Ken Carey - The Third Millennium

Authors are often asked, And what do you read? When I am asked which books are on my bedside table, I always say Ken Careys The Third Millennium because it remains there permanently.

I read it, ponder it, underline parts in yellow, tell other people to read it and buy copies for my friends. At one point, I even called the publisher to put in my two cents worth on how the book should be published. I couldnt imagine that this book wasnt yet known by almost everyone in the world. It has seemed obvious to me, from the first time I read Careys writing, that if ever there was a treasure in our midst, its this gentle man in Missouri who is so clearly plugged in to the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky.

What is it about Ken Carey and The Third Millennium that I think is so great? First, Carey is a master poet; his language is some of the most beautiful I have ever read. But more important, it is his information that is so outrageous. Somehow, somewhere, he was given the keys to our future, and he generously and skillfully passes the secrets on to the rest of us.

Im fascinated by anything millennial. Whats going to happen, how were going to manage, what its going to look like, who well bethese are subjects that magnetize my attention. Magazine articles, books, lectures, whateverIll read or Ill listen. But what Ken Carey writes about the historical chapter ahead and our part in it if we choose is so magical and profound that this book is, for me, a kind of Millennial Bible. I have referred to it many times and I will refer to it many times again.

We are living at a very exciting moment in time. Transformational information is to the nineties what rock n roll was to the sixties. And what made rock n roll so exciting then was not one particular group or individual: what made it so awesome was the whole array of genius.

Today, there is an array of spiritual, metaphysical wisdom among us. Ken Carey is one of the great living teachers, one of the stars that make the dark sky bearable. Read him and youll have hope. He sheds light and faith and absolute conviction that not only is the future nothing any of us have to fear, but that indeed, the best for humanity is still to come. Ken Carey is clearly a signpost. How wonderful that The Third Millennium is here.

Marianne Williamson

It was December 27. I was in bed with a fever, yet I felt more elated than ill. Something about the consciousness I was swimming in, living, being in, seemed strangely familiar, as if my vision were coming into focus after a lifetime of double images. Without the calm reasoning guidance of the voice I heard speaking to me, I am not sure I would have made it through this stage. But someoneor somethingwas helping me along, identifying itself as a part of me that I had forgotten, an eternal part.

I am a spirit being in the eternal fields of light, it said. I am you as you remain beyond material illusion, as you were, will be, and are now, before and after the spell of matter.

My handwriting being quite illegible, my only method of recording anything of the amazing stream of consciousness I had somehow stumbled upon was to type what I could of it on an old Royal portable typewriter that my brother-in-law found sitting on the curbside one day as he made his rounds as a garbage collector in Darien, Connecticut. But it was a strange sort of communication, unsettling at first.

I found myself experiencing a consciousness radically different from anything I had ever before encountered. And it was too close for comfort. I felt as if something enormous were looking through my eyes, seeing the same room I saw every day but interpreting it so differentlymathematically, it seemedthat I hardly recognized even the most familiar of my daily objects. The thoughts, the ideas, the scope of the imagesI was not used to thinking in such terms. I was unprepared, and not always able to follow. I balked in outright disbelief when the voice first suggested that this was some kind of extraterrestrial intelligence I was encounteringan explanation that even now I do not accept without qualification. But despite the fact that my mind frequently lagged behind, on an emotional level my heart and soul were experiencing a blissful, almost sexual, feeling of fulfillment.

I felt a peace that I could not account for, a sense of well-being deeper than I had ever known. When I understood what was being said, it was so wonderful that I felt like a child on Christmas morning. In a strange way it was almost as if I were remembering things rather than being told them. It was all I could do to keep my fingers in the vicinity of the ancient machine that, thanks to a generous dose of WD-40, was continuously tapping out some partial account of the thoughts that were rippling wavelike through my awareness. Several times I forgot to put wood in the stove until my numb feet reminded me of the winter creeping in under the door.

When this experience continued into a second day, I told my wife, Sherry, that although I did not understand what was going on, I felt a need to follow through with it and see where it was leading. I asked her to make sure that I was not disturbed for the next few days. If our friends or neighbors come over, I said, ask them to come back another time. I need to be isolated until this process, whatever it is, is complete.

That night, six inches of wet snow blanketed the forest around our home.

By morning all the younger pine trees along both sides of the one-mile dirt road that ends in our yard had bent over under the snows weight. There must have been a hundred of them bowing protectively across the road when I looked out the window the next morning.

Since we had no electricity, television, or radio in those days, the snow-laden trees effectively cut off all access to the outside worldand they remained that way until the transmissions were complete.

The fact that I had not previously known how to type must have been overlooked in the swirl of heightened consciousness, for when I awoke on the morning of January 6, 1979, there were 350 double-spaced typewritten pages stacked upon my deskand my life had forever and irreversibly changed.

Throughout those eleven days, as I was typing the notes that would later be published as The Starseed Transmissions, I was told again and again by the entities who were blending with me that a much stronger surge of telepathic awareness was to be pulsed into the collective field of human consciousness between the years 1987 and 1989. It was emphasized that this would be far more powerful than the thought signals I was then receiving.

This prediction turned out to be as precise as if it had been drawn from a moon calendar or a table of the tides. Ten years later, during the same period, telepathic messages began coming in, like subtle music in the background of my thought at first, then stronger, and finally with such power that I decided to stop everything and begin recording them. Since what I had captured on paper in the earlier Starseed Transmissions was such a small percentage of the overall information flow I had received, I had resolved by this time to be better prepared.