The 1,111 – And Their Living Libraries.

From the Desk of George Barnard.

The article set out below deals with two separate happenings. They are already recorded elsewhere, but not in great detail in one instance, rather well in the case of the other. Here they are revisited, together with some theories that are either partially confirmed, or proven to be spot-on accurate.

In writing these essays, I’m performing a task I promised in the late eighties to sometime complete. I owe this incessant work to my ever-loving Midwayer family that looked after me -- an accident-prone and mildly dyslexic left-hander, and to repay them for decades of devoted service on their parts.

“Let’s Get Back To How It Was.”

To the best of my recollection, the 11:11 PM Midwayer time prompts (courtesy wake-up calls) from my alarm clock started in 1961, but there was subliminal contact well before that time, occasionally during my childhood years. By the Australian summer of 1971/1972, I at last made visual contact with three of the Midwayers of what was then the 11:11 Emergency Progress Platoon. Later in 1972, or 1973, I met up with our dear Dr. Mendoza (MNO-8).

At first I thought all of them to be ghosts, but soon after, I realized how clever they were, and they were “promoted” to the status of Spirit Guides or Spirit Guardians. On occasions, I would argue with them, thinking I knew it all better, yet my plans tended to fail, theirs brought much success.

In 1997, I finally learned they were Midwayers, and that “Companions” (Morontia Companions) were not counted in the 1,111.

Long before that time, however, I had suggested we had better go back to my being provided with subliminal information while I slept. If the knowledge of future events first surfaced precisely when needed, I tended to follow up on this without hesitation. That’s how it had been for just over ten years. Yet if information was provided face to face, and well in advance, I tended to be worried about succeeding with the task, often getting the messages all wrong, and making hard work of the jobs I was given.

“Let’s get back to how it was,” I suggested to the Midwayer Chief. “Better put it all in my mind when I’m asleep.”

So it was instantly accepted, and it worked a whole lot better in that way.

A Magnetic Anomaly? Perhaps?

Late one afternoon, while I was motoring my way home from work, some mighty black storm clouds came out of the northwest. Just before a bolt of lightening struck a nearby field, and to my right, a wave of what seemed like electrical energy moved through the earth, as well as through my vehicle and through me.

It was only a momentary aberration of the magnetic field, I would suggest, but I was able to access data from the subconscious mind, instantly, and in crystal clear detail.

Here was a giant algebraic formula that would only just fit on a large sheet of paper, and I was having no problem whatever in holding it in my conscious mind – every single digit of that massive “mindal printout” had been transferred to my permanent memory. As well, I understood precisely what it meant.

Here was the answer to our future ability to defy gravity, all laid out in a part of my deeper mind that I had accidentally accessed at the very moment of my experiencing that energy wave. All aspects of a design for the construction of a space vehicle were there, and the “UFO”, once constructed, would reverse gravity and be able to “fall-away” from the earth at speed, rather than accelerate away. It was so simple!

“It’s Too Early.”

I hurried home. I didn’t have far to go, but all the while I was “holding” that entire formula in my mind – a piece of cake!

Finding paper and pencil, I began to write, but a square root sign was all that I could manage. In that very moment, the entire formula was gone. It had been stolen from my conscious mind, and the “light-fingered culprit” was standing right beside me. It was the Midwayer Chief, ABC-22.

“What did you do that for?” I angrily questioned him.

“It’s too early for you to know,” he told me.

There was no convincing the Midwayer to put the information back. He had again stashed it away into the farthest recesses of my super-conscious mind – an otherworldly mind endowment that had chanced to arrive a few years prior in a Golden Light.

“It’s mine, and you have to give it back!” I insisted. I waited. It was a close. Sooner or later he would have to say something, and he knew I was furious about the theft.

“It’s all there, and much, much more. It is not for this life. It’s for later,” he finally told me. That idea made perfect sense.

For many years already, mostly during meditation, during self-hypnosis, or during routine work, random snippets of information had surfaced, and I had long ago concluded that these were allowed to bubble up by my Spirit Self.

Now I knew who was using me for a living library – they were the 1,111.

Administration At Every Level.

The Chief’s explanation was simple.

The long-lived Midwayers never stop learning, but there comes a time when the endless streams of data they accumulate will bring on mindal saturation. Even their vastly superior minds have their limits, and, unable to forget anything, the sheer volume of information will begin to interfere with their function.

It’s time for them to offload “packets of data”, or “folders of data”, into mostly unsuspecting human minds that have been improved with what is said to be the first aspect of the morontia mind (soul mind).

The Midwayer needs to retain only the index to know which “human library” holds the details on something he or she learned last week, last year… or six thousand years ago, and it takes him or her less than a second to wiz around the globe to “walk into” that human library and access that needed essay or thesis.

Not only would I retain every single subliminally input concept of every occurrence that involved our cooperative work of many years, but lots of unrelated information was also uploaded into in my mind. The Secondary Midwayers are very involved in storing away these dissertations into the vast libraries that are housed inside human minds, but the owners of the libraries that hold these vast quantities of knowledge are not able to gain access to these enormous amounts of data they preserve by simply being alive.

It still suited me fine. I could wait until the next life to get a hold of that bonus information. Happily, there would be a slim chance I would ever be bored in the next life. More intriguing, every once in a while something would spontaneously surface as a seemingly unrelated event would trigger the release of a useful tidbit of knowledge. That random magnetic disturbance might not have been so random after all.

Many years later, every bit of information was lost.

“We Took It All Away.”

Another year-and-a-half of training would have me ready for an over-fifties marathon. I had my heart set on that grueling event, having a real good chance to come close to winning the race. A sudden, violent, and disabling mugging ended all my chances.

My neck was broken in two places, and one split, one damaged disc mercilessly pressed on the brain stem. In constant pain, it was hard to think straight about the most routine of tasks.

Minutes after that mugging, it felt like an explosion occurred in my brain, and for the next few years I existed from moment to moment, my short-term memory shot to pieces.

That “explosion” had been the removal of all stored data. It was concluded that the brain, constantly interfered with by the pain impulses emanating from the brain stem, could no longer support the mind aspect that harbored the Midwayers’ data storage.

“We took it all away,” I was told. The Midwayers wrongly took on the responsibility for what was hardly their doing, and they were also most upset about having arrived just moments too late to halt the attack that changed my life. They were there, but the damage was already inflicted by then.

Weeks later, as my condition fluctuated and generally worsened, I lost all visual and audible contact with the 1,111. Only occasionally would I be made aware of their presence when they steered me towards the clock at 11:11, 12:12, or 1.01, etc. to let me know they were around.

There was pain and isolation, but the loss of all accumulated data was my greatest regret.

“Put It All Back!”

It was to become more than three years of isolation from my “ethereal” family. This loss of the connection to my Midwayer family, however, was only one-way. I was getting through to them, as they proved time and again they were assisting me in every way they could. For me there was not a word, not a picture, as I was blind to their presence, deaf to their speech.

“All that info is mine, too,” I used to say to an empty room, knowing my Destiny Guardians, at least, to always be nearby. The Angels would soon pass on my wants to the Midwayers, I guessed.

“For crying out loud! Put it all back! I hate being half dead, and just half alive!”

Slowly I began to recover, but not until after I had made a direct appeal to Michael. Then the day came when I finally heard the Midwayers again.

“We put it all back,” I was told.

Day by day my short-term memory improved, and ever so slowly our lines of communications re-established themselves. It happened some nine years after that mugging that I learned it was never the Midwayers who took the data from my mind on that fateful day, nor was it they who put it back. On that “nine years later” day I was forcefully steered towards my pre-loved copy of the printed 5ER.

Prior to that time, my “Now you see me, now you don’t Friends” bothered little about my erroneous beliefs as we were involved in doing things on any day, at any hour.

Midwayers can input data, sure enough, but they are our loving Thought Adjusters that are the true Custodians of the mortal living libraries of the 1,111.

11:11 Angels