WADE FRAZIER : A Healed Planet

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I have written plenty that when that voice spoke to me (1, 2), or when I chased Dennis to Boston or drove our truck to Ventura, I had no idea what I was in for. But when I mortgaged my life to give Dennis a snowball’s chance of living to see this side of the bars again, I had a very good idea of what was ahead of me. I knew that I was giving up a future of being a parent, owning my own home, and other “frills” that American professionals take for granted. It largely turned out that way. That I became a writer also was not a surprise. It runs in the family and I have the ability, but I am amazed at the subjects that I write about, and with the authority of experience behind my writings. My work is far from a dry academic exercise or fictional.

In Washington, the climate is very impacted by ENSO, and El Niño years are generally dry ones up here, as California gets our rain, and La Niña years are generally wet ones, and they both have dramatic effects on the hiking seasons. That 2000 trip where we got snowed out was in an La Niña episode, and in 2010, Brent planned a trip for us called the Seven Passes Loop, and it was the first time that I had been to Hart’s Pass, after seeing it in my uncle’s slide shows for many years. It was also in a La Niña episode.

I nearly always drove on backpack trips, and did that time. At that time in my life, at age 52, I had never bought a car for myself, as another price of my journey. I drove a Pinto for 18 years that I paid for but my father bought from his mechanic neighbor, and then I drove my wife’s hand-me-down Volvo station wagon. I took Brent to the family bridge, and attached is a pic of him in front of Liberty Bell Mountain, and I take somebody to that viewpoint nearly every year.

When we got to Hart’s Pass, which is near Slate Peak, which is the highest road in Washington State, it was dumping rain on us. Instead of hiking out, we waited in my car, and ended up sleeping in my car. The car was 25 years old at that time, and while I made the big high tech money, I had been thinking for about the past ten years about finally buying a car for myself. I had always considered a Subaru Outback my first choice, and they came out with a new body that year, which was its old SUV body. As we lay in the back of my car, the roof leaked on us. The gas gauge stopped working a month or two previously, and there were one or two other “old car” problems that plagued it, and that night in the car is what finally convinced me to buy a new car, and I did, a couple of months later. It is my ideal car, and they will have to pry it out of my dead, cold hands.

The next morning, it still dumped rain on us, and Brent suggested that we go into Winthrop, stay the night in a motel, and tell our wives that we would be delayed and might get home a day or two later than we had planned. So we did, and went back the day after that. For the first hour, we had a little visibility, and I think that that was when that picture attached of me was taken. That was the last dry moment for the next few days. It was gorgeous country, but we could not see much of it. The epitome of that trip was my picture of Brent, attached, with the sleet coming down. I also attached a picture of Brent in the thickest larch grove that I ever saw, and I hope that I can see it in autumn one day.

I read Rare Earth in my tent on that trip, which a relative had recommended. It was not until months after I got home that I realized that I had read one of Peter Ward’s books previously, on the mammoth extinction. I became a fan of his work after that, and have more than ten of his books here at home, which I cite liberally in my big essay. No scientist is right about everything, but Ward tackles provocative subjects in a popularized science way, and really makes his readers think. There is not enough of that kind of writing, and Ward later lamented that writing for the lay audience did nothing for his career. It was a hobby and labor of love, but academia could not care less. He will always have my gratitude for his “hobby.”

So, after a day spent in our tents in the rain, Brent called it, and we went out the next day, after hiking in about ten miles. Just as we got within a quarter-mile of our car, it stopped raining. Typical. I have been back to Hart’s Pass a few times since then, and have taken my wife there a couple of times, and that is as good as my life gets.

Best,

Wade


P.S. Last night (3-20-20), as I looked for pictures for my final post on Brent for now, I discovered that that picture of Brent with the snow coming down was from our 2005 Lyman trip, as he led my brother and childhood friend down to Holden.

[Wade Frazier]

Hi Bill:

Those are wonderful questions, and yes, they do relate to my free energy quest. I am working seven days a week right now and am about to rush out the door for another long day, but I’ll answer ASAP.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

My replies to Bill’s questions are going to turn into their own thread. Before I do, I want to briefly discuss a related topic that I recently broached. I really have not thought about it much, but when I sacrificed my life to give Dennis a slim chance of seeing this side of the bars again, I sacrificed my life for something that actually worked.  If it had not worked and they murdered Dennis in prison, as they nearly did anyway, I wonder how I would think about all of that today.  I certainly would not regret it, but would my only solace be that I gave it my best shot, even though it was an act of futility?  We all knew that what happened after I sacrificed my life was an act of divine intervention, but what a price to pay for it.  Even today, it may all seem like folly, everything that Dennis and I have done for the past 50 years. But, in my mystical training and studies, I came to understand that our motivation is everything. It is the intention behind our actions, more than the results of them, which count, in the end.

So, even though I paid a steep price for my actions, at least they made a dent, and I am blessed with not having to take some solace that I did my best, even though it was an exercise in futility. Make no mistake, that when I mortgaged my life, it did not seem like it had a prayer of succeeding, but I had to do something.

So, as I do what I do, and to many it can seem futile, worthless, and the like, I keep plodding onward. It is what I have to do, likely what I was put on Earth to do. I can’t believe that putting me onto the path of chasing the biggest event in the human journey was some kind of mistake or torture by malign unseen influences, although it certainly could seem that way at times ( ), and I guess that I am grateful that my seemingly futile gesture did work.

So, onward to risk management.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

To Bill’s wonderful questions, of course, my reply will be far-ranging. The Michael teachings comprise one of my favorite bodies of mystical material, and one of my favorite passages is attached. I believe that I did this before, but could not find the post. That passage is from the beginning of Michael’s People.

So, physical reality is where sh*t happens, where the most careful plans made on the astral plane can go awry, and choices can be made that take many painful lifetimes to digest. If the channelings on my Atlantean past have any validity, I may be at the end of an arc of many lifetimes of where decisions I made sent my soul down a very long path. That same channel also told me that I helped plan the classroom called life on Earth, and if so, then it has been a long journey indeed.

So, the risks of life on Earth are constantly with us, and dealing with them seems to be partly why we are here. As my readers know, I regularly combine the physical and the mystical, juxtapose scholarly and scientific material with the adventures, and the like, as that is how comprehensive perspectives are forged.

When I think back to my youth, and my father’s perspective that men do not really grow up until they have been soldiers, and how I applied to the Air Force Academy, oblivious to what that path could have led to, I can see that risk was just not that much of a concept to me back then. As I have studied the human journey, it seems that men are evolutionarily predisposed to ignoring risk while young, which is what makes them such great cannon fodder! My niece and nephew both go to school in Washington because of me, both nearly died last year, and my nephew’s brush with death came from the kind of stupidity that made it seem like he was trying to win the Darwin Award, even as I have tried to caution him ever since I first took him hiking up here. It is easy to die in these mountains, and I have had my fair share of close calls.

When I think of my meeting Dennis, and how he could not get rid of me, and I became his partner, oh my god, what an insanely risky venture, and Mr. Professor got swept up into it, which cost him his life. No matter how well-intended our efforts, and how innocently he got involved, and no matter how much that he and his widow did not blame me for what happened, I will carry that burden around for the rest of my life. It informs my efforts today, as I try to caution gung-ho newbies from rushing out and proselytizing to their social circles, expecting everybody’s eyes to light up in recognition, when the opposite happens. In a way, it is a good way for them to begin to learn in a less risky fashion, as all that they risk is being ostracized, although I have seen careers end that way. But nobody risks prison or worse by such proselytizing, they just jeopardize their relationships and maybe their careers.

When I had my life’s best hiking year, which was the year that I met Dennis (that was likely no coincidence, which was my “friends” in action once again), my cousin was a very cautious hiker, and I would go scrambling in places where he would not go. I have chronicled my brushes with death in the mountains quite a bit (1, 2, 3, 4), but I have to say that even in my stupidity, I tried to manage the risk. I’ll come to some of that in these Brent posts soon, but I have gotten in over my head a few times, and got in too far through either stupidity or something surprising me. I knew that getting back to the trailhead would take everything that I had, and I got into a kind of Zen-like state and just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until I made it out. In a way, they were extraordinary experiences, but I would like to think that they won’t happen again, but it happened the last time in 2017, so we’ll see how that issue goes.

In my corporate career, I have assessed and managed risk, to only get blindsided by events, and I have had my fair share of financial disasters in my personal life, oh the joy. So, back to Bill’s original questions, what have I learned about managing risks on my journey? A great deal, far more than I could have ever imagined when I left home at age 21, and I’ll get into them in future posts, probably interspersing them with these posts on Brent. In brief, I learned:

• How to be vigilant of risks, both on the trail and in life;
• How to avoid them if possible;
• If avoiding them is not possible, given my activities, I ask how can I reduce the chance of those risks impacting me or those that I am responsible for;
• I try to ensure that I am equal to the task of handling the risks that I face, as I prepare in various ways and don’t bite off more than I can chew;
• When the inevitable failures happen, I ask what I learned from them, to try to avoid their impact in the future.

As I become an old man, my risk tolerance is declining. When you are young, you have sources of resilience that you don’t possess when older. The main reason why I survived my adventures with Dennis while Mr. Professor didn’t was my youth. I was able to pick up the pieces and continue, while Mr. Professor’s life was wrecked and shortened. I have witnessed so much carnage on my journey that I am doing all that I can so that my effort does not create any more, but it has been a challenge, as gung-ho newbies sally forth, raring to go “do something,” completely oblivious to what they are getting into.

As I have written recently, even just brushing up against my work can send people over the edge, and I am very cautious anymore about whom I talk about Wade’s World with.

There is a lot more to come on this important subject.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Here is a little current event post. Two months ago, I wrote that 2020 would not be dull. I had no idea. Trump began fanning the flames of World War III the next day, and the coronavirus pandemic may take down the global economy. Being in its epicenter in the USA has been “interesting.” The town where I work is making the news. Every day, I literally drive past that motel that is being turned into a quarantine center, and I mean every day, as I am working seven days a week right now. My wife works across the street from where the first official American coronavirus death happened, and all public places in the area have become ghost towns. Costco’s headquarters are here, and it has been a buying panic at Costco stores nationally, and I have a relative who is hell-bent on taking a cruise right now!

My company has facilities in Shanghai and South Korea, and they have been shut down, and the American healthcare system might become overwhelmed with cases soon, and this is going to take months to play out, at minimum.

Interesting time to be alive…

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

My mother’s cousin was famous in their hometown of Bellingham, and attached is a pic from their last meeting that I took her to in 2011. She was quite demented by then, and my brother could not stay the summer and had to look after her. I brought her and my brothers up here for her last trip instead of accept Brian’s invitation to South America. That was a heck of a thing to have to choose from, and Brian died the next month. My first interview was done in 2003 and has never been published, but I introduced the interviewer to Brian soon afterward, and they became fast friends. He recorded this talk by Brian near his life’s end, and recorded this tour of Brian’s place. I saw the video after Brian died, and was shocked at how much his health had deteriorated. If I had known that the end was so near, maybe I would have made the trek to South America.

That shirtless pic of Brent is from the spring of 2011, as Brent showed us a new spot to hike to, which I do every year these days, as a spring hike. I took my wife to Hart’s Pass in my new Outback, the year after our rained-out trip, and the area was as glorious as I imagined it might be, and I have been back a couple of times since then.

I didn’t get out for a backpack in 2011, and my weight ballooned to nearly 200 pounds, which I yo-yo-ed around ever since. I hope to never see that weight again, as I currently attempt to get it under 170 pounds and keep it there.

When I got my first digital camera, the photos came fast and furiously, and I have filed them by season by year since 2005. My first backpack with my brother was that epic trip in 1997, over Spider Gap through Lyman Basin to Image Lake to Buck Creek Pass, for a 43-mile loop. We never did one that long again, and as my brother aged (I looked a lot younger than him, although I am a year older), nearly each trip was shorter than the previous one, and the last trip that we did was in 2012, to Horseshoe Basin, pic of me attached.

I took my nephew on his first hike in 2012, attached, which soon hooked him on the Cascades, particularly the trip the next year to White Pass, and I got out with Brent in the spring of 2012, for what he became known for in our circle of hiking buds. We called them Brent’s Bushwhacks and the like. He would go exploring, going straight up some mountainside, sometimes off-trail, and those trips began to kick my butt. Brent would also get us lost sometimes, and I would hike several more miles than planned, and I was getting too old for that. In the spring of 2012, Brent took me on an exploring trip, and it started out with an amateur trail that went straight up the mountainside, and after several miles, where he hoped to come out to a route that would complete a loop, we got cliff-hung in deep snow and had to go back the way we came, for several more unplanned miles. My knees hurt for months after that trip. I attached a pic of Brent from that trip.

In those years, Brent began to take me out on Christmas morning, and 2013 was our last backpack together, which I will cover on my next Brent post.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

This will be a little post on risk management. I began these posts by noting how young men seem impervious to the idea of risk, and so much of my risk management today was informed by learning lessons the hard way. Oh, I was more cautious than most my age, at least in ways, but my brushes with death in the mountains and my wild ride with Dennis might constitute contrary evidence.

For the past 20 years and more, I have turned down all invitations to speak publicly in the Seattle area. If I did, I can easily see Ms. Pinch Hitter showing up, and others whom I would rather not encounter. I would likely not be very good at it anyway, but the Goon Squad is alive and well in Seattle, and I don’t need them to try making my life miserable, so I will always keep a low profile in my home state. Even having tea at the White House won’t change that. There are too many hit men and women out there.

In a way, when I deal with free energy newcomers, it is very similar to my nephew’s recent attempt to win the Darwin Award. They don’t even have an inkling of what they are getting into, and my list of free energy paths to disaster rarely even registers with them, as they think that it won’t happen to them, just like those 18-year-old men going into battle. Anymore, that is the scariest part of my journey, as I watch people sally forth to scale the ramparts, in what I know will be a suicide mission, but I can’t convince them otherwise. I really don’t want to watch when I hear free energy newbies tell me what they are going to do, as they see little or no value in what I am doing. To them, I am not “doing something,” when what I offer actually may be the most difficult feat on Earth to accomplish: imagining a new Epoch before it arrives, as a way to help it arrive. Those newbies are actually trying for the easy way out, and won’t do the work that my approach requires (and likely don’t have the right stuff, anyway). My best students come back to me, chastened by the experience of going out and proselytizing to their social circles, as they tell me their tales of ostracism and are finally ready to learn. The usual methods of “activism” won’t work for this. Been there, done that, several times. I eventually learn.

I am going to give specific instances of risk management and how I learned them, usually by the pain of failure, but not enough to kill me.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Attached are a couple of pictures taken during my commute to work yesterday morning. I previously mentioned that I drove right past the motel that is being turned into a quarantine center. I also took pictures of the protestors in front of it. I am not sure what it means that one protestor could not spell “grounds” properly on his sign.

I recently put up some pages from a Michael book, was reading it a little more lately, and want to reiterate a subject that I have long written about. In that same chapter, Michael wrote:


“Every fragment [AKA person] living in a society and shaped by a culture will at one time or another “have” to define for itself where the parameter of “self” and “society” lie, a process that is most often part of the fourth internal monad or what is sometimes identified as the mid-life crisis. Those fragments who choose to avoid or abdicate the fourth internal monad are shaped entirely by that culture and societal program through the entire course of that life.”


Michael makes it very clear that he never judges any choice that anybody makes, as choice, and learning from the ramifications of choice, is the name of the game in physical reality for ensouled species.

In Michael Roads’s all-night out-of-body experience, his mentor told him:


“If you choose love, then love is your reality. If you do not choose love, then your conditioning will determine your reality.”


I had my wild ride with Dennis, and learned my life’s chief lessons, before I ever heard of Michael or Michael Roads. My choir qualities were developed over trial-and-error on my journey, both mine and observing others in action, not reading mystical literature.

In Michael’s parlance, choosing love is the greatest goal of any person, as it allows for what he calls “essence” contact, which means the soul. When I write that a person’s heart has to be in the right place, it means that the person chose love. When I write that a person has to be awakened, it means that they recognized their conditioning for what it was and have released it, or are in the process of releasing it, and have learned or are learning to think for themselves. The pull of the herd is strong.

When Brian began wondering if humanity was a sentient species, it was an observation on how few people choose love and awaken, even the “smart,” maybe especially the so-called smart.

Like Michael does, when you do awaken, and realize that nearly everybody around you is asleep, the challenge is to release judgment of it. And it did not mean that we gave up, either, but still sought what could work, and I gave up any notion of a mass movement for bringing free energy to the world long ago.

What keeps people asleep is fear, and it will be much easier to awaken in a world of abundance and love rather than one in scarcity and fear. As Brian wrote, combined positive intention by the caring and awake seems to be the only route with promise (but how to find them, as they are so rare on Earth). I agree, and it was “interesting” to see what I learned the hard way be echoed by sources like Michael, Michael Roads’s mentor, and Brian. If nothing else, it tells me that I at least vaguely sense the general direction in which to grope forward.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

My guess is that Brent and I took around 200 hikes and backpacks, from 1999 to his death in 2017, with most of them in our early years, before Brent began leading large groups. We had so much fun and adventure together. After he introduced me to year-round hiking, I began exploring a remote side of my favorite local mountain, and I introduced him to that side of the mountain. About five miles in, we eventually discovered a tree that people dressed up like a Christmas tree, pic attached. We began making annual pilgrimages there just before Christmas. When Brent began leading large groups, he took them there. An attached pic is when that bearded pal and I were on my favorite trail on that mountain, and Brent came through with his group, heading to that Christmas tree. The day before, I took my wife, Brent, and his wife for our nearly annual pre-Christmas trip to Leavenworth. I took a picture of Brent that day, attached.

I took Joe Starr to that Christmas tree in about 2010, and when we got there, somebody had stripped the ornaments from the tree! I have not been back there since, but it apparently keeps getting decorated. Whoever stripped the ornaments off had a misplaced sense of responsibility, at best. Close to where that tree is, they resumed logging that mountain. The Fifth Epoch can arrive none too soon. Soon after that tree was stripped, people began decorating a tree a lot closer in, so that it is only a five-mile roundtrip to the tree, not a ten-mile trip. I take people there all the time, and always make a pre-Christmas pilgrimage.

Brent is the pal who asked MDs who came along on his group hikes what they thought of vaccination, and not one of them believed in it. I was with Brent when I nearly walked between baby and momma bear one morning on the trail. When Brent was young, growing up in the Seattle area and going to college in Ellensburg, where he worked as a bartender, he encountered bears all the time. He told me about one night, sitting around the campfire, when a pair of glowing bear eyes peered in from the edge of the clearing. Brent threw a rock and hit it between the eyes, and it lumbered off. The company where we met was headquartered in Switzerland, and Brent once took a work trip there. His Swiss colleagues knew of his hiking reputation, and they asked him, in tones of awe, if he had ever encountered a bear. Bears are long-gone in Switzerland. I have had several bear encounters over the years, and other than that baby bear, they were always fun and safe encounters, like this one or this one a few years earlier, in the same meadow.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

The last backpack that I did with Brent was in 2013, during my “sabbatical” that turned into losing my job. That picture of Brent standing on a log was from that trip. Part of it was on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). I got a new camera, in preparation for a trip to Europe with my wife, and my pictures that are date-stamped are from that camera. I have a similar camera today, after the original was stolen when our home was burglarized several years ago. I began my “sabbatical” with that 9,000-mile road trip in May and June of 2013, to see people, such as Dennis, which I may never do again. It was truly a Bucket List road trip. That friend who was widowed took a year off when I took my sabbatical, and I took him out hiking every few weeks for the next year. In July, I brought a pal out from Spain, the person who translated some of my essays into Spanish, and he had an awestruck visit (I took him to Hart’s Pass, Grand Park, where he saw that yearling bear, the Olympic Peninsula (Hurricane Ridge, Hoh Rainforest) and Victoria (the last time that I left the USA) as some of the highlights). In August, I took my nephew on his life-changing backpack to White Pass, and I attached a picture of Brent from late August that I am embarrassed to admit I don’t recall exactly where it was (as I made the post, I remembered where I took that August picture of Brent, and I’ll discuss it in the next post). It may come to me as I think about it. We took our last backpack the next week. Our destination was Spectacle Lake, which had long been on my list, and Brent took us in from the east side of the Cascades via Pete Lake. I attached a picture of Brent at Pete Lake, and here is a picture of a creek that we forded on the way. Brent took his boots off and forded barefooted, but I decided that soggy boots were preferable to risking injury to my feet. Back to that risk management in my old age.

We were soon on the PCT, there was quite a hike up the mountainside to get to Spectacle Lake, and the day was waning. On my map, I saw that there was a sketchy trail off the PCT that led into a valley, and there were going to be camps there, but finding that trail proved difficult. We went back and forth along the PCT, looking for that side-trail. We met a man doing a stretch of the PCT, and he asked if he could camp with us. That was fine, but when I finally found where the sketchy trail led off into the valley, the man understandably backed out and kept going on the PCT to find a camp, but I warned him away from the creek ford.

So, it was a sketchy mile into that valley. At the bottom of the valley is where Brent stood on that log, and we found a nice camp nearby. There was nobody within miles of us that night, right off of the PCT. That is part of the allure of my home state. You can find a side-trail into a beautiful valley, right off the PCT, and own the valley. I made a fire that night, and Brent helped me fan it along.

The next morning, on the way to Spectacle Lake, I took a picture looking back down onto that valley, attached. That clearing at the bottom of that valley is where we camped. That was a very memorable day with Brent, and one of my favorite memories of him. The last picture attached is of Brent approaching the aptly named Spectacle Lake.

Best,


Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

My camera also makes video recordings, and I have attached some still images from the videos that I watched of my final backpack with Brent. He had a high-end tent made by a local company, and he pitched it close to that log that he stands on in this image, as you can see in the attached image. The next morning, it was up the mountainside to Spectacle Lake, and attached is an image of Brent on the bridge over the falls below Spectacle Lake.

As I made yesterday’s post, I recalled where that picture was taken, where Brent has his boots off. It was Snoqualmie Mountain, and it typified how hikes with Brent were becoming: that one gained over 3,000 feet in less than two miles. It was straight up the mountainside. Brent got out multiple times each week, had lost those 35 pounds, and was seven years younger than me. On that hike, about 500 feet from the top, I found a shady spot and told Brent that I would wait there while he bagged the peak. I was getting to be too old, fat, and sedentary to do hikes like that. At the bottom of the trail, it was a rubble of rocks, and I fell, as I usually do about once a year, and it injured me. It was a terrible trail, and it was not the first time that I told Brent that I was getting too old for hikes like that, but it was not the last one like that that he took me on.

But the trip to Spectacle Lake was gentler.

Best,


Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

A little coronavirus news: I was sent home from work on Wednesday, and have a pretty good workstation set up at home, picture attached. We’ll see if my company and job survives this. For somebody who writes about the medical racket, and who lives under a kind of quarantine today, what do I think about all of this, from a medical perspective?

Conspiracy theories began immediately, and I have seen some doozies, and even the Chinese government has gotten into the act. Where do I stand on the virus, vaccinations, and the like? From Béchamp onward, there is plenty of evidence, some coming from “impossible” microscopes (1, 2), that there is an entirely different paradigm of understanding health and disease, which has been systematically marginalized and suppressed, in the name of power, profit, and dogma. I see it as being similar to the physics behind gizmos such as Sparky’s and what my friend was shown. I believe that vaccination does more harm than good, if any good at all. I have not had any vaccinations since childhood.

If and when the Fifth Epoch arrives, all of the current paradigms will collapse, and nobody is going to miss them.

On a personal note, I have to gear up for the geriatric phase of my life, and losing 40 pounds is part of that program, and I am most of the way there, and should be all of the way there by Easter.

Best,


Wade

[Chris Gilbert]

My Medical Qigong teacher has often opined that the medical industry (cartel, really) is going to go through a massive collapse and restructuring at some point, and I believe him. Life and consciousness are multi-dimensional, and anything built on a materialist framework can never adequately address it. It might not occur from the current corona outbreak, but I'm taking predictions I've seen of hospitals being overwhelmed very seriously.

Back in 2009, medications, talk therapy and self-help books and other usual remedies did not help me heal from my severe suicidal depression. Receiving outgoing Qigong therapy at a distance did, along with listening to their advice and shifting my internal approach to awareness/breath/thoughts/focus.

Going along with that, it brings me back to the realization I experienced via the material on this thread, and elsewhere, that the vast majority of humanity, some 99.99%, is NOT going to experience a sudden internally driven awakening. It will only be some external catalyst, a disaster, an epidemic, a change in environment through a new energy sources and technology, that gets the ball rolling. Most people are too content to hold to the inertia of their current world, even if their world is a vale of tears.

Although I've avoided discussing free energy with all but several people outside this thread, there are others that I thought might be able to handle at least an introductory conversation on how our current paradigms and approach to the world need updating. The number of people I believe can handle even a discussion that simple grows ever smaller however. Over the last several years I've been particularily surprised by just how virulent the 'SJW' cancel culture contingent has become. It's worrisome as their current tactics on many online venues revolves around stamping out views and discussions they disagree with. It's not just racism either that they go after, it's everything from 'conspiracies', to alternative health information, criticism of the DNC, etc. The amount of damage they can do is quite high due to their positions and influence in big tech companies, as moderators on forums and gatekeepers at Wikipedia and elsewhere. Both the establishment and the revolutionary left are absolutely NOT where allies of a free energy movement will be found, if anything they're those who would be likely to resist it. It's the same realization I had about the libertarian side of the political spectrum I used to follow more. Individuals who can be helpful are out there, but collective groups and movements, nada.

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Chris does not post often, but it is always good when he does. I was just reading that Michael book that I dug that passage from, and I read a passage that echoed my approach, and I didn’t get it from Michael or any other mystical source, at least not consciously, but by my own trial-and-error. Yes indeed, the masses are not going to awaken by some self-help exercises and the like, but the arrival of the Fifth Epoch can definitely do it.

It is fine to admit that we have our toes over the edge of the abyss, and Michael has stated that making Earth uninhabitable is a very real risk (which is not unusual for ensouled species that can manipulate their environments), and the GCs know that well. But Michael also stated in a passage that I read in the past day or so that groups that approach their activism from catastrophe consciousness will self-defeat their effort, as it is oriented around fear, which gives their Chief Features the upper-hand.

As Brian stated, only combined positive intention has chance of working (the pull of the Fifth Epoch, not the push of forestalling the catastrophe), and it has to be a loving approach. I regard the social justice warriors as rather insane these days, and seeing what is happening to Seattle and San Francisco, which are “coincidentally” the USA’s technology hubs, too, is symptomatic of the insanity that is driving them, IMO. Yes, it was very dismaying at first to see how the environmentalists and “progressives” were either not interested in free energy or even regarded it as the enemy. It was bizarre at first, and it took me many years to finally understand that they were mired in their adaptations to scarcity, even addicted to them.

Chris, I am happy to see that you found your way out of your depression. Awakening to the reality of our world can be life-threatening, and my tale of my friend Brent will end in tragedy, but I am using his suicide to help inspire my efforts. This world has to end, and we may be seeing the beginnings of it with this pandemic. Will we have hell on Earth or heaven on Earth? It is going to be up to relatively few of us. Yes, get ready for overwhelmed hospitals.

Best,


Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

So, we hiked up the mountainside to Spectacle Lake. What a spectacular lake, and we owned it. I got my space-age material raft in 1986, I believe (or maybe 1985), and this is a picture from 1986 that my cousin played at family gatherings. When I made my post after Brent died, he was in that raft on the Indian Heaven trip, and at Spectacle Lake, I took it out, and one shot attached is of me taking a picture of Brent at our camp, from my raft. Then Brent took it for a spin around the lake, pics attached. That was a special time for me with him.

We came out on September 4, 2013, and the next week, I was fired from my job, in the middle of my “sabbatical.” I am an accountant by profession, thanks to that voice, but I am also what is called an IT-tweener, in that I do a lot of computer work, designing systems and the like. At the software company that I worked at for ten years, I did the financial reporting, SEC filings, and technical accounting, but I also initiated taking the company’s back office paperless (Joe Starr was my programmer for that), and ran our IT audits for our internal control work. I was like a Swiss army knife, doing things that it usually took multiple specialists to do. But in 2012, I got a new boss who began dismantling my job and handing it off to other people, and before long, I was asking the CFO if I could take my “sabbatical,” after ten years there. High-tech companies such as Microsoft have sabbatical programs like that. For several reasons, I needed a break. I was not expecting to lose my job, but in retrospect, I understand, and I never had hard feelings about it. That is life in corporate America: you try to dodge the bullets if you can.

I went hiking with Brent again some months later, and while we hiked, he said that on that trip to Spectacle Lake, I did not seem like I was looking forward to returning to my job. I had not thought of it that way, but it must have shown, at least to Brent. That was quite perceptive.

After I lost my job, I really bore down on writing my big essay. From May to September was a lot of hiking and playing, while also plunking along on the essay, but after losing my job, I put my head down and completed the first draft by May of 2014. I doubt that I’ll do anything like it again. By those years, Brent was quite the celebrity hiker, leading that Internet board, but he still made time for us to get out, and there was a little circle of hiking pals that you can see in several of the pictures on this Brent narrative.

This old man was having a hard time doing Brent-style hikes, straight up the mountainside. But the nearly two years that I had off, from May 2013 to March 2015, were some of my life’s best hiking years, and one day during those years, as I was hiking down a trail one day, by myself, as I recall, it hit me: I have had my fair share for this lifetime. When I was chasing Dennis to Boston and living in Ohio, I wondered if I would get my fair share, and one day on that trail, it hit me that I had. Ever since, every hike has been gravy, and joy accompanies my every step, just happy that I can still do it, and in such a spectacular part of our planet. I believe that that has been part of the compensation for my journey, from my “friends,” and I can’t complain about that part of the deal, at least.

Best,


Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I’ll attach one last picture of the last camp that I shared with Brent, from a video. In the summer of 2015, Brent took me and a couple of others to what is called Rampart Ridge Backdoor. It was straight up the mountainside once more, I got stung twice by yellow jackets, and there were forest fires that reduced the visibility. I attached a picture of Brent at the top that day. It was a miserable day for me, even with taking some of Brent’s inebriants after being stung, and I complained on the way down, as my aching knees vied with stings on what part of me was the most miserable. I think that Brent finally got the message, and he never took me on a hike like that again. We did easier fare for the rest of his life, and in his last years, Brent would invite me out for a Christmas morning hike, something local and relatively easy, but we would also explore new stuff. Brent was the king of the I-90 corridor, leading trips for his Internet group, so he was always exploring new territory.

Attached are pics from a Christmas morning hike in 2015. That favorite local mountain of mine is still being logged on its south side, Brent would sometimes take me hiking there, and on that day, we hiked through clear-cuts.

My will calls for my ashes to be scattered in Lyman Basin, and I was taking my nephew out on backpacks each summer, and for 2016, I invited Brent along for a Bucket List trip to Lyman Basin, to see if I could get to the top of Cloudy Peak, but my nephew could not make the schedule, so we didn’t do it. In fact, he showed up on Labor Day weekend, and there is no way that you can backpack on that weekend any longer, without encountering hordes, which is not my idea of a good time. But, I had in mind doing it the next year, and made it very clear to my nephew when he had to be here to go backpacking. He has rarely been able to make the schedule in recent years, and my backpacking days are numbered. We’ll see how many more we will get in.

Sometime in the past decade, my favorite local trailhead became a permanent homeless camp. I have written about that camp plenty. It originally had to abide by the “traveling camp” laws that they had for the area, so that they did not wear out their welcome among the neighborhoods in the communities east of Seattle. The law said a location could be used for only three months a year. For years, I did not use that trailhead when the camp was there. But since this camp was way out of town, with no effective neighbors, they got the laws stretched somehow, and it has been a permanent homeless camp for several years. I would not be denied my favorite trailhead, so I have been hiking through that camp for several years. It is mostly old ladies, and some have been there for years. That there are any homeless people in the USA is one of the many scandals and black eyes of my great nation, which is history’s richest and most powerful, and an empire that pretends that it isn’t one.

Sometimes, when I am hiking through that camp, a local charity will be feeding the camp’s residents, and Brent had his hiking group buy pizza for that camp. Brent took an interest in their welfare, and once mentioned to me that one of the residents “graduated” to having a home again. That was who Brent was, and as I have stated, being an awake and caring person carries a steep price with it in our world. I am nearing the end of Brent’s life and my posts on him.

Best,


Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

This post will take this narrative on my relationship with Brent to his life’s end.

Brent had fun in his life. In his life’s last years, he sent me a picture of him at Rachel Lake (just below Rampart Ridge), with some photo-shopped hippos in it, attached, as a Global Warming joke. Brent also developed a repertoire of jokes; they ranged from the bawdy to something that grandmothers could laugh at. Mr. Mentor also had quite a store of jokes that I grew up listening to. Dennis once told me that Mr. Mentor’s jokes were a defense mechanism, and I never thought it of that way until Dennis said it. Brent’s collection of jokes did not seem like a defense mechanism, but more of a way to break the ice with people, and I am sure that he told them on his group hikes.

I recently wrote about how the media helps maintain the “controlled insanity” that American society operates under, and it is very evident in corporate capitalism, where I have spent nearly my entire career. Comics such as Dilbert depict the corporate office, and where Brent worked was a classic example of it. While he looked for work ten years before he died, and I think that he continued his search at times, he never left that company where we met. I periodically heard Brent make observations on the dysfunctional culture at his office, and he certainly did not love his job, but I think that he felt trapped there. Hiking definitely provided him a welcome break from his work life.

In 2015, I began to work again, but as a consultant for a couple of years (and that was another instance of the heavy hand of my “friends” at work, which I might discuss one day, and they never let me in on the joke), which gave me breaks that I used to hike and write, and 2015 and 2016 were good hiking years, if not quite as great as 2013 and 2014 were on that front. But taken together, 2013 through 2016 was the best extended stretch of hiking in my lifetime. But where I worked engaged in thoroughly insane behavior, and I bore the brunt of it. I worked about a dozen all-nighters in 2016 and early 2017, just to help keep the company afloat, and I was just a consultant. Consultants are usually hired guns that don’t work crazy hours, at least the kind that I had done over the years, including the stint that I had at that company where I met Brent.

On Christmas Day, 2016, Brent took me to a new spot, near his home. I later discovered that it was where the Green River Killer sometimes disposed of his victims. It was a fairly non-descript mountain that hardly merited the name, had been heavily logged, and it was the only time that I rode in a huge van that Brent had recently bought, to take people to trailheads. It seated something like 12 people. It was something to behold, and more like a bus than a van. Three weeks later, Brent took me out again for a Sunday morning hike to another new spot, also near his home. I was a little surprised that he wanted to hike with me again so soon after Christmas, but I rarely turned down his invitations. It was another exploratory hike for Brent, as he sought every nook and cranny of the area. On the way back to his house, he told me a new joke in his repertoire. It was also the last time that I saw him. I am attaching one pic from that day.

On the way back to my car, we hiked down a dirt road that had ice on it, and perhaps the same road in that picture. When we were nearly back at the car, I slipped and fell on the ice, for my annual fall. I have stated that Brent was a man’s man, and you can see the many photos of us in this string of posts, with my arm around Brent, but his hands were always on his hips. But as I lied there, after my fall, and I was fine, Brent put his hands on me in a fervent way, and kept them there. He had never done anything like that before. It was the closest thing to physical affection that he ever showed me, other than his hand-crushing handshakes, and I really did not know what to make of it. In retrospect, it was the only warning that I had for what came a few months later.

The winter months are the crazy ones in my career. I have been working about seven days a week for the past couple of months, the winter-spring of 2017 was no exception, and early 2017 again saw me once again work some all-nighters. What a brutal way to earn a living, but it is better than slave conditions, I’ll admit. The clouds do not part at work in what I do until about mid-May, just in time for the high hiking season, so it has kind of worked out in my life. My plans for a 2016 trip to Lyman Basin did not work out, but I wanted to go in 2017, and planned to ask Brent in mid-May if he was up for a post-Labor Day trip there. But on April 30^th, a Sunday, that widowed friend, who never met Brent but who followed that Internet board that Brent led, emailed me with news of Brent’s death. I was shocked. I had not communicated with Brent since our last hike, as I worked insane hours that winter, and he died on a Saturday. I thought that he may have had a mishap in the mountains, the kind that killed Chuck, but Brent, for all of his bushwhacking, played it pretty safe, particularly when leading groups. That mustachioed pal in several of the hiking pics that I have presented in this Brent narrative also worked at Brent’s company. He emailed me soon after that widowed friend did, and informed me that Brent had lost his job, only a few weeks after our last hike together in January.

The news and conversations around Brent’s death did not say how he died, but there was quite an outpouring of remembrances and condolences on that Internet site that Brent led. On that site was a trip that Brent led on Friday evening, the day before he died, picture attached. My guess was that he did something in the mountains on Saturday, which cost him his life. It was tragic, but common enough up here.

Early the next morning, I emailed Brent’s wife, to ask what I could do, and she replied with what had happened. Brent took one of his jokes a little too far at the office, and they fired him. As my mustachioed pal informed me, and it was no surprise, that company was downsizing and looking for reasons to get rid of people, and what Brent did played right into their hands. A colleague at that software company that I worked for took his life a few months after losing his position there (by gunshot – The American Way), only a few years previously, and his last email to me was full of enthusiasm for what was next in his career.

Brent kept leading hikes while looking for work, but did not handle unemployment well, according to his wife. I do not know what all happened, but she informed me that a few days before Brent’s death, he had some kind of psychotic break, and she tried calling mental health hotlines, to get him treated, but she was stonewalled by the bureaucracy. My wife is a psychologist, and when she heard that, she was unfortunately not surprised, with our abysmal medical system. On that Saturday, Brent shot himself in their garage, where I had been many times. When I learned that he killed himself, I was devastated, and still kind of am. He never had a gun that I knew of, and my guess is that he bought it just to shoot himself.

Brent was actually in better financial shape than I was, and while losing one’s job at age 51 is not fun (I was 55 when I was fired from that software company), it did not have to mean the end of his career. Oh, how I wish I had known that he lost his job. I would have had frank conversations about my own financial catastrophes (I have had more than my fair share in this lifetime, partly courtesy of my “friends,” I can tell, as they give me their “tough love”), and I’ll always wonder if two weeks later, when I planned to contact Brent with the Lyman Basin invitation, that he would have found a “commitment” to keep him around, but that is likely wishful thinking on my part. But to not even know that my dear friend was in pain, and killed himself over it, and I had no idea what was happening, will haunt me for the rest of my life.

A couple of weeks before Brent’s death, my wife planned a trip to see her parents, her godmother, and I saw my editor on that trip, too. It was the last time that I saw my wife’s mother and godmother, who both died last year, and likely the last time that I will see my editor, who is currently dying from cancer. Our plane flights were arranged, and then a few weeks later, I heard that Brent’s widow scheduled a memorial for the day after we would leave for that trip. Brent was in my top-five pals in the Seattle area, as I was in his top-five, maybe even number two, and I was not going to make it to his memorial.

The day before Brent’s memorial, my wife and I went to the airport, and I spent a hectic day preparing for our trip. Seattle today is a far cry from the city I that was born in. I don’t see myself retiring here, as it becomes a sprawling metropolis, and we got stuck in the worst traffic jam that I saw since I moved here. It took us over an hour to travel just a few miles. For the only time in my life, I missed my flight. I thought that we got there in time to rush to the gate, but the airline employee said that we were too late, and would have to take the same flight the next day. On the way home, disappointed, my wife said, “Now we can go to Brent’s memorial.” That had not even occurred to me, and I know that it was another instance of my “friends” at work.

The next day, we went to his memorial in a park in the foothills near Brent’s home, and met with his widow and family, but we had to leave before the official service began, to not miss that day’s flight, which was attended by more than 100 people, and most of them were people that Brent had taken hiking. He was a beloved member of the hiking community, and his death was a great loss for all of us. I am attaching a picture from his memorial, where his trademark hiking poles (he introduced me to them, and I will hike with poles for the rest of my life), rain hat, and boots were on display. There was also a stack of more than 100 cans of sardines, which Brent took along on his hikes and backpacks, for the attendees to take as a memento.

So, what did I take away from my relationship with Brent and his death? I’ll write on that soon.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I am likely going to be too busy for the rest of the month to make very many posts, but I’ll make a brief one on Brent. I have attached some stray images, taken over the years, and one more from the night before he took his life, as I did in the previous post. The evening before he took his life, he was leading people on a hike, and in that picture from that previous post, where Brent is holding up two fingers, he may well be telling a joke. He was likely planning his suicide by that time, and I’ll never know what he was thinking.

I think that it is obvious that I loved Brent, but he was one of those manly men that you just didn’t tell that too, but I wished I had. He knew that I did, but it was an unspoken understanding. I wish that I could have done something so that he still lived today. Of the many catastrophes and disappointments of my life, this one ranks way up there. It is said that many people around suicides are angry with the people who take their lives, but all that I ever felt with Brent’s death was a deep sorrow.

I’ll also always wonder if knowing me contributed to his suicide. It takes a special person to be able to digest Wade’s World, and Brent’s young relative ended up in a mental institution after a few discussions with me. Maybe there was something genetic with what happened with Brent. Brent was definitely a casualty of our insane world, and while I don’t blame myself for his death, I know that an awareness like his, living in a Dilbert world, with a father who is a Rush Limbaugh fan, is not an easy path to walk, and Brent couldn’t manage it.

Time to start my busy week.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When 9/11 happened, I wondered if it would wake Americans up, and for some, it did. Quite a few of my cyberpals today came to me after 9/11, as my site suddenly became far more relevant and timely. However, what I saw in the wake of 9/11 was far more insanity than awakening. In the more aware circles, 9/11 was called the USA’s Reichstag fire. And like the Reichstag fire, debate has ensued ever since on whether 9/11 was somehow an inside job or not. Also like the Reichstag fire, the demagogues used it as an excuse to commit the greatest crimes of their respective centuries: Hitler’s invasion of Poland, and Bush’s invasion of Iraq. So, no lessons seemed to be learned, but just more insanity and epic crimes (of course, framed as mistakes (1, 2), when the outcomes were a little other than intended).

In 2004, the year after my great nation committed the crime of the century, I saw bumper stickers that effectively said, “If you have a heartbeat, you can buy a house with no downpayment.” I saw the Savings and Loan Scandal from the inside, before it became a scandal, and in 2005, I told everybody who would listen that a collapse was coming. Some listened to me, and avoided the catastrophe that soon came. In the aftermath of the collapse, I thought that the cavalier money-printing and low interest rates of the Federal Reserve, which caused the collapse in the first place, would end, and sanity would finally prevail. I was wrong. Not only did the Fed triple-down (its easy-money policies also caused the first dot-com boom and meltdown, which I also saw from the inside and predicted), but so did all of the world’s central banks, with negative interest rates, endless money-printing, and other insanity. It was not too hard to forecast what is happening today, and the coronavirus is only the “black swan” catalyst to collapse this latest insane bubble. In ways, it is not insane, but a planned way to make the rich richer, and more regressive social policies are planned, as democratic societies (at least, in appearance if not substance) are under siege.

With this coronavirus event, it definitely feels like the USA will never be the same after this. We will see how many more people begin to awaken, versus those who sleep more fiercely and insanely. I don’t need many of the caring and awake to help usher in the Fifth Epoch. We will see how it goes.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I am nearing the end of my posts on Brent. He was 51 when he committed suicide. I am attaching two of my happier moments with him: when he was on a swing near Mount Adams, as we visited James’s place, and as he led a troop to that Christmas tree. He is far from my only pal who came to an untimely end. Mr. Professor’s wrecked life and untimely death will always haunt me. Brian’s life was shortened when he began poking into the UFO situation. In 2007, one of my college roommates died, and I am attaching our last picture together. His name was Chris, and he left behind a wife and two teenage children. When we last met, I told him about alternative treatments for his kidney cancer, which meant a change in diet (I was with him 26 years previously, when he got news of his mother’s death from cancer), and he is the only person I ever met who decided to try out what I suggested (he changed his diet). But he still did orthodox treatment, and it was the treatment that killed him several months later. Typical.

Mr Professor died in 2002, which sent me into the dark phase of my midlife crisis. I last saw Chris in November 2006, as I was just coming out of my midlife crisis. Brian died in 2011, and I am attaching my last picture of my assistant, who was the person I mentioned who asked me what I would have done, if I got what she did: glioblastoma. Her name was Karren, and she worked for me for five years. People who work for me usually hear about my “radical” past, and she heard plenty, but she was always “skeptical” of my “alleged” experiences and views. I can handle skepticism, but true skepticism means getting out of one’s easy chair and finding out for one’s self, not what organized skepticism does today. The person who took that photo of me with Karren was my widowed friend, whose wife died of a brain aneurysm, just when they planned to begin a family. He was Karren’s predecessor as my assistant at that software company.

He actually read Confessions of an Economic Hit Man before coming to work for me, so my revelations were not that startling for him, but he still was “skeptical,” in a good way. I lent him Gary’s book, he asked me to identify Dennis’s big time attorney in Ventura, and other acts that showed me that he was doing his homework. Such an attitude is always rare and welcome for me. People who do their homework on my journey and material are richly rewarded. He read the posts at Wikipedia, when my work was censored by that rude admin, and saw for himself what happened, which was pretty shocking for most people to witness (but I was unfortunately not too surprised).

When we left Karren’s home, I told my pal that it would likely be the last time that we saw her, and it was. We saw her on one of her last good days. She kept on with the orthodox treatments and was dead less than six months after our visit. She lived about 16 months after diagnosis (the “diagnosis” was rendered when she had to be rushed to the hospital with seizures), which is typical.

As we sat with Karren on her deck, I just wanted to give her my love and enjoy her company, and was not interested in trying to interest her in alternative treatments. I had long since been dissuaded from trying that with people who faced certain death. Watching them embrace certain death over even questioning their indoctrination was something to behold, but I began seeing that when I was 12, and I now know it is normal.

Karren knew of my alternative ways. As we sat on her deck, she showed us the surgery scars on her head and she told us about what having brain cancer was like (she told some chilling stories), she asked me out of the blue what I would do if I got her cancer. I was surprised that she would ask, and immediately mentioned Burzynski, Naessens, and Mexican clinics (that still survived). Her response was to give me a little smile and change the subject, which was about what I expected. After Karren died, my pal who witnessed that exchange said that he thought that the next day, Karren would contact me on more information about those treatments, but I informed him that that was not how it worked. I don’t really know why Karren even asked me, but I knew that she was not about to pursue anything other than orthodox treatments, although glioblastoma is a death sentence today, with orthodox treatment, although people have recovered with alternatives.

While Mr. Professor was 67 when he died and Brian was 71, their lives were shortened because of their adventures, and Mr. Professor’s was a direct result of his getting involved with me. Living to age 67 and 71 might seem like a good run, and I suppose that it was in ways (they both achieved sainthood in my book, and sit with Dennis at the head of my pantheon – Ed, Noam, and Howard sit only a little lower), but both of them should have lived another 20 years. But Chris was 47 when he died, Karren and Brent were 51, and my widowed friend’s wife was about 35. Joe Starr was also 51 when he died. Ron Waugh also died of glioblastoma, and he was only 66. I have had too many people in my life die while relatively young, and it really began to get to me, particularly when I knew that it was all unnecessary. In the Fifth Epoch, all of them would have lived to ripe old ages, and that is part of what motivates me today.

Best,

Wade