After Monmouth Festival, I picked up a raffle ticket from the precise middle of the square, after everyone had gone home. It was number 23. Far had previously mentioned this number to me, she called it a gate number. I liked that. I accepted that the monumentous occasion of my picking up the ticket was the universe's method of explicitly showing me that I had passed through a gate in my journey and was entering the next phase. Indeed, events did seem to confirm that. Surrounded by a festival was a pleasant way to end the last cycle although I have to admit that I was enwrapped by a very sinister dark tone at the time too much to have enjoyed it.
Only an hour previously had a man sat next to me and told me that he had been following me around for three months. That I was in Monmouth at all was a result of my trying to escape being gang-stalked. I had gone to stay on my blood Clan's land which by the ancient bi-laws I have every right to. I was there with my cousin and our friend; studying with Wild Witches, as did Gardener.
The British authority looked at our eco-commune attempting to innocently establish itself as independent from taxation by the British state and they destroyed it, damaged the environment and fences so that we would be blamed for criminal damage to property and nature. A photographer in a tree at night was capable of moving silently through a forest which reveals the level of training of the people who were trespassing and harassing us. It is approx ten years ago since that time. It took me several months to readjust to living in an urban environment having become relatively free on some energetic levels while feeling the crush and the lengths which the Controllers are prepared to go to when, my couson described us as 'the Chosen Ones' she used a word which means 'Blessed' in the ancient tongue and in doing so invoked that blessing upon us, a Celtic priestess, druidess of nature.
These were the rare moments of light amongst us, the purity of soul connections which no governmental stalkers can access. They simply trudge around in cop boots and talk into their cb radios as they walk past us "yes the whole group are here in town" so their comrades knew it was safe for them to rifle through our stuff back at base camp. Then the agents got into the unmarked white vans which had been following me from county to county as I tried to escape them. Being gang-stalked sucks, big-time. Obviously my city apartment had become a place I no longer felt safe to dwell in. More of my hand-written notebooks and audio recordings had disappeared during my absence. Our friend had taught me; "It is part of life, you have to get used to it." She is right, it is; and I have.
What mysteries and magicks I learned during the two months I lived in a bender in a forest, reconnecting with wild nature such as is available in this day and age when the Great Forest is but a folk-memory whispered of by trees with ancestral memory; what I learned and accessed during that time is not the governments to own. And yet they assume me as their property and thus they utilize my abilities at great damage to my soul. The flight response is strong in me, a timid creature of the wild who has escaped its cruel keepers.
Ten years later and I am able to write publicly about it. My previous attempts to discuss it alienated me from the control based society. People were not ready to assimilate my life experience; I learned who my true friends are. I wizened up more than any others with whom I have yet encountered, but for a few souls I knew from the Dreaming, the Astral Realms and now with great excitement have found them in real life too. The convocation, the healing, the Awakening is upon us. Dark souls are falling away and shadows are lifting. Finally we come into our own because the time at last is right, 11th hour heroes are the 1st hour guides for a new generation and a new world. We have a new Sun.
In time I will copytype in full the notebooks I made at the time and afterwards, those which were not stolen; post it as blogs and web-journal entries.