How I Came to My Approach to Bring Free Energy to Humanity, Part 2: My Slow Awakening Process

My first two awakening experiences and the voice in my head that changed my life’s direction

As I sat with my cornflakes in my mouth at age 12, which my mother said were bad for me, I wanted to find out more, and I immediately read Stale Food Versus Fresh Food. I was impressed with the case histories and pictures that charted the progress of hardening of the arteries. I likely did not have much choice in the matter, as my parents were doing it to save my father’s health, but I was a willing participant. Little did I know it at the time, but the damage to my jaw had already been done, as processed food shrank my dental arches and caused teeth crowding, and 20 years later I had teeth removed and got braces, to later have root canals from the trauma to my teeth from braces. Sigh.

Fortunately, we lived in Southern California, where year-round fruits and vegetables were plentiful. That was before organic methods, so I surely got more than my fair share of pesticide poisoning. But our family embraced the whole-food diet prescribed in Stale Food Versus Fresh Food, and my father had a health miracle in the next two years, as he completely reversed the hardening of his arteries and related health issues.

My parents began telling everybody they knew about the diet and its effects, and I began to tell neighbors about it. It was my first brush with how people react when told information like that: nobody wanted to hear it. That neighbor who was dying of heart disease did not want to hear anything about that “fresh crap” and soon died. Relatives listened politely and kept with their frying-pan and pancake diets. I only heard of one person back then who tried what we did. It was one of my father’s co-workers, and he also had a health miracle. Nobody else was interested, and I was ridiculed for my diet for the rest of my years while growing up. It was an early warning for me, as I later learned.

My parents’ wide divergence in intelligence manifested in areas of my life. My father read a book a day while growing up while my mother boasted the she got all the way through high school without ever reading a book. When she had to do book reports, she would read the first and last chapters and fake it. As I noted, I read everything, including the National Enquirer that my mother brought home each week when she shopped for groceries. When I was 13, a childhood friend took me to task for reading it, at his nuclear-physicist father’s insistence, who thought that I was too smart a boy to read stuff like that. I did not care about the celebrity gossip in it, but the fun facts in it, like I got from reading the Guinness Book of World Records (I could recite most of those records), but my friend dissuaded me from reading it again. Another bad habit that I got from my mother was watching TV. My father never watched it, and I did not give it up until my first semester of college, when I could not keep pulling the straight A’s in my math/science studies and watch my 20-30 hours of TV a week (Gilligan’s Island and other trash). I gave up TV for a month and never went back. Once free of its spell, I saw it as a huge waste of time.

But while I stopped reading tabloids, I was fascinated by Frank Edwards’s “Strange” series of books, which I still have in my library. The universe is indeed a strange place, but during my years of study, I discovered that most of those “strange” events had mundane explanations. By no means were all of them explained away with mundane explanations, but I eventually realized that most of the stories were rabbit holes to nowhere that people have been trying to drag me into for many years. Very little of the fringe stuff is valid, but few fringe enthusiasts practice discernment and take a scientific approach to those issues.

But in many other ways, I was an indoctrinated cog in the nationalist-imperialist machine. In my year in Houston, I was steeped in Texas lore, of the last stand at the Alamo and the heroic war for independence from Mexico. I visited the nearby monument at San Jacinto, which celebrated the last “battle” of the war, which was really a slaughter of a thousand sleeping Mexicans in ten minutes, with few casualties among those heroes of independence. This was while the Vietnam War was raging, and the daily news presented body counts, in which enemy deaths (usually women and children) were usually a hundred times the USA’s. I remember thinking about those ratios and how they were “good” for our side, but the reality completely escaped me. Of course, the so-called war of Texas’s independence was really the USA’s theft of it, which would soon escalate to stealing half of Mexico. But it was never presented that way to me.

The next year, when I attended the grammar school down the street from my home, named after Junípero Serra, I watched a movie in class in fourth grade, which depicted Serra as a gentle spreader of God’s message to the heathen natives. It took more than 20 years for me to learn that Serra was really the Hitler of California, and that those missions that I regularly visited while young were really instruments of genocide. It was as if Auschwitz was turned into a museum that extolled Hitler’s virtues. Serra was literally sainted a decade ago.

Like all white children my age, I was oblivious to the reality that my indoctrination obscured or turned upside down. I eventually learned that all societies do that to their children. I have recently been reading two books on the British Empire. One was by an English historian, who finished his book with “Britain’s empire was a moral force and one for the good.” No mention was made in that book that the British presence in India, for instance, led to nearly two billion shortened lives. A recent brief book on the issue noted, “All empires are created through violence or the threat of violence; the British Empire was no different, no matter how strenuously its supporters strove to portray it as liberal and progressive.” The American Empire took it one step further, by even denying that it was an empire, but was some benevolent spreader of democracy and freedom. Bigger lies have seldom been told, but I was completely unaware of it while growing up, as my peers also were.

I had no idea that the daily newspaper that I read was a pack of lies. I would not begin to learn that until my company was targeted by that very newspaper that I grew up reading, which my mother worked for, and she believed every word in that newspaper over her son’s rendition of the events.

But those realizations were all in the distant future when I was a child. In Ventura County, where I was raised, the largest employer was the military, with two naval bases, where most of the county’s professionals worked. So, I was steeped in American militarism. My father was a former Marine who worked on those bases, and I was raised with the idea that I would not be quite a man until I had been a soldier. I am still kind of amazed that children were raised like that.

Boy Scout that I was, the parents of my childhood friends treated me like another son, I was taken under some wings, and one person became my first professional mentor. I was literally raised around rocket scientists (1, 2 – and a college roomie’s dad was another rocket scientist), but my mentor was acknowledged as the most brilliant of all of them. After 1970, my next big awakening year was in 1974. It began when my mentor’s engine began making the news. It was considered the world’s best for powering an automobile. It was then that I first got my energy dreams. I got my first job, salvaging lumber from a walnut mill, and that summer, my parents sent me to Europe for two months, against my wishes (I wanted to play with my friends that summer, as I also turned down a trip to Hawaii at age nine, to play with my friends), where I had the summer of my life. I returned home with my adult mind and began taking a no-nonsense approach to fringe topics, such as those in Edwards’s books, until a fateful day in the autumn of 1974, when my father and brother said that they could see my aura. They had been taking a class called Silva Mind Control which taught its students how to meditate, using scientific principles of manipulating their brainwaves to relax from the beta to alpha states, and they could measure it with galvanic-skin-response monitors.

I had no idea what they were talking about, but my father had us all take the class the next month, in December 1974. It was a 40-hour class, with about half lecture and half exercises. It was marketed as a way to improve memory and relax. What was not told to me while I took it was that the class trained people to have psychic experiences. The last exercise in the class was to work “cases” of people with health conditions, and the first ten seconds of my first case changed my life forever, as I watched a woman perform psychically, when she described a man she had never met but who was my first employer. I was stunned as she described him. That is one of the most indelible memories of my life. A few minutes later it was my turn, and I was able to diagnose the health condition of somebody whom I had never met. Little did I know it, but I was ruined as a mainstream scientist before I ever began. Five years later, Brian O’Leary had the same experience while performing the same exercise, and it also ruined his career as a scientist. He could no longer drink the scientific establishment’s materialist Kool-Aid. He soon left his comfortable berth in academia and never returned.

That Silva experience happened while I was in the middle of my second year of high school, taking chemistry. The year before, it was biology, and the next year it was physics and physiology, as I prepared for my scientific career. After my second year of high school, I was chosen to attend a mock-government exercise called Boys State, put on by the American Legion. They were looking for Boy Scouts to become soldiers and leaders of the Empire, although I had no idea at the time. Bill Clinton’s famous encounter with JFK was at a Boys Nation reception at the White House. My roomie at Boys State eventually became a Fortune 500 CEO, and a moon-walking astronaut gave a speech to us (maybe Scott). It was that kind of gathering.

Influenced by Boys State and my father’s admonition that I would not quite be a man unless I was a soldier, I applied and was nominated by my Congressman to go to the Air Force Academy. In that instance, my mother saved me. My father came back from the Korean War an emotional wreck (men do not come back from war “normal”), and she had my father talk me out of it.

You can see on my SAT report that I planned to get a doctorate in the life sciences, and I don’t know how I squared that with an Air Force career, but I applied to the Air Force a few months later. I think that I was flailing around, seeking a direction in my fast-approaching adult life. I still shudder when I think what a military career would have done to me and whom I might have killed.

Paradoxically, that Silva course gave me my mystical awakening, and I became quite the spiritual student after that, and by age 19, I had become a pacifist. While some of my pals went off to universities (and they often crawled back, defeated), I attended the local community college, taking a math/science curriculum. After a sobering first semester when I gave up TV, I was back to nearly straight A’s by the second semester. I did not yet understand that my spiritual studies were kind of incompatible with a mainstream-science career, as Brian soon discovered.

I began my second year of college with heavy math and science (physics, second semester of calculus, organic chemistry, biology), was in my third year of chemistry studies, and I was always at the top of my math/science classes, as I had been since first grade. I planned to become a chemist, until a fateful day in chemistry lab. The lab instructor was a nice enough man, about age 60, and his life was working in those chemistry labs. One day, as I saw him walking through the lab, it hit me, that I would become him if I continued on my career path. Did I really want to become a chemist? It was my first existential crisis.

I soon decided that the life of a chemist was not for me, but if I was not going to become a chemist, then what? I was lost for months. At that time, my horizons of awareness were becoming a soldier or scientist, or “loafing” and become an English/history/social science major. A childhood friend took bookkeeping in high school, but I had no idea what it was. For about three months, I felt lost, with no idea what to do about my life. I still had my energy dreams at the back of my head, but that seemed to be as far away as the Moon. It all came to a head one night. Although my mystical awakening was three years earlier, I had never prayed in my life. But that night, I prayed with all my might for somebody to give me some insight. I fell into a dreamless sleep, and when I awoke the next morning and opened my eyes, looking across my bedroom, a voice spoke up in my head. Some people actually hear a voice (1, 2), but mine was thoughts that I knew were not mine. The voice said, “Have you ever thought about studying business?” I had no idea what that meant, but when it came from a voice in my head, it sounded like a great idea. That morning, I called the counseling center at my college and asked if people could study business at college. Of course, they said that I could, they arranged for my meeting with a counselor later that week, and I was on my way to becoming an accountant.

As fate would have it, an in-law, who is the only person I know who I know whose memory is better than mine, had an almost identical experience. He was a chemistry major, at the top of his class, and in his second year of college, he had the same realization that I did, while taking the same class, organic chemistry, and he became an accountant. He eventually became a partner in an international accounting firm, a college professor, and he eventually ran a graduate school. He did not have a voice in his head like I did, but he had a similar experience. When others have heard that voice, it never identifies itself. Some call it God, but I just call it the voice in my head, and I only asked for it one other time, which is coming in the next post.