Surprised, I opened my eyes to find myself standing. My gaze was fixed on a vast crystal blue sky. A soft, icy breeze coiling around the hilltop conveyed the morning cold. I began shivering and asking myself how I got here when a glint of silver caught my attention. I looked over my shoulder to see a bright metal disc with a mirror polish, gigantic in proportion, hanging silently above me. Upon my realization, I was suddenly seized with a terrific force. Some invisible vice locked itself around my whole body; the air crushed from my lungs as it gripped me ever tighter against my consent. A loud metallic click resounded as I strained against what bound me and reverberated inside my brain. The disk and I began to interface. A deluge of images flooded my mental processes. I was a human particulate futtering between states of consciousness and dissolving in equal parts terror and astonishment.
Amidst the churning ocean of digital chatter I was drowning in, a single directive emerged, stronger and louder than any other. It rose above the crashing waves of analog noise and onto a crystal pedestal of clarity. "I was a builder." I was born to construct and fashion walls, towers, houses, bridges, ramparts, and roads in literal and ideological mediums. To create communities and weave together networks. People would be my primary material, igniting their purpose and unifying their goals. However, I was just as capable, maybe more so, of rendering instruments of destruction, of crafting poisons for the body, mind, and soul. I COULD DECONSTRUCT what I or another built, either piece by piece or in wide murderous swaths.
Having delivered its message, the disc released me. Oxygen came rushing back into my lungs along with spacial awareness into my brain. The disc shot upward with the speed of a bullet but with none of the force. Quickly, the sky grew dark, and the stars were again shown. I stood open to the elements. I was stripped down to nearly nothing, exposed physically and emotionally. The dying campfire's dim radiance illuminated my friends, cocooned in their sleeping bags and blissfully unaware of what had transpired. Dangerously chilled, I trudged back to them with frozen footfalls along a trail of my clothes.
A terrible wave of nausea welled inside me, and I began to dry heave. Over and over till I was dripping with sweat and finally vomited. Exhausted and mentally zeroed out, I collapsed on the hard ground and enjoyed the pre-dawn frigidity. The resulting walking pneumonia clung to me for almost three months, until the New Year of 1994, my sophomore year of High School.
The act of intentional and repeated separation from the group wasn't lost on me. Memories of being called out of class or pulled out of school assemblies to visit persons who disclosed neither their purpose nor identity bubbled up to the forefront of my mind. Institutionalized ostracization and alienation via institutional intrusion by The State of California's Educational Board's ties to black projects and genuine alien forces? For the vast majority, such a supposition need never cross their minds. Lucky them.
Taken.
Abducted.
Removed.
The feeling of division between self and other, fading since my family relocated from California to Idaho, was starkly reaffirmed. I had again been set apart. I was anointed not by sacred or holy oil as in my adult life's numerous religious and spiritual initiations but by otherworldly light and sound. I knew of the distance in close proximity and the feeling of separation, even in a crowd. Understanding these paradoxes would always and inevitably cause cracks in the foundation of all my relationships. However, through these fissures, I could access the liminal spaces between the worlds and experience interdimensionality.
If there was a solace to be taken, I would take it as this: I could at least be an architect of creation and traveler of realities. In exchange for eliminating my sense of societal normalcy or being relegated to the base act of mindless consuming, in contrast to so many others, I was granted that. I was long beyond the false sense of permanence. I suppose I couldn't miss the feeling of authentic security if I'd never known it. Still, I could fantasize about it and be jealous of others who had it.
Maybe I was like the cat who would bolt for the open door and the wild and uncertain, no matter how warm and cozy it was inside. Freedom to me had that irresistible siren's call. I suspected the dark figure that ceaselessly followed me resulted from wandering down shadowed corridors during my frequent early childhood astral and real-time projections. How frighteningly accurate that hypothesis was would soon be realized.
-Kevin Wikse, Strange Strangers: Tales of Childhood of Alien Abduction.
Keeping a low profile at the Dream Catcher RV in Deming, NM, I hunkered down inside a battered 90s C-class RV, letting my travel companion handle the driving and logistics. Like a nocturnal predator, I only emerged under the cover of darkness, moving through the night like a wraith cloaked in shadow.
The I-10 E was a blood-soaked artery, a highway of horror for the abducted, trafficked souls funneled between Mexico and the dark underbellies of Phoenix, AZ, and Las Vegas, NV. In 2018, it was a red-market conveyor belt of human misery. I had been summoned to sever a particular link in that grim supply chain.
It had become alarmingly routine for human traffickers on the I-10 E to pad their cargo with natives from the surrounding reservations, primarily infants and toddlers. In response, a clandestine group of private financiers, unsanctioned by official Tribal Governments, began hiring sympathetic and morally aligned outsiders to act as ghostly avengers against their people's enemies.
"El Cerdo"—The Pig—a monstrous brute with a reputation as vile as his deeds, was my target. This beast was a known pedophile, rapist, and murderer, rumored to dabble in necrophilia and cannibalism. A former member of a defunct 1%er motorcycle gang in Arizona, El Cerdo had woven a sinister network of drug and arms dealers, expanding into human trafficking in the early 2000s.
The shadowy financiers who enlisted my services had marked El Cerdo as a high-priority target. My companion was a fierce-looking Apache woman, her features sharp and thorny yet delicate and beautiful like a cactus flower. At 15, her baby had been snatched from her in the hospital right after birth. The doctor claimed she tested positive for methamphetamine, and CPS whisked the baby away. She was advised to forget about it, but the wound festered.
Our stars and morals aligned perfectly.
The RV's weathered exterior hid an immaculate interior. The warmth of her body next to mine, slightly offset by the efficient AC unit, spread her floral perfume throughout the dimly lit rear cabin. Her soft, dusky eyes held my attention until we drifted off in each other's embrace.
An earthen vessel buried near Shiprock Peak, a towering 7,000-foot rock formation, contained the bones, hairs, feathers, skins, teeth, claws, leaves, thorns, and seeds of my animal and plant allies, intermingled with parts of myself. Legend spoke of a great and terrible bird that once nested atop Shiprock Peak. This Teratornis, with a wingspan over twenty feet, would pluck sheep, deer, and even people from the ground, smashing them into the cliff face before feasting.
The myth of this bird struck a chord in me, invading my dreams for months. My initiator, who handed me the obsidian knife, told me of her—a sky queen and chieftess of the four winds, rival to Eagle and a cautious friend to Raven. She would be my mother, and in my second life, I would hatch from her egg, a thunderbird's egg. I buried a potent artifact of Curanderismo in Shiprock, irrevocably binding myself to her, the place, and its ghosts.
From this towering pinnacle, I soared over the astral and shadow realms, hunting my quarry under the auspices of a grand feathered predator. Laying beside my companion, I found an ease in shifting between liminal spaces, achieving spiritual flight across various non-physical realms. Gliding over Deming's shadow side, I saw angry earthbound souls and shadow people gathering below me, heralding his arrival. The Pig was coming.
At night, we stalked the streets. I scoped out bars and strip clubs El Cerdo frequented, while she posed as a junkie and sex worker, giving her number out and claiming she was a friend of The Pig's, wanting to know if he was around. On the fifth morning, her phone rang.
The voice on the other end was deep and gravelly, muffled and wet, cutting through phlegm. The speaker rambled incessantly. She looked at me, perplexed. "Ask who it is," I mouthed silently. She nodded, "Piggy, baby, is that you?" she asked sweetly. An awkward silence followed. We waited. "Yeah, it's me. I got a big load I need to dump. You come and fuck me," he slurred. "Sounds good, baby, where you at right now?" she responded, nodding at me. "Uh, I am at the Deluxe, room 19. Get your slut ass over here." His voice grew in strength and clarity. She looked at me and shrugged. I shook my head "no" and mouthed, "Tell him you will call back."
"Ok, babe, I'll call you back soon," she ended the call without waiting for his reply.
We didn't know if it was really El Cerdo or if he was alone. No rash moves. I needed eyes on him. Throughout the morning, she toyed with him over text. She picked a girl from backpage ads in Tucson and catfished him with her face and nudes. We got a dick pic in return, but not what we wanted. An hour of troubling sexting later, he gave up the face pic. It was him. No mistaking it. The face of a nasty, ugly Pig.
But we could have been catfished too. It wouldn’t be the first time I faced betrayal. Someone had made contact, claiming to be El Cerdo, providing evidence. The face pic was him, but when and where it was taken was unknown. The danger was real.
With limited resources, we ran his number. A burner phone from an El Super in Albuquerque. Back to square one. She agreed to meet him at the Deluxe around midnight. El Cerdo assured her it was going to be quite the party. We settled in bed together. Her scent—a blend of tilled soil with a warm breeze over sunflowers—stirred something deep inside me. I closed my eyes and let myself go.
I realized I was dreaming as I rounded a hallway corner to my old childhood home. A ranch-style house with a large fruit orchard, shadowed by the penitentiary. The house was gutted, the roof gone, walls crumbling. I heard screaming—visceral, guttural, the expelling of vomit. Now lucid, I drew my obsidian knife and skulked down a hallway to find the source.
Peeking into a room I didn’t remember, I saw a dark-skinned woman chained to a wall, naked, beaten, sobbing. Smoke wafted from her head. She turned to me, half her face charred like red hot embers. El Cerdo brandished a welding torch, running the flame over her face and breasts. She writhed in agony as he roared with laughter. Time slowed. She locked eyes with me. "Avenging Angel...do your worst, and God will see it as your best," she said.
Time resumed.
A woman now stood beside her, her face a soft glow of golden pink. She placed a hand on the tortured woman's shoulder, and a deep peace washed over her face. Her body went limp. Flames engulfed her. El Cerdo laughed louder. "Time to put this bitch out!" he yelled, exposing himself and urinating on her corpse. The glowing woman ignored him, her gaze fixed on me.
Nearly a year earlier, in Mesilla, NM, I got lost and stumbled into a small shrine tended by an older Mexican woman. She said, "You are here because she brought you here, the Mystic Rose," pointing to a statue of Mother Mary. "She is the rose among the thorns." This woman initiated me into sacred mysteries.
Now, the Mystic Rose watched me amid the horror, testing if I would be the thorn I promised. For what El Cerdo had done, there would be blood. I stepped into the room, meeting El Cerdo's gaze. Seeing my obsidian knife, he ignited his torch. We collided with the force of two heavyweights. Using my left arm as a shield, I plunged my knife into his chest, driving it deeper until he stumbled back. I followed, twisting the blade.
I pulled the knife free, showing the bloodied blade to the Mystic Rose, but she was gone. A pile of rose petals remained. El Cerdo’s body now appeared mannequin-like. I cut him open, finding strange red gelatin instead of blood. Digging into it, I pulled out a hunk of meat where his heart should be—three rotten ribeye steaks bound with barbed wire, zip-ties, and duct tape.
Untangling the barbed wire, I found jagged writing on the steaks and a crumpled paper bag with "for the devil" written in a child's hand. I poured the bag's contents into my hand—a tiny baby bird, barely hatched, injured, and languishing. Intuitively, I knew it was El Cerdo's soul. Out of pity, I placed the bird on the ground and crushed it under my heel. At least the Devil couldn’t collect it; if anyone could fix it, God could. An explosion of scratching sounds began—the tabulation of Heaven weighing my actions.
Overcome with sadness, I awoke crying. My companion watched me, touching her forehead to mine and wiping away the tears. "I need to kill that fucking monster," I whispered. She nodded in agreement
To be Continued...
-Kevin Wikse
Thank you for visiting my page. I am the only medium, remote viewer, and occultist who, with frightening and stunning accuracy, foresaw the COVID-19 pandemic/hoax and its sinister connections to China. Masks, weaponized and experimental vaccines, mandatory compliance, medical tracking on smartphones, the debacle of the 2020 election, the border crisis, the ILLEGAL migrant and CCP invasion, the specter of World War III, and the looming Magnetic Pole Reversal Global Cataclysm—I predicted it all. VAIDS (Vaccine Acquired Immunological Deficiency Syndrome) and even Dr. Fauci himself, all in my sights as early as 2014. Don’t believe it? See the complete, time-stamped, and documented evidence HERE.
Additionally, I accurately predicted BOTH President Trump’s assassination attempt and that Joe Biden would not run again in 2024 for re-election in my “Merry Crisis and a Happy New Fear” 2024 post on 1/1/24.HERE
And that’s not all. My occult and remote influencing work played a pivotal role in the downfall of Jeffrey Epstein, the billionaire pedophile and human trafficker. This too is time-stamped and documented. Witness a true and authentic act of Solomonic conjuration from the Lesser Key, Ars Goetia. HERE.
A Fictionalizer Work of Non-Fiction, American Horror, and High Strangeness.
I first heard about him while I was in Las Cruces. An old Apache knife fighter and Brujo, still honing his edge and blooding his hands in the desert. Based on a rumor, I spent a week trekking up and down the Rio Grande searching for him but learned from his friend in Mesilla I'd missed by a few months. It was in Lordsburg I caught up with him, a short and round man with eight or nine rattlesnake heads circling his hat band.
He flatly denied he was who I was looking for. I wasn't buying it, so I lunged at him after a couple more protests that I should go away. He had a knife as fast as a rattlesnake's strike, the tip pressing firmly into the skin under my chin. I smiled as he rolled his eyes. He'd blown his cover.
That evening, we shared a pack of Pall Malls and a 12-pack of Modelo in the alley behind his house while candles to Jesus Malverde and Saint Jude flickered in the darkening shadows. We told stories about hunting down our common enemy when he stopped abruptly.
"I will call you Gila Monster because you are tenacious and like to fight, but mostly because you are ugly," he said, staring off into the night sky. "I will show you how to walk the path of the Dead Dog, always on the warpath, always hunting. It will be up to you to keep up with the pack."
He took out his knife, and we sealed our pact with blood.
On and off, from 2016 to 2019, I regularly (when I was in Idaho) practiced long hours of Bagua circle walking around a specific tree in Settler's Park, Meridian, Idaho. Here we are, four years later, and the circle I walked still shows up.
Astralnauts, training parameters for "The Captain's Chair" begins after you have completed the protocols laid out here in "The First Steps to Building your Vimana REVISED (an addendum)" when you are inside or enveloped by your personal astral Vimana.
This practice builds off the empowering and purification of your five elemental forces as performed by reciting the mantra, "Om Nama Shivaya."
You are now inside your astral Vimana and integrating with it; this method will further refine your five elemental energies and begin the ever-important process of building your energetic and internal infrastructure to effectively, consistently, and productively experience the raising of your Kundalini energy system.
In your astral Vimana, you are seated in the captain's chair.
What follows is an exceptionally brief detailing of the functions performed by the five elemental forces.
Begin by seeing and feeling yourself sitting on a cube of pure gold. Your perineum and sciatic nerves should feel solidly connected to the cube of gold. This is your elemental force of Earth (physical and non-physical) and comprises all the frequencies and vibrations that make up your astral and psychical Vimana and your physical and energetic body/bodies.
The mantra is "Om Lam Om," recited as:
Oh-m L-Ah-m Oh'm.
Speak this nine times.
Now, see and feel a ball on your lap. It's black but with the bottom part of a pure white crescent moon sitting as a slice of melon. This energy feels moist and clean. This is your elemental force of water. This Tattwa controls your psychical and psycho-sexual-spiritual fluids—the same for your astral and physical Vimana's fluids and plasmatic response. Your sexual organs and naval/belly button should pulsate a little.
The mantra is "Om Vam Om," recited as:
Oh-m V-Ah-m Oh-m.
Speak this nine times.
A ruby-red upright triangle appears on your chest—the triangle's base at your belly button and the apex tip on the nape of your neck. This is the elemental force of fire. For you and your Vimana, this Tattwa governs all your digestive, combustive, and energy-producing functions and how well you use your fuel.
The mantra is "Om Ram Om,' recited as:
Oh-m R-Ah-m Oh-m
Speak it nine times.
Floating in front of your face is a smokey blue 6-pointed star. The uppermost point aligns with your 3rd eye. The uppermost left and right points align just outside your left and right eyes. The bottom-most left and right points align just outside your mouth's corners. Finally, the bottomost downward end aligns with the nape of your neck. This Tattwa is your elemental force of air and governs and refines all the bio-electrical/electromagnetic energy produced by breathing and your mind's mental/psychic energy, developing clairaudience. Fields and communications systems held within this Tattwa are shared by both you and your astral/physical Vimana.
The mantra is "Om Yam Om," recited as:
Oh-m Y-Ah-m Oh-m
Speak it nine times.
Lastly, a glittering egg, deep purple-black, crowns your head, the base at your 3rd eye. This Tattwa is the elemental force of aether/ether(space) and is almost a purely psychic/spiritual center. This Tattwa's power allows access to the Astral Realm and Akashic Records. It will enable seemingly spontaneous knowledge, increased intuition, and clairvoyant talents. Through this Tattwa, you and your Vimana will gain a more profound understanding of each and open the way to direct communication with higher-level entities (Devas/Devis, for example).
The mantra is "Om Ham Om," recited as
Oh-m H-Ah-m Oh-m
Speak this nine times.
Now repeat the entire process backward just as you did, starting directly at the Tattwa of Aether and ending at the Tattwa of Earth. The ONLY difference is the Triangle Tattwa of fire now points downward (the base in line with the nape of your neck and the apex tip on your belly button), directing the Kundalini energy down.
After completing"The Captain's Chair." you may perform the Merkaba if you wish to.
Do this work at least three times a week, just as described.
I have been tasked by higher-level entities on the side of humanity to begin filtering down information never before pieced together by anyone other than the members of the most elite magical lodges/societies, none of which consider humanity to be anything other than a nuisance and obstacle to what they want and all of whom have placed you and your children on the altar of sacrifice to obtain what their desires.
I am part of a potential venture that might take me to one of the world's most powerful and sacred locations. I had an Out-of-Body (OBE) last night (not an astral projection) that would bring about this intercession. I will not disclose the location; I must keep it secret until I arrive. However, my interaction begins there. I am Remote Viewing this location from my present local. Such was the pull of this place that I found myself in an on-site real-time OBE. The place I landed was arranged in a manner that I could practice my Baguazhang circle walking in a more formal-Daoist ritual/practice manner (that is all I will say about that).
1500s map of the North Pole: Rupes Nigra
The energy of my circle walking aligned with the Vimana Tantra lineage I have inherited and have been practicing. The vortex I created attracted the attention of a hyper-dimensional vehicle or Vimana, and my OBE vision was super focused and directed to a spot, I was told, we call the North Pole. Centrally located between four rivers, there was a massive (and I mean colossal) black spire. Voices began asking me, "what do you see?" I was taken aback as this was truly astounding. I could not shake the fact that I had seen this exactly set up many, many times. The old axiom "As above, so below" rang out in my head, and I suddenly knew what the voice was really asking.
"I see the WORLD-Key of the Tarot and the Tarot's WHEEL OF FORTUE-Key. Most important, I said, I see not mine, but THE black, double-cube altar of Malkuth, which belongs to humanity. "
Upon hearing my response, the voice told me that my "knowledge keeping" of the CHARIOT-Key (Mekaba Mysteries) had been impeccable and had finally found its way to the proper ears. I was now to receive full disclosure on several other Keys, being (but not limited to)the WORLD and WHEEL OF FORTUNE. I was then also told who I was in my past life and that I was to complete his Great Work in this life as part of mine. My Great Work is a culmination work of multiple incarnations.
Who I was, I don't know if that is important currently, but eventually will be revealed.
I am also told that this Great Work is essential to my purpose and involvement concerning the upcoming Pole Shift cataclysm, the 2030 agenda, correctly predicting COVID-19 and the genetically altering/de-population weaponized vaccines, and my revealing of the existence of the "replacement people," all of which I sent emails and other correspondence to Linda Moulton Howe and other very well known Ufologist and so-called researchers. I was the target of a few laughable but legitimate attempts at doxxing and character assassination soon afterward. Intuitively I know this comes from my effort to reach out and make contact.
I will, for almost certain, never willingly appear on any media outlet or platform that I myself do not have control over.
I will, as and when I am directed, reveal deeper secrets regarding other Tarot-Keys. Mine is not to pander to the masses. I do not care about celebrity. My work is to transmit particular information in a pure and uncorrupted stream of consciousness, outside the reach of the New-Age, and Crowley-ism, to those who can actually do something with it. Like Shakespeare wrote plays for people who understood theater, not the masses, I speak first and foremost to those who truly have "the ears to hear."
Understand that the Black Rock, Rupes Nigra, is the naval center/belly button, the point of adoration (omphaloskepsi, or naval gazing), where the silver cord of the entire earth is connected to the Astral Realm of the Superior/Inferior bride/bride-set (the four pages or princesses) seen as "yod-HEH, vau-HEH." It is the black double-cubed altar of Malkuth, encircled by the muted colors of the gross matter of elemental materialism, far removed and beneath the brilliant splendor of the prismatic, technicolor-sparkling emanation and displays of raw primary colors found within the ACE-Keys (Ace of Swords, Ace of Wands, Ace of Cups and Ace or Pentacles) which encircle KETHER, or Uranus, the first dwelling of the Highest God and Supreme Creator of the Universe.
Whatever is placed upon THE altar (or any altar but to a much lesser degree) is seen as sacrifice and will result in moving the heavens to re-align physical reality. The Universal Tree of Life can support any modality. I am told that through generations of manufactured war, strife, conflict, starvation, artificial scarcity, manipulated media, injurious sound waves, terrible music, twisted and vulgar images, and weaponized sound waves, the Illuminati (for lack of a better term) has effectively created a mass psychosis so intense the collective subconscious of humanity as well as it's shard astral experience, as given way to a re-dressing of the Universal Tree of Life as it manifesting into the planet over its altar of Malkuth.
We are entering into a nightmare era of boundless debauchery and limitless depravity.
And what of humanity? Due to the vaccines altering DNA, we are collectively losing our human-birth rite and becoming, as the psychotic "elders" of Zion call us, "goyim." Goyim, are animals who serve "God's people" but do not look like animals. What purpose does an animal serve in the "House of God?" Only one, "sacrifice."
BlackRock is a billion, in truth, a trillion-dollar corporation seeking to buy the entire world, being directed by a Super-A.I. focused solely on financial calculations called ALADIN. BlackRock aims to own THE altar of Malkuth, and I am told there is no coincide in its name. Who owns BlackRock, Larry Fink (aptly named), or better yet, who are its shareholders? The Rothschild family (Top-tier Illuminati) puts TREMENDOUS faith, or "stock," in the BlackRock company. I mean, really, what else do you need to know?
The demon CLAUNECK, who is the demonic tutor of the carnate human soul known in the afro/Brazial spiritist movement called Kimbanda, as Exu Black Rock, had a lot to gleefully pass on to me last night in regards to BlackRock, the company, its goals, the meta psychics it employs and the gigantic Black Rock loadstone Malkuth Altar.
What they claim is littered atop the MALKUTH altar for our planet is truly sad and heartbreaking. I was reminded of the channeling I did YEARS ago where the bodies of those kidnapped or from breeder programs, defiled and sacrificed children numbering in the millions, are placed in a type of cyro-chamber and vibrated into a powder; what portion isn't added to the mixes of beef patties sold at a restaurant of "over a billion served" to create a mad-cow like-disease in humans, is sprinkled over the top of Rupes Nigra.
Let that sink in for a moment.
I am....in a state of shock.
I will soon begin the next phase of my Great Work. I do not apologize for where it leads; as I promised you many years ago, like Saint George, I/we ride to where the dragons are.
Something stuck with me, and I finally found it. A poem of my Wiccan tradition, I was cross initiated as a 3rd Degree High Priest into a Wiccan circle with direct ties to the main coven once run by Janet and Stewart Farrar (maybe it still is, I don't know, and I have not at felt the impulse to check). When this was first read to me two decades ago, it profoundly affected me. One of the voices speaking to me in my OBE last night recited it to me.
It made sense...
The poem speaks of Rupes Nigra, the Malkuth Altar of the World.
"Assist me in erecting this ancient altar, at which in days past, all worshiped; The great altar of all things. For in old times, Woman was the altar. Thus was the altar made and placed, And the sacred place was the point within the center of the Circle. As we have of old been taught that the point within the center is the origin of all things, Therefore should we adore it; Therefore whom we adore we also invoke.
Oh Circle of Stars, Whereof, our father is but the younger brother, Marvel beyond imagination, the soul of infinite space, Before whom time is ashamed, the mind bewildered, and the understanding dark, Not unto thee may we attain unless thine image be love.
Therefore by seed and root, and stem and bud, And leaf and flower and fruit do we invoke thee, Oh Queen of Space, Oh Jewel of Light, Continuous one of the heavens; Let it be ever thus that men speak not of thee as One but as None; And let them not speak of thee at all, since thou art continuous. For thou art the point within the Circle, which we adore; The point of life, without which we would not be. And in this way truly are erected the holy twin pillars, In beauty and in strength were they erected to the wonder and glory of all men."
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