My Mystical Experience in Mystical Macedonia

A trip that SHOWED ME that our history has been fabricated.

"If you are ready for mystical experiences, you have them"

- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

The strange thing about supernatural experiences is their sudden other-worldliness.

If you’ve ever encountered a ghost or presence in your own home, it might seem as though it is happening in familiar surroundings—in the basement, on the stairs, or looking out into the yard—but suddenly the familiar isn’t so familiar anymore. That split second when you know you saw something, a shadowy form, the ghost in the corner, when your heart raced and time stopped, then that split-second dead pause that followed…is like a slice out of time. For one moment, your home isn’t your home anymore: you’ve been transported somewhere else.

Then, of course—hypnotized by the mundane—you might spend years doubting whether you had experienced anything at all. It was just a mirage. Probably a trick of the brain.

But you DID experience something. You KNOW you did.

It’s just that the ordinary returned, wrapped itself around you, and lied to you that it happened “someplace else”. Not here. Not my home. It was just some far-away thought in a far-away land. A place beyond the beyond.

In July 2023, I had what I romantically refer to as a ‘mystical experience’. It wasn’t a ghost. And it could never have happened under normal circumstances or in my usual surroundings.

No, it had no choice but to happen in a very magical, foreign land…

My trip to Macedonia

It was my first trip to Europe. And I hadn't been on a plane for decades. But the timing and odd events leading up to my trip to Macedonia in the summer of 2023 were unusual—if only for me.

After more than a year of trying and failing to get a replacement birth certificate in order to get my passport, my first passport ever, I was frustrated and ready to give up. In previous posts, I have covered the mysterious birth certificate and my challenging attempts to prove my ALL-CAPS identity to the gatekeepers of the birth certificates. But just know that if you’re born in Canada, to get a passport, you require a birth certificate…plain and simple.

Goran, my partner, was heading back home to Macedonia on vacation to visit his parents. He came to Canada in the early 1990s during the turmoil when the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia dissolved, when Macedonia became an independent country.

Yet any prospects of my visiting his homeland in 2023 had become hopeless. And it was the birth certificate that was the snag.

Then suddenly, as if by magic, my replacement birth certificate arrived in the mailbox. And I still haven’t the slightest idea what I had finally said ‘correctly’ to prove my identity after a year of desperate trying.

Back in 2023, everyone knew that passports had become a painful prospect in Ontario. Even just renewing a passport had become difficult. The lineups in service Canada offices had become legendary after the lockdowns. The government’s services were still in gridlock after the artificially-declared ‘pandemic’. Many Ontarians were travelling to far-away cities to visit branches that were rumoured to have shorter wait times.

On a hopeless whim, with my newly minted proof of who I was, I waltzed into my local office, and boom... my passport was in my hands in just two weeks! It was miraculous, it really was. At least for me. Because the ordeal leading up to it and the endless months of getting nowhere had worn me thin.

With my gift from heaven in my hands, I booked my flight: I would join Goran in Macedonia midway through his trip.

There were strange happenings and weird ‘signs’ leading up to my first transatlantic takeoff—like sudden highway torrential downpours, flying vendor tents, and bizarre family dramas—things that might have seemed random to an outside observer. But me?…I was noticing all of it.

Something was stirring, as if the trip was an important marker in my life (like a cosmic time stamp), as if chaos was either begging me to stay or to do something outside of the box…and go.

In retrospect it was the inconvenient, last-minute, sudden and untimely scheduled release date of my movie, Cult of Nightmares, that was the most HEAVY of these ‘signs’…

Cult of Nightmares

I had already bought my plane ticket when the US distributor of our independent cult film, Cult of Nightmares, contacted me to reveal that the movie would be released on digital platforms in just two weeks—when I would be out of the country on my first real trip since forever!

The movie meant an awful lot to me. But I was going, regardless.

Cult of Nightmares is a no-budget feature film I slaved on for three years. And by no-budget, I mean really no-budget. It was a project I had poured my heart and soul into. My co-producer (Jim, my close friend since high school) and I had scraped together the wherewithal to get a very basic distribution deal: it was getting released on major North American platforms. And, yes, I would be out of the country “vacationing.”

My decision to not cancel my trip put added pressure on Jim and I.

Made on a shoestring, Cult of Nightmares is a weird, sci-fi conspiracy horror film that in many ways eerily previsioned the dark themes of the COVID nightmare before they happened. And it was finished in January 2020, just two months before the lockdown of the planet.

I wrote it, directed it, edited it, sound-mixed it, you name it…a weird film with a conspiratorial premise: the mysterious ingredients of a black-ops military vaccine that makes “populations vanish” is now a big-pharma sleep aid. Poster heading: Wake up! This is NOT a dream.

I am not a rich filmmaker type. So any distribution deal that gets your hard work and passion onto today’s digital platforms is a big deal. But I was going on this trip, come hell or high water.

On July 14th, the day of the film’s release, I would do what little I could for Cult from a hotel room in Macedonia. Turns out, July 14th was the first day of the infamous Hollywood actor’s strike of 2023 and also the day that my co-producer’s sister passed away from spiralling health complications.

Strange indeed.

A mystical land

Everything about the trip to Macedonia was magical.

I was on my own, flying to Europe, navigating modern airports like a lost, wide-eyed newborn. Three separate flights. A long layover in Zurich. I arrived in Skopje International Airport, where Goran's smile awaited me.

Macedonia immediately reminded me of the Canada of my youth in the 1970s...rough around the edges, golden sunlight, low-budget cars. Abandoned buildings in overgrown fields littered the sides of the cracked highway as we sped out of the airport in a beat-up cab.

The people of Macedonia have endured hardships alien to the West. The roads are treacherous. Macedonian’s drive insanely fast, and they park on the sidewalks. The rundown indoor-outdoor malls feature 1980s fake-smiling mannequins. And the way we might expect to find convenience stores here, you find tiny casinos on every block!

Yet there's something truly enchanting about the place—culture for starts. The food?…tastes REAL. And the mountains are breathtaking. So breathtaking, in fact, that the entire plane and all its passengers fell silent as we were flying in for a landing.

Location of the supernatural event

On the second half of my nine-days there, we crammed ourselves and our luggage into a small, hot and cramped bus which jiggled and gasped its way through the mountains from the capital Skopje to the vacation town of Ohrid. Ohrid sits on Lake Ohrid, a sublime treasure of this world, a gorgeous, ancient lake surrounded by majestic mountains.

The plan for the movie was that I would work from a laptop on the morning of the film’s release from our hotel room.

But it was the night before (…which is really the day of…we were several hours ahead of home) when the supernatural settled in around us…

It happened at the foot of a cliff at the waters edge of Lake Ohrid. A sudden other-worldliness engulfed us. The sun had set, but it was twilight enough to see. We were right next to the water. The mist in the air was like a thick tonic. We were standing at the bottom of a cliff face when a soft, strange buzz filled the air. The sky was beautiful, yet strangely subdued. And the buzz—was really more like an ‘angelic hum.’ Both Goran and I could feel it. It was as if time itself had stopped.

I looked at the cliff wall in front of us, which extended high above where it shouldered winding cobble streets, ancient forts, monuments, and churches. All we could see was the cliff wall itself. Except that it wasn’t just a cliff wall. Not any more. Meaning… it wasn’t just a chunk of rock…a mere geographical structure… a “landscape” that had been lacerated and pocked and weathered into existence by the creeping waters of time. No, I was seeing something else…

…It was a WALL.

…The wall of a BUILDING.

A building that no longer existed in its original form. A majestic building, perhaps even a pyramid.

It was the wall of an ancient building…that had MELTED.

I started speaking: “That’s not a cliff wall…it’s an actual wall! The wall of a building, or what used to be a building. Perfect lines. Brickwork. Like the stone slabs of a pyramid that have somehow…MELTED?…on an angle. See?”

At the time, I knew nothing about "meltology".

Meltology - the so-called conspiracy theory that we are living atop former civilizations, that on EVERY continent there is evidence of a great “mudflood”, of mysterious, worldwide “resets”, of buildings, even entire cities, that have melted into what appear (to the brainwashed eye) to be mere mountains, canyons, rock formations, that we have been misled to believe that all of these geographical things, these rocks that surround us, are simply “geology”.

Strange that my early drafts of Cult of Nightmares contained an abandoned subplot about churches and sacred structures that suddenly reveal themselves when the waters of the world begin to mysteriously recede.

Also odd that when I left Canada, and on every flight en route (it took three separate planes to get from Toronto to Macedonia), another strange phenomenon caught my eye:

From the windows of the planes, the cities below looked an awful lot like computer circuit boards. It was an eerie feeling to see and think that we might be living on the surface of some matrix or motherboard.

From high above, whether it was cities or countrysides, all I could see were perfect lines (too perfect); perfect lines, perfect geometric shapes, travelling off in every direction as far as the eye could see! Too precise and too vast to be man-made. That was my immediate impression.

In Canada, on the one hand, we have the "story"—the story that our vast inhabited landscapes are simply the handiwork of two centuries of municipal planners.

But the cities and countrysides of Canada and beyond, from high above, were vast arrays of perfect lines—which looked more like something out of Chariots of the Gods, like the Nazca lines of Peru. Clean, etched lines, for hundreds of miles, including perfect waterways to infinity, and modern buildings that looked like little more than computer chips.

It was handiwork made possible only by gods…from the drafting table of the heavens!…not the ground.

What we saw on Ohrid Lake—“the wall”—and the strange feeling that accompanied it, that otherworldly sensation, stayed with us for more than an hour. We were slow to mingle back into the crowds. It was as if the whole experience had made us slightly drunk.

Another thing worth reporting was that when we discovered the wall, we were interrupted by a random "visitor", a dude who said he was a tourist from California; a young man who seemed bizarrely out of place. Whatever he said, I can't remember, but it suggested that he KNEW precisely what we were seeing and feeling, as if he was somehow part of this cosmic joke.

I haven't included a photo of the cliff wall, because the photo looks as it should...like a rock. And I’m sure if you visited it today, it would blend perfectly with its surroundings, just another rock face against the Macedonian terrain.

Since returning to Canada, I have watched and learned a little about "meltology" from videos by Jon Levi and other research renegades. And I’ve seen enough photos from around the world to convince me that we are most likely living on the remains of what was once a giant city or vast civilization.

The history we have been given is a lie. It is a constant, never-ending fiction. Of this, I am now certain. My mystical experience in Macedonia was a tangible (of the intangible) moment that has shifted my paradigm.

We live atop a vast mountain of falsified history.

To realize the weight of what I am suggesting here, you need only read the more recent “official narrative” of what happened during COVID—how the world supposedly organically responded by locking itself down against an epic, mutating respiratory virus (that spread everywhere instantaneously), and how an amazing mRNA vaccine materialized in a nanosecond to save millions of lives and then went on to win a Nobel prize. Yeah, right.

Since my trip, it’s hard for me not to see melted buildings when I look at photos of structures like, say, the Grand Canyon.

I certainly don’t expect you to believe me. But that’s the nature of the mystical experience. You had to be there. It was not this world. It was another. Or at least the blurring of the two.

---

About that cloud:

The night before—on July 13th—a VERY peculiar, solitary cloud hung above us, above Ohrid Lake. There was no wind. And nobody else seemed to notice or even care. Which is hard to believe:

Note: I have purposely not referred to Macedonia as ‘North’ Macedonia, the latest mean-spirited ‘adjustment’ that has recently been imposed on the Macedonian population. There is no South! The whole thing is a further attempt to bury a deeper history.