Your Consciousness is an Alien

DNE EHT

You, dear reader, are already aware of the events of WWII and you are experiencing the consequences. However, that is not the subject of this book. This book deals with Operation WTA, a secret mission completed in the midst of WWII.

The story is a complex one and includes aliens; mystics; occult societies; the thousands-year-long invasion of aliens into the human genome; retro-chronal causality; and the secret codes within DNA, the number Pi and the Holy book. Ultimately this story will explain the causes and outcome of Operation WTA.

YTILASUAC

RETROCAUSALITY

13 January 1943, Munich

Maria Orsic

Autumn 1938, Berlin

Wilhelm Reich

The SS officer squinted through the burnt scar tissue on his face as he finished memorizing the Sanskrit codes. He nodded and stood at attention.

Himmler watched me through the smoke of his cigarette as I leaned over the Sanskrit text to scrutinize the code before approving it. When I looked up, satisfied, Himmler placed his lit cigarette in the ashtray, stood up and, in a single motion, yanked his gun from its holster and pointed it at the officer.

Mr. Reinhardt, Himmler barked. You know your duty! You will keep the localization signal on until the spaceship arrives, he commanded.

The gunshot rang off the metal walls as blood spattered on the file and the SS officer collapsed to the floor.

Leaving his gun on the table, Himmler took his cigarette from the ashtray and drew on it. He exhaled casually and turned to me. Mr. Reich, your spaceship now has an active navigation system.

I took my eyes off of Reinhardt, whose body gave a few more involuntary twitches as he breathed his last. I looked at Himmler.

What about the camouflage? I said flatly.

You will have more than you want. A year from now, when we set the world on fire, even God will not know what to do. Himmler smirked and drew on his cigarette once more. The Führer’s orders are clear: ‘Take over the spacecraft. Send one person to Hell to provide the coordinates to the spacecraft.’ Himmler smirked as he said the second part and as poked the dead Officer with his foot. "‘Then begin the blitzkrieg and kill God by having the assassin…’—Himmler turned his gaze to me now—‘…enter Hell through the back gate.’"

I looked at the blood soaked file in my hand and saw some of the Sanskrit letters begin to change shape.

1935, Orient Express, Near the Bulgarian border

Wilhelm Reich/ Clairvoyant Vanga

There were only two of us in the train compartment moving through the dark night.

I buried myself in J.R. Koldeway’s archeological excavation drafts, sifting through the pictures of clay tablets and the pile of papers with notes in different handwriting. Hellen rested her head on the window slowly flipping through a style magazine without reading it.

Hellen moved her head away from the window, and pushed my paper down gently. Is he coming with us? she asked.

Where, I asked.

Hellen whispered, To that blind mystic’s village.

Of course…

Otto Reinhardt came into the compartment with three glasses and a crystal whiskey decanter.

I took the glass from the Nazi Officer taking note of the burns on his face. Maybe the right question is ‘What the hell are we doing in this mountain village in the middle of the night?’ I said before downing my drink in one swallow.

We still had another several days before we reached Mesopotamia.

1934, Oslo

Wilhelm Reich

To the murderer of my son,

Mr. Reich:

During our dig, we discovered a 5000 year-old sepulcher. One of the clay tablets contains a Sumerian cuneiform message from Maria Orsic to you. The text is near indecipherable, but we have made out the phrases captured and need your help. Find me as soon as you can.

Robert Johann Koldewey

P.S. Concerning the two questions that have come to your mind, the answers are ‘no’ and ‘yes’.

No, this is not a trap.

Yes, I am planning to kill you.

It was surprising to find such a letter on my desk on my first day of work at Oslo University—even more surprising since R. J. Koldewey had died in 1925.

PART 1

THE ALPHA TAURI STRAIN

Spring 1933, Berlin

Wilhelm Reich

It’s the wrong time to be in Berlin if you’re a communist, a hardliner, or a contrarian.

My school days in Vienna and my medical education were far behind me. I was now in the capital city, enjoying the harvest of my psychiatric career with the support of my mentor, Dr. Sigmund Freud.

I had plenty of respect, fame, money, and women.

It’s not easy in one’s career to get to this point, but my occupation was never easy. Psychiatry is the interpretation of data obtained by the rational and systematic application of information to humans, and the art of making decisions on this basis. Psychiatrists spend every minute making decisions and putting their choices into practice. At other times, we put them into categories, such as right or wrong, useful or harmful. All of this is assisted by memories. An algorithmic mistake at any of these stages has the potential to create a problem that might be unsolvable. We psychiatrists are merely the ones who help solve the problem before, or after, it emerges. In all of this we must take the conditions of our patients into account.

At the moment, I’m in the session room in my clinic. The window is on my left and I’m facing the wall. The door is directly opposite and the patient couch is to my back as I wait for the session to begin.

With a squeak, the door opens slightly, and the sequence of decisions begins, along with all of the implications they entail.

The door opened. a) It is a fellow employee b) It is a patient

If the answer is (b): The gender of the person is

a) Woman

b) Man

c) None of the above

If the answer is (a): What kind of woman?

a) Very young

b) Young

c) Middle-aged

d) Other

If the answer is (b): Her features are

a) Average and not attractive

b) Average and moderately attractive

c) Beautiful but not attractive

d) Beautiful and attractive

e) Nondescript

If the answer is (d): Why don’t you sleep with her right away?

a) Because she is my patient

b) She is married

c) I have too much to lose due to my status

d) She talks too much

e) If it turns out badly, I have to suffer the torture of further sessions

The answer is (d).

The patient who enters the room is Mrs. Hellen Schumann. She has sessions every two weeks and for months, I’ve had to make the same decisions and rethink them every time she comes to my office.

On this day, I took a good look at her fashionable, bobbed, jet-black hair, prominent blue eyes, tiny nose, full lips (always dark red), and her face, and how it combined harmoniously with her porcelain white skin. Her dress hugged her slim waist revealing her womanly curves and a pleasant scent of bergamot wafted through the room.

Berlin is increasingly becoming an interesting place, she said. I saw more than a hundred Buddhist monks wandering the streets. Can you believe it?

Without expecting an answer, Hellen put her fur wrap on the armchair with gentle movements. Taking a white silk handkerchief out of her bag, she laid it on the pillow with grace, then sat on the edge of the leather couch before laying down.

She’d been coming to the sessions from Munich every other Thursday at 3 or 4 p.m. As a well-educated, young woman from a wealthy family, she was married to the head of the Technical University of Munich, Winfried Otto Schumann, an intelligent, promising, middle-aged scientist. Hellen’s only problem, she said, was the shallow minds of those around her, people of different ages and disciplines, and the disturbances she caused by candidly saying everything she thought about them. She did this without thinking.

I thought her treatment was very easy. At any point I could have told her: Just talk less, and, if you manage to talk one-third of the time that your conversation partner talks, you can get rid of all your problems. But a quick, easy treatment would weaken my reputation as a doctor. Besides, I had financial concerns. To be honest, she was a nice woman, too.

She would come into town on the morning before each session and stay the night at the house of her cousin. She had a difficult relationship with her cousin due to her cousin’s crisis with jealousy.

How did I know this?

I feel stressed when I even think about going to the house of that fat, hung-up idiot and staying there. I’ve been stressed about it all day. Please don’t misunderstand, it’s nice to see you and benefit from your treatment, but it’s not something I can endure. Don’t you agree? I can’t turn my life into a nightmare of always trying to compensate for my idiot relatives. . .

Now you know how I knew, and you have an idea of how much she talked. If you can imagine this repeated in every session and covering the same topics, you can understand my distress, at least a bit.

Hellen respected her husband. She found him very intelligent, but his tendency to have sexual encounters with the young assistants at his institute was a slight problem. Another problem was that he didn’t come from an aristocratic family, so he didn’t know the important social rules.

Actually, I love my husband. Maybe I didn’t when we got married, but over time, I came to. He’s at the head of a very important department, and he has a prestigious job. I sometimes want to make him tell me more about his job, but I just lose interest at some point. Really, it might not be so difficult. My husband might just be unable to describe it well. You might say that he’s an academician. You’re right, maybe I can’t devote myself to him. He educates many students, and he has young, elite students. I mean, they’re above a specific level. I’m young too, and elite as well, but the problem might not be this. I might be too young to understand what he’s been working on. Somehow, he finds young female assistants there but they probably don’t understand his job either. They might only be successful at pretending to understand so that they’re able to charm my husband.

We might have arrived at different shores of understanding due to a different education and different starting points. I grew up in an aristocratic family, and I spent my childhood learning all the rules that are a compulsory part of that status. I learned to apply them and care for them. My husband, though, grew up in a simple peasant family. He might have tended toward mathematics, because, with their simple rules, he had plenty of time…

The sequence, topics, and even the specific content were the same, thus, I could get back to my usual work: reviewing my next article and revising it. Occasionally, I would add, Hmmm, yes, possible, and move slightly in my chair.

So I buried myself in my research as Hellen moved onto her mother-in-law’s vulgarity, the diminishing quality of her social environment, and fortune tellers.

My mother-in-law is actually…

Hmmm, I said, moving in my chair a little bit.

…social environment…

Yes, I nodded my head.

Vril means ‘I love God’ in Sumerian.

Hmmm? I surprised myself by asking. I looked up from my article and listened more closely.

Sumerian, she continued, The language that the Vril community uses to get in touch with the aliens is Sumerian. The background of the German language is also Sumerian; it’s actually easy to understand. I’m interested in fortune telling and supernatural activities. I’ve attended almost all their meetings and participated in their activities. Of course, like some others, I disagreed at first with dear Winfried about this issue. His strict mathematical doctrines and his manly and peasant intelligence prevent him from flexible thinking, so I can’t blame him for it. When his strict attitude began to constrain me in my activities, I naturally wanted to get rid of him and prove to him how right it was what I’ve been doing. During the Vril sessions, I asked for some piece of technology or other example as proof for my husband from the Arian scientists on Alpha Tauri. I was given a lot of pages with many convoluted mathematical formulas and incomprehensible texts and explanations. I studied them a lot, but I didn’t understand what they were and, in my despair, tentatively gave them to my husband. He threw them on the floor when he learned where they came from. I collected the scattered papers from the floor, wanting him to look through them, at least. As far as I understand, resonance vacillates at seven different frequencies between a layer around the Earth called the ionosphere and the Earth’s surface. It is something like the Earth’s heartbeat. He asked me a lot of questions. I couldn’t answer them as I didn’t know, but finally he’s gained some respect for the Vril community…

Hellen was talking too much again, but she had my interest. What is the Vril community? I asked.

You would like them, Doctor. The Vril girls are so beautiful. They purposely don’t cut their hair because they make ponytails with their hair that go past their waists. They actually use their ponytails to communicate with aliens. When the government learned about their relationship with the aliens and their superior technology, Adolf Hitler appointed Heinrich Himmler, whom he trusts the most, to inspect this community. Himmler took their headquarters to Berlin and organized a lot of scientists, like my husband, to work with them. It is such a secret that my Winfried doesn’t even tell me anything. I have been harmed the most by this, actually. Before, I used to attend the community’s activities twice or three times a week. Now, I can only attend them when I visit you. This might be the main reason for my depression. What do you think, Doctor?

It’s possible…, I confirmed, a little bit late. Hellen was beginning to ramble on and I was beginning to bury my head in my work again.

The pure race of Arians is in touch with the Earth from a planet in a faraway galaxy, and they talk to us via Maria Orsic.

At that, I jolted upright. Maria Orsic? Did you just say Maria Orsic? This was the first time I’d asked my beautiful patient a question I cared to know the answer to.

Yes, yes, Doctor. Maria Orsic is the head of the Vril community, and we owe her a lot.

With long blonde hair?

Yes. How did you know? I must confess she’s more beautiful than any other woman I’ve seen up to now. Her every move is graceful. I think she came to Munich from Vienna long ago and, before that, from somewhere in the Balkans.

Croatia? I asked, my heart now pounding.

I’m not sure, Hellen responded. Might be Croatia. As you know, it’s a very complicated territory, and its map is always changing.

Is she in Berlin now—I mean, with the Vril community?

Yes, don’t you read the papers? They always appear on the agenda; they’ve increased their prestige by making their young, beautiful girls get married to military officers. Are you sure you live here, Doctor?

Well, I have a busy and challenging profession, I muttered as memories attacked my mind. Was she as beautiful as before? Would she remember me? Could I see her again?

Oh, the session is over, said Hellen. Time passes so quickly and smoothly with you, Dr. Reich. She stood up slowly and stretched her lower back slightly, enough to push her heavy breasts against the top two buttons of her blouse.

She was leaving and I had to do something.

Actually, I really enjoy spending time with patients like you, I lied desperately.

Hellen turned to look at me.

I’m even doing a study about whether the treatment process can be supported by seeing patients outside of the clinic, I continued.

Hellen’s prominent blue eyes looked me over as if they saw me for the first time, and a little smile greeted me.

I’m open to any kind of offer that prevents me from going to my cousin, especially if you’re a part of it, Doctor. Her tone had changed, and she sounded distracted. What do you have in mind?

Dinner?

When?

. . .

We met at sunset, far away from the chaos of the city, in a spacious restaurant with high ceilings and tables adorned with purple orchids, all faintly lit by the playful flicker of candlelight.

The river was visible through ceiling-high windows set between brocade-covered columns. I thought that it was an unnecessarily romantic atmosphere. But Hellen seemed pleased.

Dr. Reich, an excellent choice. You must be experienced in charming your patients outside of the clinic. She shaped the words without taking her eyes off of me. Her big blue eyes were enhanced by the dark blue and green sheen of her dress.

Coincidence, I explained. This is the first time I’ve come, and, well…just a coincidence. I was playing shy for reasons I didn’t understand myself.

Hellen took a drink of her wine. It was red as rubies and it accentuated the dark red of her lips. I may be young, she said, but I know when to believe in coincidences. She smiled.

I played with my napkin and turned the glass in my hand before taking a gulp of cognac.

You’re very different than other men. You’re a person who listens to others without getting bored.

I thought back to my office and how often I retreated to my articles during my patients’ long, senseless talks.

Of course, what makes you interesting…no…attractive, she corrected herself. What makes you attractive is not only this characteristic of yours. A man must behave consistently well, but he also must take care of his woman. He must protect her and respect her thoughts. That’s what I look for in a partner, but I haven’t found it.

She studied me and I met her eyes.

Okay, sexuality is important at some point, she said, and one must have it, but to have it with someone who respects you is well…more…

Mrs. Schumann, I interrupted. It’s so nice that you have the same relaxed attitude you have in our therapy sessions, but isn’t this your main problem, being too relaxed while talking to others? As you know, being so honest out in society can leave you defenseless.

See? You’ve just supported my point. Hellen said, lighting up. You’re being protective, being so careful not to hurt me, listening to whatever I say attentively and thinking about it. This is what makes you attractive.

It was clear Hellen understood only what she wanted to understand. I tried to test her awareness by disturbing her a bit.

Are you that explicit when you’re intimate with your husband?

She paused and took a deep breath. It’s like always, I mean, of course I go on talking to express myself. Is that strange? I always think that when two people are that close to each other, what’s talked about is more enjoyable.

How do you think your husband reacts?

He doesn’t participate much. He just focuses on the activity.

But you can still be together?

I’m sorry. What do you mean?

I mean, do you have a happy and satisfying sex life?

He is the first and only man in my life. What can I compare him to? Doesn’t everybody experience something similar in sexual intercourse?

I tried to change the topic.

The food is very delicious, isn’t it? And the service is really good. We must come here more often, I said.

Of course, she said, now distracted. Whenever you want.

I wondered whether we were flirting, and if she was already emotionally invested in us being together. I hoped to avoid such entanglements. I decided to get to my real reason for the dinner

Maria Orsic, I started.

Sorry? Hellen asked, stopping in the middle of drinking her wine.

The Vril community…you mentioned… I said, recovering. I had started poorly.

Yes, of course, Hellen confirmed.

When did you see them last? I asked.

Two weeks ago, just as I told you. I always visit them when I come here.

She was clearly surprised by the sudden change of topic, but she continued If you hadn’t given me this dinner invitation, I’d be with them now. Maybe it’s fate.

I don’t believe in fate or coincidences. I think everything results from conscious decisions. I was being too harsh. I treaded carefully. Of course, coincidences also have a part in the development of surprising events…

Hellen winked and gave me a big smile.

You can say anything that comes into your mind, Dr. Reich.

Can you tell me about them?

Hellen blushed now and looked pleased.

Your superior talent in charming a woman really amazes me. You’re making an effort to learn about something I’m interested in just to get to know me.

So? I pressed, hoping she would tell me more.

It’s enough that you’ve thought about it, she continued, but if you’re not interested in such things, I don’t want to torture you. We can do more pleasant things together. Her slender, delicate fingers touched my hand.

No, really, I am interested.

Wow. You don’t belong to this world. You are really showing interest in me and doing it so naturally.

Her coyness was tying me up in knots and she knew it.

If you are really interested, Dr. Reich, she said, I will be attending a meeting two weeks from now. Perhaps it might be useful for your research. Of course, you may need to cancel your appointments.

I can do that, I said.

Really? she asked. I’m excited now. I have a lot of things I’m going to tell you.

She grabbed my hand tightly, smiling.

I thought to ask more but I kept quiet so as not to give myself away.

On the river, the road lights reflected off the water as a small ferry disappeared into the distance. The scent of the purple orchids wafted in the light breeze and pleasant shadows cast by the candlelight flickered over the face of the nice woman in front of me. But my only thought was of Maria.

Spring 1920, Vienna

Wilhelm Reich / Maria Orsic

Ribot’s Law says that the most recent memory you have is the first thing you

will forget. Therefore, the last thing I will forget about Maria Orsic is the first time I saw her.

The Great War was over and our army was defeated. My young soul had been mangled, and I felt the angst and hopelessness of defeat.

I aimlessly wandered over Vienna, trying to adapt to life again, engaging in only the most basic social relations with the people around me. I turned inward and breathed in the depressed ethos of my defeated and shattered country. It wasn’t until the age of twenty-three that I finally pulled myself together and started medical school.

To finance my education, I began working nights as a nurse in a mental hospital. The hospital management, crushed under the patient load and the lack of qualified male personnel after the war, accepted me easily. After that, all my time and energy was consumed by the intensive coursework during the day and the shifts in the overcrowded hospital at night.

One night, I was doing my late-night room checks in the women’s ward of the hospital. The nurse had told me it was a calm night, so I was relaxed in my procedure. After a quick check, I planned to study a bit and get a good night’s sleep before class the next morning.

When I entered Room 17, the pale light of the ceiling lamp made long, dark shadows across the room. All the beds were full, and an unforgettably pungent smell emanated from the collection of restlessly sleeping bodies.

As I headed deeper into the room, I saw a young woman with blonde hair down to her waist sitting upright on the edge of her bed looking out of the window. The rain outside slid in drops over the window, and far away trees swayed in the wind, throwing more shadows about the room. The blonde woman sat gazing at the dark sky beyond the trees. As I approached, I felt a warm glow inside of me and, when she turned to me, my heart gave a slight spasm. I saw her face, drawn as if by a fine pencil, and, at the center, two deep blue eyes. For a long time, I stood there, stunned, keeping my gaze steady, hoping not to spoil the moment.

I had never seen her before, but it was as if I had always known her.

The young girl had no response to my stare and she returned her gaze to the upper corner of the window, and beyond to the dark sky. I decided to stop standing there like a fool and again become a member of the hospital staff.

You need to sleep now, I managed to say. Come on, lie down and fall asleep, you can look out of the window as much as you want in the morning.

The young girl didn’t change her position. It was as if she hadn’t heard me.

What’s your name? I asked.

Silence.

I took a step and stood between the window and her gaze.

Your na – I couldn’t even finish my question.

Maria, she said with a slight foreign accent and a voice with such a heavenly timbre that I labored to breathe normally and struggled to speak.

Maria?

Maria Orsic . . . I’m from Zagreb.

What are you doing here?

My father is a soldier; he brought me to Vienna after the war. The doctors and hospitals here were said to be good. She was speaking in halting phrases, choosing her words from a language she didn’t yet command.

How long have you been here? I was using all the advantages of my position and for a moment, I questioned my motives.

Three days and one night, she said.

I was so confused that I took some time to remember my question and comprehend her answer.

Okay, let it be three days and two nights and try to sleep, I said.

I reached out and gently pressed her soft shoulders down towards the bed letting my hands linger on her fragile shoulders longer than was necessary. It was hard to let go.

She wasn’t sleeping when I left her, and as I went out of the dark room into the dim corridor, I hoped she was looking at me. As I walked along rapidly, I felt an indescribable excitement as thoughts raced through my mind.

For the next day, I wandered around elated. It was impossible to focus. I began putting off all my other duties so I could go to the hospital early. I invented jobs for myself and just wandered around wasting time. I lived in my own dream and formed a new habit of talking to myself, even in the middle of crowds.

I did my best to keep myself away from the women’s ward and tried to have some conversations with a few staff members, but it didn’t work. Time didn’t seem to pass, and I couldn’t think about anything but going back to Room 17. To distract myself, I entered Room 16 and paced across the floor, putting my hands in and out of my pockets, walking fast at first, and then more slowly. The