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Steven D. Kelley - Cities Under the Plain: The true story of one man’s journey, through science, magic, and the CIA to understand the world in the 21st century

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Steven D. Kelley Cities Under the Plain: The true story of one man’s journey, through science, magic, and the CIA to understand the world in the 21st century
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Cities Under the Plain

Copyright 2014 Steven D Kelly. All rights reserved.

Library and Archives Canada electronic book text ISBN: 978-0-9921328-6-6

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777

Cities Under the Plain The true story of one mans journey through science magic and the CIA to understand the world in the 21st century - image 1

Published by BCI, 1030 Stainton Drive, Mississauga, Ontario, L5C 3E3

And it came to pass,

when God destroyed the cities of the plain,

that God remembered Abraham,

and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow,

when he overthrew the cities in the which Lot dwelt.

King James Bible Chapter 19, Verse 29

To my dear Danelle and my children

Thank you for your patience

I NTRODUCTION

This is the story of my life, a series of events and experiences that helped me realize my path. There are no coincidences. Belief in coincidences is a lack of awareness. All those stories from the Greeks onwards, fate, predestination, destiny, all those ways of describing the things that account for the unaccountable; theyre true. My experience confirms it. We update that language once in a while, just like we update stories once in a while. Carl Jung and synchronicity meaningful coincidences is a relatively contemporary updating of fate and destiny. We get the same anecdotal affirmation from religion and spirituality everything happens for a reason but theres just something about human beings by which we dont really understand these things until we experience them, and when we do our lives fall into a larger context, a more sublime content, one without all the answers but some assurances. Were not in this alone. There are these forces governing, and when we become aware of these forces, they become aware of us.

If you havent had this experience yet, then please allow my story to be another voice in a human chorus of poets, mystics, saints, and scientists all telling you the same thing. There is something going on here. There is a much larger context to life than the random. I certainly dont want to be insensitive to people who have had tough blows in life illness, the untimely loss of a loved one, or other forms of bad fate but, in time, you might come to see your own life in this larger context, and it does help take away some of the pain.

My story is not Eckhart Tolle or Deepak Chopra, more of a baptism by fire, service to heaven by time in hell. It is a dark story. I warn you. But these stories are important. The light stories wake up some people, and the dark stories wake up others. At times my information may seem heavy and difficult to accept, outside of your boundaries. Human beings like to believe they know what reality is, but look at the life of any mystic or physicist and it will show you that the more you know, the more you realize you dont know.

I had to develop a very open mind and learn to store every bit of information no matter how incredible. What I conceived of as impossible in the past resurfaced many years later, the incredulity of it again being put before my consciousness, as though some invisible force had been with me my whole life, pinging me with the same request for consciousness expansion at different phases of my life, as if to say, do you believe now?

In the end there are two paths we can go by, and yes, I do know thats from Led Zepplin, but they were right. We can learn to serve life and others or we can stay rooted in our own little self-created reality, indifferent to others and only concerned with our own survival and prosperity. In the end I chose service to others, service to life. You come to see as your own story gets into its third act, where spirit and truth come into your life, that there was never really two paths, and that the idea there ever really was two paths was just your self-concept in charge of your decision making, not you as a pure consciousness. It takes tremendous courage to learn to live these truths, but the spirit or force which guides us knows this, which is why it is infinitely patient and teaches the same lessons over and over again like a tireless grade school teacher, always with this love and patience. It knows what it is asking you to do is really hard given the environment in which we live, the non-stop violence and war, the massacres and tribal genocides which seem to take place with a regularity akin to seasonal solstices now, but its all part of the game, and the game is getting more intense now. This is not to say that the spirit or force is losing its love and patience, only that the path is narrowing, and the time to get on it is now.

We have great power that is waiting to be awakened. This is the magic. The world we live in today is a product of our mass perceived reality, our collective consciousness, what they called in Latin, spiritus mundi. A time is coming when people will be able to create their own reality. This is the ultimate gift bestowed on us by our creator. We start by increasing our psychic skills. We grow more powerful when we share this energy with people around us. This is why it is so important to realize we are all related and that we need to learn to love each other.

Once we have learned to avoid being drawn into the negative effects of being polarized by issues that the media bombards us with we can learn to practice unconditional love. When we watch the news we are force fed stories that play on our emotions and compel us to hate those that are portrayed as evil doers. We take sides and allow ourselves to become polarized which divides us and limits our ability to understand and have compassion. I know this is difficult to do. I personally went through a great shock to my core beliefs before I could come to terms with this necessity for compassion.

Visualize the yin and yang symbol from Taoist lore, the circle split in half like two tear drops, each with a touch of the other in them. Imagine that its always spinning, the amount of black and white ever changing, always a small amount of white or black at any spot on the circle. This is a perfect representation of the world. Nothing is ever black or white, only shades of grey. Likewise, this applies to good and evil. When it comes to humans, there is always a small amount of both present. This is the first thing we learn on the road to becoming observers.

Telling this story is very important for me and I hope the reader can appreciate the commitment and personal sacrifice Im making to bring this information out. My motivation is to help others grow and become more powerful individuals and leaders. Im very passionate about this message and I look forward to the result of my being able to share it with you.

There was a time when I was like everyone else, happy, innocent, looking forward to a good life, and growing old with my family close by. All that changed one day in the early nineties. I was raised to be patriotic and believed my country was righteous and could do no wrong. I was sitting in an office in front of a desk with a man that I thought was CIA sitting across from me. He was middle-aged, barrel-chested, a crown of black hair and a mustache, in a black safari type shirt, military paraphernalia scattered about: a hand grenade with a number one tag connected to the pin, a plaque that said, complaints take a number. He smirked as he recounted a story about a village deep in the jungle of Honduras, men, women, and children living a simple agrarian life the way we all didnt too long ago, people unfortunately sympathetic to forces that wanted to change the government. One day a group of soldiers went to that village deep in the jungle, surrounding the area and systemically slaughtering every living thing: men, women, children, goats, pigs, chickens, and dogs, essentially everything that had been cultivated there, an entire micro-culture that had sustained itself in a similar manner for centuries, a combination of native and Spanish culture that has cross-bred and found a balance but was deeply out of accord with the changing world in the centers of political power. Americans are somewhat familiar with this sort of carnage from films like the Academy Award winning Platoon by Oliver Stone, but in the movie it gets rationalized as a casualty of war, the human collateral of soldiers gone rogue after too many months in the bush, a terrible circumstance that the media latched onto during the war and used as a kind of struggle in the national soul, the consequences of war, a well traveled path in western culture, Stanley Kubricks Paths of Glory being another stellar example. Even the English grappled with it in Ben Kingsleys epic masterpiece, Gandhi, the now infamous machine gun massacre of a crowd of several thousand in Punjab who refused to disperse in a northern city named Armitsar, home to the world famous Golden Temple of the Sikh faith. What happened in Honduras was different. It wasnt an accident, nor was it the result of weary and confused soldiers or an au-thoritarian British commander. It was planned, executed, and when it was over a big helicopter flew in with a bulldozer hanging underneath it and the entire village was buried in a mass grave as though it never existed. Every hut, person, and dead animal went into the pit, which was then covered with earth, the helicopter flying away with the bulldozer. The killers disappeared back into the jungle and left behind nothing but a clearing where the village once stood. This was a CIA death squad and these men did what they did in the name of the USA. I was in shock, everything I was raised to believe about right and wrong shattered. My innocence was scorched from me that day and I could never return to the person I was. Thats what the Greeks called fate, mine delivered to me in the jocular narrative of a balding little sociopath who kept a grenade in his office.

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