I have more to add regarding Alan Wilson’s proposal that Jesus is buried in West Wales.
Besides Gilbert’s, Wilson’s and Blackett’s, The Holy Kingdom, I’ve also been dipping into Australian sleuth author, Tony Bushby’s heretical tome, The Bible Fraud. I’ve no idea if they are aware of one another’s work.
Who of them is more right than the other I have no idea but both parties have carried out decades of deep and committed research and come up with masses of detailed information which includes several major and minor agreements and contradictions. Their strongly referenced compilations are inevitably uncomfortable for settled posteriors in religious and academic rectangles.
I’ll just make it clear, I am not suggesting in the slightest that Bushby or Gilbert, Wilson and Blackett are the only scholars and researchers to consider in this much muddied, yet e’er potent tale, of the history of Jesus Christ and the Holy Family. What they are, are hard core, maverick investigators who both follow the evidence they uncover, and as much as it is possible for the human intellect to do, are open-minded to changes in direction when presented evidence encourages it.
I am not qualified or well-enough informed, to judge either’s propositions, but they are both endlessly fascinating, educational, and confirming to me. Beside agreeing with detailed memories from my own experiences, there are several more elements in both works that, in my view, have that ring of truth or stand out as ‘almost there’; for instance, you may have read my articles, Into Unbeing…I Met a Man, and Called to Cares.
This is an ongoing peek into Britain’s role in a major phase of what for very many is, the greatest story ever told.
According to Alan Wilson & Baram Blackett, England’s patron saint is not the Turkish Roman officer, (St.) George, but an heroic 1st century AD British Christian king, Gweirydd, also known as Arviragus (a title), whose capital was at present-day Wroxeter. ‘Gweirydd’, they say, is a Briton language (not English, more Welsh – Cymric) version of the name ‘George’. They cite lines in the British Chronicles of Hardynge, who say that it was Joseph of Arimathea himself, who converted Gweirydd and bestowed on him a white shield and cross. I read about this in The Holy Kingdom (Gilbert, Wilson & Blackett) but it is mentioned too in this online article: Joseph of Arimathea Came to Britain
In July or early August 1998, Perth TV viewers, accustomed to ducking for cover from jarring salesmen shouting their iffy bargains at them were suddenly pounded by slick, on-the-button ads announcing an imminent and unmissable spectacular event. World-famous UFO researcher, Stanton Friedman, nuclear physicist, Roswell expert, nemesis of sceptics everywhere, was coming to the once quiet (except for the tele’ ads) little city of Perth. Stanton was in possession of the goods, he’d recently routed Philip Klass, self-proclaimed know-it-all sceptic, with documentary evidence and this Canadian bulldog was taking no prisoners. The noisy-negatives, as he called the sceptics, when he wasn’t calling them de-bunkers, had nothing to fight back with and holstered their smugs.
I wrote and posted this account on my old website shortly after this experience occurred. I meant to add it this blog before but I’d forgotten about it. Anyway, yer tis:
16th March 2009
This was to be my first night staying with a friend in her beautiful cabin retreat in the forested hills east of Perth in Western Australia.
On the first night we were driving back from visiting a mutual friend who lives quite close by. As we descended the winding tree-lined drive to the carport I spotted a huge wolf-like creature. It was sitting bolt upright, over four foot high with an unwavering intense alertness in front of a large tree. Its long coat was two-tone – a pale and a darker brown and it its erect ears were rounded at the tips. It stared at us with a demeanour that stated with certainty that it was on guard and that nothing, absolutely nothing, would get past without its OK. It didn’t flinch as we drove past I looked around but whether it was because trees and scrub were blocking my view or that it had melted out of this dimension it was no longer visible. I had no doubt that it was still there though and that it wanted us to know that…..Something was in the wind.
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Frankie Boyle’s New World Order (Ep 2)…..
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High Strangeness, Weird Vanishings, and a Cursed Mountain…..
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‘The people’, everywhere, are not the ones that constructed the powerful spells concealed in language, the insidious programmes that motivate and control every aspect of humankind’s lives unnoticed; intentionally and successfully beguiling many to carry out endless crimes against their fellows and companions in this world.
To see what is behind this vile torment we must look behind the curtains of history to who it was that first propagated enchanted written words.
In all likelihood, humans, being the wonderfully perceptive and gifted creative beings that they innately are, discovered the original unblemished art for themselves; in small communities with languages specific to them.¹ It would have begun with signs, using pieces of wood or stone (for example), in predetermined and agreed patterns. Their positioning would have been important. As individual groups from communities went their own way and still needed to communicate with each other, a more transportable means of conveying messages was necessary. Devices such as tattoos, dress, scrapings on stones and wood carving for example, were conceived. Each part of a pattern meant something. Today we call these ‘parts’, syllables.