"All the world's a stage we pass through." - R. Ayana

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Prelude to Action: Introduction to the Cosmic Conspiracy

Prelude to Action

Introduction to the Cosmic Conspiracy

By Stan Deyo

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The Sun had just appeared over the horizon, as I sat down to my first cuppa Java for the day. My eyes caught the calendar on the wall.. "October 23, 1978"... "another Monday..." The brisk, morning breeze was refreshing on my sleep-wrinkled skin and blood-shot eyes. Gradual signs of life were manifesting in the early morning sky; and small motions in the distance heralded the waking of our neighbours and their cats and dogs. 

Golden shafts of sunlight sliced their way through gently swaying leaves outside the picture windows overlooking our front gardens,... their projections forming animated montages of light on the carpet and the walls. There, on the carpet by the windows, lay our three pets... basking in the warmth of the Sun. Two jet-black miniature dachshunds flanked our elegantly outstretched feline;... I remembered how unusually light-coloured she appeared for a red Burmese... The Sun heightened the contrasts between their prostrate forms of contentment. 

The animated sounds and smells of eggs frying, bread toasting, and coffee brewing filtered into my peaceful reverie... There was a brief break back into reality as Louise, my bubbling better-half, re-filled my coffee cup and told me breakfast was due momentarily. For a Monday,... it was an incredibly good day... so good to be alive... free... and (ring-ring... ring-ring...

Louise shouted from the kitchen, "Don't answer that! We're not up yet...; besides, civilized people don't ring this early!"...
Secretly, I had to agree; but I knew that early calls usually meant something important was happening on the east coast somewhere;... so I made tracks for the phone in our attached office just in case I needed to tape-record the details of the conversation... (ring-ring... ring-ring...) "I'm going to answer it in the office...", I yelled, as I bounded for the back room. 

The multiple "beep-beep-beep-beep" of the STD line blurted into my ear. "Long distance", I thought to myself. I cleared my throat to give my voice that sound of reserved politeness most people expect on a business phone; and then, with a little Irish impishness I answered, "Good morning!... It's Perth - the other side of Earth!... (pause)"

"Is a Mr. Stan Deyo there please?" came the somewhat amused voice on the other end.
"You gottim, chief", I replied.
"I beg your pardon?" he queried again.
"I said, you've got him. It is me you wish to speak to..."
"Oh,... sorry, uh... My name is Brian (I couldn't hear the last name as the line faded.)
"You don't know me; but a mutual friend of ours in Melbourne suggested I ring you over this morning's UFO incident off King Island near Cape Otway..."
 
As he continued, I thought to myself... "Why me? I'm missing a perfectly good breakfast over a perfectly typical 'I-saw-a- coloured-light-in-the-sky' phone call.."
 
"Have you heard the details, yet?" he asked.
"No... I haven't read the paper yet;... we were just sitting down to breakfast when you rang..."
"Oh! Sorry, mate... forgot about the time difference!" he apologized.
"Don't worry about it...", I said while I thought how many times I had been roused from a perfectly good sleep by similar eastern-states calls. "Can you give me a brief rundown on it?"
"Sure. The media over here are going wild over a possible UFO abduction case. It seems that last Saturday night, around 7:l0 or so, a young pilot from Melbourne was grabbed - plane and all - right outta the air off the south-eastern coast of Australia. Ground control at King Island had radio contact for about six minutes while the pilot described the damn thing. He reported four very bright landing lights moving at an incredible rate overhead at about 5,000 ft. altitude.."
 
Louise came in with a frown and a 'wind-it-up' gesture. "This is important!", I whispered, "I'll tell you why in a minute; go get the newspaper off the lawn."
 
He continued, "He told ground control it was four 'metallic' lights on a long shape that seemed to be orbiting his plane. It had a green glowing light all over the outside. He said it was coming for him and that his engine was rough idling and coughing. His last words were: 'Unknown aircraft now hovering on top of me.' A loud, metallic noise followed;... and then the channel was silent. Whaddaya think? The official position said the pilot was flying upside down and flew into the drink."
 
"Wow...," I half-whispered, as he waited for my response... "Have they found any oil slicks or wreckage?"
 
"Nothing positive, yet. They say the RAAF spotted an oil slick in the area on Sunday; but that it was too big to have come from a light aircraft. He was flying a Cessna 182, y'know."
 
"What was the pilot's name?" I asked, almost automatically.
"Something like Valentine or something...", his voice trailed off.. "oh, here it is,.. Frederick Valentich... age twenty... spent three years in the Air Training Corps... then became an instructor pilot for them... sounds like a level-headed bloke to me..."
 
"Look, Brian", I interrupted, "it's too early to make any positive statement on the situation; - but I do strongly suspect that this case is going to be a catalyst for renewed public interest in the UFO situation. Tell our mutual friend thanks for me; and I'll keep in touch... Thanks for your trouble... Bye now.."
 
"No worries, mate", he piped. "Here's my contact number in Melbourne..." (he rattled off his telephone number and extension as I jotted both onto the phone pad). 

There was a sharp click followed by two more clicks somewhere along the line as I was hanging up. I mused to myself about the possibility of wire taps. Monday morning's reverie was shattered by that time. 

Reading the paper over somewhat crisp eggs and brittle toast accented the Monday syndrome as I explained the situation to 'Lulu' (Louise) - who quickly forgot her pseudo-grizzle. Suddenly, as I was finishing the UFO story in the West Australian, a paragraph leapt out of the page at me!... 

"He (Valentich) believes in UFOs and he told me (his father) he had seen classified material at the Sale RAAF base which confirmed his beliefs..."
 
"Lulu! Listen to this!" I shouted; but as I read her the paragraph, I could see that she had not yet remembered my own earlier discovery of the existence of the RAAF film library of actual UFO sightings and testing over Australia;... so I explained it to her before retiring to the study to do just that: study... Thoughts flashed through my mind with electric speeds: "Astronauts see UFOs;... Iranian encounter hushed-up;... cattle killed by electrical UFO;... Army man takes five-day trip in UFO in only fifteen minutes..." My mind raced from one possibility to another. The pieces of an incredible conspiracy were rapidly falling into place... 

For the first time, I knew why I had lived long enough to see all these events take place... "Poor Valentich", I thought to myself, "he discovered their little game, too; and look what it cost him..."

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My thoughts drifted back to my own training at the U.S. Air Force Academy sixteen years before. I remembered its rigid discipline and the beautiful, snow-covered landscapes that surrounded those of us who had lived there 7,000 feet up the slopes of the Rockies overlooking the world below. It was there that our fertile, young minds had been impregnated with post-hypnotic suggestions and crammed with subliminal data banks at speeds of up to 200 pages per second. When the 186 of us who had been 'programmed' by mind-control experts were prematurely released - ostensibly for cheating on our final exams - everyone had believed it. 

In my case, I had been lucky... because, for some reason, one of my instructors had 're-programmed' my mind just before I had left the Academy. I was reasonably certain that he had been a man of good report... a Christian, now, according to 'old friends'. It was partially his interference in my conditioning that had allowed me to eventually remember things that had been locked-away in my sub-conscious mind - without knowing the proper key sequence.
It had been quite spooky at first when I started having those incredible dreams. 

Three years had passed since I left the Academy; and I had not immediately associated my newly-found 'dream library' of science with the previous subliminal training. 'Visions' of new types of circular-shaped aircraft and spacecraft along with their associated technology had paraded through many of my early-morning 'dream times'.

As I sat and pondered the weight of the years of discovery and understanding that had led me to that moment there in the study, I suddenly felt very tired... very old for my age of thirty-three. A few moments of self-pity passed until I remembered some of the others who had carried the burden of this information. "Dr. Jessup must have known", I thought, "but they killed him with that pathetic suicide hit... What about Prof. McDonald?... he must have known, too. Wasn't it strange about him?.. a leading atmospheric scientist... champion of the civilian UFO research effort... arch enemy of Dr. Hynek... suddenly, he discovers the CIA involvement in the UFO cover-up and,... presto, McDonald suicides under most peculiar circumstances". My mind felt like a suitcase-crammed so full it couldn't be shut. "Hynek... yes... what about him?" I mused, "...wasn't it odd how he of all people replaced Prof. McDonald in the civilian UFO research society?..." I remembered my encounter with Hynek over in Melbourne, "...let's see, when was it? ... '73?... Yup, had to be... I wonder if he still fronts for the CIA boys..."

A bird flew past the study window and, briefly, I wished I could fly again... "Those were the days.." My favourite instructor pilot (I could never forget his name) had been Captain Miracle... I had really loved those hours in the sky - soaring and sailing in that tiny silver speck of a T-33 jet... It had seemed like being in another world. Up there, the scene had always been crystalline - especially above cloud level. My gaze fell upon the telephone scratch pad; and my thoughts returned to the conspiracy.

I remembered how word had passed down the FBI ranks to me and my ilk who had acted as patriotic informers on various international companies' unconstitutional activities in Middle-East-related affairs. "There's an intelligence war going on between Hoover and the CIA. You guys had better make tracks and wait till you're called back..." I had then been sent to Australia to 'keep a low profile' until Hoover recalled us. My last instructions had been : "stay put;... but if Hoover, himself, is either replaced by the president or dies suddenly, you will be on your own from that time forward until the 'victors' find you." The rest had become history.

I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. I began to write... My 'life insurance' began to emerge in the words that flowed onto the pad. The hours passed swiftly as my notes formed into three categories... Firstly, I knew that the real origin of many of the so-called UFOs had to be explained along with a lot of other suppressed, super technology. Secondly, I knew that the suppressive organization, itself, would have to be defined. Thirdly, with all the darkness of the previous two topics a little 'light' would have to be shed. I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath;... said a brief prayer;... and wrote the three words which would begin a most incredible and, as yet, unfinished adventure for both my wife, Louise, and myself: The Cosmic Conspiracy

This book… is the first fruit of that incredible adventure. It is written in three levels of understanding or codification. Kabbalistic gematria and symbolism have been used to veil certain messages from some while enlightening others. I am sure the reasons for this will become most obvious as the world events of the next eighteen months unfold. Let us begin with a 'precise mechanism': 

Interested, I looked upon that sculptured place...
Challenged to find the one piece missing:
Hailed the topmost third - that capstone grace.
This I knew: it was not lost.
Hark: soon returns the Word... and Order.
Until that hour, this is my chair:
Service to some degree like: Commander Noah.
Stan Deyo
 28th of the 11th, 1978.

From The Cosmic Conspiracy, Copyright by Stan Deyo

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