THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY.
When I look back at my life, I have no doubts the premises for the writing of the book have been set before I opened eyes into this world. Based on memories accumulated along the time to be revealed under different circumstances, it looks very much like my life's course was programmed for this destination. It is either that or I somehow knew to make the right choices every time I was on a crossroad. So far so good, and I do not expect to lose my sense of the good direction.
The fact is there has been an indisputable pattern in terms of the people I came in contact with, including the family I was born into and the family I created through marriage. Everything left me with no other choice but keep the out-there at a distance so I could reflect as objectively as possible from my protective inner domain on the questions my Self was asking all the time. This way I would remain untouched by the absurd, the deception, and the irrational I was often surrounded by. One could say I did not have a normal life, and yet a normal life would be unsuitable for anyone's mission in life. Indeed, normal is a term without a real meaning. I had a very interesting life, to say the least, for which I am grateful to the universe and to my guides, and I do not expect, or wish for that to change in the years ahead.
We choose our parents and our entire circle of family and friends before we are born, a choice that serves the purpose of our coming into this world. My family forced me into living within myself, which is never a bad place to be, and to some extent free of restrictions, which allowed me to focus on everything I was experiencing from a very personal perspective and without any interference. Nobody told me how things are. I had to figure that all by myself, and being alone while in their company helped. For, unbeknownst to them, they would put me in situations that turned out to be great lessons to learn so I could become aware of a certain reality associated with my mission in life. It did not matter if I liked it or not, I was always where I needed to be, and that is certainly the case for where I am right now.
At an early age I would get my first very close unobstructed by prejudice or pettiness look at the magnificent beauty and astonishing complexity of nature. Mother Nature taught me to live in the moment without expectations while the people of what appeared to be a forgotten world living at the edge of the forest helped me uncover the inestimable value of honesty, common sense, and kindness. This was my Shangri-La, except that everything was as real as real can be.
Observing nature triggered within questions about the origin of everything. Where did the trees, the flowers, the rivers and the rocks, the stars in the sky, the birds, and the wonder of all wonders, the human come from? We take for granted this amazing planet planted somewhere within an infinite universe, in the middle of a hostile to life space, and yet our destiny is associated with its existence.
The house where my family rented a small room was situated between two churches, and even though my parents were not religious, I would go there, by myself, especially when the church was empty. I was overwhelmed by the huge images of saints and of the Bible stories painted on the walls. After I grew up some, I was bold enough to show up in church during Sunday service. Wanted to find out how things worked in the house of God. From an early age I became aware of what they were telling people there, and I imagined everything must have been true, for why would they lie to us. For children, the concept of deceit is completely unknown, which is why it is so easy to manipulate them into believing what the adults want them to believe.
I made an effort to understand what religion was all about, and while the hymn singing, the acoustics of the big hall, the lit candles, the incense burning, the paintings on the walls and the priest's gilded outfit were making an impression on you, the meaning of the preached words left me wondering. They were saying that a God who looked like us created the world and man, and that everything happening to us was his will. Did they also mean all the wars, the diseases, and the cataclysms, all the social issues in our communities caused by poverty? Their claim did not exactly answer my very specific questions about the origin of the universe and everything in it. Later in life, I realized that the saintly figures and the stories painted on church walls were of the imaginary. In other words, everything in my church was made-up, with some of those fantasies being a deliberate distortion of a reality I would only become familiar much later in life.
Darwin's theory did not make a lot of sense to me either, and our secular atheist government in Eastern Europe apparently felt the same way. That was one of the first pieces of evidence not just church creationists dismissed the theory of evolution for being a fallacy. That would explain why I don't remember Darwin's name being mentioned much in biology class. This was not because the education system was not on the par with the one in the West. As a matter of fact, at the time the socialist regime was investing massively in education, reason why in those days we had great schools and mostly great teachers. It also invested in health care, as well as in culture and art. I knew that because I grew up in the wings of the theater company where my father was an actor, a theater company that at one time was considered the best theater company in the world. The fact is, I could not believe that rabbits turned into leopards or that fishes grew overnight lungs to become land animals. And while I had heard about it, at the time I did not know much about the DNA, the capital problem for the claim that gradual evolution is fact. As it turned out, there was an abundance of major problems with the theory of evolution.
Unlike many of my friends and colleagues, during the high school years I focused my attention to the sky, to the universe. I did not see God or angels there. Instead, from that came the realization that we were living on a speck of dust within an apparently infinite cosmic world, and the inevitable question was the same question I had been asking myself and others for quite sometimes now: Why are we here, and what really is out there? Not only that but what was the purpose of us living and dying on a planet like Earth? Fascinated by the awesome cosmic display of distant lights and by the beauty of the natural wonders our planetary world was appointed with, I could not understand why we had the division characterizing our communities, the oppressive behavior perpetrated on the people by those who ruled over us, the constant religious wars or wars triggered by territorial disputes that made our existence a nightmare, or our obsession with acquiring material wealth. All those questions remained deeply engraved into my memory, and much to my astonishment, decades later, once work on the book started, I would find the answers to all of them.
TROUBLED TIMES.
By the time I was in my late teens, the old country was under the rule of one of the most dictatorial Eastern European regimes, with the enlightened idealists of the beginnings being replaced by those few who at the instigation of outside dark forces were denigrating the system while at the same time ripping the benefits that came with asserting absolute power over the many. By the time I graduated from college, society was in full downfall both economically and morally. What made life unbearable was the fact that almost all rational existential rules had been officially abolished while lack of basic sustenance was pushing the population to the brink of uncontrollable desperation. Living on principle and organically unable to comply with the terms and demands of those irrational circumstances, I decided to abandon the acting career I had dreamed about for all my life and I thoroughly prepared for. Making that choice did not come easy, but for a rationalist it was the right choice under the circumstances. My plan was to leave behind the city I grew up in and retreat, at what was still a very young age a few years out of college, to a small, quiet village in the mountains, with the people over there being my real family.
Since nature had always been my most reliable friend and an endeared refuge from the hostilities of an out of balance world, I loved the idea very much. At the same time something within was telling me this was not where I was supposed to go, that this was not my real destination. In retrospective, that place I was aiming for would have been too comfortable and because of that unproductive when it came to my mission in life, a mission I knew nothing about at the time. I was, however, instinctively searching for something, something I would have only known what it was once I found it, once I faced it.
Creative writing allows one to express himself without anyone interfering, at least not during the process of creation. Writing about the life of the mountain people and about the natural wonders they were surrounded by, about Mother Earth's glorious brilliance and generosity would have reduced considerably the censorship challenges. There were though two immediate existential issues I had to deal with. First, the situation in the country was getting worse by the day, with the most educated among the people, the ones who read books, immigrating by the thousands every year. Then there was the fact that, just out of college, it was not easy to find the money I needed to build my dream home. So, I decided to go for a while where the money supposedly was: America!
In an unusual letter to the government's passport department, I let the regime know I intended to return within a few years. Writing that kind of a letter to the government to express my otherwise sincere desire to return in a country that many described as being a prison was, indeed, very unusual. Nevertheless, I acted the way I felt. That may have been the reason why it had the good outcome I was trying to achieve. Thousands of people were waiting five to six years to get an exit visa, you needed to have one even if you were traveling outside the country for three days, and many of them would never hear from the government. I received mine in about eighteen months, with the American consulate too, being extremely accommodating in those days. After all, they were getting at no cost a significant number of college-educated laborers, doctors and engineers included, something the government of my country had paid for since same as health care education was free in those days.
The other thing that helped me made up my mind when it came to deciding to return to that prison-like country in a not very distant future was the realization that turning your back to a terrible situation does not eliminate the cause of the problem or the problem. Not only that but the assumption that things are perfect on the other side of the fence may have been an illusion, and as I was to find out first hand that was precisely the case. Then there is the fact that since everyone brings with him or her specific circumstances, he or she may or may not be able to integrate in the new world. As someone who has an easy time adjusting to a new environment, I would find out though that many of my compatriots did not feel America was their home, a state of mind they could only associate with the old country
I only spent a couple of years in America, which was a lot less than I initially intended to. During that time, I ran into ex-pats who while in the beginning were elated to escape the nightmare at home had been struggling for years, with no relief visible on the horizon, to find their place in the new country. Many of them were actually worse off than they were back in in the old country, and were visibly suffering. Eternally homesick and never adapted to the new world, you could sense how their only way to cope with the situation was by pretending things were better than they actually were. Other times, though, they would get extremely angry with the outside world as they were sensing their hopelessness. The morning after those moments of induced illusion or crisis, they would wake up with deep psychological scars that for some would never heal.
I could perfectly understand their state of mind since I was extremely homesick myself, desperately missing my mountains, the Danube Delta, and the dear friends inhabiting those places. At least I had my mind set on returning there before I left while everyone else felt there was not going back for them. I decided to return without accomplishing what I had come here to accomplish, saving enough money to buy my dream house back in the country I had just left for that purpose. I always had an instinctual cold relation with money, something even America was not going to change. Before I left for what I still called home at the time, I was able to finish though my first novel, a three-volume saga about a lost generation, my generation. Even back then I would only write about things I experienced, and that was very dangerous considering the strict censorship arts and artists were treated to. It was a fictional story based on real facts, I was pleased with the outcome, but not sure they will publish something like that back home. had done what my conscience dictated me to do and did not doubt for a minute that I had done the right thing. I The world was changing, though, that was to allow for such books to be published, and most importantly I wanted to be part of that change. So, back to a home country that was still a prison I went.
As difficult to imagine as that was, I found it in an even worse shape than it was when I left. A representative of the government showed up at my door unannounced to ask me, very politely, to write an article critical of America. It was to be published in one of the state-owned magazines. Not that everything I saw and experienced in America made a great impression on me - at that time New York's 42nd Street was a replica of what hell may look like if there was such a thing as hell, but I refused to do it. I wrote an article that was not what they wanted, my militant explanation being, there is always something good to take from our life lessons, so why focus on the negative. A consequence of that, I was blacklisted, I was not allowed to work as an actor in the capital, the national center of cultural activities, and for the next four years the manuscript of the novel I brought with me from Brooklyn remained locked inside a cabinet file at the state-owned publishing house. As it turned that, that was done for my protection.
All so-called Communist regimes in Eastern Europe had been replaced by now or were in course of being replaced with western-type democracies. Not the one in my country, though, but you could sense the volcano was about to erupt. By the end of 1989, the leader of the regime was ousted, basically assassinated during what at the time most everyone thought it was a popular revolt. Some of us would realize within hours it was a coup d'état organized by members of the old regime, with support from Moscow and Washington. Unlike in the case of all the other Eastern European countries where the regime change was brought about through what the media described as a "velvet revolution," the one in our country was bloody, one could say ugly, and nobody on the outside it could tell at that moment what entities were exactly involved or who was shooting at the people and why.
I put my writing and analytical skills to better use and I would soon be hired full time by a newspaper with national distribution to write social and political commentary. Because of that I would be a close observer of many dramatic events and I met with and interview people one way or the other associated with what was going on. Very soon I realized the country was the victim of a staged power take over. I personally knew some of the actors of the staged revolution, with most people in the streets being used as pawns, unpaid extras in a scripted show meant to give legitimacy to the new leaders. What I found out in that regard was unprintable under those new "democratic" circumstances. We were considered opposition by the interim governing bodies, and because of that we were now under constant threat.
Old regime people and coup organizers won the proclaimed democratic elections, and I would witness crass irregularities committed at the voting stations. Once the power grab was completed, there was violence in the streets directed at those protesting the new regime, at the political parties in opposition, and at the critics of the new regime among the press. My newspaper was one of the targets and our headquarters were ransacked by government mobs. A night of the long knives was to follow, friends in the western media warned me, and that brought me back to America. The year was 1990.
AMERICA! AMERICA!
The end of October 1990, I left my old country, again, this time for good. To make it easier for us to settle, I left my wife and two children behind so I could make arrangements without any pressure on me. Considering what was going on the country, my personal circumstances, the fact that the American president had declared my country before I left a return to dictatorship while the headquarters of my paper had been ransacked by government people, and being that I have been reporting for my paper on a major street revolt against those who had just taken power, I was extremely confident I would be granted asylum within weeks and that I was going to have them in America before Christmas. In other words, I had an ironclad case for political asylum. I also had someone who offered to help by providing a place to stay for us until we were going to get our own. Things would take though an unexpected turn, with that causing a complete change in my life.
The first Gulf War (August 2, 1990 - February 28, 1991) was about to erupt after Iraq had invaded Kuwait, with the war itself starting beginning of February 1991 and lasting for a whole two weeks. With this being something I was going to find out much later, the United States military needed my country's refining capacities to make gas for its fighter jets, and the problem with that was that, as long as its government was listed as a dictatorship in the State Department's yearly country report and a violator of human rights, the US could not have cut that kind of a deal with its leaders. To be able to get what America needed, the State Department changed the country report, and did that basically as I was flying to New York. I had no knowledge of that when I applied for asylum, but based on this new reality falsifying report, the INS had no grounds for granting me political asylum.
Again, I did not know all these things when I filed for asylum, and I was in a serious state of shock when, after for being for a long time now under lots of stress, an year and a half after I submitted my application the INS sent me a letter saying that since everything was alright in my country, they had no reason to grant asylum. The law was on my side, and yet the asylum granting process was artificially delayed to its longest possible limits. A couple of American Presidents and several senators and congressmen that offered to help when asked could not change the course of events, and, in all honesty, one is not sure they really tried to do that. As one of the lawyers I have consulted advised me, it would have been easier to have my children brought into the country illegally over the border with Mexico. The American immigration law is a rational law and also a very clear law. The State Department, however, tends to abide by immigration policy dictated by special interests, not by immigration law. As a result, I had to wait for nine interminable years before I was able to see my children again, ironclad case for political asylum and all. Seven years after I have arrived in America for the second time, it took the same immigration judge who initially rejected my request for asylum only two minutes to grant it based on the same evidence I had introduced four years earlier during a hearing that took place in his court, when my request was rejected, again.
That prolonged unexpected separation had irreversible effects on our family. This unexpected development would in fact extend the isolation I was more or less forced into from the beginnings of my life. In retrospective, that degree of clear separation from normal left me with no other choice but focus on the mission I came here to accomplish, and as I was to find out a few years after my family joined me here, what a mission that was.
A DESTINED PROJECT.
There have been many extreme unusual developments in my life, with all of them having a positive influence on me. Even when they had the appearance of trauma, after a while I would realize why I had to go through that, and this way trauma would turn into illumination. As I would eventually realize, everything was in sync with the other unusual happenings I had experienced from the time I could remember things, and many of those happenings could only be described as paranormal preparatory events. While at the time I did not know what to make of them, these days I can tell they were meant to guide me to the trailhead where the journey in terms of work on this book project was to begin. In many instances, they would introduce me to knowledge I was to understand later, and once I started working at the book, everything made perfect sense.
I would spend several years writing, among others, for newspapers serving my community in America, Canada, and Israel. During that time, I took on my personal topics of interest, social and political events, as well as on relatively new ones as far as my background was concerned, such as ancient and modern history, art, religion, and science. Following an essay that I wrote in English being published by The Berkshires Eagle in 1995, I would not write anything else in English for ten years. The decision was the result of being extremely disappointed with the fact that my other "writings," the ones submitted with the IRS during the political asylum debacle where not taken into consideration by the authorities. From writing nothing in English for a long while, I went to writing a three-volume book of almost two thousand pages on which I worked closed to twenty years, something that I would appropriately, considering what goes these days in America and in the world, re-titled A Time of Change.
I had nothing else to do writing-wise at the time, so, February of 2006, I decided to write an article for a college newspaper. The subject was to be, neither religion, nor the theory of evolution offered a rational explanation for the origin of life or the origin of our civilization for that matter. Very soon, the article became an essay, and then the essay became a book project. I knew that was a very controversial proposition, but I also knew I had strong evidence, as well as rational logic on my side. What I did not know at the time and it only became clear some eighteen months into working on the project was that the debate was staged. It was hard to believe that no one with our government or the academia was seeing what I was seeing when it came to the institution of religion and evolution. As a result, it was obvious someone wanted to make the people believe that these were their only options when it came to explaining the origin of life and of our civilization, and that it was a matter of personal preference to choose to support and basically live by one of them, even though both of them were false behind any doubt. And as the evidence leading over and over to that conclusion was piling up, the argument was getting more and more elaborate and more impossible to dismiss. A consequence of that, something else became very clear. Considering that this was something organized by those controlling the distribution of information, no one was going to publish it. The irony of it, that was the same situation I was back in my old country with the other three-volume book manuscript. Due to the circumstances, I could not publish it even after the old dictatorial regime collapsed.
I did not quite know what to do, with the book project being now in a place I did not envision when work on it started. This was going to be a little more than just controversial. This was going to be life changing at a planetary level. Then there was the fact that since I had no credentials in the fields discussed, I am self-educated in everything I need to know, the English language included, with the Internet giving you access to almost everything they teach in colleges and universities, especially when you ask the right questions, critics with credential would have pointed at that to nullify my credibility while the media operatives were going to put in the hurry the label 'conspiracy theorist' on me to denigrate the content of the book. The fact is, precisely because I was not forced into ingurgitating all that the expert tells students in class and to the public, I was able to see things for what they are and not according to a manufactured understanding of reality the expert was indoctrinate with during his or her formative years. As a result, I had only two choices now: either abandon the project, or continue on that path and let the facts take me wherever they may. Almost two decades dedicated to this project later, I now realize that at one time my life became the project and the project was my life. Considering where I am today and what I have accomplished for the greater good of humankind, I would have not have it any other way.
MOTIVATIONS AND AFFILIATIONS
By now it is obvious that, even though a knowledgeable individual's input into consideration is something to always take into consideration, A Time of Change is not a collection of opinions issued by experts. Nor is this a book of personal assumptions. The reader will find in it facts most of us either did not know existed even though they had been right before our eyes all the time, or we were made to adopt an erroneous understanding of them. These facts are placed now within their appropriate context, with that leading to an accurate understanding of the reality of what we are and of why we are here, something different from the one issued for thousands of years in houses of worship, in the history books of the last millennium, by mainstream historians in more recent times, and by certain scientists promoting evolution as fact in the last one-hundred-and-sixty years. What you are going to have before your eyes and mind, with you being the one to decide if what you witness is true or not, is a very large puzzle revealing for the first time in our history a realistic image of our civilization. In a game of puzzle there is no cheating. You must have all the right pieces in the right place, or else you don't get the picture.
There are entities out there who for a long time have been opposed to making public significant parts of the liberating truth you will be introduced to in the book. That was because a significant change in the people's perception of reality would lead to at change of status quo. The process of awakening is though inevitable, it cannot be stopped, and it is already happening. Unbeknownst to some people but not to all of us, our civilization is close to putting itself in a position that would allow us to make a paradigm shift in the way we exist on this planet. For that to happen, the status quo is going to have to change, and this book is meant to significantly help with that.
For, it will not just happen because for the next 2,100 years the planet and us as spiritual entities will be traveling through an astral conjuncture favoring unheard of progress and enlightenment. We will have to make it happen, and so we will.
As an old word of wisdom goes, "Do good, then throw it into the sea." This is one man's gift to humankind. It is entirely up to humankind to decide how to use it.
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A Time of Change is private intellectual property. Copyright laws prohibit the unauthorized reproduction for commercial purposes of either the entire set of documents or parts of it.
