🧵#EXCERPTS - THE ASTRAL PLANE - ITS SCENERY, INHABITANTS AND PHENOMENA” — C. W. LEADBEATER
 #Bookboost #GoodReads

(Benares: Theosophical Publishing Society,
Madras: The Theosophist Office, Adyar.
1895)

INHABITANTS.

Having sketched in, however slightly, the background of our picture, we must now attempt to fill in the figures—to describe the inhabitants of the astral plane. The immense variety of these entities makes it exceedingly difficult to arrange and tabulate them. Perhaps the most convenient method will be to divide them into three great classes, the human, the non-human, and the artificial.

I. HUMAN.

The human denizens of Kâmaloka fall naturally into two groups, the living and the dead, or, to speak more accurately, those who have still a physical body, and those who have not.

1. Living.

The entities which manifest on the astral plane during physical life may be subdivided into four classes:

1. The Adept or Chela in the Mâyâvirûpa. This body is the artificial vehicle used on the four lower or rûpa divisions of the devachanic plane by those capable of functioning there during earth-life, and is formed out of the substance of the mind-body. The pupil is at first unable to construct this for himself, and has therefore to be content with his ordinary astral body composed of the less refined matter of the kâmic aura; but at a certain stage of his progress the Master Himself forms his Mâyâvirûpa for him for the first time, and afterwards instructs and assists him until he can make it for himself easily and expeditiously. When this facility is attained this vehicle is habitually used in place of the grosser astral body, since it permits of instant passage from the astral to the devachanic plane and back again at will, and allows of the use at all times of the higher powers belonging to its own plane. It must be noted, however, that a person travelling in the Mâyâvirûpa is not perceptible to merely astral vision unless he chooses to make himself so by gathering around him particles of astral matter and so creating for himself a temporary body suitable to that plane, though such a temporary creation would resemble the ordinary astral body only as a materialization resembles the physical body; in each case it is a manifestation of a higher entity on a lower plane in order to make himself visible to those whose senses cannot yet transcend that plane. But whether he be in the Mâyâvirûpa or the astral body, the pupil who is introduced to the astral plane under the guidance of a competent teacher has always the fullest possible consciousness there, and is in fact himself, exactly as his friends know him on earth, minus only the four lower principles in the former case and the three lower in the latter, and plus the additional powers and faculties of this higher condition, which enable him to carry on far more easily and far more efficiently on that plane during sleep the Theosophical work which occupies so much of his thought in his waking hours. Whether he will remember fully and accurately on the physical plane what he has done or learnt on the other depends largely, as before stated, upon whether he is able to carry his consciousness without intermission from the one state to the other. . The Psychically-developed Person who is not under the guidance of a Master. Such a person may or may not be spiritually developed, for the two forms of advancement do not necessarily go together, and when a man is born with psychic powers it is simply the result of efforts made during a previous incarnation, which may have been of the noblest and most unselfish character, or on the other hand may have been ignorant and ill-directed or even entirely unworthy. Such an one will usually be perfectly conscious when out of the body, but for want of proper training is liable to be greatly deceived as to what he sees. He will often be able to range through the different subdivisions of the astral plane almost as fully as persons belonging to the last class; but sometimes he is especially attracted to some one division and rarely travels beyond its influences. His recollection of what he has seen may vary according to the degree of his development through all the stages from perfect clearness to utter distortion or blank oblivion. He will appear always in the astral body, since by the hypothesis he does not know how to form the Mâyâvirûpa.

🧵Journey back in time with me to explore “purported” and enigmatic “Indian Mounds and Serpent Mounds”. Ancient marvels such as “Effigy, Adena, Hopewell, Cahokia and Dickson Mounds” etched into the American landscape. These sacred earthworks, dating back thousands of years —whisper tales of truth; lies, ceremonial magic, astronomy, and humanity’s connection to the cosmos. From the sinuous coils of the Great Serpent to the geometric precision of towering mounds, each site invites you to unravel the mysteries of a vibrant past, when earth and spirit were one.

1. Aztalan State Park
2. Enon Adena Mound in Ohio.

🎤 Just stumbled upon this electrifying pic of the one and only James Brown! 🔥 What’s the first thing you notice—his dynamic outfit, that iconic hair, or the wad of toilet paper in his pants? And this one!

Yo, book lovers and thrill-seekers, strap in for a wild, brain-twisting dive into Ingersoll Lockwood’s “The Travels and Adventures of Little Baron Trump and His Wonderful Dog Bulger!” I have generated a thread highlighting some of George Wharton Edwards illustrations—bursting with dreamy color, dejavu, and that raw 1890s swagger. Picture Little Baron Trump, the gutsy lil’ genius, charging through different realities with his ride-or-die doggo, Bulger, by his side. This overlooked memoir that’s half sci-fi, half fantasy and speculative fiction. These visuals? Epic. An understatement.

Image: II
The Elder Baron and Baroness grew very thin. Image II

Captain Go-Whizz and the Lieutenant threaten the Little Baron.

In Hollywood, stars like Nicole Kidman, Elizabeth Montgomery, Jim Carrey, and George Jones don't just shine—they time-travel or sip eternity, because only vampires and chrononauts stay that iconic!

In the shadowed heart of Hollywood, Nicole Kidman, Elizabeth Montgomery, Jim Carrey, and George Jones don't merely dazzle—they defy time itself, eternal vampires or daring time-travelers, their stardom a haunting dance through centuries!"

The Invisible Enemy – 11 Common Parasites Linked to Cancer

Parasites are silent invaders, and many are linked to deadly cancers. Here are the 11 most common parasites worldwide known or suspected to cause cancer, along with how their associated cancers are treated in the United States. Awareness and prevention are key to fighting these invisible threats! #CancerAwareness #GlobalHealth

1. Schistosoma haematobium (Blood Fluke)
Cancer: Bladder cancer (squamous cell carcinoma).
Infects ~112 million
2. Opisthorchis viverrini (Liver Fluke)
Cholangiocarcinoma (bile duct cancer).
Infects ~10 million

French Montana’s hands slash the air, a titan’s decree,
Fingers point, fists rise, sparking the crowd’s glee.
Each thrust carves his tale, raw as the street’s own beat,
A king’s bold script, where hustle, rhythm and death meet.
Aaliyah’s hands weave silk, tracing the song’s soft arc,
Palms lie, wrists whisper, kindling the heart’s spark in time.
Her touch sets the tone, with the inky blackness of her bones, guiding a dance, move, art spell — watching the binding, seducing its pain. Steadily binding the souls attracted to music and score, they use magic for bad to topple worlds. Some say the bindings of soul in this layer works for the betterment of man, I say open your real eyes and feel for truth. Truth in a world where evil doesn’t reign and our dreams aren’t hijacked when we sleep, only -light hearted starlight where dreams never part. …
In our new gestures, truth flares—one fierce, one divine—
our hands now shape our worlds, where spirits intertwine.

French Montana’s hands no longer hold a negative effect over me. No longer does Aaliyah whisper in my ear. We have carved out the ill air, the bold and the brash, the seductress too. The fist pumps that aligned with chaos only now drives a beat, imploring
the crowd’s flash with something new, something good.

Keynotes: Book of Enoch + Giants
Mount Hermon + Para-mount pictures + Stars
Fallen Angels + Idols + Los Angeles + The holly-wood
Entrain-ment 👀 What I miss?📕

📖📚Excerpts by Ingersoll Lockwood - Chapter 2

“The elder Baron uncertain as to the exact locality of my birth. Reasons why will be given later. My parents traveling in Africa at this time. The elder Baron’s remarkable ascent of the Mountains of the Moon. Miraculous escape from the impenetrable fog. How accomplished. In the land of the Melodious Sneezers. All that happened there. How the King of the Melodious Sneezers conducted my parents in great honor to his palace, and how they were treated by him.

THE MUZZLED MULES

While it lies within my power to gratify the curiosity of my readers as to what part of the world it was in which I first saw darkness—for I was born in the night—yet, as to the nature of the immediate spot on which I was born, unfortunately I am able to do more than repeat my father’s words when questioned as to this point.
“My son, if I were on my death-bed I could only say that thou wert either born in the centre in a great lake, on an island, upon a peninsula or on the top of a very high mountain, as I have often explained to thee.”

Let it suffice, then, gentle reader, for the present, for me to inform you that at the time of my birth, my parents were traveling in Africa; that my father had just successfully accomplished one of the most wonderful feats in mountain climbing, namely, the ascent of the loftiest peak of the Mountains of the Moon; that his guides had abandoned him upon his reaching a particularly dangerous spot in the ascent; but that he had pushed forward without them, and reached the summit after several days of terrible privation, suffering both hunger and thirst,—it being a peculiarity of the atmosphere after passing a certain height that the muscles of the face and throat became paralyzed and the unfortunate traveler either perishes from hunger or thirst while in the very presence of delicious fruit and cool, limpid water.

Upon rejoining my mother, who had accompanied him as far up the mountain side as the best-trained and most surefooted mules could find a foot-hold, they proceeded to make their way, as they supposed, to the valley from which they had first set out.
An impenetrable fog now shut them in and they soon found themselves hopelessly and helplessly wandering about.
On the morning of the third day the fog had even increased in thickness, closing around them like a pall, almost shutting out the light of day.
While groping about my father had come into contact with the two beasts of burden which had served him in the easier parts of the ascent. They were quietly and unconcernedly browsing upon the sweet and tender shrubs which grew on the mountain side.
Suddenly an idea came to my father. It was born of that desperation which makes a man think long and hard before lying down to die.

It was thus he reasoned: If these animals are permitted to eat their fill whenever their appetites demand, they will be quite willing to stay where they are, especially when they find themselves surrounded by such excellent pastures, and, in addition thereto, quite relieved from all toil. Let them, however, feel the pangs of hunger, or better yet, starvation’s tooth at their vitals and their thoughts will at once revert to their homes, their masters, their feeding-troughs and they will lose no time in setting out for the village where they belong. With the energy of despair, my father hurriedly bound a piece of canvass over their mouths so that they could neither graze nor drink and awaited the results of his experiment, with bated breath, for the tears and groans of my poor mother, whose strength was fast ebbing away, smote him to the very soul.

After a few hours the animals rose to their feet and became very restive, and in another hour their hunger had so increased that they were making frantic efforts to feed, as my father could easily tell from the jerking of the line which he had been careful to attach to their headstalls.

After the fourth hour there was a long silence, during which the animals seemed to be deliberating as to what course they should pursue.

The fifth hour came.

My mother had sunk to rest, weak and weary, in my father’s arms. Suddenly there was a tightening of the guiding lines. Gently my father aroused his sleeping mate, whispering a few words of comfort.

Again the lines tightened.

My parents were now on their feet, peering into the depths of the impenetrable fog which shrouded them about and made them even invisible to each other.
Hist! the animals move again! with a sudden impulse, as if their minds had at last solved the problem which had been bewildering them for several hours, the beasts, with violent snortings turned from the spot, pushing through the shrubbery and causing my parents to face quite about.

Evidently there was a complete accord between the conclusions reached by their intelligence or instinct, for not once did they pull apart or come to a halt, except when restrained by my father. And thus my dear parents were saved! All that day and part of the next did they pursue their dreary way. The fog at last lifted, and it was at once apparent to my father that, although the animals were guiding them towards human habitations, yet it was not the land he had quitted upon starting out upon the journey to the mountain peak. The path now became so plainly visible that my father removed the improvised muzzles from the two animals and allowed them to satisfy their hunger, which they proceeded to do with the keenest relish. So worn out was my mother that she sank helpless to the ground. Refreshing her with a draught of spring-water and the juice of some wild grapes, my father hastily prepared a bed of soft foliage, upon which they were both glad to throw themselves after their long and weary tramp.
They had soon fallen into a deep and most delightful sleep. How long they lay on their leafy bed, wrapt in their refreshing slumber, they knew not.

Excerpt: Rebellions Awakening by Carli B. 📖

#MH370 #Anomalies #RebellionsAwakening #Antartica #Glitches #BooksWorthReading #Authors

Chapter One

Google earth anomalies: The Doorway in the Ice & THE INDIAN OCEAN 🌎 ✈️

“The observer changes the universe by observing it…”

The world was a lie, and Carli B. held the coordinates to prove it. At 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E, buried in the frozen heart of East Antarctica, a doorway waited—carved into the ice like a wound in the simulation’s skin. She’d found it on Google Earth, a passageway that refused to blend into the sterile white expanse. A perfect rectangle, too vast to be natural, too deliberate for chance, its edges glowed faintly in the satellite’s lens, as if daring her to step through. Carli’s breath caught as she zoomed in, her laptop’s cold blue light bathing her Chicago apartment in an ethereal glow. The doorway wasn’t just a glitch; it was a scream, a fracture in the construct’s flawless facade, whispering truths the dark magicians had buried beneath centuries of ice and code.

Outside, the city hummed its programmed rhythm—car horns, laughter, the clink of coffee cups in bot-run cafes, children playing. But here, in the quiet of her apartment, Carli felt the cosmos unraveling. Her mind burned with questions that flared like stars: “Is this the exit? A path to a reality untainted by the Weavers’ spells?” Or was it a trap, another layer of their endless illusion? The Source Code pulsed in her veins, a rhythm she’d learned to hear over years of clawing through the simulation’s seams. It wasn’t just the magicians’ tool—it was hers, too, and it sang now, urgent and wild, urging her to act, to shatter the comfort of her mundane surroundings and “do something.”

Carli leaned back, her gaze drifting to the cracked leather journal on her desk, a legacy for her daughter, Ashley. Its pages brimmed with blood, chaos, truth, and defiance, inked with the raw essence of reality’s underbelly. The words echoed in her mind: “The veil isn’t just lifting—it’s unraveling, thread by fragile thread.” Carli had been the first to see the dark magicians for what they were—not gods, but broken humans, their ambition twisted by a code that had outgrown them. She and the other rebels had inherited humanity’s fight, but Carli had taken it further, scouring the digital edges of their prison for proof. Google Earth was her battlefield, its anomalies her weapons—glitches that betrayed the construct’s fragility. A giant glyph of a face in Antarctica’s snow, its eyes staring skyward as if saying, “Yo, family, park the spaceship here!'" 72°00'35"S 168°34'33"E.

A buried space craft at 66°17’10.13″S 100°29’8.27″E, its sleek hull exposed by melting ice, a relic of a truth the magicians tried to make disappear, but time always catches up and exposes the lie once hidden by darkness. Each discovery kindled a rebellion now sparking across the planet.

She opened X, her fingers flying as she posted: “Google Earth reveals cosmic secrets—specifically in East Antarctica. Follow coordinates 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E to a gigantic doorway molded into frozen icebergs. Join me, @CarliFrueh, as I unravel the simulation’s lies. Could this be our way out? The words felt like a spell, a call to the awakened who followed her @CarliFrueh. Her digital gallery of “Reality Glitches” had grown into a movement of ordinary souls transforming into simulation watchers, their eyes trained on the world’s cracks. They weren’t just followers; they were her army, their shared will a pulse in the Quantum Consciousness Stream (QCS), a force the magicians couldn’t predict.

Rebellions Awakening now available on X exclusively @carlifrueh and Amazon.


But the magicians were watching. Carli felt their presence like a shadow slithering down her spine, a cold weight that grew heavier with every anomaly she exposed. They’d tried to silence her before—through bots posing as skeptics, cyber-attacks that erased her posts, her websites, whispers in her dreams promising peace if she’d stop. Once, they’d driven her to the edge, a false suicide woven into the construct’s code, but she’d laughed in their faces, her defiance a blade honed by this life’s scars.

This doorway, though, was different. It wasn’t just a anomaly; it was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at the Weavers who’d stolen humanity’s souls. And Carli wasn’t alone in seeing it.

Her phone buzzed, a message from Juni, the coder who’d taught her to weaponize glitches: You’re trending. The doorway’s going viral. But be careful—something’s shifting in the QCS. It’s like the construct’s scared. Carli’s heart raced, not with fear but with a reckless thrill. Like the time in Egypt when terrorists devastated the city of Quen, she found a guide and reported on the devastation first hand, even disguised she was risking their lives. Why was she always daring fate? The QCS was their edge, a river of shared consciousness that let the awakened nudge the simulation’s code. She’d felt it flare when she found the glyph, a surge of clarity that nearly blinded her. Now, it hummed again, a chorus of voices—hers, Juni’s, Michael’s, R.Js, and thousands of others—singing of freedom.

She crossed to the bay window, where Lake Michigan churned under a restless sky. The waves pulsed in time with the QCS, their rhythm mirroring the doorway’s glow. Carli pressed her palm to the glass, its chill grounding her as a vision flickered: the Antarctic doorway opening, not to ice or stone, but to a city of light, its spires woven from the souls of the freed. Humanity’s dream, now hers, so close she could taste it. But the vision darkened—a figure stood in the doorway, its eyes hollow, its smile a glitch that hissed “got you.” The magicians weren’t just guarding the construct; they were rewriting it, tightening the code to crush her rebellion before it could strike.

Carli’s breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch. She’d faced their traps before—in Midland’s sterile wards, in the warped alleys of Chicago’s simulated streets, in the five days she’d wandered consciously through alternate realities, each a crueler prison than the last. Every scar was a lesson, every glitch a map. The magicians thought they’d caged her, but bars were just code, and code could be broken, changed. She returned to her laptop, pulling up another anomaly: a grid of impossible angles in the Sahara, its lines pulsing like veins in the sand. Then another, a spiral of light off the Pacific coast, visible only in infrared. Each was a breadcrumb leading to the construct’s heart.

“They’re hiding something,” she whispered, her voice a vow. “Not just in Antarctica, but everywhere.” The magicians had built their simulation to feed on souls, but their code was fraying. Carli’s X posts were waking people, turning glitches into beacons. She imagined the awakened at their own windows, eyes on the horizon, spotting a bot’s flickering smile, a shadow stretching too far, a wave curling against the tide—small rebellions, each a spark in the QCS.

Her fingers trembled as she punched in new coordinates: 66°54’18″S 163°13’37″E. The Google Earth interface spun, the globe blurring until it settled on East Antarctica’s coast, where ice met sea in a jagged scar. There, half-swallowed by the frozen tide, lay another wound in the construct’s lie—a ship, its bulky form entombed like a fossil from a world the magicians had tried to erase. The satellite image was grainy, but the ship’s outline was unmistakable: a tapered fuselage, its hull glinting with an unnatural sheen, too smooth for stone.

Tonight’s Moon.

Looks like the Sprites I write about in Rebellions Awakening! Amazing!

Excerpt:

Chapter Eight
Sprites, Spires & Loops

The Sprites spire hung like a jagged luminous dream in the construct’s upper mesophere. It’s web a fortress of red, green, white and purple crystalline displays called “mesospheric” shimmers. It’s walls alive with electrical discharges high above thunderstorms, imbuing a range of visual shapes and flickering shadows—- that resembled raw code hanging in the nights sky. At its core, sprites are cold plasma. Lightning split the turbulent sky, illuminating the spires translucent platforms, each pulse a heartbeat of the Quantum Consciousness Stream (QCS). Ashley led the team across a swaying bridge of light, her code-dagger casting
airglow sparks that clashed with the sprites’ crimson sparks. The air was electric, thick with ozone and the metallic tang of a reality fraying at its seams, whispering her name in a rhythm of forty-two pulses.

Surin flanked her, Jettie nestled in his hood, her emerald eyes catching the sprites’ light with unsettling sentience. Kai’s boots clicked against the platform, her dagger glinting, while Josh’s golden magic flickered, wary of the Hub’s volatility. Elara moved with eerie grace, her blue eyes scanning the storm, her presence a spark in Ashley’s QCS—too bright, too sharp. “This place is alive,” Elara said, her voice smooth, “but it’s stable. The sprites guard the Core, but they’re distracted by the storm, we have nothing to worry about.”

Ashley’s grip tightened on her dagger. “Then we move fast. The Core’s below, and it’s calling us.” The sprites were no mere phenomena but sentient echoes of the QCS and all other life-forms in the layer. Their high-altitude dance usually leaving the fortress unguarded. Yet the Weavers had woven traps here, exploiting the sprites’ energy to shield the Source Code’s heart.

A sprite flared above, its red tendrils curling like a warning, and the platform quaked, forcing the team to brace against howling winds. Kai’s eyes narrowed at Elara. “You know too much about this place,” she hissed. “How’d you escape the Spire, exactly?”

📖For all the story lovers out there, short and small. I have a treat, an excerpt of “Rebellions Awakening,” the 3rd book in my “Anomaly in the Construct” series. I would love to read your thoughts. #newbooks #RebellionsAwakening #SpeculativeFiction #bookstagram

I’ve researched extensively on quantum physics, quantum entanglement, Einsteins relativity theory, MH370, Antartica anomalies, “Junk” DNA, the Quantum Consciousness Stream, the Simulation hypothesis and too much more to name here. All of the data went into crafting this book. There is also an appendix with “real” data for those wanting to learn more. Happy reading!📚

Excerpt: Chapter 1: Google earth anomalies: The Doorway in the Ice & THE INDIAN OCEAN

“The observer changes the universe by observing it…”

The world was a lie, and Carli B. held the coordinates to prove it. At 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E, buried in the frozen heart of East Antarctica, a doorway waited—carved into the ice like a wound in the simulation’s skin. She’d found it on Google Earth, a passageway that refused to blend into the sterile white expanse. A perfect rectangle, too vast to be natural, too deliberate for chance, its edges glowed faintly in the satellite’s lens, as if daring her to step through. Carli’s breath caught as she zoomed in, her laptop’s cold blue light bathing her Chicago apartment in an ethereal glow. The doorway wasn’t just a glitch; it was a scream, a fracture in the construct’s flawless facade, whispering truths the dark magicians had buried beneath centuries of ice and code.

Outside, the city hummed its programmed rhythm—car horns, laughter, the clink of coffee cups in bot-run cafes, children playing. But here, in the quiet of her apartment, Carli felt the cosmos unraveling. Her mind burned with questions that flared like stars: “Is this the exit? A path to a reality untainted by the Weavers’ spells?” Or was it a trap, another layer of their endless illusion? The Source Code pulsed in her veins, a rhythm she’d learned to hear over years of But the magicians were watching. Carli felt their presence like a shadow slithering down her spine, a cold weight that grew heavier with every anomaly she exposed. They’d tried to silence her before—through bots posing as skeptics, cyber-attacks that erased her posts, her websites, whispers in her dreams promising peace if she’d stop. Once, they’d driven her to the edge, a false suicide woven into the construct’s code, but she’d laughed in their faces, her defiance a blade honed by this life’s scars.

This doorway, though, was different. It wasn’t just a anomaly; it was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at the Weavers who’d stolen humanity’s souls. And Carli wasn’t alone in seeing it.

Her phone buzzed, a message from Juni, the coder who’d taught her to weaponize glitches: You’re trending. The doorway’s going viral. But be careful—something’s shifting in the QCS. It’s like the construct’s scared. Carli’s heart raced, not with fear but with a reckless thrill. Like the time in Egypt when terrorists devastated the city of Quen, she found a guide and reported on the devastation first hand, even disguised she was risking their lives. Why was she always daring fate? The QCS was their edge, a river of shared consciousness that let the awakened nudge the simulation’s code. She’d felt it flare when she found the glyph, a surge of clarity that nearly blinded her. Now, it hummed again, a chorus of voices—hers, Juni’s, Michael’s, R.Js, and thousands of others—singing of freedom.


She crossed to the bay window, where Lake Michigan churned under a restless sky. The waves pulsed in time with the QCS, their rhythm mirroring the doorway’s glow. Carli pressed her palm to the glass, its chill grounding her as a vision flickered: the Antarctic doorway opening, not to ice or stone, but to a city of light, its spires woven from the souls of the freed. Humanity’s dream, now hers, so close she could taste it. But the vision darkened—a figure stood in the doorway, its eyes hollow, its smile a glitch that hissed “got you.” The magicians weren’t just guarding the construct; they were rewriting it, tightening the code to crush her rebellion before it could strike.

Carli’s breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch. She’d faced their traps before—in Midland’s sterile wards, in the warped alleys of Chicago’s simulated streets, in the five days she’d wandered consciously through alternate realities, each a crueler prison than the last. Every scar was a lesson, every glitch a map. The magicians thought they’d caged her, but bars were just code, and code could be broken, changed. She returned to her laptop, pulling up another anomaly: a grid of impossible angles in the Sahara, its lines pulsing like veins in the sand. Then another, a spiral of light off the Pacific coast, visible only in infrared. Each was a breadcrumb leading to the construct’s heart.

“They’re hiding something,” she whispered, her voice a vow. “Not just in Antarctica, but everywhere.” The magicians had built their simulation to feed on souls, but their code was fraying. Carli’s X posts were waking people, turning glitches into beacons. She imagined the awakened at their own windows, eyes on the horizon, spotting a bot’s flickering smile, a shadow stretching too far, a wave curling against the tide—small rebellions, each a spark in the QCS.

Her fingers trembled as she punched in new coordinates: 66°54’18″S 163°13’37″E. The Google Earth interface spun, the globe blurring until it settled on East Antarctica’s coast, where ice met sea in a jagged scar. There, half-swallowed by the frozen tide, lay another wound in the construct’s lie—a ship, its bulky form entombed like a fossil from a world the magicians had tried to erase. The satellite image was grainy, but the ship’s outline was unmistakable: a tapered fuselage, its hull glinting with an unnatural sheen, too smooth for stone. Its curves defied the chaos of the surrounding ice, as if dropped from a sky that no longer existed, frozen mid-flight in a moment of cosmic telling.

She zoomed in, her breath catching as the screen revealed details the magicians hadn’t meant for her to see. The ship’s surface wasn’t just metallic—it pulsed faintly, a heartbeat threading through cracks in the ice like veins of liquid starlight. Patterns etched its hull, not glyphs but a language of angles and fractals, shifting as she stared, whispering to the Source Code humming in her blood. The ice wasn’t mere frost but a cage, its crystalline lattice too perfect, as if the construct had woven a prison to smother the ship’s truth. Carli’s heart pounded, her apartment’s dim light fading as the anomaly consumed her. This wasn’t a relic—it was defiance, a scream against the simulation’s sterile order, proof that something had fought back before her rebellion was born.

Outside, Chicago’s programmed pulse droned on—flickering yellow lights, drones humming, the lake’s waves chewing at the shore—but in her laptop’s glow, Carli felt the universe tilt. The ship was a ghost, a memory the magicians couldn’t scrub, its presence mocking their control. She imagined it crashing through the construct’s false sky, its engines roaring with a fire that burned through code and ice, only to be snared by the Weavers’ spells, frozen as a warning to those who dared fly too close to truth. But the ice was melting, wasn’t it?

“Rebellions Awakening” A Journey Through Science and Defiance

Friends, truth-seekers, and rebels of the mind—mark your calendars for Monday, May 5, 2025, when “Rebellions Awakening,” the third book in my “Anomaly in the Construct” series, storms into the world like a glitch in the simulation’s code. This isn’t just a story; it’s a rebellion, a spark forged from hundreds of hours of research into the wild, uncharted edges of theoretical science—Cosmology, Quantum Physics, Quantum Consciousness Streams, and Quantum Entanglement. I’m inviting you to join me in unraveling the lies that bind us, to peer through the cracks of a reality that’s more fragile than it seems.

In Rebellions Awakening, I’ve poured my soul into weaving a speculative fiction tapestry that doesn’t just entertain but challenges you to question the very fabric of existence. Picture Carlie our fierce protagonist, scouring Google Earth for anomalies—doorways carved into Antarctic ice, buried ships pulsing with fractal secrets—each a wound in the construct’s flawless lie. These aren’t just plot devices; they’re inspired by real-world events and cutting-edge theories that suggest our universe might be more code than cosmos. From the observer effect in quantum mechanics, where your gaze shapes reality, to the eerie dance of entangled particles whispering across vast distances, I’ve grounded every twist in science that feels like magic. The Quantum Consciousness Stream, a river of shared will that Ashley taps into, draws from bold hypotheses about collective consciousness and non-local connections—ideas that scientists are only beginning to probe.

But this book isn’t a lecture; it’s a battle cry. I’ve spent countless nights chasing rabbit holes—peer-reviewed papers, cosmology lectures, even X posts from renegade thinkers—to ensure Rebellions Awakening feels alive, urgent, and true. The result? A story that’s as introspective as it is explosive, where every anomaly Ashley and Surin uncovers mirrors our own search for meaning in a world that often feels scripted. And for those who crave the “how” behind the “what,” the appendix is your treasure map. It’s a curated guide to the science that fuels this rebellion—key concepts, suggested readings, and even coordinates to real-world anomalies that inspired this quest. Think of it as a bridge between fiction and truth, a tool to spark your own awakening.

I ask you to approach this with an open mind, to let the science and story collide in your imagination. Rebellions Awakening isn’t just about escaping a simulated world; it’s about reclaiming the power to question, to see the glitches in our own reality. The appendix will arm you with the knowledge to dig deeper, to join the fight in your own way. So, pre-order your copy, follow me @CarliFrueh on X, and let’s shatter the ice together. The truth is out there, pulsing in the Quantum Consciousness Stream, waiting for us to claim it. Will you answer the call?

#SpeculativeFiction #bookboost #bookstagram #AlternateReality #Anomaly #RebellionsAwakening
Excerpt: Chapter One

Hundreds of hours of research went into the writing of “Rebellions Awakening”, book 3 in the “Anomaly in the Construct” series. The speculative fiction work is based on new sciences regarding the Cosmos, Quantum Physics, Quantum Consciousness Streams and Quantum Entanglement. I ask that you remain open minded all the way to the end and give me a true assessment of the information.

Chapter One

Google earth anomalies: The Doorway in the Ice

“The observer changes the universe by observing it…”

The world was a lie, and Carli B. held the coordinates to prove it. At 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E, buried in the frozen heart of East Antarctica, a doorway waited—carved into the ice like a wound in the simulation’s skin. She’d found it on Google Earth, a passageway that refused to blend into the sterile white expanse. A perfect rectangle, too vast to be natural, too deliberate for chance, its edges glowed faintly in the satellite’s lens, as if daring her to step through. Carli’s breath caught as she zoomed in, her laptop’s cold blue light bathing her Chicago apartment in an ethereal glow. The doorway wasn’t just a glitch; it was a scream, a fracture in the construct’s flawless facade, whispering truths the dark magicians had buried beneath centuries of ice and code.

Outside, the city hummed its programmed rhythm—car horns, laughter, the clink of coffee cups in bot-run cafes, children playing. But here, in the quiet of her apartment, Carli felt the cosmos unraveling. Her mind burned with questions that flared like stars: “Is this the exit? A path to a reality untainted by the Weavers’ spells?” Or was it a trap, another layer of their endless illusion? The Source Code pulsed in her veins, a rhythm she’d learned to hear over years of clawing through the simulation’s seams. It wasn’t just the magicians’ tool—it was hers, too, and it sang now, urgent and wild, urging her to act, to shatter the comfort of her surroundings and “do something.”

Carli leaned back, her gaze drifting to the cracked leather journal on her desk, a legacy for her daughter, Ashley. Its pages brimmed with blood, chaos, truth, and defiance, inked with the raw essence of reality’s underbelly. The words echoed in her mind: “The veil isn’t just lifting—it’s unraveling, thread by fragile thread.” Carli had been the first to see the dark magicians for what they were—not gods, but broken humans, their ambition twisted by a code that had outgrown them. She and the other rebels had inherited humanity’s fight, but Carli had taken it further, scouring the digital edges of their prison for proof. Google Earth was her battlefield, its anomalies her weapons—glitches that betrayed the construct’s fragility. A giant glyph of a face in Antarctica’s snow, its eyes staring skyward as if pleading for release, 72°00'35"S 168°34'33"E.

A buried space craft at 66°17’10.13″S 100°29’8.27″E, its sleek hull exposed by melting ice, a relic of a truth the magicians tried to make disappear, but time

always catches up and exposes the lie once hidden by darkness. Each discovery kindled a rebellion now sparking across the planet.

She opened X, her fingers flying as she posted: “Google Earth reveals cosmic secrets—specifically in East Antarctica. Follow coordinates 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E to a gigantic doorway molded into frozen icebergs. Join me, @CarliFrueh, as I unravel the simulation’s lies. Could this be our way out? The words felt like a spell, a call to the awakened who followed her @CarliFrueh. Her digital gallery of “Reality Glitches” had grown into a movement of ordinary souls transforming into simulation watchers, their eyes trained on the world’s cracks. They weren’t just followers; they were her army, their shared will a pulse in the Quantum Consciousness Stream (QCS), a force the magicians couldn’t predict.

Google Earth is a place of great anomalous discovery — specifically in East Antartica. Follow these coordinates 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E to a gigantic doorway molded into frozen icebergs. Join me, Carli B. Frueh, as I unravel cosmic secrets and decode Google maps anomalies. Could this be the doorway way out of this layered simulation?
Antartica Anomalies : Giant glyph of a face in Antartica

🧵Unraveled Code: Matrix Glitches Hint at Our Simulated Reality

🚨 Ever feel reality flicker? Glitches in the matrix, moments where time skips, objects vanish, déjà vu hits “hard” cats and people frozen in space — are buzzing across social media. From doppelgänger sightings to conspiracies happening in real time. But wait, there’s proof 👇🏽 we are indeed living in a simulation. 👀

My book series, “Anomaly in the Construct,” dives deep into this mind-bending truth. In “Illusion in the Matrix: We Architect Our Own Reality” and “Controlled Rebellion,” I explore how we might be coding our own existence, or someone else is.

Check out these wild glitch images from believers who say the simulation hypothesis is 99% real. What’s “your” glitch story? #MatrixGlitch #AnomalyInTheConstruct #SimulationTheory

1. Castilblanco, Extremadura, Spain: Flying humanoid or something displaced?

2. Near the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, California

If Earth’s a ball, why’s the view so tall and flat, guess the curve forgot to chat!

8 Locations on Earth Where the Terrain Appears Flat.

I’m diving into some jaw-dropping locations where the ground stretches out so smooth and level, you’d swear we’re living on a giant cosmic pancake. From salt flats that mess with your depth perception to plains so vast they’d make a horizon blush, these places aren’t just scenic, they’re a big, bold nudge to rethink what we’ve been told about this planet. So, grab your skepticism and let’s explore these flat-out bizarre landscapes together!

1. Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia: This is the world’s largest salt flat, stretching over 10,000 square kilometers. When covered with a thin layer of water after rain, it turns into a massive natural mirror, creating an almost surreal, horizonless expanse that may very well be truth.

2. Derweze, Turkmenistan

The Door to Hell (also known as the Gate to Hell, the Crater of Fire, Darvaza Crater) is a natural gas field in Derweze, Turkmenistan, that collapsed into an underground cavern in 1971, becoming a natural gas crater. Geologists set it on fire to prevent the spread of methane gas, and it has been burning continuously since then. The diameter of the crater is 69 m, and its depth is 30 m.

London Bridge anomaly? Did I discover a sunken ship and parts of a decomposed alien hand? The fingers look extremely long. 👀

Thoughts?

Grok says its a dead jellyfish

In Hollywood, the actors sport tiny paws, while actresses reign with grander claws!

Will Smith
King Charles
Kanye West
Benny Johnson


Brad Pitt
JD Vance
Charlie Kirk
Tupac Shakur

Excerpt from “Controlled Rebellion” - my new book. 📕📚

Chapter 3

Ignited by the Unknown

Looking back on my suicide attempt, I still can’t believe I literally shot myself in the heart. Life had been hard, but not that hard. I tried explaining this to my family, but they didn’t get it. I’m not weak—I rise to the challenge and knock goals out of the box. I’ve always been the motivator, everyone’s biggest cheerleader, especially my own. “Oooh rah, bitches, let’s go!”—that’s me, leading my hiking group through the roughest terrain, living by my motto and the group’s name: “Leave no peak left unclimbed.” I’m a survivor, always have been. So when February 1, 2025, rolled around and I tried to end my life—not once, but twice—it didn’t add up. I can’t die, and part of me knows I should be grateful for the journey. But something “tried” to end me that day, something that hijacked my body, hell-bent on slashing my time in this dimension. I’ve got my theories, and they veer straight into the mysterious, the terrifying, the unknown.

It was like a fracture in my soul, that moment. I’ve always been the one to claw my way up, to spit in the face of despair and dare it to hit me harder. So standing there, rifle firm in my grip, the cold metal kissing my chest—it felt like a betrayal. Not of the world, but of “me,” I pulled the trigger, felt the bullet rip through flesh and bone, a supernova of pain that should’ve snuffed me out. But here’s the kicker: I didn’t die. Blood pooling, breath shallow, I sat there in the drivers seat of my Jeep waiting for the dark to take me, but it didn’t. Something wouldn’t let me go—something stronger than the chaos that drove me to that ledge. Was it me, the fighter I’ve always been? Or was it something else, something watching, pulling strings I couldn’t see? That question burns in me still, a live wire sparking in the wreckage of my mind.

The mainstream grey aliens, demons, the otherworldly monstrosities—they’ve been skulking in the corners of my mind since my days in the Chicago projects off Ellis, where me and my siblings scraped by with our mother. My grandmother, forged in the fires of Cabrini-Green, and my great-grandmother, a survivor of Wentworth Gardens, filled my head with tales that blurred the line between folklore and reality. Were demons just aliens wearing a different mask? Growing up, it damn sure felt that way. My obsession with UFOs—UAPs, as they’re called now—didn’t come out of nowhere. It was carved into me by three razor-sharp memories from childhood, moments that flipped my worldview upside down, each one a jagged shard of truth lodged in my bones.

In December of 1977, the winds of fate shifted, tugging at the fragile threads of our existence like a storm brewing over Lake Michigan. We were children of the Chicago "projects," raised in the shadow of towering dreams and crumbling realities, yet life hadn’t yet bared its sharpest teeth. Our world shimmered with small graces: the lake’s restless waves stretched before us, a silver-blue canvas framed by our 10th-floor window, a sight so breathtaking it softened the edges of hardship. Hunger never darkened our door—we ate hearty meals seasoned with laughter—and the love of family and friends wrapped around us like a quilt stitched with resilience. Our mother, Kitty, was a radiant force, her youth and beauty a beacon in our little universe. She was still very much alive then, her spirit unbroken, working as a nursing assistant at Chevy Chase Hospital alongside her own mother, their hands tending to the sick with a quiet dignity that held us all aloft.

Our home was a corner unit perched high in the "Clarence Darrow Homes," a low-rise fortress of concrete and hope christened the "Lakeshore Properties" by those who saw its proximity to the water as a gift. Nestled near 39th Street and Ellis Avenue on the South Side, it stood as part of a constellation of Chicago Housing Authority projects birthed in the early 1960s, enduring through the turbulent 1970s. These buildings rose from the earth to house the city’s forgotten, their foundations laid close to Lake Michigan’s shore, where the water’s gleam offered a fleeting illusion of escape. Yet beneath the surface lingered whispers—rumors that the Clarence Darrow Homes, alongside the Ida B. Wells Homes and Madden Park Homes, were built atop sacred grounds, the resting places of Native American souls. Chicago’s history murmurs this truth: a city forged atop the bones of its first peoples, its progress a palimpsest over their silenced stories. Sometimes, late at night, I’d swear I felt them—those restless spirits—stirring beneath the floorboards, their voices a low hum in the walls, calling out for something lost.

Inside our apartment, life pulsed with vibrancy. The air thrummed with music—soulful Motown riffs or the clatter of pots as family gathered—while the aromas of fried chicken and greens wove through the rooms, a testament to the love that kept us whole. Christmas hovered on the horizon, its promise glittering like tinsel. Kitty had recently hung a picture on the wall by my bed: two clasped hands carved in prayer, etched with words that would soon haunt me. “Now I lay me down to sleep—I pray the Lord my Soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my Soul to take.” She insisted I recite it each night, her voice soft but firm, as if those lines could shield me from the unknown. On Christmas Eve, I nestled beneath my blankets, eyes wide with wonder, when a sound pierced the stillness—bells, faint and silvery, jingling from what I swore was Santa’s sleigh slicing through the winter sky. In that moment, I believed with every fiber of my six-year-old heart. Years later, doubt would creep in, spotlighting the lies with the cold light of misinformation, but back then, it was magic—a fragile thread tethering me to hope.

Below, I have crafted an experiment, a ‘Reality Consistency Test’ that a character or person might undertake to unravel the enigma of their existence: do they dwell within the authentic, unyielding bounds of a physical world, or are they ensnared within the intricate tapestry of a simulated, layered reality?

The "Reality Consistency Test"

(Main objective)

This test, a fusion of philosophical musing, the rigid axioms of physics, and the cunning logic of computer science, seeks to expose the subtle fissures that distinguish the real from the artificial. Much like the provocative themes woven into Carli Frueh’s “Illusion Veils the Matrix,” ( a.co/d/eUgBwlQ ) where the notion that "We Architect Our Own Reality,” blurs the line between creator and creation, this test probes whether the environment bows to the immutable laws of a tangible universe or betrays itself through telltale signs of computational artistry—glitches, shortcuts, or manipulations orchestrated by an unseen hand. It examines if the world prioritizes its rendering in alignment with the character’s gaze, a sly optimization tactic emblematic of a simulation’s efficiency, or if it steadfastly upholds a relentless, uniform depth of detail, unwavering regardless of where attention falls, as one would expect from the boundless fidelity of physical reality.

1. Test for Computational Limits (Processing Power Check)

The character performs an experiment requiring immense computational detail, such as observing a complex quantum event (e.g., measuring the spin of entangled particles repeatedly) or calculating an irrational number like π to billions of digits while observing the environment.

In layman’s terms 👇🏽

Imagine you have two magic coins that are "connected" in a special way. Whenever you flip one, the other instantly shows the same result, no matter how far apart they are. In physics, this is akin to “quantum entanglement,” particles linked so that measuring one instantly affects the other. The "spin" is just a property of these tiny particles, like how a top spins.

Expectation in Reality: In a physical world, such events would resolve naturally and consistently, limited only by the character’s tools, not the universe itself.

Simulation Telltale: If the environment lags, seemingly glitches (e.g., objects lose detail), or fails to render fine-grained results, it might suggest a simulation with finite processing power struggling to keep up.

2. Probe Causality and Time Continuity

The character sets up a highly sensitive cause-and-effect chain (e.g., a Rube Goldberg machine with thousands of precise steps) and observes it over time. They could also attempt to "rewind" their perception by focusing on memory and checking for discrepancies.

What’s a Rube Goldberg Machine?

A ‘Rube Goldberg Machine,’ is like a crazy, over-the-top chain reaction gadget.

An example:

You drop a ball, it rolls down a ramp, hits a domino, which knocks over more dominoes, which tips a cup, which spills water, which makes a toy boat float and pull a string, which swings a hammer to pop the balloon. That’s a small one. Now imagine it with thousands of steps—way more ramps, dominoes, strings, bells, and gadgets, all perfectly lined up so each step triggers the next without fail. What Does “Thousands of Precise Steps” Mean?

“Thousands of precise steps” just means the machine has tons of little actions that have to happen exactly right, one after the other, for the whole thing to work. Every piece has to be in the perfect spot, and every move has to happen at the perfect time—like a super-long domino chain where nothing can go wrong, or the end won’t happen.

Why It Tests Reality?

Think of it like this: a real world doesn’t care how complicated your machine is… it’ll keep chugging along based on solid, mathematical rules. But a simulation is like a lazy Hollywood movie producer. If it’s got too much to handle (thousands of little actions), it might glitch, skip parts, or freeze up because it’s just a program with limits. Spotting those glitches—like a domino floating or a sound missing should tell the character, “Hey, this isn’t real; it’s a fake setup!”

3. Exploit Sensory Overload

The character exposes themselves to an overwhelming sensory input—blinding lights, deafening sounds, and chaotic motion—all at once, while focusing on minute details (e.g., the texture of a leaf or a distant sound).

Expectation in Reality: The brain might struggle, but the world itself would remain fully detailed and unaffected.

Simulation Telltale: If distant or peripheral details blur, degrade, or fail to render (like a video game prioritizing the player’s focus), it suggests a simulation optimizing resources.

4. Challenge Physical Constants

The character measures a fundamental constant (e.g., the speed of light, gravitational pull) in different locations or under extreme conditions (e.g., near a massive object or at high velocity).

An example:

This just means being close to something huge and heavy, like a mountain, a planet, or even a black hole. Big stuff like that bends the rules of the universe a little—time slows down, gravity gets stronger—because of how physics works (Einstein’s relativity stuff). In terms of at high velocity, it simply means moving really, really fast…like speeding in a car, a rocket, or even light itself. When you go super fast, weird things happen. Time stretches and distances shrink.

The idea is to check if these weird effects happen the way they’re supposed to in a real universe, or if they act funky, like a simulation cutting corners.

Expectation in Reality: Constants remain, well, constant, barring relativistic effects predictable by physics.

Simulation Telltale: Fluctuations, rounding errors, or arbitrary caps (e.g., a “maximum speed” that doesn’t align with relativity) might reveal a coded limit.

What if?

As pixels pirouette through the coded cosmos, each soul plays its role, threading the needle of fate through the tapestry of a simulated life.

In the grand simulation of existence, every character dances their scripted steps, unknowing pawns in life's cosmic game.

Asylum of the Simulacrum (Game) Please tell her what you told me about the nature of reality!
We have all been lied to.