In the Southern Tablelands of NSW, halfway (50 km) along a dirt road from Braidwood (pop. 950) to Nowra (coastal town) there lies a hamlet called Nerriga which comprises two churches, one hotel, a general store (closed), a trading post cum filling station cum caravan park, several cottages and a permanent population of nine. To the north-east of the village on the way to Nowra is an arm of the Moreton National Park, rugged volcanic country not for the fainthearted to explore. About a kilometer to the south-west of Nerriga is a Crown reserve, a valley, in the control of a local trust. The reserve contains a disused sawmill and several wooden huts which were occupied by sawmill workers some 30-50 years ago.
One of these huts is sited not far from the creek (stream) which meanders through the valley separating it from an almost vertical slope to the west which is covered with trees. There are trees also to the east on ground which rises shallowly to the road some 300 metres away. The area around the hut is therefore wind-protected, the sun pours in to it most days, and it can be very pleasant even on icy winter days. I lived in this hut (Sunshine Cottage I called it) in the valley for 18 months just under a decade ago. I was a destitute woodworker; many's the time I sat on the bench just outside the front door revelling in the sunshine, watching white cockatoos, kookaburras (kingfishers), magpies, currawongs diving and darting about as they do. In the valley, I underwent emotional trauma almost beyond belief interleaved with occasional and very brief ecstatic moments. I didn't eat half-way properly either. Even so, whenever I need to go somewhere in my mind, as happens from time to time, it is to Sunshine Valley I go, to peace, quiet and reverence, birdsong, tortoises splashing in the creek. Six months after I left the Valley, on 3 June 1995, I experienced the first of what I have identified as 'downloads' of energy. I was then living a solitary existence on a farm not far from Braidwood but on that night I was in a theatre in Canberra, 80 km away, watching a musical in which my eldest son (then 32) was the leader of the chorus. The download lasted about 30 seconds and triggered an emotional outpouring which robbed me of my complete memory for nearly 24 hours. I got home by intuition - it took me three hours instead of just over an hour - and I didn't 'recognise' anything when I reached there. I wrote a book during the next five months, in fact started it the very next day, even though I had written very little other than official reports for most of my life. During the writing of it, memories returned - but not all of them by any means - and by the end of October much of what I had written about had happened as well but in far different contexts to those in the book. I also possessed memories and knowledge I had been unaware of before 3rd June. Since then I have had half a dozen downloads, the last very recently. It began at lunchtime Thurs 22nd August and went on for twenty-nine hours, the longest yet. In terms of pre-emptive strikes, the following extract of happenings (which occurred near the end of the download) may be of interest: ******************* I must have slept awhile for the window of the third eye was murky, so I cleaned it and looked through in anticipation of seeing the sunlit glade with trees and birds and a creek running through, and an old wooden worker's shack with a ute parked nearby. But this time I didn't see that at all. Instead everything was dark and I 'turned' away. I had become cold again; the energy pouring into me from the golden rays I had seen earlier must have dissipated, I thought. Yet when I touched the crystal which hangs around my neck it felt fiery hot. Perhaps it wasn't me after all. With an effort I opened the third eye once more. The multitude filled the valley for as far as I could see, humanity laughing, singing, dancing in the brilliant, loving sunshine. Birds sang, a dog barked, frogs croaked, a lone kangaroo startled by the racket loped across from the roadside to the creek and beyond. In the distance a trumpet sounded and close to hand I heard the woman's voice I had listened to earlier in the happening. "Fifteen years, at the most you have fifteen years. By then there must be a secondary structure in place if humanity is to survive, a fall back system for the few who will be left. Do not waste this time." As her voice faded away thick black clouds rolled in, blotting out the sunlight and warmth. The full panoply and fury of thunder and lightning blasted down into the crowd below. The laughter changed to wailing then to screams then to anguished sobbing. I watched, terrified and horror-stricken, as the armies of the world marched past in their uniformed millions, leaving behind a featureless, blackened waste. And of birdsong there was none . . . roger
