Authors: David Morehouse
Psychic Warrior (29 page)
I was humbled. “And what is your cause?” I asked.
“I know it's here, in this land, with the Native American people. But exactly what my quest is, and how it will manifest itself, I'm not certain. The Creator will tell me in His own time.”
Mel's words comforted me. “So we're all just seeds. We're planted here with this gift to see what only God can see. And each of us has a mission of his own, to find a
calling, to teach and to pursue it for the greater good, no matter what that good might be.”
calling, to teach and to pursue it for the greater good, no matter what that good might be.”
“Exactly. That's exactly what we're here for. And that's exactly what's in store for remote viewingâmany roads, and many places, but all for the good of mankind, and by the grace of the Creator, as long as good people with pure hearts choose to exercise their free agency and fight for what they believe is right. Don't condemn your nation or the world or individuals; that's what the evil inside yourself wants, and that's why you see your face in it. It wants you to be angry, to judge and cast doubt. Let it go! The energy inside you, evil will turn against you; it reflects it back. To win this war,
you
have to be the reflector. And to do that you must empty your heart of anger and self-doubt. Trust in goodness and purity; you can see evil as well as good much more clearly than those without the gift. It's a tool. Use it! Okay?”
you
have to be the reflector. And to do that you must empty your heart of anger and self-doubt. Trust in goodness and purity; you can see evil as well as good much more clearly than those without the gift. It's a tool. Use it! Okay?”
The next morning, I lifted the nose of my Cessna and climbed into the Wisconsin sky on a southeasterly heading, bound for home. I felt as though a millstone had been lifted from my neck. I didn't have to fear what DIA or the CIA or anyone else might do next with remote viewing, nor did I have to worry that the intended work of remote viewing wasn't being carried out. The responsibility rested with me, not anyone else. I had to do what I had been set apart to do; I would have to follow my path, alone. The battle I'd been fighting for years would rage on until I learned what Mel already knew.
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In August 1991, I drove to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and signed in to my next assignmentâthe U.S. Army's Command and General Staff College. The first few weeks were hectic with guest speakers, Gulf War heroes, and an endless stream of rules and regulations. I had to buy uniforms, which I hadn't worn in five years. It was amazing how much had changed in five years.
The college had a designated place for virtually everything at every time. Each officer had a spot for mail and
messages, a box for books, a seat in class, a seat in the library, a card to carry to get into the library, a seat in the main lecture hall, a class leader, a section leader, and about five leaders in-between; designated breaks, designated lunch, roll call, attendance, quizzes, tests, study hall, electives.
messages, a box for books, a seat in class, a seat in the library, a card to carry to get into the library, a seat in the main lecture hall, a class leader, a section leader, and about five leaders in-between; designated breaks, designated lunch, roll call, attendance, quizzes, tests, study hall, electives.
I was assigned to Section 22A, and what an eclectic group it was. We were from every walk of life and every branch of the army. We had one of the finest naval officers I'd ever met, Lieutenant Commander Jim Waters; an army surgeon and former Ranger battalion member, Major Michael “Doc” Schaub; and even a Greek lieutenant colonel, Nicholas Gialiris II. They were wonderful, bright and energetic; I envied them all. We shared a great deal during the year we were together; I wish I'd confided in them more; instead, I kept to myself as much as possible. I continued living as reclusive an existence as I could; only Mike Omura and Jim Waters coaxed me out once in a while.
I lived in a rented room. My landlady was a kind and gentle woman named Carolyn Finney. She took care of me as if I were one of her own sons; if not for her, I would not have survived another year alone. She cooked for me often; otherwise I would not have eaten regularly. She'd bang on the door of the room and convince me to venture out to drink a beer or two with family and friends. She was wonderful.
It was another year of personal transformation. I'd had a faint hope that maybe all I'd gone through was just a dream and that I was now going to wake up and go on with my life, grow back into the army. But it wasn't, of course. I could not escape the calling, the gift, or the nightmares. I had changed too much; no matter how much I needed to be a soldier again, the magic was gone from me. I listened to army leaders speak to my classmates, young men and women who were the future generals and great battle commanders of the nation; but the leaders often spoke to them in deceptive and condescending terms. They had little tolerance for their subordinates' passionate questions, and they
often minimized the officers' worries about their families, their careers, and the future of our armed forces. In changing times, people were frightened. They wanted and deserved honest answers to questions that would affect the rest of their lives. What they got was rhetoric and political pabulum.
often minimized the officers' worries about their families, their careers, and the future of our armed forces. In changing times, people were frightened. They wanted and deserved honest answers to questions that would affect the rest of their lives. What they got was rhetoric and political pabulum.
At one briefing, a four-star general's responses to poignant questions could be summed up in one repeated answer: “I have a dialogue ongoing about that; you don't need to worry about it. Keep your dauber out of the dirt and don't get snot on your chin strap.” Brilliant.
With each passing week I became more convinced that the corruption, secrecy, and political agendas of the undercover intelligence community were not unique. We were heading for a catastrophe, stripping the military of leaders and filling it with politicians and managers. I waxed bitter, losing my focus only months into the school year. I tried to share my feelings with my section mates, but through no fault of their own they didn't understand. How could they? They were all career military officers, and IâWell, I was something else entirely.
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After I completed Staff College, I reported to the headquarters of the second battalion of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 82nd Airborne Division. Brigadier General Jack P. Nix, an old friend from the Ranger battalion, had recruited me while I was at CGSOC. It was a typical example of who you know and not what you know. I was lucky Nix knew me; otherwise I'd have ended up right back in intelligence. Colonel Dan K. McNeil was the 3rd Brigade commander, and Lieutenant Colonel Timothy Scully was one of three battalion commanders under him. I was to be Lieutenant Colonel Scully's second in command, his battalion executive officer. Both men were an inspiration to me, the last of a breed, I came to believe. I learned a great deal from both of them; and I will be forever grateful.
Seven months into my assignment, the battalion jumped
into Sicily drop zone, a favorite of the 82nd, for a training exercise. Six hundred and eighty-six men cascaded from C-141 Starlifters in the darkness. For several days we moved, fortified, fought an opposing force, then moved and did it all over again. Both sides in this mock war were being evaluated and both wanted desperately to do well, so the nights were long and the days filled with endless activity. On the sixth day, we bivouacked along a defensive line extending several kilometers along a small creek. At 0200 hours my driver and I stopped inside the battalion headquarters perimeter for some much-needed rest. I gave Lieutenant Colonel Scully a final update on some logistics issues and headed to my vehicle for some sleep.
into Sicily drop zone, a favorite of the 82nd, for a training exercise. Six hundred and eighty-six men cascaded from C-141 Starlifters in the darkness. For several days we moved, fortified, fought an opposing force, then moved and did it all over again. Both sides in this mock war were being evaluated and both wanted desperately to do well, so the nights were long and the days filled with endless activity. On the sixth day, we bivouacked along a defensive line extending several kilometers along a small creek. At 0200 hours my driver and I stopped inside the battalion headquarters perimeter for some much-needed rest. I gave Lieutenant Colonel Scully a final update on some logistics issues and headed to my vehicle for some sleep.
The trail leading to the vehicle was narrow and black as pitch on the moonless night, and it was there that the ether began overtaking my everyday life. I followed the small lights that led down into the low ground to my position. Pushing a large branch out of the way, I closed my eyes to protect them. I opened them to sunlight and a beautiful tropical garden filled with waterfalls and enormous pools.
“Welcome! My colleagues and I have been waiting for you.”
For a moment I just stood there overwhelmed, staring into the garden, listening to the rush of the waterfalls. A few yards from me sat a man impeccably dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. He sat at a glass table in an enormous white chair with a flared back that extended well above his head. Accompanying him at the table were six identical men identically dressed.
I looked up to see a surreal sky, crimson with wisps of black streaking across it. “Where am I?”
“You are where you belong.” The first man swept his arm in a welcoming gesture. “This is your home, if you are worthy.”
“Really? And what constitutes worthiness?”
“The acceptance of things as they are and were meant to be. The wisdom and willingness to use your new gifts correctly, for the right purpose.” He pointed toward the
seat directly opposite him. “Please sit with us.”
seat directly opposite him. “Please sit with us.”
I sat cautiously, keeping an eye on the men with him. They didn't budge or look around or even blink, not once. “Who are you?”
The man gave a thin smile. “We are your brothers, your friends ⦠we are whatever you need, and we will always be there for you when you need us. We are everything you could want. Just ask and your wants shall be fulfilled; we have been directed to care for you.”
“By whom? The angel?”
“Yes, of course, the angel. He asked that we watch over you and counsel you on the use of your gift. It is quite remarkable, is it not? The gift, I mean. Its potential is quite limitless, and the beauty of it is that all your brothers and sisters possess it. You are simply one of the few to have harnessed it. Congratulations.”
“Why am I here? What do you want from me? Why did the angel send you now?”
“Merely to inform you. He wanted you to know who I am, to feel comfortable with me.” His eyes bored into mine. “You
are
comfortable with me, aren't you?”
are
comfortable with me, aren't you?”
“No, I'm not at all comfortable. As a matter of fact I think something's foul. A lot of what has happened to me doesn't make much sense, but this makes even less. You have no message, no lesson. I don't know who or what you are, but I'm not afraid of you! Leave me alone!”
The man continued smiling, his eyes still boring into mine. I felt as though he were turning me inside out with his eyes, revealing the contents of my soul. Something stank, something I knew but couldn't recognize. His smile turned to cruel and wicked laughter. I backed away, stumbling, and looked up to see my face on the man who was the haunting, evil being of my nightmares. All around me a voice called my name laced with evil laughter. I spun in every direction, trying to break the connection, trying desperately to get back to the physical world. The garden morphed, and the stench of the water grew thicker and thicker, the water running a sluggish dark red like the sky.
An amber glow was cast across the garden, mixing with the hot wind and the laughter. I tried to get away. Concentrating, I raised myself above the beings and crossed the water, tracking the waterfall up and over its source, desperately trying to escape this baneful place. As my spectral body crested the falls, I saw the most terrible sight: there, on the banks of the narrow river, stood a great assembly of people gathered like cattle, spread before me as far as my eyes could see. And there, on the banks of the river, faceless beings systematically beckoned each man, woman, and child to step forward and come to them. Apathetically, they obeyed. As they did, the beings slit their throats, snatched them up, and held them aloft by the ankles. It was their blood that turned the river, the falls, and the pools dark red. The drained bodies were piled in great heaps. Now I recognized the stench: it was blood, the blood of a people, the blood of a world.
An amber glow was cast across the garden, mixing with the hot wind and the laughter. I tried to get away. Concentrating, I raised myself above the beings and crossed the water, tracking the waterfall up and over its source, desperately trying to escape this baneful place. As my spectral body crested the falls, I saw the most terrible sight: there, on the banks of the narrow river, stood a great assembly of people gathered like cattle, spread before me as far as my eyes could see. And there, on the banks of the river, faceless beings systematically beckoned each man, woman, and child to step forward and come to them. Apathetically, they obeyed. As they did, the beings slit their throats, snatched them up, and held them aloft by the ankles. It was their blood that turned the river, the falls, and the pools dark red. The drained bodies were piled in great heaps. Now I recognized the stench: it was blood, the blood of a people, the blood of a world.
“Oh, my God, why am I seeing this?” I cried aloud, dropping to my knees to cover my eyes and head as a beaten child would.
“Halt! Who goes there?” demanded a voice out of the darkness. “I said, who goes there?”
“It's Major Morehouse.”
“Advance and be recognized.”
I walked toward the voice, stopping when a red flashlight beam struck my face.
“Sir, what the hell was going on out there? What were you yelling aboutâyou want to give our position away?”
“SorryâI got a branch in my eye.”
“I've pulled that stunt a time or two myself, sir. You want me to get a medic over here to take a look at it?”
“No, thanks anyway. Who are you? I can't see your name tag.”
“Private First Class Collins, sir!”
“Collins, I appreciate your asking. Keep up the good work. And, say, do you happen to know where my vehicle is parked? I seem to be a bit disoriented.”
“Yes, sir. It's right over there”âhe pointed with the
flashlight beamâ“about thirty or forty meters. You sure you're all right, Major?”
flashlight beamâ“about thirty or forty meters. You sure you're all right, Major?”
I touched his shoulder in the darkness. “I'll be fine. I just need some sleep. Thanks again, Collins.”
“Airborne! Sir.”
I stumbled away, found my vehicle, and lay on the ground next to it, staring into the night sky until sleep came to me. The time the angel had spoken of must be growing near. The battle inside me raged on.
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Six weeks passed. Mel and I had many phone conversations about how and when to go public, discussing over and over every possible way to take the information safely to the people. We agreed and then disagreed on how best to do it; our families, the unit, and whether or not to try and involve other viewers became paramount issues. We finally concluded that we couldn't do it on our own; some outside third party would have to help us. But who would help and how remained a mystery.
It's a difficult decision to violate a security oath. The penalties are stiff, but they don't hurt nearly as much as the attitudes of your comrades when they learn of your decision. I was about to break an oath that I had honored since the day I first saluted and swore my allegiance to the United States, promising to support and defend it against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I was about to become a domestic enemy.
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