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<%PUBCOMMENTS%>X3, Healing, Entities and Aliens is the record of Adrian’s investigations, taking him from his first chilling encounters, to on-going interaction with other-dimensional beings – human as well as alien. A compelling first-person account of experiences, case studies and actual dialogues, Dvir’s book has wide appeal, making it a fascinating read for anyone who’s ever contemplated the existence of ETs, UFOs or ESP, wishes they could see into the future of Earth’s place in the universe, and has the courage to confront the fantastic.
2: Personal Encounters
<%FIRSTCHAPT%>Chapter 2: Personal Encounters
The year was 1982. It was early in the evening. I had just arrived home from my army base and collapsed exhausted on my bed. Lying for a time somewhere between deep sleep and wakefulness, I suddenly felt as if an ice-cold hand had touched my knee. I opened my eyes, but there was no one in the room. In fact, other than my parents who had already gone to bed, there was no one in the house. Then I clearly heard a voice in my head. It was a familiar voice and, speaking in Romanian, it said, "Take care of my children." I felt the hair rise on my arms and the chill of goose bumps as I realized it was the voice of my aunt who had passed away a few months earlier.
The next incident occurred years later, after my transformation from a bachelor and soldier to a husband and student of electrical engineering. I was lying down to rest next to my wife and, as I lay there with my eyes closed, I felt the unmistakable presence of someone else in the room. The feeling intensified until it became clear the presence was that of my grandfather, who was for several months now, no longer among the living. He expressed his wish to read the newspaper.
One sunny Saturday morning, I was happily composing graphics software on my PC. My wife and two children were still asleep. I suddenly felt as though I'd tuned in to someone else's feelings, someone who was very pleased with what I was doing. I found the experience quite strange and wondered what had triggered the feeling. I had a growing sense of someone standing behind me and I turned around to look. No one was there. At the same time, a face began to take shape in my mind. I could see only the bottom half of the image at first. Judging from the lines and wrinkles, it seemed to be the face of an elderly woman and someone I had never seen before. This time I decided to try and communicate with whatever or whoever this was. I formed a question in my mind: "What's your name?" "Olga," came the answer even before the question was completely formed. "How old are you?" I asked. "86," came the quick reply. "Where are you from?" As I asked that question, it suddenly occurred to me that I was communicating with a ghost. In fright, I cut off communication.
I accepted a new job as a computer engineer with one of the country's biggest companies. Having finished work late one night, I was impatient to get home. As soon as I got into my car, however, I heard a voice in my head say, "Watch out!" and felt a presence next to me. The presence was very strong and there was no mistaking its identity. It was my father who had died of cancer several months before. I was stunned. I thought I must be imagining things, but the sense of him sitting next to me was too strong and clear to dismiss. I tried to "talk" with him in my head, as I had done before with the elderly woman, but didn't succeed. There was a sense of communication, but it seemed unclear and finally cut off. Until now, I had never actually heard audible voices, which made me doubtful there had ever been any communication at all. I could only describe the experience by saying "it seemed as if...", leaving me in the uncomfortable realm of uncertainty. I was certain of one thing though; my father's presence remained constant over the next few days and I found it very disturbing. This time I didn't allow myself to ignore what was happening to me as I had in the past. I decided that if this was in fact the spirit of my father, I would not turn him away with my silence. At the same time that I came to this decision, I seriously questioned my sanity.
For several days, every time I got into my car, he was there. I didn't understand what was happening. Part of me I thought I must have been imagining it, going through some psychological upset. In search of a "safety net", I decided to consult my family doctor. He reassured me by saying he'd heard of such things before and no doubt it would go away in time. Not only did the presence and the feelings it aroused not go away, but they seemed to become all the more intense.
One day I parked in a spot where my field of vision was blocked. I put the car in reverse and was about to pull out when I heard my father quietly say, "Wait a moment". I did as he asked. Within a few seconds, a heavy truck appear from behind and sped past the car. I sat there in amazement. Without a doubt, if I had pulled out when I intended to, I would have collided with the truck, not with happy consequences. This event finally convinced me that I was communicating with something more than the creations of my own imagination.
One evening at home I was working at the computer while the radio played in the background. The reception wasn't very good and I reached out my hand to adjust it. Maybe I adjusted the "reception" in my head at the same time, because I suddenly heard the voice of my father again. He shouted to me, "Write, write, write!" I grabbed paper and pen and started writing whatever came into my head. Words and sentences poured onto the paper at a rapid, even tempo. This was my first experience with written communication. I received messages from both my father and my grandfather. Suddenly there was a disturbance in the flow; something was unclear as if someone I didn't know was "on our frequency." I heard a female voice asking me to look for her son who had died. I didn't answer the voice. Instead, I put the pen down, took the piece of paper I had been writing on, and hid it. I was unnerved and frightened.
A few days later when I regained my nerve, I decided to try again. This time I sat at my computer and typed: "Father, can you hear me?" To my surprise, I didn't have to wait long for an answer. My fingers flew across the keyboard and I typed everything that went through my mind. I felt as if I was conducting an imaginary dialogue with myself, but the conversation was happening far too fast for me to have been thinking it up as I typed. When I finished, I read through what I had written. I was amazed at the extent to which it was a logical, fluent dialogue. The answers to questions clearly reflected my father's character and verbal style.
These communications continued and my fears grew from day to day. However, so did my curiosity, which seemed to cancel out the fear. As I usually do, I asked a lot of questions, such as, "Explain to me what's going on here." My father tried to answer to the best of his ability and understanding.
One day, after I posed a particularly difficult question, the answer came back in the plural. I asked my father to explain why this was and he answered that he was not alone. He said he was with a group of people like himself, that is spirits, who were all trying to answer my questions. Together, they were more knowledgeable than my father alone and they provided me with fascinating descriptions of their world, as they understood it. The process began to accelerate. Communications became more frequent and I began reading on the subject everything I could lay my hands on. My home library steadily grew , as did my computer files of communications.
I was awakened one night by my son's crying. I sat up in bed and saw my wife walking toward the balcony She was wearing a red velvet robe embroidered with flowers. I tried to recall seeing the robe before when I realized my wife had no such robe. It occurred to me that it actually looked more like a dress from the previous century. I couldn't see her head or feet very clearly, and as I turned my head to follow her movement, I caught an image from the corner of my eye that shocked me. There, lying in bed asleep beside me, was my wife.. The figure in red slowly faded away as she continued walking toward the balcony.
As an educated person with a scientific and technological background, I was never drawn to the mysterious or mystical. My logical and carefully considered way of thinking didn't allow me to accept the unexplained. At the same time, I was always willing to admit that we don't know everything there is to know, which means we have to be open to new ideas. The mystical, the exalted, and the godly were never subjects of inquiry for me. However, I have always enjoyed the branch of literature known as science fiction because it combined advanced technological knowledge with futuristic possibilities and fascinating theories that fired the imagination. I liked pondering things such as existence on the edge of a black hole, or parallel universes. The existence of alien life somewhere in the universe seemed to me almost a certainty. Life after death, on the other hand, was something I did not understand[M10]. I had not managed to come up with an explanation that even began to satisfy me or that would form the basis of even an imaginary explanation in a science fiction novel. I had read books about the existence of the soul as separate from the body, but had not been convinced. Other than reading a few books, I never made a study of the subject. Until that period in my life when I began to have these strange experiences, I had never taken part in a seance nor approached anyone presenting themselves as a medium.
My greatest difficulty with the whole business was not being able to talk to anyone about what I was experiencing. My friends and colleagues knew me as a computer engineer, a rational, reasonable person. How could I tell them I was talking to ghosts?
It was then that I decided to contact a well-known medium and professional healer, Valerio Borgush. In order to convince me that what I was experiencing was not a creation of my own imagination, Valerio contacted my father and gave me information about things that only my father could have known. I asked a question directed toward my father and received an answer in my head. Not one second later Valerio repeated my father's answer, word for word. For me, this was proof that we were both receiving the same communications. In this way, Valerio validated the authenticity of my experiences and helped me come to terms with what was happening.
I told Valerio about my strange encounters and how from time to time I felt a presence in the room and could see faded figures in the background. We soon became good friends enjoying long conversations on the subject.. He explained that the physical body that we define as a human being, is just a small part of a person's total being. The body goes the way of all flesh- it dies and is buried-but the rest continues to exist and function. All we have to do is learn how to make contact with it. To illustrate, Valerio likened the physical body to a car and the soul to the driver. When the car is old and stops running, you trade it in for a newer model.
Sometimes, during my conversations with Valerio, I had strange sensations; Valerio's personality seemed to change, as if I was suddenly speaking with someone else. I felt that not only Valerio was interested in satisfying my curiosity, but also the "spirits" that were in contact with him.
On my way to visit Valerio one day, I was bothered by a medical problem and I wondered to myself over and over, "Is there anyone who can help me?" Suddenly I became aware of a voice in my head. It was a deep voice that asked me specific questions about my problem. The tone of the voice and type of questions it asked gave the impression of an intelligent and experienced person, perhaps a doctor. My mind formed the image of a round face with a trim mustache and beard. The conversation in my head-the deep voice asking questions and me answering them-continued all the way to Valerio's clinic. I wondered what I was doing, but nevertheless continued the conversation. When I arrived at Valerio's, I reported the whole experience to him. Valerio burst out laughing and then said, "That was Dr. Stephan. He was a famous Austrian surgeon. He's a great talker; he could keep you up all night. I'd leave him alone."
I was at a celebration in a banquet hall where the music was so loud that people could only communicate by gesticulating and shouting at each other. Casual conversation was out of the question, so to fill in the time between the salads and the chicken breast, I decided to try out my new skill. I turned my focus inward and asked in my head if anyone was in the area. Almost immediately, I received a string of unclear words in a language I did not understand. It sounded like Spanish. In my mind, I answered the voice, trying to get the speaker's attention, and finally we began to communicate in English. My conversation partner proudly told of her childhood in Spain and her life in Victorian England. The content of the conversation, the tone of her voice, and the images I picked up gave me a picture of her during her years of glory in England, creating the image of a character that was frighteningly real. Through our conversation, she revealed that after living to an old age and dying in the vicinity of the banquet hall, her spirit inhabited this place. Given the noise level, I think we conversed rather more successfully than the couple gesticulating to each other across the table from me.
The events related above are just a sampling of the many
experiences that set me on the path to new interests, new avenues of inquiry,
and ultimately, new discoveries.
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<%REVIEW%>Norman Schur is without doubt the outstanding authority on the similarities and differences between British and American English. British English, A to Zed attests not only to his expertise, but also to his undiminished powers to inform, amuse, and entertain.
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