BEK and the Terrified Investigator!
BEK (Black Eyed Kids), less well known as BEC (Black Eyed Children) or BEP (Black Eyed People), are urban myths to some, but horrific reality to others, including me. The original purpose of this post was to provide new information on the BEK, my preferred acronym, but little did I know I was about to shift from concerned student of this terrifying phenomenon to having my own harrowing encounter with these evil soul slurpers. Now, it’s one thing to study something really Out There, and something else altogether when it’s you’re having the experience. On balance, I strongly prefer the academic route, particularly when it’s my soul at stake! Any readers inclined to guffaw after reading my original post most likely won’t be laughing about this wholly credible to me reported encounter between a BEK and a “6’7″ 260 lb airman” formerly of SF (Special Forces) The (decidedly not human) gaunt 5’9″ 140 lb 17-18 y.o. boy, or so he appeared, tried the usual scam to gain physical access to his planned victim: wanting to be let in to use the phone. Never ever do this! Trust your instincts!
BEK–No Invitation Needed!
The above is fundamentally sound advice, but earlier today (Thursday, July 9, 2015), I learned there is a whole new and horrific aspect to this BEK business. I don’t know what the triggering circumstances may be, but I’ve learned the hard way the BEK can come calling–in your bedroom, no less–without being physically admitted into your abode!
At the time, I was, I think, sound asleep following another up until dawn drill: exhausted and wired; raw, agitated; Inner Child climbing the wall; flaring nerves, weird appetite and other unpleasantness to agony so many times associated with some sort of pending upheaval, here on Earth or elsewhere. It seemed as though I hadn’t been asleep long when I several times heard, at random intervals, a schnick schnick sort of sound I thought was outside and below my second story window, at a time when the Sun was already up for hours. The best interpretation my brain could come up with was a weed whacker being used by the lawn mowing crew. Except it wasn’t right. Something was off. Weed whackers typically are used longer in a given pass and don’t sound like that.
Now, I should explain that I was cold and consequently was already under the covers, save for the top of my head. Apparently because of my Earth and other sensitivities, my body frequently doesn’t properly thermoregulate. Consequently, I can feel normal, freeze or roast in a 75 degree room. Despite sporting a huge volcanic belly which looked like a woman’s well past term, by the time I collapsed I was cold. And by “cold” I mean sleeping under full winter covers with flannel sheets atop and below me. Better than freezing, and that includes goosebumps! I wore a tee shirt, a zipped up hoodie, sweat pants and socks, but I was still cold for a time. Whatever was going on stopped, and I started to hear, whether in my dream or telepathically in my mind, distant voices of small children. Their tittering was what convinced such awareness as I had they were in fact children. In truth, at the time, I had no, zero, idea whether, as the brilliant ads decades ago asked, “Is it live or is it Memorex™?”
Whatever it was, it was pretty disturbing. Soon, I’d delightedly do anything to get back to “disturbing.” To being able to classify this as “just a nightmare.” You see, it wasn’t! It was real. It happened! And despite my singular ineptness and near paralysis when I needed to act swiftly, decisively and lethally, I managed to survive. Wellington famously observed of the pivotal Battle of Waterloo, which crushed Napoleon once and for all, “It was a near-run thing,..” Mine was also near-run, but instead of a vast carpet of the wounded and dead littering the Belgian landscape, the casualties were to my battered psyche, to my very sense of safety. Never again will my bedroom, with the door locked, be the sanctuary to me it once was!
The Reality of Unreality
At the time, I wasn’t sure whether it was some horrible dream or something actual. Of course, horror movie fans who’ve seen things like “Nightmare on Elm Street” will have an understanding of sorts that dreams are real; that terrible things which happen there can, in fact, kill. I myself have shockingly learned ex post facto from a member of Ground Contingents (those on Earth who have a familial connection with the ETs/EDs (Extra-Terrestrials/ Extradimensionals) of the LF (Liberation Forces) that my various bloody encounters in the astral could very well have gotten the so-called real me killed, and there are quite a few mystical and religious traditions which hold this vulnerability during astral travel to be true. You can look those up yourselves.
What I can say is that it got to the point that they were in very close proximity to me, judging by the markedly increased volume, and were saying things about me from the right hand side of my bed near the foot of it. I didn’t know what they were saying, but it further upset me. I suddenly became, not an adult but a little boy cowering under the covers, just like in the movies. My body was electric with fear. I didn’t breathe. Or don’t recall I did. I barely moved. It was all I could do to get the covers completely over my head and hold them there while rigid with tension. I wanted to cry out, yet initially couldn’t so much as croak, still less scream. Which only made things much worse. Even now, some 15 hours later as I write this part, I’m not at all sure so much as a sound left my physical mouth! As I said, I simply don’t know in what state or states of consciousness or unconsciousness this all occurred.
There is a classic SF short story by the great Harlan Ellison called “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream.” This is a terrific and gripping tale, but I assure you all, you absolutely never want to be in that predicament for real. I was.
After summoning up such energies as my near paralytic state permitted, I made something I felt resembled an utterance, albeit a strangled one which was barely audible. More of not a croak, but a swallowed one. If indeed there was anything to hear as far as a vocalization. Whatever the objective facts, I tried to get something out. My second attempt was a doubtless amusing to them “Get out!” though it was more likely to have been registered as more of a “get out (go away, boogeymen, please)” of a little kid about to wet himself. Fortunately, I didn’t!
Finally, I managed to muster something more nearly resembling the imperative voice, which allowed me to demand they leave. Silence. Still more silence. Were they gone? I wasn’t taking any chances, and I had not the faintest notion when all this went down who or what was in my room. My eyes never opened once. Nor did my head ever unmask from the covers while the invaders were felt to be there in my bedroom. Eventually, like a turtle gingerly poking its head out of the shell, I timidly emerged, urged on by an acute need to dewater. At a glance, I saw my door had been locked, and I marveled anyone could’ve gotten in to begin with. My next thought was concern I might’ve woken my housemate on the same floor.
And the now known to be BEK encounter wasn’t the full list of a night and early morning which left me so wrecked I could barely talk. In fact, I stayed in bed until pretty much driven out of it by hunger and the need to order an ergonomic chair to rescue my battered butt and lower spine. Why battered? Sitting on a chair whose foam had quickly collapsed after buying it second hand! Steel seat pans with numerous humps for adjustment controls, mountings and such don’t for comfort make!
Before the BEK hove onto the scene, I’d had some sort of bizarre encounter in which I dreamed(?) I somehow collided with a man, resulting in a frantic concern for my wallet, which in physical reality, was on the left side of the folding table, mere inches from where I’m composing this scary post. The wallet was there because after making a very nice seafood and sausage carbonara penne dish for myself (first real cooking in weeks), something went wrong on the ascent, causing part of my much needed meal to slide off the left side of my plate and trash my shirt and jeans en route to the stairs and wall! In an effort to keep the wallet from stinking of seafood, I’d hurriedly removed it, before switching to sweats, emptying the pockets and chucking jeans, shirt and enough other dark clothes to make a load into the washer. My encounter, whatever it was, sufficed to cause me to get up (or did I in Standard Reality?), see that the wallet was there and that the contents were intact. All was well.
As if that wasn’t enough, for days I had been hearing/”hearing”the word “rape” repeated at various random intervals. I thought it might be my Subconscious trying to tell me something. And why might my Subconscious be speaking out thus?
I have been through several deeply personal violations of self which could be interpreted, to one degree or another in that dire light. I have, for example, at age 12 and while neither big nor strong, been pounced on, stripped naked and jeered at by a strapping 16 y.o. white boy at newspaper pickup point on a cold Arizona day beginning . An evil muscular young man who laughingly threw my clothes over the 10″ Cyclone fence into a schoolyard and left me to the full view of passersby. That sort of fencing had sharp exposed crisscrossed ends on top. And I had to climb it, with the family jewels in acute jeopardy coming and going! After that, I had to get dressed and still deliver the papers.
In my first year of high school, I was attacked by a long arrest record possessing black male while at the urinal. That one scarred me so badly using public toilets clenched my guts and bladder to such extremes it took me long minutes to do my business, invariably conducted as far away from others as possible. As recently as 2010 a crowded public toilet required real will power to use it, that with eyeballs awash!
Speaking of washing, in my senior year of high school I was again naked. A Hispanic kid of smallish size but large meanness thought it’d be great sport to throw cold water on the gringo, heard it in the banter with his friends, while I was getting cleaned up after a very sweaty PE session. After a few times of telling him to knock it off, to stop, I finished my shower and emerged–only to encounter a fist headed toward my face at full speed! I don’t see at all well without my glasses, and there was quite a bit of steam in the shower area, so I was doubly disadvantaged, but I saw enough of it to turn away far enough that it smashed my cheek like a hammer blow, rather than pulping my nose and lips.
This is in no way the full catalog of violations I’ve endured, but they do serve to explain how my psyche would perceive them as rape, though without the overt bodily penetration. Also, a Mensa™ member and certified gang expert who was highly perceptive and with whom I once shared a house with many roomies, was absolutely convinced I’d been molested as a child and emphatically said so many times. While it’s possible this may be true, I have zero recollection of any such thing, and I can meticulously detail the various assaults on my person through the years.
Pretty freaked out and quite puzzled by the events of that awful night and morning, I contacted a member of the Ground Contingents, a wise person with altogether too much experience in fighting nasty things up and down the dimensions in the astral, oft at night while asleep. The wallet story didn’t get much of a reaction, but the rape stuff did. I was told that what I’d picked up were subliminals, much like the ones this person heard through the radio: “Nothing will ever change. It’ll never get better” Obviously, these are messages designed to generate despair, to demoralize and debilitate those who hear them. But I had no radio on, so how was I hearing, if that was the correct term, the rape messages?
Frey Effect mind control technology operating in the microwave frequency range? Or was it scalar mind control tech, psychoenergetics, as described by the well past brilliant Thomas Bearden? Telepathic intrusion from some entity? Could it have been some sort of Magickal (not prestidigitation; real stuff) mind invasion? I don’t know, but I can tell you from direct physical encounters with everything from a pretty and physical witch (who used a whammy on me to rouse my interest and started to get a lot more than she expected before fleeing to her car and dissolving the spell which generated more interest in her than she’d anticipated) to being under hours of Magickal attack from the astral by technologically augmented witches, bossed by a warlock, Magick is real.
In the last case, the attacks were terminated by what I perceived as myself going berserk in a crowded control room full of typical witches manning atypical computer consoles with specialized displays capable of performing general population surveillance or precision targeting against individuals. Magick + Tech! While armed with an instantly materialized double bitted battle axe, I became a sort of whirling dervish with a large, heavy and very sharp blade in hand. Result? Gore Central! There were no survivors, it being difficult to do sans heads! If the notion of employing hardware for amping up focused Will rankles, consider the Montauk Chair, a blend of terrestrial and Sirian (note substitution of “I” for the expected “Y”) equipment to amplify and externalize the Will of the psychic in the Chair. Concentration and use of the Will to a specific end is by definition Magick, be it spell, blessing, curse, or visualization.
That was merely prelude. Lesson One in a painful for me debrief was : “This stuff is real. It happened. Deal with it.” I was then informed that I of all people should’ve known better; that I forgot my training (17 years worth or so); that I should have attacked, instead of just lying there. Ouch! My interlocutor described such things as commonplace, explained that party’s bedroom had four “gates” oriented on cardinal directions, and in another conversation, that the worst witch attacks came from the north. No idea why that was this case. I was softly yet mercilessly excoriated for failing altogether to use my Third Eye; to see, assess and attack, instead of going passive and being helpless. I was pointedly reminded I wasn’t helpless (when operating from a third Eye perspective, seeing what those not so aware wouldn’t notice at all) and that I needed to own this and grow up!
These are not the sorts of things one wants to hear, and the thought of more visits, from who knows what, were in no way comforting, though not all visits this person receives are attacks. It might be some lost entity trapped in a nearby dimension and needing to be freed, Dark Forces seeking to learn something, an evil entity who decided it was time to grow and evolve into something positively oriented. Or it might be what looked like the standard notion of the Devil, who recently dropped by, sat on the couch, and informed my mystical teacher the purpose was to “let you know I exist.”
I used to think this person was nuts, but I’ve had entirely too many experiences which totally support the oh so strange reality this person has reported for almost two decades. For me, this is reality born of what I effortlessly feel and whose beings, of whatever form and size, I can usually clearly “hear.” My “vision,” though is nowhere as acute or clear. Generally, I see but dimly and partially. It’s more of a sensing than a viewing. Regardless, I’m clearly going to have to now deal with unexpected, unwanted, perhaps with murder intent visitors to my once thought safe locked bedroom. Not exactly the stuff of deep restful sleep–which I wasn’t getting to begin with!
Regardless, all I knew prior to speaking with the aforementioned member of the Ground Contingents was my room had been invaded, evidently by young children of cruel disposition, but my singular lack of clarity lasted about as long as it took to be ordered to do a retrospective viewing of the events. I’d barely begun the process when I beheld in my Inner Eye the telltale indicator of the BEK as they really are: a head of sorts with two long tubes coming from it and used to suck the souls on which they feed! That’s explained in the first link, which is to my eclipsing all other JKI efforts BEK post. Also, I saw the outline of one of those A-line dresses little girls often wear during the summer. That was all I needed or wanted to know, and it sufficed for my teacher’s purposes, too. My read on the BEK invaders? Two “boys” and a “girl.”
Update (7/20/2015, 4:53 AM)
Subsequent to my writing the post, the following evening I was musing on this rape stuff and asked “Why rape? Why not murder?” Back came a prompt reply, one matter of fact and fell. “It’s easier to induce rape than murder. People will rape rather than kill. Killing is hard, rape is easy.”
Also, a day or so after the post, the member of Ground Contingents informed me something had been taken from me, something important. Was told it had to do with my wallet. Huh? Having checked the wallet carefully, I knew for a fact everything was there, so the statement made no sense. Until it was explained to me that the wallet was symbolic. Just how symbolic became evident when I was informed that it was a part of me! With some gentle but firm coaching, I was required to go back and see what was taken. Though it seemed utterly impossible, it appeared the “little girl” had reached into my chest, in a scene which was all aglow, and pocketed the upper left quadrant of my heart. Naturally, this left me wondering why I wasn’t dead, but I was told this wasn’t my physical heart but the astral one. I then made an impressive entrance which rooted my attackers to the spot. I told the girl to hand over my heart piece, but she refused. In her other dress pocket she was clutching something I “read” as slimy and akin to a limbless frog. Never did learn what that was. Initially rebuffed, I now got mad and thundered my demand for the instant return of what she’d taken from me (whose loss would’ve eventually killed me, since the astral informs and expresses in the physical). I made some highly credible threats involving instant death and invited them to look at the timeline to see what had happened before, as in the sanguinary ends to the warlock and witches in the above control center. That got their attention and my heart quadrant back, still reluctantly. I told them if they ever came near me again I’d kill them on the spot. Shedding their fake human appearance, away they flew. Right through the wall of my room! My coach didn’t understand why I’d been merciful, saying, “I’d have killed them on the spot.” To that remark I replied, “But you love lopping off heads.” Having seen this person in full war cry in the higher realms, I can assure you readers that wasn’t a theoretical notion but a statement of fact!
While my strong suspicion is that I was singled out by the BEK because I’m a known and demonstrable danger to the Dark Forces, the deeper, and mind-breaking truth is that we’re all vulnerable to what I’ve so sharply presented in this post. It is therefore upon me, upon you to trust your instincts; pay attention to the sudden knotting of your guts; tune into, rather than avoid, that abrupt feeling that something’s not right; honor the Inner Voice. Acknowledge the hair on the backs of your head and on your arms is standing up. This is Self, this Soul warning you. If you wish to survive, you’d best pay attention!
If your dog starts growling or your cat hisses for no apparent reason, it’s likely your pet perceives and is instantly reacting to what you may not. A threat. Or threats.
In military terms, we are now on a battlefield with no fixed lines. There is no safe rear area; no sanctuary. Nor are we necessarily initially looking at the arrival of a defined entity. I was told that while we think of our body as us, the reality is that the body is about 25% of the whole, the rest being spirit, Soul. I was told we’re in large measure like smoke, and it is basically this form in which the BEK arrive, obviating the need to walk through physical doors. Let’s hope this dread ability is only exercised only against those looming large on the radar, if you will, of the Dark Forces. In any event, while “Eternal vigilance is the price of Liberty,” it is even truer eternal vigilance is the price of survival! Wake up. Now!!!