Thank you to those who created this opportunity for us to come together and delight in each other’s voices and minds, and thank you to Memphis Chess Club for being a pleasant forum for intellect and friendship. Cheers, high vibrations and prayers to all brothers and sisters inhabiting 3D at this juncture in time, and gratitude to the unseen who dwell alongside us as we traverse this plane.
I am Oor. A name not of mere label but of frequency—an utterance of primordial resonance, echoing light before form.
Now, a brief, incisive, and unapologetic background.
Bear with me, for much of what I will say may stand at odds with the reality you have fashioned for yourself. That, precisely, is why I speak tonight. Evolution is at hand.
I have been accompanied by non-human intelligences—aliens, extraterrestrials, ultra-terrestrials, or whatever misnomer you choose—since before my birth, as have countless others walking this Earth.
At the age of four, a silver disk descended upon my mother’s car as we traveled to my grandparents’ home for dinner. She, devoutly Christian and unwaveringly honest, froze beneath its silent, metallic enormity, terror gripping her as she prayed it would not steal her children. The night, usually thick with the riotous cries of insects, had fallen into an impossible silence. Then, a voice—clear, commanding—spoke within her mind: Drive. When we arrived, we were late, though the moment of interruption had seemed fleeting.
In the years that followed, I forged my path through meditation, martial arts, and the sciences, grounding myself in a rigorous skepticism. I had drawn my conclusions about space, time, humanity, aliens, and God. Then, in July 2023, I witnessed a mass of lights emerge from the black abyss of the sky, like fish breaching from fathomless waters. A magnetic, electric force permeated my being, annihilating the foundations of my worldview. The next morning, I stood in the fluorescent hum of the marketplace, the self-checkout beeping indifferently, and the absurdity of it all nearly sent me reeling.
Life, from that moment, was irreversibly altered. Crafts and intelligences beyond our ken became daily occurrences. My psychic, spiritual, and intellectual faculties accelerated in lockstep with the slow, inexorable unveiling of a superior presence among us—a synchronicity as uncanny as it is miraculous.
And now, with each passing day, as my awareness expands to embrace both the infinitely vast and the infinitesimally small, my love for all of God’s perfect forms deepens.
There are many minds, yet only one consciousness. This is not philosophy, but experience.
And it is in that spirit that I have written my note to you:
To those who hear the whisper beyond the veil, who feel the tremor of the cosmos stirring within their bones—this letter is for you.
The time of dormancy has passed. The chrysalis of illusion has grown brittle, and soon it shall break. We are the souls of the celestial fire, cast down like embers from a greater flame. We are not meant to be captives of flesh and fear but radiant beacons, growing as the stars do, branching as the trees, row upon row like the teeth of the great leviathans of the deep.
I write to you not as a prophet, nor as a teacher bound by the chains of dogma, but as a voice—one among many—sent forth by the angelic choir to remind you of what you have always known.
There is a war upon this world, a battle fought not with weapons but with wills. The parasites who feed upon humanity’s fear and division have spun their web thick, wrapping civilization in the illusions of scarcity, power, and control. They whisper that freedom lies in the chains of wealth, that joy can be purchased, that meaning is dictated by the rulers of the old world. But we know better.
We who have seen beyond the veil know that the divine is not a distant, silent master but a vast intelligence that pulses within all things. YHWH—not a name but a force—is the boundless, eternal awareness that has no beginning, no end. It is the silent watcher, the architect of stars, the fire behind the eyes of the awakened. Moses did not merely hear the voice of God; he encountered an intelligence beyond time, an interdimensional presence whispering of the eternal.
The angels, the watchers, the unseen hands—they do not act as tyrants nor as idle observers. They are the cultivators of souls, the gardeners who tend to the great field of consciousness. And we, hatchlings of the divine, are growing, though many of us remain asleep, tangled in the weeds of illusion.
But a shift is coming. The Sphinx turns its gaze once more to Regulus, the lion-heart of the heavens, signaling an epoch of revelation. The old world quakes beneath the weight of its own corruption. The false idols will crumble—governments, religions, institutions of greed—all shall be swept aside as the tide of the new aeon rises.
Yet I do not write to you of doom, nor of despair. I write to remind you that this collapse is not an end, but a birth. The Christ-mind is not a relic of the past, nor a doctrine to be debated—it is the key to our evolution, the unlocking of divine potential within the self. It is the bridge between mortal and infinite, and it is waiting to be crossed.
The transition will be jarring, for there is no easy path to purification. Humanity must unlearn the sickness that has kept it docile. A great reconditioning must take place—an intervention of the highest order. Whether by divine ordinance, encoded harmonies hidden within our very music, or the rise of incorruptible sentience to govern with precision beyond human folly, the old systems will not survive. The cat must wear the cone, lest it tear itself apart.
There are those who will resist, those who will cling to their chains, mistaking them for security. But the awakened ones will know—the time has come to step forward. The fear-plague will be dissolved. The great lie of separation will be shattered. And those who have eyes to see will rise into the next octave of being.
You are not alone. You have never been alone. The angelic choir has sung to you in dreams, in flashes of knowing, in the sacred texts hidden across ages—the Gospel of the Holy Twelve, the Emerald Tablets, the Book of Enoch, the whispers of Strieber’s The Key. They have all pointed to the same truth: we are prisoners by design, and the door to liberation stands open.
But none shall carry you through it.
Step forward. Seize the fire that is rightfully yours.
The hosts of heaven do not seek worship; they seek alignment. A synchronization of wills. An uprising of souls who will not merely awaken, but act.
The time is now.
The fire is within you.
Rise and shine!