometimes to keep me on track, despite what I wanted to do. It happened during one of those weekend, whirlwind trips around British Columbia.
I had taken the train, day coach, from Prince George to Terrace. Only the day coach ride was overnight so I didn’t get much sleep on the trip. I arrived in Terrace early on a Sunday morning and decided I’d check into a hotel to catch a couple of hours sleep. Then I planned to take the evening flight back to Vancouver. I’d been traveling for a couple of days up to this point and I just wanted to get home.
Following that plan though, I thought I could do whatever it was I had to do in Terrace, then make it home that evening. I should have caught the clue when I tried to call the airline and book my flight, but I didn’t. I called three times, and three times they answered. But each time they couldn’t hear me. I just figured it was the phone system, because it worked on the next call I made to Vancouver, to Sharon, to tell her that I’d be home on the evening flight, about six.
Next I called my brother Pete, who lives in Terrace, and arranged to visit with him for the afternoon and bring him up to date on what I’d been doing lately. Well, he picked me up after I’d had a few hours sleep, and we spent the afternoon talking about all of this stuff. Around four o’clock, I asked him to drive me to the airport. I told him about the problem with the phone and that I would just buy the ticket out there.
The plane was due to arrive at five o’clock. We got out there about ten after four, and after I got my ticket we spent the rest of the time talking. Just about the time the plane should have arrived, it was announced over the loudspeaker that because of a problem, the plane was unable to land at Terrace and had been directed over to Prince Rupert. The plan was, they announced, to bus everyone to Prince Rupert where they could board the plane to Vancouver. That would add about three hours to the trip.
Just as the buses pulled up to the terminal I said to Pete, “I really feel bad about this. I feel like Jonah on that boat causing all that trouble for the other people because he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. I think I’ll cancel my flight. Change it over to tomorrow instead. I feel to blame for all of this.” So I canceled my flight and Pete drove me back to his house for dinner. It was now about a quarter after five.
At about five-thirty I called Sharon to tell her I wasn’t coming. She told me that moments before my call she’d checked with the airline which told her that the flight would be delayed half an hour to forty-five minutes, that’s all.
That’s strange. So I told my brother, who then called the airport to find out what was going on. When he hung up he said, “Guess what, the plane is on the ground here, right now, loading up for Vancouver.” They had told him that one of the navigation beacons they needed for an instrument approach had suddenly quit working at ten after four. Not only that, but just as abruptly, it had come back on again at five fifteen.
It wasn’t as if it had been fixed, because it was in a remote location up on a mountain somewhere. Since the beacon was working again they decided to bring the plane back rather than bus all the way to Prince Rupert.
Well, you should have seen Pete’s wife. She was astounded. She said, “Now I’ll believe anything.” After all, this sort of thing was what we’d been talking about all afternoon, and now it had come home.
I had my brother drive me back to the hotel and I checked in again. I just had the feeling that there were people to see, and staying at his house wouldn’t facilitate that. And that’s what happened. I made three connections that evening. Then the next day, I connected again on the flight home.
Here’s how complex it gets. The flight the night before was a direct flight, Vancouver to Terrace and back to Vancouver. The flight I was now on made the more usual triangle route, Vancouver to Terrace to Prince Rupert, and then back to Vancouver. It was on the Prince Rupert leg that I connected with a businessman from that city. Talk about circles within circles within circles, eh?
Chapter Six – The Sportsman Cafe
The frequency of the trips away from Vancouver built up through 1977, as did the number of contacts, both in and outside the city. It became very clear as to why I had the occupation I did. As a window cleaner, I could operate ‘undercover’ very easily. I wasn’t tied to regular hours. I could come and go wherever and whenever I wished.
It literally opened doors for me, since as a window cleaner I had a legitimate reason to be almost anywhere; from the homes of judges, to corporation executives’ offices. I could infiltrate, so to speak, every level of society.
One place I could usually be found regularly during this time was in the Sportman’s Cafe on Dunsmuir in Vancouver. It’s not the same place anymore; new owners, new decor, it’s totally different. But I used to go there every morning to have breakfast and generally I’d be there until about ten. Now, that might sound like a long breakfast, but with all the people I saw in that place it’s a wonder I got my breakfast at all!
I could write a book just on the contacts I made sitting in that booth near the back. Through most of 1977 the cafe became a clearing house, of sorts.
One morning I was sitting there eating breakfast and reading the paper when all of a sudden I was compelled to look up and check out the door. Right at that moment a woman about twenty-eight years old came in. As I watched her, the command came, “Her”. Well, I shrugged it off. You know, you run the gambit of your human emotions and sometimes you wonder if it’s just your imagination.
Anyway, I tried to go back to the paper, but it just wasn’t working. “Her, you go talk to her.” I was still hearing that command. So I said to myself, okay, I’ve got nothing to lose.
I walked up to her booth and said, “Excuse me, I’ve got a feeling about you right now. I can tell you something about your future. I’m not really psychic. I just get this with some people.” So she invited me to sit down and tell her.
“You’re going to find yourself in a certain valley. You’ll be there, and some of your friends will be there with you. You’ll be safe from harm there.” When I finished the story she had something startling for me.
“Look”, she said, “this is really strange. You couldn’t really do this to anyone else in this restaurant. Last night I had a dream; in fact, just a few hours ago. In it, I was sitting in my living room in my house just talking with some friends. All of a sudden a ball of light just comes through the wall into the room and hovers right in front of us.”
As they were looking at it she said, they all conked out and when they came to, they were in a valley, green grass, mountains, it’s all there. Her friends are there. Then she said that a woman came up to her and told her that everything was okay, that her and her husband were looking after things in the valley, that they’d be alright.
She said that she had the distinct impression that the ball of light had something to do with their getting to the mountains. It was like two parts coming together. She had just had the dream. Now, here I was with the rest of it.
One morning, toward the end of 1977, I had quite a conversation with the manager of a shoe store in the area. He’d been coming to the cafe for years to have coffee. I knew him to see him, but I’d never spoken with him before.
I was aware that somewhere down the road I would be speaking with him. But the fellow had an alcohol problem and hadn’t been in the right frame of mind. Anyway, this morning he walked into the place and without hesitation walked to my booth, sat down, shaking his head and saying, “I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it.” Then he pointed at me and said, “Last night, in the middle of the night, I had this dream, powerful dream. So powerful that I’m awake and I’m still seeing it.”
“I saw all these people in the mountains, and there was a lot of confusion and chaos. And there were all these people and they didn’t know what was happening. Like a big revolution had occurred or something, in the cities, and all these people were in the hills.”
He said, “I’m there”, and then he pointed to me, “and you’re there and you knew what was happening. And I don’t believe it. I mean, you look just like a window cleaner.” I was sitting there in my coveralls. He continued, “Do you know what happened? I helped to calm down all of those people and they settled down and you were helping me.”
“Look”, I said, “It’s true. It will happen and you will help to bring about a sense of order out of all this confusion when everything seems to be disintegrating.” I told him. “I was told about you and your involvement in these matters. During a trip into the mountains I was told about you and your role.”
Now, at the time I had been told about him and his role he was nowhere near being able to accept the message or deal with any of this. For one thing, he had a drinking problem. Anyway, I told him that now that he was coming to me he was finally ready for the rest of the material to correlate with his dream. So I told him.
At that time he was going through a pretty rough period in his life and was heavy into alcohol. But shortly after this event had transpired, he had sort of the crowning touch to get him straightened around. He almost died. You know, one of those near death experiences, only in this case he had a repeat performance of the dream, but showing him in an even more vital role than he was first shown. Since that occurred he’s gone on the wagon, cleaned up his act and got it all together.
Now, back to the restaurant. A few days later I was in there having my breakfast when this old man came in. He’d caught my attention a couple of weeks earlier and I’d found out that he was eighty-two years old. I was wondering if he was one I had to contact. Well, as if to answer the question I was just formulating in my mind, I got, “No, he will be one who leaves. He’s one of the people who have laid the ground work, the foundation on which you are building. He’s done his work.
When the event occurs, he won’t be lifted into the pockets. He’ll be taken to other planes, but he won’t have to go through the death experience.” This is what I was told about this old man. He’ll go in a manner similar to the way Elijah, in the Old Testament, did. He won’t die, he’ll just leave.
The old man came into the restaurant one day, still early in November of 1977. As he came over to me, he said, “I’ve got to tell you about this thing I have just seen. It was like a dream vision. It happened last night..” He continued, “I was shown as being on my knees and there was an angel beside me kneeling and in front of us was a powerful light. A really strong light. And there was a lovely feeling coming off of the light.”
Then he said he thought the light was Jesus and just kept marveling at how wonderful it was. Then he said, “the angel turned to me and said, ‘you shall not be caught up from the grave’.”
This is a literal thing that a great many people believe, those sort of biblical fundamentalists. They believe that those who will die before the rapture are like sleeping souls who are then called from the grave. Then there are these others who will be caught up from their body. Caught up alive, as it were, when the rapture happens, without going through death.
This old man thought that because of his age he would die like everyone else. But he said to me, “I always thought that this would happen after I’d died, that I’d be coming up out of the grave. But now I know differently. It’s soon, it’s going to happen soon. He said, “I know because I haven’t that far to go. And this angel is telling me that I’ll be caught up from the body, not from the grave.” He said, “and it will happen before I die.”
As if to correlate the old man’s experience, that very same week I received a letter from a man in the States with whom I’d been corresponding. I’ll simply refer to him as an eminent leader of a Foundation for the study of ESP.
I had written to him a couple of months earlier, telling him of my experiences, and I asked him if he thought my experiences were coming from an objective source, or were they something I was conjuring up inside.
His reply came back that same week, the first week of November, and it said that I was right; that there was just too much negativity in the world to prevent what was going to happen. He said he was sure that what I was getting was from an objective source. He related that he’d had visions that were similar to mine. He’d been shown the ‘light that would shine around the world’ when the event occurs.
This Foundation leader is an old man as well, and in the letter he related a vision he’s had when he was a boy back in 1912. His childhood was spent in peaceful surroundings in both his outside environment and in his home. There didn’t seem to be any outside stimulus for the vision that he experienced.
In the dream he saw himself as an older white-haired gentleman and the scene before him was one of horror. As far as he could see, the whole scene around him was of a landscape black and burned with just a few survivors picking around in the rubble. And all the time he felt like a young boy in an old man’s body.
He was really shaken by the dream, he cried for days after. He had the dream twice more. Once after World War One and again after World War Two, as if to tell him that the time of the vision was not yet. That it hadn’t occurred yet. This man has spent his life as an advocate of positive thinking, but there he was telling me that it had gone too far. That the negativity was too great.
He is now eighty-three years old. He’s not too active anymore, but now here he is, a white-haired old gentleman.
Chapter Seven – Change of Life
January 1st, 1978, was like stepping off into space. I sold my business for six thousand dollars, then waited for the guidance to tell me what I was supposed to do.
It wasn’t long in coming. Every night until the eighth, I had dreams that showed me people, faces like Japanese, Spanish, Black, and so on, many nationalities. I was shown destinations such as, Chicago, Winnipeg, and so on. Then, during the day, I spent my time getting ready to travel, cleaning up loose ends, buying suitcases, and the like.
January 8, 1978, the command came through. I was told, “Tomorrow morning, you go to the airport and get the flight that routes through Calgary and then to Chicago.” So the next morning Sharon drove me to the airport and dropped me off. I told her I didn’t know what was going to happen but that I’d phone her whenever I landed.
The clerk at the Air Canada counter told me that the flight I wanted had been booked since the previous Wednesday, with a waitlist. She said, “You’re crazy. This is ‘the’ connecting flight for people coming home from Hawaii, or wherever, and going on back east after the Christmas holiday.
Not only that, but it was the favorite for businessmen as well, because it was the morning plane to Calgary. Anyway, I said I’d go standby, put my luggage on and waited. Sure enough, after all the regular passengers had boarded, they call my name and on the plane I go. It seemed impossible, particularly to some I talked to who’d been waitlisted for a week. But it was supposed to be…. and it was.
I made the trip to Chicago as the dreams had shown and I made my connections with the very people I’d seen in those dreams.
From Chicago, I went to Ottawa where I visited my brother Jake and his wife Ellen, and told them the story. Then I met Ray Hudson and his wife Edna, and told them as well. Incidently, Edna and Ellen are sisters.
The next stop after Ottawa was to be Toronto and it was on the train trip there that I had one of the most remarkable connections occur. Before I left Ottawa, my brother and I tried to get me a roomettte because it’s an overnight trip. Nothing doing. They told us that there were none available. So I ended up with a lower berth instead.
The next morning they got me up fairly early and the porter told me that he wanted to make the berth up into the normal seat for day use. In order to do this, he took me along the car and put me into an empty roomette. He said he’d come and get me when he was finished.
Now, I’m not your most alert morning person, but it didn’t take me too long to realize where I was. In a roomette… an empty roomette. And last night in Ottawa they’d told us that there were no roomettes available. Then I sort of had a hunch to check out the rest of the roomettes, and sure enough, most of them were empty as well.
How come? I’m figuring now that there must be a good reason for all this. But it wasn’t apparent yet.
I was puzzled about it all when the porter came back and took me to my seat. Then within a few minutes he brought another fellow over to the empty seat across from me. He told him to wait there while his berth was being made up.
Then I started to add it all up. They tell me no roomettes on a train that’s virtually empty. They put me in an empty one to make up my berth, but not so with the fellow across from me.
BANG! CONTACT! I realized, this fellow had been set up for me to make this connection. After all, if I’d had a roomette, it’s not likely the porter would have knocked on the door of the roomette and asked to put someone else in with me while his berth was being made up. So, here it is. The connection.
I started to talk with the guy. I was just starting to open up to him when he interrupted me. “I know,” he said. “I know what you’re doing. Now, Here’s what you’ll be doing in Toronto. You go to the Sheraton Center when you get to Toronto. Then move over to the Windsor Arms, and you’ll meet your people.”
Can you imagine my surprise when it dawned on me that he was contacting me. I wasn’t contacting him. It was the other way around. Not only that, but in the process he told me that I would be going to London, England.
Now, up to this time, I wasn’t even aware that I’d go overseas with this thing, but what he said was to the contrary. He said, “When you’re in London, England, you will be contacting a certain writer named David….” I’ll leave his last name off. But he named the writer and said I’d be seeing him. Then we shook hands and the contact left. He seemed to disappear from the train.
Now, I had an extra element to deal with. Obviously I was going to go overseas, but that was a few months away yet.
In all of my travelling, as unbelievable as it may seem, every detail was taken care of. Every one.
A month after I’d hit the road, February 1978, I got my orders to fly to Edmonton, on a day’s notice. This time, though, the travel instructions included a dress code. Usually I travelled pretty casually, in denim, with a sheepskin jacket, very casually. But this time I was told, “You put on a suit; get ‘X’ Air Canada flight to Edmonton. But PUT ON A SUIT.” Boy, was that emphasised.
I don’t like wearing a suit and tie at the best of times, but I’m told to put on a suit, so okay, I’ll put on a suit. That’s all I was told, except that I would get the rest of the flight plan when I got to Edmonton.
Eleven o’clock at night, I was standing in front of the hotel board in Edmonton International Airport wondering where to spend the night. Just as I was making up my mind on one certain place, I heard a voice beside me.
“Are you thinking about trying (such in such) hotel?”
Just like he was reading my mind, because the one he named was the one I was thinking about. I looked at him, noticed he was wearing a beard, but otherwise dressed in a suit. When he asked me about the hotel, he just kept talking to answer his own question.
“Don’t bother, they’re full.”
So I tried another. I picked up the receiver and pushed a button, but it wouldn’t ring. Meanwhile he picked up another receiver beside mine, pushed a button, then handed it to me.
“Here,” he said, “you’re staying at the Edmonton Plaza.”
They answered, and in a moment I was checked in. Then I turned to say something else to the fellow and he was gone. He didn’t call a hotel for himself, just for me, after he’s read my mind, and then poof, he was gone!
Now it’s becoming clear as to why I was ordered to dress in a suit. The Plaza is a pretty posh place, a little conservative, and they wouldn’t have been too fussy about me wandering in dressed as usual in jeans.
I spent the night there without further incident. But when I woke up in the morning I was feeling a little frustrated. I hadn’t received anything as to what I should be doing, who I should see and so on.
As the morning wore on I became even more agitated, so I decided to go for a walk, clear my mind out a bit. I wandered over to the library, just trying to relax. Still nothing was coming.
I walked through the main floor and then the second floor, and then…… wait a minute. Over in the corner was a fellow who looked a bit like a hobo.
“Hey, that looks like one of those guys, one of those guides.” I thought. And right at that second, he turned and looked right at me, and he winked!
“No… it can’t be! It’s too cliched, it’s too obvious!” Here I am again ignoring a sign. I walked to the other side of the library where they had some lounge chairs, and I sat down there to think.
Just like a flash, this guy is beside me. There’s just no way that I could see that he could come from the other side of the library that fast. But there he was just about ten feet from me, and he started thumbing through a magazine on a table.
“Is this Valentine’s Day?” he asked the question without looking up, or without interrupting his thumbing through the book. All very James Bondish!
“Yes,” I said, “it’s February 14th.”
“I have a valentine for a person in Calgary,” he said, “there’s a person in Calgary you’re supposed to see.”
He still hasn’t looked up at me. Then he said, “Here, this is for you.” And he gave me a piece of paper. It was a little poem titled, “Change of Life”.
“There’s so much good in the worst of us,
So much bad in the best of us,
Sometimes it’s hard to say which one of us,
Ought to reform the rest of us.”
When I looked up from reading it, he was gone. But my reaction was, “Wow!” The fog just started to lift right there.
It made me laugh actually because it solved the dilemma I had had since arriving. What I was being told in the note was that you can’t look at people and judge who’s in or who’s out of this whole project. Just like he was saying to me, “It’s not up to you to say, you’re in, or you’re out, or you’re part of the future but you aren’t.”
Then I got a message that just said, “Relax, flow, we’ll pick you up. Just pretend you’re a tourist. Go back to the hotel, order up a hamburger or something. Act like a tourist!”
So I did just that, and it all started happening. ‘Those people right there… that lady over there… this person.. now that person.” And it was all flowing.
When I got to Calgary, I was guided to a young woman working as a waitress in the Calgary International Hotel. I wasn’t staying there, but I got the feeling, “Go there”, deliver the Valentine, so to speak.
After I told her the story, she comes back with the confirmation. She told me about a recurring dream that she is leading many people up into the mountains to safety. Far below, the cities are burning, and above, the sky is filled with lights that only she can see. She said that she was in communication with them and that they were helping her to help the people.
And here I was telling her that she would lead people in the future. That she would be a source for their safety and peace of mind.
You know, I’ve reflected on that note that I was given in Edmonton, quite a bit. And it sure fits the bill, “Change of Life”. That’s exactly what it’s all about…… a big change!
Chapter Eight – If It’s Tuesday This Must Be Holland
On March 15th, 1978, we took off for Europe. We’d sold our house, realizing about ten thousand dollars after all the bills were paid. The money I’d received from the sale of my business had been eaten up by the travel to that point.
We travelled very fast, and sometimes very expensively. It wasn’t for the luxury though, I can assure you. It was so that we could be in the right places at the right time to make the contacts. We weren’t tourists by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, when we left we thought the trip would be a month, at least. In three weeks it was all over. And so was the money.
What we were being shown was that the money wasn’t important, the mission was. And if it took it all, then so be it. After all, it was only money. But, for the trip, that money put us into areas to make the connections, and boy did we make connections.
London turned out to be a major stop along the way. We were guided to about ten individuals during the four days we were there.
One afternoon we were walking down a street near Victoria Station. It was just a little street off to the side, you know, off the beaten path. As we were walking along a young woman came up to us and just mentioned something about Belgrade Square. I’m not sure what else she said, but she had clearly mentioned Belgrade Square. Then she walked on up ahead of us. We followed along behind because we were going the same direction.
Well, she reached the corner before us, of course, and when she got there she turned onto another street. When we reached the same corner a moment later, she was gone. It wasn’t as if she’d disappeared into a crowd, because there was no crowd. The street was empty, and she was nowhere to be seen.
Later on that evening, I felt like going for a walk by myself. I walked for hours and hours through London by myself, sort of walking in a big circle. Finally I found myself in a large square. A big open area with a road around it, with a small grassy park-like area in the middle. All around the area were buildings that looked like embassies. In fact, that’s what they were.
As I stood there taking it all in, a man got out of a red car and asked if he could be of any help to me. So I asked him where I was.
He replied, “You’re in Belgrade Square.”
There it was. The disappearing lady from earlier in the afternoon had said it, now here I was.
Then the guy asks, “Are you doing anything in particular?”
I told him no and he suggested I go with him. He says, “I’d like to show you the best little pub in England.”
It was right off of the square in an alley, and he took me in there. It’s funny that I should do that anyway because I don’t drink, but here’s me going into a pub.
He took me to a round table where there were three others sitting, and introduced me around. This fellow that brought me in said he was an actor on the London stage, and his two sons, one was a student, the other an actor as well.
And when I was introduced to the third man, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
Here at the table was the very man who had been named by my contact on the train from Ottawa to Toronto. His name was David …….. The name was right, and he was a writer in the theatre.
Imagine, a stranger on a train in Canada names a writer in London and says I must talk to him, and two months later in a city of ten million people, while I’m walking aimlessly around London, or so it seemed, I’m taken directly to the man.
This to the average person would seem incredible. Yet it happened not just the once, but many many times. And I mention this to underline that I’ve gone out on a limb time after time, and I mean way out, but never have I been stranded. It’s all been done on faith, and each time it’s held up. I’ve never been left dangling! The guidance has been solid all the way through.
We connected with people from all over Europe. All nationalities, all races. On April 14th, Sharon and the boys flew home, and left me to wrap things up with a final high speed sweep.
I went to Paris, spent eight hours there and never saw the Eiffel Tower, or the Arc de Triomphe. I just rendezvous’d with a fellow, an American black writer in fact, laid the trip on him, and stayed over at his apartment. The next day he drove me to the railway station and I was off again. Stuttgart, West Germany, was the next stop. Overnighted there, then the next morning I was off to Cologne, from there to Berlin, and back again all in a matter of hours. All the time connecting, connecting, connecting!
The trip to Berlin was nothing short of incredible. I never ceased to be astounded at the interplays. When I was in the Cologne station, I was standing in front of the train board waiting for inspiration to strike. It’s a big board too, not like here. There were maybe a hundred and fifty or more trains coming and going.
Anyway, as I was scanning it, the Paris-Warsaw Express just seemed to jump out at me, with Berlin as one of the destinations. That’s the one, I thought. So I decided that I’d be going to Berlin.
Now I had a couple of hours to kill, and for some strange reason I felt compelled to exchange my money. So I went to the exchange booth which they have in the stations over there, and exchanged my Swiss francs and German marks, converting them all into pounds sterling.
Now for one in the middle of Germany, and going further in, this may appear as a rather silly thing to do. I didn’t think anything of it though, and off I went on the train to Berlin.
When I boarded the train I asked the conductor whether or not my Eurail Pass would be good for the trip to Berlin. He said it was. Something kept bothering me about it though, so I asked him again a little later, and again he assured me that it was fine. As a result I never bought a ticket.
When the train crosses the border into East Germany, as it must to get to Berlin, the train crew changes. All of them, engineers, porters, conductors, the works, change off with an East German crew. Then with the change made, off they go again through a rather intimidating barbed wire corridor.
Shortly after we’d left the border at Helmstead, the new conductor came through the train collecting tickets. Wouldn’t you know, he told me that the Eurail pass is no good for the section into Berlin, that I must buy a ticket.
“You need a ticket, you must buy a ticket. I’ll sell you a ticket now.”
All I had to offer were my English pounds and American Express travellers cheques.
“No good,” he said, it must be marks, German marks.”
Naturally they’ll accept West German marks and convert them on the spot, but nothing else.
“You go to second class. ” he said, just like a reprimand, as if he’s really saying,’you bad boy, you go to second class for punishment’.
So I gathered up my stuff and went back to the second class section, wondering what was going to happen next, would I get kicked off the train, or what?
I found a compartment that had one other man in it, and soon we got to talking. Now, I don’t speak any of the European languages except a tiny bit of German. However, I found out that the fellow was a Greek businessman involved in pipelines, and he was on his way to Berlin.
All this accomplished despite the fact we have no common language. Somehow we were communicating! Somehow I managed to get the message across as well, and I had my connection.
As if on cue, as soon as I had accomplished that, the conductor showed up.
“Now I sell you ticket,” he says. “Go to dining car and change your money there, then come back and buy ticket.”
The strange thing about it all was that if I hadn’t changed my money in Cologne, I would have been able to buy a ticket from the conductor in the first place, and would have ridden into Berlin by myself. The first class car was virtually empty except for me.
I spent the night in Berlin, without making a contact, then on the train out the next day I connected with a priest and a school teacher.
Fifty hours it took me to travel from Berlin across Europe, back across the channel to London, then grab a Laker to New York, another flight to Chicago, from there to San Francisco, then on home to Vancouver.
Around the world in eighty days? Would you believe eighty hours?
Another aspect of it all was language. I’m no linguist as I’ve already mentioned, yet somehow the communication occurs. It’s as if the vibrations carry the message and are more important than the crude symbology of the words. Here’s one example of how it seemed to work, even though it didn’t occur in Europe.
In the fall of 1977, before I went to Europe, I was speaking with some people in a Katimavik group. I was talking with one young man from Montreal, just sitting quietly in a corner talking to him at a normal rate of speed, when another young man from the group came over and joined us. He said that he knew the fellow I was talking with, and cautioned me that if I wanted to be understood, I would have to speak much more slowly because he knew very little English.
As soon as this was said the French-Canadian fellow chimed in, “No, no, no, him I understand,” he said pointing at me, “You”, he told the other fellow, “I don’t understand!”
All the way along, the difference in languages hasn’t seemed to affect the communication. It takes place anyway and the message seems to be received in good order.
Chapter Nine – It’s No Shame To Be Poor, But It’s No Great Honor Either!
When we got back from Europe we didn’t have a cent. We spent what we had fulfilling the inspiration that we received. But there we were, staying at a motel in Richmond, near the Vancouver airport, wondering how we’d pay the bill at the end of the week.
We knew some people who had money, and who’d told us to come and see them if we needed a hand. I was thinking about taking them up on their offers, when I got a flash that said, “Be prepared for a surprise.” Nothing more, just that!
Soon after, I contacted a friend of ours who wanted to talk to me. She was on a disability pension at the time. While we were talking in a restaurant, right out of the blue she says, “I’ve got a feeling I’ve got to give this to you. I just got a little inheritance from Ireland. It’s not much, but it’s two hundred and fifty dollars. It’s for you. You need this for some reason.”
I was astonished. She didn’t know about our financial condition, and she was barely making it herself.
I was shocked. And I guess my ego was involved somewhat as well. How could I take her money? But the inspiration had warned me to be prepared for a shock. But I didn’t want to accept it; that’s a pretty humbling thing you know.
It’s sort of like being on the street with a cup in your hand, and the rich folks that have the means pass you by, while the ones who barely scratch out enough for themselves are the ones contributing. It was all she had, and she was offering it to me.
“No, don’t worry,” she said. “you need it.”
Well, she was right about that! I did take the money, and that’s what got us going again during our first week back from Europe.
A year and a half later, at that same restaurant – at the same table in fact – the manager of the shoe store I referred to earlier in the book and I were having coffee, when all of a sudden he pulls out a cheque book and writes me a cheque for two hundred and fifty dollars.
“Hey, I’ve got a feeling I’ve got to do this,” he said.
Usually money only comes like that when it’s needed and I couldn’t figure out why he was writing the cheque. Then it dawned on me. It was needed, but not by me. It was for the woman who’d helped us out of a jam earlier.
So I took the money to her, and she did need it at that time. She was crying, she was so surprised. Who says someone isn’t keeping track?
Part One – Epilogue
We are still on the case, Sharon, the boys and I. We live by spiritual guidance every day. Many times since we “stepped out into space” in January of 1978, we found ourselves in positions where we truly didn’t know how our needs would be met, from the next meal to the next roof over our heads.
Everytime we found ourselves in that position though, something miraculous would occur, and we’d be okay for another period. Our needs would be met. Neither have we had to live in conditions of poverty. It seems that we’ve had to walk the line but we’ve always been put on the right side of it. It’s as if the Spirit of God wanted to lead us into situations where we couldn’t humanly provide for ourselves, protect ourselves, fend for ourselves.
This has led to more than a few struggles within, as well as between, ourselves. We live in a very materialistic and security conscious society where it’s what you have, what you can get and how, or who, you are that counts.
Many of the values of what you become in service to others, and what you give rather than what you take from life, have been lost. Not for long I expect.
Our struggle is between the lower self and the higher Self, and it’s a struggle waged in the mind, not at the office, or at the bank, or with the bill collector. It’s as if the spirit within is speaking to us saying, “Just because it appears that you are helpless, doesn’t mean that the situation is hopeless.”
The lessons learned by us to reveal to others, such as you, are lessons of positivity, the value of the good thought, the good word, or the positive action, instead of the bad or the negative.
The lesson of acceptance, the loss of the almost innate human necessity to judge others in our terms, when we can only judge ourselves by our terms. And most of all, the lesson of Faith. Having the faith to do what’s required, and knowing that in doing the job, the material needs will be met. It’s perhaps the hardest lesson to learn, and even harder to live. But these last ten years have given rise to ever-increasing levels of Faith.