Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Search for a word within this document – use the  Ctrl + F keys  on your keyboard.

Leave a suggestion or comment >CLICK HERE<. 

REB-1B.16 Confessions: Stranded in the Jungle®


2012-01-01. Stranded in the Jungle.

“Confessions of a Rebel Angel; The Wisdom of the Watchers and the Destiny of Planet Earth” – Book 1B. Chapter  16. ~ by Timothy Wyllie

“Living Primitively, the Lucifer Manifesto, Willful Blindness, Prison Worlds, and the Miracle of the Fish”



Confessions of a Rebel Angel. Book 1B. Chapter  16. Stranded in the Jungle.

The human propensity for belligerence and cunning wasn’t very different 75,000 years ago from what you see around you today. Humans tend to pride themselves on the steady progress of the species. Space travel, nuclear power, and the Internet are among those advances held up to prove contemporary superiority over whatever may have come before. Recorded human history stretches back a mere few thousand years to Sumeria and Egypt. Prior to about eight thousand years ago, almost nothing is actually known about the everyday lives of people. Glimpses can be gained from the few ruins that remain, but any generalization as to how people of those eras thought and felt has to be, of necessity, speculation and guesswork.

While modern archaeological discoveries continue to push the date of known human habitation further back into the mists of prehistory, almost nothing has been found predating twenty thousand years past. Gold artifacts, made from the most stable of elements, can only be dated back some eight thousand to ten thousand years, and the so-called Bronze Age started taking off on the Indian subcontinent a mere five or six thousand years ago. Time will always be the enemy of preservation. Under normal physical conditions, metals corrode or oxidize, stone cracks and weathers, crystal is fragile, precious stones get endlessly recut or reset, bones crumble, buildings turn to dust, and good ideas fall prey to social disruptions.

Little to nothing remains of the distant times I am describing here— perhaps some hints of cities long under water, feats of geomancy so enormous as to be invisible to the modern eye, or a couple of mysterious mounds deep in the South American jungle. The cave paintings of Lascaux in southwestern France are believed to be a mere seventeen thousand years old. Only when the midwayers reveal their hidden caches of the world’s most ancient and beautiful objects—their Treasure of El Dorado—will the remaining skeptics finally be persuaded of the deep and far-reaching heritage of your species.

Until such a time, the only inheritance from those antediluvian times is psychosocial rather than material. The constant reiteration of reactive thought and behavior patterns—like irresponsibility or blame, for example—repeat endlessly down through the history of the species have imprinted the world mind in such a way as to make independent thought, or action, all that more challenging. Caligastia, for all his brilliance, had sorely underestimated the native cunning of those working in the temple laboratories and manufacturing facilities in his widespread empire. The Prince’s policy of carefully sowing seeds of dissension among the different kingdoms within his sphere of influence had been more effective than even he had hoped.

Technological development, with a stress on weaponry, was proceeding apace. Considering himself liberated from any of the traditional constraints placed on his original mission by M A, Caligastia had no compunction about passing along what he knew about the science of physics. He’d also been encouraging his midwayers since the uprising to make a particular study of the atomic structure of matter, again with a focus on the practical application of the research to weapons development. This had required painstaking supervision on the Prince’s part, because he had no wish for his plans to go up in smoke prematurely, quite literally, before he’d accomplished his aim of annihilating Van and his associates. Caligastia had to keep this, his true motive, a secret from all but his closest associates. Even those midwayers not intimately concerned with weapons development were kept well out of the loop.

This had not sat well with any of the midwayers, who liked to think of themselves as one large family when it suited them. As quassiblings, Caligastia’s midwayers fought among themselves; they were constantly attempting to outwit one another to prove their dominance and were mischievous enough to follow their chief ’s instructions only when it suited them. But trying to get them to keep secrets from one another appeared to push them over the edge.

There followed a brief rebellion—actually, more of a sit-down strike—in which the midwayers refused to follow any more instructions from the Prince until information was allowed to flow freely between them. When Caligastia refused to modify his position, the strike continued unabated for more than a hundred years. As it turned out, this standoff worked more to the advantage of the midwayers than the Prince. While he was preoccupied with trying to settle the strike, which included talking to all the midwayers individually—all 40,119 of them—they were able to continue their secret work without his knowledge or interference. During this period, both sides in the impending conflict made rapid and unanticipated (at least by Caligastia) leaps of progress.

I don’t think the Prince had realized just how devious the priest-scientists in the two dominant powers had become under midwayer tutelage. More interesting to me, I believe this was the first time I saw a real divide developing between the rebel midwayers and Caligastia. The Prince’s relationship with his midwayers after the death of their parents—the sixty staff who’d followed the Prince into rebellion—had always been strained. He’d permitted them the freedom to work actively behind the scenes on behalf of their preferred warrior-kings and relied on them to keep him informed about their technological progress. He was too proud to think that his midwayers would ever deceive him. But, of course, they did. It’s my observation that Prince Caligastia found himself trapped within a philosophical dilemma.

He was, by nature, an autocrat. By this time, he was convinced that he was a god. He believed that his was the final word on all that was happening on the planet, and, working through his midwayers and their priests, he was determined to make every single person believe this. He spoke of personal freedom, and yet he’d had to keep his midwayers on a short leash for as long as possible. And herein lay the problem. One of the central tenets of Lucifer’s Manifesto was a plea for more personal freedom, and Caligastia certainly believed himself free to do whatever he wanted.

Yet the autocratic nature of his personality did not allow him to truly extend this freedom to others. This was not what the midwayers had signed up for. That very freedom, the liberation to become more than the functional beings they knew themselves to be, had convinced many of them to follow Lucifer and Caligastia into rebellion. So the midwayers supporting the two dominant powers started to collude prematurely with their priest-scientists—without keeping the Prince informed about what they were up to. They pushed ahead far further and faster than Caligastia’s agenda allowed. Both sides had learned something about the secrets of nuclear fission at around the same time. From that moment on, working in their secret underground laboratories, progress had been moving along rapidly.

Both sides had even discovered deposits of uranium within a few weeks of each other—which made me suspect that someone was spying on someone else. Miners in the Northern Kingdom had stumbled on uranium oxide in their silver mines in southern Europe. Their opposition, now an empire stretching across Africa to its western limits, had located—with invaluable midwayer help—the massive uranium ore deposits in Gabon. The yellowcake was simple to prepare in situ in both situations, and it was then sent on to their central laboratories for further refining. I should emphasize that none of this activity would have taken place under normal evolutionary conditions if it had not been for the angelic rebellion.

I’ve come to believe that it was far too early in the natural development of the human species to be trusted with handling the devastating power of nuclear fission. Scientific progress and emotional and spiritual maturity need to develop hand in hand if a technologically advanced civilization is going to survive. Mortals in all inhabited worlds are widely known for their curiosity. Born onto planets at many different degrees of social, moral, and scientific advancement, all mortals look out into the same vast and star-filled universe and wonder who—or what—is out there.

Some planetary civilizations approach this challenge through technological means; others, like your cetaceans, choose to venture off their home planets using the innate power of their minds. These latter species are generally considered to be more spiritually and mentally developed than those who rely solely on their technology—however advanced their machines. And there are some planets that had originally developed sophisticated technologies and then relinquished them, either because they saw the potential dangers looming or because of some devastating conflict from which they learned to place their priorities elsewhere. From this it should be evident that without the appropriate data passed initially from Caligastia to the midwayers, humans of the time would have had no idea what uranium ore was, or how it might be used in such destructive ways.

So the pattern of using nuclear fission for weapons rather than for peaceful purposes, which we’ve seen reflected in the recent cold war, can be traced directly back to Caligastia’s drive for supreme power. I’m no scientist, so I can’t report on the many details involved in developing and preparing these frightful weapons and their delivery systems. What I can say is that it took about seventy years for the priest-scientists to move from yellowcake uranium through all the refining processes to an ingenious adaptation that used a fission-fusion-fission principle to create what would now be known as a hydrogen bomb. By this time the situation in the laboratories of both kingdoms had spun way out of Caligastia’s control.

He hadn’t figured on the depth of ferocity of the human animal and the degree to which priests on both sides had been successful at demonizing the opposing kingdom. I’d seen a number of minor conflicts that would blow up every once in a while during the time I’ve been observing this world, but from the level of hostility I sensed radiating from both kingdoms and the information I gleaned from some of my colleagues, I was sure it would only end in a disaster of calamitous proportions. Perhaps I ought to have stayed and observed the tragedy unfold, to have taken in the true awfulness of a war that laid waste much of northern Africa and the Middle East. This would be a war, I knew, that would be seen as a direct result of the rebellion and all the abuses of power that had followed.

I wonder sometimes whether I might have come to terms sooner with my responsibility for supporting Lucifer’s uprising had I stayed around for the conflict. But I was frightened—scared out of my wits—and you know by now how fragile an angel’s emotional body is. I felt compelled to follow my overwhelming feeling of wanting to turn my back on the impending carnage. I can see now that I was utterly terrified to observe the consequences of our secession manifesting with such implacable ferocity of the war I knew was to come. As I’ve previously explained with respect to an angel’s underdeveloped emotional body, those of my order are particularly tender by nature.

The mindless violence we observe playing out daily in your world is rendered ten times more painful to watch by our empathic natures. If, for example, I observe a crime or an abuse of power happening between humans, I have no choice but to experience what each of the protagonists are feeling—the fear and the fury. Perhaps you can understand why I’d want to avoid witnessing death and suffering on a scale that I wasn’t sure my sanity could survive. I’m not saying this to excuse myself but to understand with the wisdom of retrospect exactly what drove me to make my decisions in those terrible times.

By understanding and accepting the errors I’ve made, I can learn from them and hope to redeem myself. These were not my thoughts at the time. I could see what was coming, and I’d become convinced by then that matters had spiraled way out of the control of both Caligastia and the midwayers. Others in Caligastia’s circle were blind to this imminent catastrophe, as was demonstrated by the speed at which my transfer came through. I’d put in a formal request to be transported to Zandana, convincing myself that it had been a long time since I’d last been there and I was anxious to see their progress. Within a few days, with my permit in hand (and, yes, angels do have hands!), I was on my way back to Zandana, hoping beyond hope they, too, hadn’t descended into such conflict and chaos.

The very moment I stepped out of the embrace of the transport seraphim, the psychic atmosphere on the planet of Zandana surprised me by how profoundly different it was from Earth. To begin with, I wondered if it was because Earth had become so much worse, or that Zandana had made so much more progress in comparison. Venturing out into the city on the southern continent, it soon became evident it was the latter. The city was magnificent. When I thought of Caligastia’s city back on Earth falling into ruin and then sinking beneath the waves of the Persian Gulf, the contrast was almost too vivid to bear. I’d hoped to get away from all thoughts of Earth when I came to Zandana this time.

Yet the wide, treelined avenues; the soft, molded forms of the buildings and the way the radial thoroughfares gathered into a great central plaza dominated by a majestic temple; the quiet discipline of the people I saw moving around in the government buildings; the cleanliness of the place; the sudden laughter from a group of women washing clothes together beside a canal, their children playing in a nearby park—all this and more plunged me into a deep depression. It wasn’t the distraction I’d hoped for at all. I felt sad and distraught rather than happy. Seeing this disparity and imagining what Caligastia’s Earth could have been, in spite of the rebellion, first brought home to me the terrible damage being inflicted back on my home planet.

While I was there, in spite of the Prince’s covert machinations, I always felt perhaps he would change, or that circumstances might force him to see the damage he was causing, or even that he might be able to create a lasting peace, if only, if only . . . But, of course, that hadn’t happened. It was never Caligastia’s agenda. I can see that now. He’d always been out for himself—his own power, his own selfaggrandizement. All the signs had been there—his emphasis on individuality, his pride, and his overweening ambition. I’d seen them all in flashes, in moments of extreme tension, but I didn’t want to believe these qualities would actually turn out to be so deeply entrenched in his character. As with both Lucifer and Satan, Caligastia was a powerful and brilliant being. Along with so many of my peers, I simply could not believe that these glorious Descending Sons (to use M A’s own terms) could be so misguided. Surely, they must know what they are talking about. I’d seen enough of bureaucratic incompetence and lethargy in M A’s local headquarters to want something new and different.

And I liked the idea of more freedom for everybody. But until I arrived on Zandana on this particular occasion, I had no idea of how far we on Earth had strayed from our dreams and the promises we’d made to ourselves for better lives. I’d never felt this intensity of sadness and self-recrimination before. An angel’s consciousness is normally a study in equanimity. We just get on with our business and watch mortals wrestling with emotions and feelings we’ll never get to experience with a mix of poignancy and bemused horror. The point is we’re not structurally equipped for strong emotions, because our function is to simply observe and guide (when we’re required to do so) and not to make judgments. I was only starting to realize what I know now so well—that as a Watcher I was experiencing these almost overpowering emotions. Prior to the rebellion, I was as emotionally detached as the next angel. Frankly, this wasn’t something I’d expected. Naturally, there are those whose function it is to make judgments, but they are of an entirely different order of beings. They have to be emotionally and mentally flexible enough to identify with those they’re required to judge; otherwise, they would have no reasonable foundation upon which to base their judgments.

At the same time, these angels are required to be detached from preconceptions and any bias due to over identification with the judged. I am not one of those eminent beings. So here I was, weighed down with bewildering feelings of my guilt and shame, which only seemed to get worse the more I saw of Zandana’s progress. I started to become immobilized. Fear for myself, for my own future, horrible selfdoubt—emotions I’d never experienced before—were piling on top of the intensity of my self-recrimination. Ashamed, and with a bowed head, I dragged myself from the city to one of the vast primeval forests that the citizens of Zandana wisely hadn’t plundered. I wasn’t sure why I did this—it was as if I were being guided in some way I didn’t understand. I was on another planet I still knew little about.

So I went with the flow. I allowed myself in my dejection to be blown by the etheric wind of the Spirit to the very center of the forest. Trees, massively tall and purple-leafed, loomed over me. Their trunks were so solidly compacted I could actually feel a change in temperature as I moved through them. The beams from one of Zandana’s suns shone through the leaves, slashes of golden light cutting through the rose-violet haze that hung suspended in clouds as dense as plasma in the forest glades below. Birds as small as hummingbirds dipped and flew around the trumpeting mouths of hot-pink blossoms, their plumage exploding with color whenever they flashed through a sunbeam.

When I saw the shadow of a large passenger bird circling high above the canopy flickering over the long grass of meadow, I lay down on my back and gazed upward, letting the chiaroscuro of its massive wings play over my closed eyelids, as the fandor momentarily obscured the sun. A peace that I hadn’t experienced in over a quarter of a million years fell over me. I’ve no concept how long I lay there; the shorter day-and-night cycle of Zandana seemed to strobe endlessly on, so it might have been days or years before I rallied myself. Then I chose the most regal of the trees in the grove within which I’d originally felt myself gently deposited and allowed its powerful device energy to suffuse my being.

I’d never done this before— never had to. So, once again, I found myself curious as to where this impulse came from. I won’t trouble you, patient reader, with all I went through in the 123 short Zandana days I stayed in the forest grove recovering my emotional and psychic balance. It may well become evident in a changing tone of my narrative. Suffice it to say that I saw no one in all that time, mortal or celestial, and was left completely undisturbed. This blessing of peace allowed me to review the rebellion and its consequences more objectively, at least on the two planets I was coming to know best. I had no reason to believe that the situation was any better in the other thirty-five worlds from what I’d managed to pick up on the celestial circuits still available to me. I had to acknowledge the wisdom of M A. I’d seen the chaos and violence of Lucifer and Caligastia’s alternative.

I’d observed the fear and suffering of too many mortals to believe that there was any validity left in the rebel cause. I’d been deeply disturbed by the indifference, shading into cruelty, that the undying showed to mortal death. Humans had become mere pawns in Caligastia’s nefarious schemes. Perhaps some good will be extracted from chaos, as the Melchizedek Brothers currently teach, but for the very life of me as I sat there I couldn’t see anything positive about the rebellion and its frightful aftermath. Even on Zandana, I knew of the bitter hostility that existed between the progressive society on this, the southern continent, and the vast majority of the population of the planet who eked out their existence on the other islands. Xenophobia ran rampant on all the island nations, and although the more advanced southern nations should have known better, they remained deeply suspicious of all those they called barbarians.

In many ways the affluence and progress I’d seen here came at the expense of those other poor people. This was not in the crude manner of stolen raw materials—the southern continent was remarkably self-sufficient—but in the more nuanced sense of stolen subtle energy. This will take some explanation, because the concept will likely be foreign to the modern mind. I ask you to visualize a whirlpool swirling around in a deep and fast- running river. For various reasons—a particular confluence of currents, the contours of the riverbed, the placement of underwater boulders—a whirlpool will occur at that particular spot. Now, compared to the flow of the river, the whirlpool represents a tremendous gathering of concentrated energy focused in that one place. So it is in the more subtle realms of the world mind. Periods of sudden enlightenment, or of artistic or technological progress, will appear to spring up spontaneously somewhere on the planet.

You saw it in your world occurring at the summit of Greek culture, for example; or in the poetry and mathematics that emerged at the height of the Islamic civilization; or again in the European Renaissance; when, for reasons often appreciated only after the event, a particular place and time become the locus of much of the creative brilliance and intelligence available in the world mind. It can work conversely, too, as with an Attila the Hun, or Pol Pot’s Cambodia, or Hitler’s Nazi Germany, in which the status quo is violently upended by a sudden explosion of collective madness.

On Zandana, however, due to the isolated physical distribution of the island nations, as well as the choice their Prince made to primarily develop the southern continent, this whirlpool of creative genius seemed to have settled periodically over the more progressive southerners. Granted, they, too, had gone through their umpteen rulers and kings—their thousands of years of dictators, abortive republics, and communal states. Yet unlike Earth, there appeared to have been a steady and unbroken line of progress far more similar, I would imagine, to the development of a normal planet not suffering from the fallout of an angelic uprising. If there is an overriding logic to the timing and placement of these massive infusions of creative energy, then I assume it is in the hands of the supermaterial planetary Over-government. All inhabited planets, whether subject to the rebellion or not, possess these general administrative councils drawn from former inhabitants of that planet and led by a celestial resident Governor General.

We are told that in isolated worlds, like Earth and Zandana, the Governor General stands in for the Planetary Prince in all supermaterial and Local Universe matters. But, significantly, although the governors are rotated every century, they possess “no actual personal authority in the management of world affairs,” to use M A’s words. They only act as coordinators of the seraphic administration, and in normal worlds, for example, all orders of angels functioning on the planet report to the Governor General as their director.

It should come as no surprise then to learn that I was shunned by this level of the celestial hierarchy, even as I preferred to keep my distance from them. Sometimes contact was unavoidable as when, for example, I needed to obtain leave to travel to Zandana and to make the necessary arrangements for a transport seraphim. These necessary encounters were invariably cold and curt, and I’d get shuffled through the interview as fast as possible—as if I exuded a communicable form of rebellious insanity. I’ve no wish to complain and merely state this as an observation: all of us who aligned ourselves with Lucifer’s Manifesto were treated as traitors by M A’s officials and those who remained loyal to M A.

They had to tolerate us because, rebellion or not, the thirty-seven succeeding planets still fell broadly under their administrative control. But they made no secret of their distaste for us. I wasn’t able to observe this firsthand, unless my memory has been wiped out, but I’ve heard from more than one colleague that not one of M A’s loyal angels ever visited the realms of the imprisoned fallen angels. Perhaps I haven’t mentioned this, but immediately after the rebellion started in the Local Universe Headquarters world and each of us was compelled to make our choice, the dissenting angels were said to have been spirited away to prison worlds. These were the worlds all those loyal angels were so reluctant to visit. Now this is where it gets personally intriguing!

I confidently stated above that “the dissenting angels were spirited away to prison worlds” because this was what M A has caused to be written by the Chief of Planetary Seraphim in the official version of the Lucifer uprising. And yet here I am, posted to Earth for as long as I can recall. Was I included in this friendless imprisonment and yet have no memory of it? Was I left on Earth by M A? If the authorities had some foresight as to how terrible the times to come would be under Caligastia’s egregious rule, they might have thought Earth would be quite enough of a prison to leave me here. I seem to have a continuous memory stretching back to before the Prince’s mission, but I can’t be sure there aren’t gaping lacunae. If my memory were drawn down—such is the way secrets are kept between various levels of the celestial hierarchy when drama necessitates it—I ask myself, would I ever know? Or would I just pick up from where I left off before the amnesia?

I felt I was nearing the edge of understanding something desperately important with these thoughts, and it seemed curious to me that I would have to have been on Zandana to be entertaining them. In much the same way, it comes to me as I am writing that I’m now using Mein Host’s intuitive faculties and his nimble intelligence to consider these difficult matters in a deeper light. This delights me! When I started this project with Mein Host, we both had different but overlapping motives for taking it on.

We’d agreed between us that it would have to be a labor of love; it needed to be truthful to both memory or intuition, and it would likely be far too personal to ever see the light of day. Mein Host made it clear from the start that one of his reasons for taking on the book was to get my viewpoint on some of the situations in his life that had seemed mysterious or unexplainable. An example you may recall from this long and winding narrative was his extraction by midwayers, along with his girlfriend Jennifer, from the impossibly small windows of a crashing and flattened Citroën Deux Chevaux. My own compelling interest was to reexamine the recent history of Earth, starting half a million years ago when I first arrived here, as part of the Prince’s mission.

I lived through and observed most of that era, when I wasn’t off-planet. Yet so much occurred that remained a mystery to me at the time, and is only now being made available through the creative alchemy I’ve been able to establish with my ward, that I’m being permitted to fill in some of the gaps in the official account. This, I believe, is what we are accomplishing between us. Yet what I never really anticipated was that I’d be given the chance to explore more of my own origins and to understand so much of what has been previously hidden from me.

I am a Watcher Angel and my name is Georgia.


The following is an excerpt from the Timothy Wyllie’s book series on rebel angels, specifically an account as described by the angel referred to as ,’Georgia”.

To view this and other books by Timothy Wyllie, Click on book to view more at


Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Email this to a friend
Twitter Tweet
Share on Facebbok
WhatsApp -Share document