Luxembourg ITC researcher Maggy Fischbach received the most amazing contacts through the 1980s and 90s, especially during the years when our INIT group was in close collaboration (1995-99). Several of the contacts described how some individuals had arrived on the third level and gotten settled in after dying on Earth. Here are excerpts from three of the more amazing reports.
The Austrian zoologist and ethologist Konrad Lorenz died in February 1989, and the following report came that spring, during a telephone contact, describing the spirit arrival of the well-known naturalist Konrad Lorenz:
He (Lorenz) was transported to us in a magnificent ship surrounded by people. Imagine a viking ship in which his (astral) body was brought to his destination. He is still in a state of sleep. But it can already be observed that his features and his body are changing and becoming more youthful. Lorenz will probably remain in this regenerative sleep for only a short time. The sleep duration varies from one individual to another. It is generally about six weeks of earth time. Some people need considerably less.
A few months later Maggy received a picture of Dr Lorenz, now in a youthful spirit body, posing in the Timestream sending station. Maggy wrote, “Konrad Lorenz joined group Timestream and so did Carl Gustav Jung, according to Swejen Salter. The conditions at research group Timestream seem to be very earth-like. Swejen is in a sound-proof room in the lab and, looking out her window, sees some animals on the grass outside. Her companion Sir Richard Francis Burton is taking care of horses and dogs. Swejen explains that Marie Curie is presently working on another floor of the research building “Co-Zeit” (Co-Time). Although Madame Curie resides on a different level of spirit from the main Timestream spirit group, it is interesting that Swejen does not say “on another plane” or “in another dimension,” but on the upper floor of the building. Apparently several levels of reality converge at the Timestream sending station in what researchers are calling a “dispassing point,” which is to say a point at which dimensions cross.”
Edith Koerner Schoenheid died in the early spring of 1995. She was the wife of Ludwig Schoenheid, a photographer and retired German pharmacist, who had joined our INIT research group in 1996. A letter was sent to Ludwig through Maggy Fischbach at the ITC receiving station CETL, Luxembourg, describing Edith’s arrival in the worlds of spirit. Following are excerpts from the letter, which can be read in its entirety on page 12 of the journal Contact! 9601.
I, Mootai, will now tell you a tale, a tale that happened just as you will read it now. I was sitting in the bay near the lagoon, and it was quiet. The slopes with the coconut palms and the pourau trees were gleaming silver in the moonlight. I remembered that I once lived at a similar lagoon, long, long ago on another island.
Suddenly I heard a noise accompanied by the noa-noa of the hibiscus blossoms and the tiare blossoms. It was that same noise that one always hears when the tunnel is opening. A black point, first only as big as a coconut, began to grow and grow until it was as wide as a large wooden cask. The noise was like a rustle and gurgle, also like the roar of water as it lashes at the outer edge of a coral reef. The whole event was accompanied by colors that revolve around the black entrance of the tunnel — rich colors of cobalt blue, aquamarine and turquoise.
One of the Light beings, which we also call the People of the Rainbow, came out of the tunnel. I, Mootai, knelt down and closed my eyes in awe. Then I looked up and the twilight of the night went into broad daylight. The Light being was carrying a woman in his arms, a sight that at first frightened me because she was old and her hair was gray, her skin white, and she was sleeping the dead sleep.
“Here,” I was told by the one from the People of the Rainbow, “I bring you this woman to take care of. She was living with the name Edith Koerner and she went through much sorrow and pain. Now that she has finished her mortal life she shall rest among your people and recover from the dead sleep. Then we shall see….”
Maupai Hartmann, who is of white skin too and has been with us for many years, often and long talked with her about his journeys into other regions along the River of Eternity. The two were like brother and sister. The more Edith heard about the world outside our tribe, the more restless she became.
One day she couldn’t stand it here with us anymore and, at her request, Maupai Hartmann took her along in his boat with sail that was driven by energy of the suns. The whole tribe stood along the shore to say goodbye. Under the stars the two embarked for the station which they call Timestream, as Edith knows people of her family there and she will help the great white doctor (Swejen Salter) who talks with picture boxes and sound boxes and whose magic is so strong that word of it has spread even here to the lagoon.
Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme was assassinated in 1986, and a decade later our INIT group received a letter from the late Sir Richard Francis Burton at Timestream Spirit Group, describing Mr Palme’s arrival on the third level… among an ancient tribe of Vikings! The entire letter is printed below, and can also be found on page 4 of the journal Contact! 9602.
The story of Skjoldung
written by Richard Francis Burton, 1996 February 28
as told by Skjoldung
Transmitted through Station Co-Time to Station Luxembourg
My name is Skjoldung and I am a Dane. I remember well. Ten years have passed, but today is the day I found this man. Every year on this day he comes back to us when we celebrate the feast day in our village.
When we sit around the fire in the evening and the outdoor tables are removed after the meal, the women bring the drinking horns and urge me to tell them the story of the man I found ten years ago. Because I am a skald (Viking poet writing in the complex late Old Norse style) and play the harp, I give in.
So it will be again this evening. They all listen to me again and I shall describe how it happened. Our village Hleidhra is nearer to the snow-land than the Summerland which I have often traveled to, in the more than twelve hundred years that I have been here. Some people from our village have gone there too, but many who were brave warriors on earth have looked for it but have not found it.
Here, the days are cooler and the sky is gray as I stand on the hill this evening with my harp on my back. Below me a brook glistens through the beech and oak trees. The earth smells spicy and eagles circle above me. The shadows grow longer and one of the suns is low.
This morning I met a group of Swedes who told me the oracle has predicted something special for our village. I had not paid much attention to it. In my short 30-year life on earth I believed in Odin and Thor and it took me a long time after my death to understand that the story of Ragnaroek probably was not the right one, either.
Meanwhile I got to know many gods, also the story of the one whom they call the true and only God and who is said to live somewhere far away in the mountains.
I have met many here during my travels who claim to see events before they happen. I have always been a simple man and these things do not interest me. It is enough for me to have a piece of cheese and some bread on the way. I drink from a fountain or a brook and at night I wrap myself with my cloak. I thank my hosts with my songs and stories and always lead a simple life.
We are not getting older here and have no sickness or diseases. That is enough for me. I need no Walhalla to be satisfied.
However, what these Swedes told me on that day had aroused my curiosity and I had started to look for something that I really did not know. You know the feeling, Burton, it drives you on, it does not matter where. You cannot stay long, anywhere, and the fever consumes you to find what you don’t even know by name or where to find it.
As I stood on the hill, I heard a rustle nearby. I jumped there quickly and saw a man in the underbrush. A little blood was dropping from two wounds, then it stopped. His eyes were staring and his mouth was open. The hair stuck to his head. He wore a strange piece of clothing like they wear in Summerland.
I pulled him out of the bushes. After I bedded him on the soft ground, he started to move. Also, his eyes moved again. He spoke, croaking at first with effort, then becoming better and clearer.
“What is this here? Certainly not a hospital, and I am not dead either.”
He spoke a Swedish that sounded strange to me and I could hardly understand him. I calmed him down, speaking to him in the language of the River.
“You are among friends. Feel welcome. I, Skoldjung, vouch for your safety.”
He also spoke the language of the River now and said, “Where is Lisbeth? Where is Stockholm?”
I could not answer that. He was weak and had two holes in his body, from which formerly blood was flowing that now had dried up, as always happens with our wounds very quickly here. I supported him and with my arms around him he staggered to Hleidhra, getting steadier as we came closer. He spoke of strange things, Burton, of something he called “Movie” and of two blows that hit him like blows with a hammer. He said his name was Olof Palme and he had to tell the world that he was still alive.
When we reached the first houses of the village, he lost consciousness. I dropped him off in the Bohrer Inn, maintained by a man who came from Jutland. He took him in just like anyone else whom we can offer hospitality. He slept there for long weeks and when he left us he was a young man.
He had heard of you and of your group (Timestream) and the Summerland. He insisted on going to you, just like the “Righ People” who had lived here a long time, but had left us a few years ago to join you.
When he left us, he told me, “I thank you, friend Skjoldung. You and your people have taught me much. I think I am ready to look for the Summerland, even though I was a “politician”. Burton, I imagine a “politician” in the country he came from must be a great prince, for he was a good man and we respect him highly.
You tell me that he has found a friend by the name of Frahm. This makes me happy in my heart, for a right man needs his friends. This evening, I shall have to tell everybody my story again….
Remark by Dr. Swejen Salter: Some time after he arrived here Olof Palme sent greetings through me to Nils O. Jacobson. He had learned that Nils cooperates with us and is Swedish.