Welcome to Other Voices of the Mission
Years ago, in conversation with an ET working on a similar mission to this planet, but not exactly the same one I work with, said the following to me: “Our alliance, whose staff numbers more than the entire population of this planet, only approaches civilizations that are on the verge of birthing into consciousness, as this planet is doing now.” He went on to very matter-of-factly state that although their resources in technological skills and knowledge are vast, they always make first contact with their artists; not their physicists, engineers, organic scientists or mechanics.
Clearly, although the planetary inhabitants may desperately need greater scientific insights, knowledge and abilities, they need to awaken in consciousness more than they need that. Many visitors from other worlds are justifiably wary that whatever technological knowledge they give to this world would quickly be weaponized, prolonging both human bondage and a perceived right to spiritually and biologically continue unconscionable abuse of everything, especially themselves
For this reason, many extraterrestrial alliances lead with their artists, the creative right-brained bridge to creating a world worthy of occupancy and built by your hearts.
Mission Control joins our voice with theirs, and we pay honor to the Artists of the Earth, as well as the members of other planetary missions who are here to truly assist the birthing of an awakened new world.
We hope you enjoy reading and exploring “Other Voices” in the coming months.
Thank you all,
by Greg Steorts
Here I am, or at least seem to be;
Standing upon loaned feet from matter’s vast trove of building blocks;
Gesticulating, enunciating these garbled sounds,
With a tongue no less borrowed than these feet,
Jostling a liquid crystal brain above them with relative ease, as though I belong here.
My words; inert aural symbols, pointing to meaning,
While possessing none, in and of themselves,
To fill this vast space between us;
That space which seems small, yet is, in truth such an immense chasm,
For our respective definitions merge on only very rare occasions indeed.
We are separate, even as our bodies co-mingle their quantum components,
Despite all rumors of a Oneness which binds us all.
Palpably separate and distinct are we all,
Even as we are woven from the same particulate medium.
That rumored Oneness must remain only theoretical, for now.
And so irony is my best friend, with metaphor my other close companion;
They understand me better than most,
Requiring no templates or torturous explanations.
They comprehend my ephemeral nature,
My sharp, biting wit and laser beam gaze which sees through walls.
Is it really so strange for me to want to imagine that you hear me?
For it is a lonely business to walk the universe alone;
A flesh-bound marker with thoughts and feelings known only to me, yet shared by all.
I am only one of many mortal beacons, expressing words that fail spectacularly.
Greg Steorts; artist, philosopher, seeker and admirer of simple truths, collector of rich, poignant ironies, fashioner of life preservers forged of buoyant sarcastic wit. 53 years now into my mission as an incarnate human, I now possess the wisdom to fully appreciate the courage it takes every soul to sign onboard for an amnesia-steeped sojourn into the sordid human condition, within the confines of a klutzy, watery meat suit.
I hereby salute ALL mission members; whether surfing sublime waves of purest light with dazzling aplomb, or slogging through swamps of tepid murk in totally inappropriate footwear. Take heart! ALL rivers return to the sea, and ALL mission members eventually return Home to Love!
Rock on, deep space voyagers!
The Keeper of the Diary – Ms Judith Diana Winston (Author)
The discovery of the diary starts Cassie on a spiritual journey of adventure, intrigue and synchronicity, that takes her to many of the world’s most ancient and enigmatic Sacred Stone Sites, and leads her to uncover the Planet’s most primeval and powerful knowledge—including the surprising secret of her own past.
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