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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 someone—or something—was 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 differently—mathematically, it seemed—that I hardly recognized even the most familiar of my daily objects. The thoughts, the ideas, the scope of the images—I 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 encountering—an 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.

“Somehow, somewhere, he was given the keys to our future, and he generously and skillfully passes the secrets on to the rest of us."
—Marianne Williamson

“The Third Millennium is a keen, poetic description of the emerging spiritual awareness. It tunes us to a new vibration.”
—James Redfield

“Like no other book I know it has the power to bring our lives into alignment with our essential being. Its beauty and relevance make it clearly one of the truly great gifts of our time.”
—John Robbins

“A prophetic announcement of the end of history as we have known it and the beginning of an era in which we become responsible for evolutionary governance.”
—Jean Houston, Ph.D

“A survival guide for the twenty-first century—profound, prophetic, and practical. This is a book to read and reread, a book that may well change your life.”
—Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
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