medium rare


Andrew Hennessey


The story, as far as I am aware, begins thusly …

"When all the souls had chosen their lives, they went before Lachesis. And she sent with each, as the guardian of his life and the fulfiller of his choice, the daimon that he had chosen."  Plato, Republic Book X


And this Being was my soul twin whom I had abandoned long ago on my selfish road of self-discovery. He was the fulfiller of my life and my destiny.

I have memories that are pre-natal.

I am in a discussion with someone presumably male whom I cannot see. Below us all is grey and I can just make out the shape of the planets Northern hemisphere.

He is asking me to choose my incarnation.  I am then shown about a dozen families in Western Europe and their social potential and shown possible lessons that might fit my needs. There were opportunities and pitfalls in their peer groups and social environments.


I descend momentarily  into the probabilities of each family and each womb to see what the 'job description' looks like – i.e. Which of my strengths and weaknesses will be tested in each of the families' dynamics.


I ask – 'which is the most difficult' - he says – 'that one' - then proceeds to attempt to talk me out of it.

I say but this lesson from that part of a past life will get me through this bit, and experience from that previous life will

cover this bit - and running six lessons from other existences would get me thus far etc.

The next thing I can remember is standing in a circle with others who are about to be born grey/gold monotone, we are all wearing robes, we each hold a cup and drink the cup of parting.

The next sequence, I am being wrapped in black stuff rather like windings, and these are meant to dim my sensitivities - I complain about this as I descend from the sky towards my incarnation.

The last words from Spirit I hear are 'be wary of the ploys of Satan'.


I must have taken a long time to warm to the idea of being born this time – for according to my biological mother I was 108 hours in labour !! and as they say in Macbeth – I was 'no man born of woman'  i.e. a caesarian.

I open my eyes and I am in a cot in the hospital – and three people who I could see as faces, presumably doctors are peering into my cot and at me – two men and one woman.

They unanimously decide that I am non-telepathic deadwood and have me put in the part of the nursery with all the other human deadwood.

'Welcome to planet earth !!!!' – indeed, welcome to Scotland.


The script so far according to my biological mother is that she was living a life of drudgery because she was an illicit child of some aristocratic family.

Her grandfather had once sat her down on his knee when she was a little child and told her – pointing to her wrists .. 'in those veins run Royal blood.'

Worse still, her GP confirmed her unusual blood type as regal.

She then claimed that her true biological mother was actually buried in Lilliesleaf Church in the Scottish Borders.

She said just before she died that if I ever entered there ..  that I would be killed by falling masonry.

Was her existence then, some sort of Masonic conspiracy ?

Her own birth details of early September 1925 suggests if this is true that at some aristocratic Hogmanay in 1924, in some ancestral pile in the Scottish Borders, two high ranking individuals from illuminati families committed an indiscretion and that she was alleging to be the result nine months later.

In Lilliesleaf cemetery the main crypt is predominately Stewart, but perhaps my true Grandmother was buried anonymously and in disgrace.

My own biological mother thought herself to be a Rutherford which is a sept of the clan Roxburgh.

It was true to say that my mother visited there often and would also drop in to the local Roxburgh estate for afternoon tea in the café as a member of the public on a frequent basis.

The Clan Roxburgh is also thought to be senior and high ranking in these matters of Bloodline and illuminati provenance.

If this is all true, then it is to be noted the mercy with which the unwanted child my Mother was treated, as stranger things have happened under the full moon in Scotland than having to live with a coal mining family in Gorebridge.


To this set of circumstances comes the relatively genetically degenerate and monkey brained me with Reptilian genetics that did not do very much.

If it was true then my biological relatives are Scottish Lairds and  aristocracy, but if God was true for me, then my real family were the company of Angels.


I am lying in my cot, I am born, and about two years old. I can remember my parents bedroom clearly and I am staring at the transfer of a lake on the inside of my cot - the waters start shimmering and moving, then I look up and there is a shimmering above my cot - there is a lady and she speaks to me.

I am not going goo-goo ga ga, I am having an intelligent conversation at a time science tells me that I should not. She is my guardian, and she asks, ' are you sure you want to do it this way ?' - I considered, then said yes. I believe I had opted to retain a faculty to be awake – which probably could be stressful.

She said 'I'll be back - see you later'.    At that my intelligence faded, and I was back to goo goo, ga ga.

These memories, however strange, are very special to me.


The next memory is of being in a children's hospital ward for a hernia operation and it is time to go to my cot. We are allowed one toy to play with and I was in a queue at the toy cupboard. All the other little boys were choosing little metal miniature cars – and I chose a big red plastic sports car toy to take to my cot.

I remember looking over at the other three year old boys who were having great fun with their little cars. They were executives in control, driving their cars up and down the valleys and mountains of their blankets. My big red plastic toy was too big to have any fun with in the cot. I remember hearing one little boy telepathically say – 'we're going to get you because we know what we are doing and you don't' and at that, I threw my big plastic car out of my cot.

I remember the nurse coming over and she was angry with me and she said 'you've made your choice' as she shoved the useless big toy back into my cot.


During my rather solitary and cloistered childhood I played in the trees and lawns of my backgarden with an invisible friend called the Colonel, who stayed, as they do, in a small apple tree out of sight of the house.  He suggested games and ways to play with my toy soldiers and I was never bored or lonely practising these battles.

The first indication that I was on the rocky road betwixt the light and the dark came at the age of twelve, during an unpleasant school career.

My last year of primary school and the class was saying the Lords prayer.


I am surrounded by grey blue mist - I can see myself, a young man with short hair in a clean long robe. Around, all is mist, but a path clears, and I find myself journeying between two walls of mist along that path, being torn and buffeted from all directions.

Clawed hands would suddenly tear at me like I was in an invisible gauntlet.

I stagger and fall to my knees and I see myself, ragged, torn, bleeding, bearded, and I crawl on and come to a clearing in this cruel mist.

On a cross amidst a pile of stones in the centre of the clearing is a figure, crucified, I crawl to the base of the cross and reach out to touch the foot of the figure.

I may have thought that I was seeing myself crucified then, but maybe I was seeing my quest to find the path of the true Christ who had been crucified and broken in a torment beyond my capacities to fully understand.

The ego trip being that because we have a hard time here on Earth, we often think that no-one could possibly have had it harder. Yet even the most sensitive human could never be compromised and ruptured to any order of magnitude, especially in a world filled with Angels of Love and their ministry.


My twenty first birthday was a cracker literally.

We went to Balmarino beach in north Fife to look for little seashore agates when I spotted one about twenty feet up the seaside cliff. It was a big brown agate about four inches in diameter.

I clambered over the boulder strewn shingle beach to the base of the cliff and started climbing for it.

The big three feet boulders at the foot of the cliff made it difficult to get a foothold, but eventually I managed to scramble up some fifteen feet in the general direction of the semi-precious gem.

Needing to pull up another two or three feet I grappled onto a handhold in the volcanic rock which had been weathered by long exposure to the sea.

Suddenly a huge slab of it started to come away from the cliff directly above my head and my handhold was now empty air and falling rock.

At that point, just as I realised that I was going to fall about fifteen feet between a rock and a hard place, an image of a newspaper flashed through my mind.

It was of a newspaper called the Dundee Courier and it had as its headline: 'Boy 13, Dies in Cliff Plunge'. I remember thinking, 'but I'm not 13' and suddenly things started to slow down around me.

I twisted around to face the direction of fall, and slowly fell through the air directing my angle of body and angle of contact with my arms to an area between two of the bigger rocks.

I landed arms first, then waist, followed by my legs, then my face and nose went into the rock as things started to return to normal speed.

I had only broken my nose and my wrist, but without the benefit of slow motion I would have landed badly and without any precision.

My Guardian Angel had interceded to save me.

I subsequently find out later that there is definitely a newspaper based in Dundee called 'the Courier' but I'm not sure if it ever looked like that or had run that headline.


Being interested in geology and lapidary my Uncle and I set out on an expedition to Greenstone point on Scotland's west coast across from the isle of Iona to see if we could find any green stones.

The green stones were probably the famous serpentine marbles that could also be found on Iona.

We parked the car and set off across the peat and the bracken and wild moorland till we came to the sea.

Finally we arrived at an atlantic ocean storm beach where it was obvious that enormous forces were moving enormous boulders and ocean wreckage up and down inlets almost at will every other tide.

The ocean comes crashing in here in the most explosive way.

When we picked our way down to the beach, the stones appeared grey and ships flotsam and an old rusted oceanic marker buoy lay parked up where recently thrown.

The beach stones, however, were colourless.

We went down to the waterline as sometimes the smaller stones naturally accumulate lower down the beach put there by the receding tides, but nothing to be seen – just more of the same dark grey colour rocks and shingle.

Then I had the idea to wade out.

I took off my socks and shoes whilst my Uncle downed another can of Tennents super strength lager – a bad brew made in Scotland.


I started wading out and had gone ten or fifteen feet out passing the bigger shore line rocks.

As I turned to come back, not having seen any change in the colouration of shingle underfoot I saw that one of the shore rocks had a crack in it about a foot and a half above the current waterline. In that crack to my wonder and amazement was a small light green pebble about an inch in diameter.

It was a green stone – probably the only green stone on the beach, and it had been put there by the force of the sea, by the very hand of nature.

I thanked providence and pulled it out of the rock.

The probabilities of that event being usual were not on any scale that involved human ones and zeros. 

This was some sort of faerie thing happening.

I envisioned the Celtic goddess of the sea, called Sula or in latin Solan, after whom the solan geese are named.

The story goes that the goddess sula, who traditionally stays on the bass rock in Eastern Scotland in East Lothian amongst the flock of indigenous solan geese, is said to dive into the seas of fate to save Celtic souls for Christ.

A Scottish prophesy speaks of the coming steward of advent .. ' syne all the lentryne but leis and the lang reid, and als in the advent, the soland stewart was sent ..' [c.a 1450AD] [then all lent, without lying, and the long reid, and also in the advent, the solan goose was sent as steward].


My own arts company from 1984 was called the Solan Company and we put on several Edinburgh fringe shows and made several recordings.

So maybe this connection with the sea and Scottish mythology was very strong in me.


As my arts career progressed, my band called the Wild Geese went on road trips to venues all over Scotland including points north in the Highlands.

We had an old and big Mercedes van which had coach seats and could take all our four souls and all our kit which included public address system and drums and numerous other items in our haulage compartment.

Heading up north to a gig in Aberdeen we were making our usual headway up the A90 motorway. The van had just been serviced and the powerful motor enabled it to move along in a responsive manner on hills etc.

It was raining on the way up, and we passed the usual Eddie Stobbart  and Tesco heavy goods vehicles that were grinding along in their customary manner.

We had cut through to Dundee from Perth and were progressing to Aberdeen city limits on the 50mph dual carriage way at 50mph when suddenly all hell breaks loose with the steering.

I wrestle and pull and tug and spin the wheel to get direction and brake, but the van is veering left. If I hit the brakes too hard we would all be in huge trouble as the van could over turn. So bringing it to a controlled stop as soon as possible given that the load and its momentum were the dangerous factors was the best option.

As I continued to apply the brakes, the van slowed and slowed and then gradually veered left straight into a waiting lay by and came to a stop.

By some act of God the steering track rod had gone at the most harmless time possible on that journey. We could have been debris under some huge truck at any time had God not had a say.

We were in a layby, adjacent to a garage, toilet and phone box and only a few miles from our intended destination across the city before us.


Whilst all my life was progressing though, there was no sign whatsoever that any of my Mothers fears, hopes and aspirations of Illuminati high society would want to materialise.


One day however, whilst running my UFO group called the Transformation Studies Group, a strange and attractive young lady called Minnie MacEwe walks in.

It turns out that she was descended from an Illuminati bloodline and was involved in some sort of sexual circus that had Reptilian bloodlines and mind control and trauma and military and America and specialised 'training' in Paris.

For me this was a bit of overload.

She seemed certain that I would be interested in being her slave, would be up for wearing drag and hair extensions and sing happy songs celebrating Monika Lewinsky's infamous deeds.

She even wanted to do my makeup.


Well, I was really just a rock and roll musician tending to mind my own business, so I wasn't quite sure what this kind of circus had to do with my life at all.

It just didn't seem relevant.

She did say something about my twin soul and mentioned the usual illuminati rhetoric about balancing left brains and right brains. Then would I come with her for a couple of weekends to a castle in Fife whilst wearing dresses and being a pair of happy slappers together.

It was maybe not a co-incidence that perhaps my mother had allegedly been the child of such a circus.

Perhaps all this blueblood nonsense was somehow trying to drag me into that world. She did say that she was to be my handler, but frankly this was getting to be a pain in the ass.


Also, who had told her that I thought that I had a twin soul ?


Once she discovered that I was not going to play along with that indecent proposal she disappeared out of my life.

I cannot attribute any real Heir to the throne of Scotland type conspiracy stuff to that though as this kind of seedy stuff is pretty usual.

It might be observed though that in some interpretations of the Talmud, the homosexual cannot be made priest king – that is according to one of those black and red Masonic Templar type publications on illuminati bloodlines, grails and such.

My Guardian Angel had prevented me from being subsumed by some sort of perverted mind control agency.


Life returned to merely alien insectoid issues after that and the whole world of Blueblood Reptilia took a back seat as a swarm of aliens like ants on crack came in for the kill.





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