The Owl and the Bullhorn

By Gary Schuetz

Timber begins to document his experience of a timeline split on Earth around the Dawn of the Age of Aquarius. He aligns himself with an eccentric group of people who are challenged by addiction and shortcomings, but who also have access to unusual sources of information. They begin to learn how to use special forms of communication, and meet together in ways that they don't always remember.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Schuetz
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005692032

Gary Schuetz

Born in Ohio, USA in 1976, Gary Schuetz shares unique perspectives.Feedback to Gary's work can be directed to [e-mail]

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The Owl and the Bullhorn

Written by Gary Schuetz

Cover art by Gary Schuetz

First Edition, 2022

Copyright © 2022

Although some or all of the information presented in this book may or may not correlate with information from other sources, the author is not claiming to represent anyone or anything. All characters are fictional.

The Invisible Girl

Have a great afternoon, Dawn! my middle school teacher said to me.

It was chilly, and I was sitting on a wood and metal bench outside. The reddish leaves were rustling on the sidewalk and on the asphalt parking lot. The sky was whitish gray. It was 1998.

You too, Mrs. Swynn!

You’re such a good girl, Dawn, she said, good luck at your meeting!

Thank you, Mrs. Swynn! I replied with a smile. I had short, shiny brown hair that just touched my collar. I wore respectable, classy clothes for a kid. Everything I wore was impeccable.

I knew how to be nice. However, I wasn’t nice at all. I acted nice because I knew this was the way to keep everything in place. I already had everything I wanted, I just didn’t tell anyone. I planned very far ahead, and I could see the future.

I went to class because that’s what people wanted me to do. But I already knew everything I needed to know about life. I dressed nice so that everyone would go about their business and not bother me on their own terms.

I was the smartest girl in my grade. I was so smart that I even had to start acting dumb so no one would realize it. I intentionally kept my GPA at 3.8. But I always won spelling bees when I was younger. That was the only thing I would never fake. But when there were no more spelling bees at school, I knew I had to start to fake being dumb to make sure no one caught on.

I knew how to get what I needed. Still, no one knew that I already had everything I would need. I was formidable, but no one else knew it. I made sure of it.

Today I was wearing my light brown scouting vest and blue jeans, and I was already well prepared to go to an important event after school. It was a special day, so I was allowed to wear the outfit to school. I was the leader of my group. I was displaying my badges of honor today. In a way, it kind of drew attention to me, but I didn’t care. I knew that sometimes the best way to disappear was to stand out.

Mrs. Swynn’s young husband arrived after school to pick her up from work. She already forgot about me while I was sitting on the bench outside, but that was okay. He drove an old, beat-up, gray station wagon from years ago, the kind I only saw when I was very young.

He was a very aloof man. I didn’t fully understand how he moved around, but I also knew exactly how I didn’t know, and that made me special. He was wearing sunglasses. He seemed very balanced, and he had a stocky frame, at least from his belt up. He was young for a husband and was wearing light blue jean shorts and a white t-shirt with no pocket. He wasn’t short, but he wasn’t tall, either. He had short, light-brown hair and what appeared to be a red beard in the afternoon light.

I had a very, very keen sense of smell and the wind was blowing right at me from thirty feet away, so I knew he had been drinking beer, or at least recently had beer spilled on him. But I didn’t care. I liked him. He didn’t notice me, and that was okay. I was invisible. And that’s how I wanted to be, for now.

When he arrived, Mrs. Swynn thought no one else was around. She walked over to her husband and leaned in to kiss him. I missed you, Timber, Mrs. Swynn said. Mr. Swynn had a huge, knowing smile on his face, the only thing he gave away about himself, but only then. He glowed when she said that to him. He hugged her, and he was beaming.

I could sense their coldness in the Autumn air and their warmth at the same time. I knew what a real man was, and that’s what I wanted for my life when I grew up. Not everyone knew what was best in life, but I did. My life would be perfect, and everything would be complete. I would make sure of it.

My name is Dawn. And one day I would be called, Dawn of Aquarius.

The Therapist

I want to write a book. I said. I was talking to my therapist.

Okay, that’s a good place to start! he replied.

"Only, I don’t know how to start it. I don’t know how to bring it together. I have so many ideas. I want to compress all of the ideas together… so much, so much to say. I feel like it’s an impossible task. But I feel like I must. I must write it!"

Why must you write it? he replied, with one eyebrow raised. We were sitting in a room. He was in a soft chair, and so was I.

Because I feel like now is the moment. If I don’t write it now, the window of opportunity will close!

What opportunity? he said.

The opportunity I was given. I have a weird set of experiences in life, and I am starting to see how they fit together. I feel like these circumstances were set up for me so that I had a unique way of explaining what is going on in the world. And this is a very important time. I feel like what is going on needs to be documented from my perspective. It will be documented in other ways, but only I can share what I am seeing from my unique perspective. I feel like I came here… to Earth at this time for this. I was born to write this.

Interesting, he said. And he poured himself some herbal tea into a white ceramic cup.

But, I don’t know how to start it. It is important. It’s going to be an important book. But if I don’t write it now, I may forget why it is important to write it, and it will be lost forever.

The therapist paused and then took out a little notebook, and wrote some notes with a pen.

"See! That, right there! I have so many things I could say about what you just did! You got a notebook, yes? That was so you can take notes about what I am saying. Private notes that you can use as you begin to understand where I am coming from. Notes that will help you remember your observations right now before you forget."

He smiled. Yes, that is correct.

But! The notebook is also a prop that you are using to buy time, perhaps, while you think about what you might ask next. It will be a distraction that is supposed to help set me at ease.

He paused. Then he slowly looked up.

"Those are things I want to write about in the book! You are recording things because it is important to do so. But if you write it down, you are also missing the moment. And I also believe if you had the proper, shall we say, ‘discipline’, you would remember everything without taking notes at all. But I understand why you are writing it down. It will help you recapitulate what is going on right now, so you can more easily remember it. Where you were in this room. What you were feeling when you wrote it. You will remember better."

Yes, he nodded, ...yes. All true.

"And that brings me to the idea of the Akashic Records. I believe that everything is being recorded, down to the most minute details. But you probably won’t be able to access those memories until after you die. So, you write it down. This also allows you to collate the information in your own unique way - from the perspective you have now, not from the greater perspective that you will have when you are looking at the Akashic Records in the afterlife. And this unique perspective, if not documented from your current perspective, will be lost in a way otherwise. You will also be adding creative twists to the greater picture as you form your thoughts about your perspective now.

This brings me back to the notebook as a prop! You are using it as a strategy to buy you time and to set us both at ease. If you are uneasy, I am more likely to be uneasy. And if I am uneasy, you are likely to be even more uneasy. This could escalate. Ultimately, it might interfere with the bottom line. You have a job to do right now. You are being paid by the minute, and you are here to bring about results in our interactions. So, the prop is useful. But you also are hiding behind the prop, are you not?"

He looked at me again, squinting his eyes a bit, as if he had to focus them more, as if his eyes were beginning to blur as I drew him into my explanation, and he had to re-center himself.

"These are things I want to write about. Memories and the creative process of the now moment. And props used to distract or hide the reality of what is going on for a particular purpose. This could actually be funny, if I write about it properly!"

The therapist grinned. Then he seemed to remember the tea he poured into his cup and had a sip of it. There was a window behind him to his right.

"But those are just two tiny things I want to draw together. I want to share my views on how I see the world right now. But it is very… sophisticated! I want to bring it all together like a power punch. BOOM! But the task is a very tall order! So, I started to write by sharing a vision I had. Ironically, it was a tall woman who spoke with a BOOM sound! But there was symbolism in it. She is wearing an indigo short dress. She has a white and blue bullhorn. She is attractive and she uses SOME of the right words. And she is wearing my favorite color. But she is not the ‘good guy’! And yet, she has adopted things that I like. I am particularly disturbed that she chose indigo as the color of her clothes, because that is the secret color. I laughed. She is using it against me!" I laughed.

The therapist didn’t seem to know how to respond. Slowly he began to smile a bit and let out a small laugh. He still didn’t seem to understand me. I was taken aback, remembering that he couldn’t read my mind.

"So now, I am thinking about how people can’t read my mind. This is surprising to me, believe it or not. I feel like I came from a place where telepathy is common. This was before I was born, mind you… I smiled, beginning to shake my head and laughed a little. It really does sound crazy, doesn’t it?" Then I laughed louder.

Not crazy, he assured me.

I sighed. "But I am being deadly serious. I can explain why I just said that, but in order to do so, I have to paint a much, much bigger picture so that you might understand! Again, a huge undertaking.

So, I am talking to you about this now so that, perhaps, you can help me write my book better. Perhaps by verbalizing my thoughts out loud I will have more clarity to see how I can piece things together in a way that people might understand. But perhaps you are still thinking, ‘But why do you feel you need to write this book?’. And of course, you may ask me because you may be interested, but I know that you know that you are also asking so that I can get more clarity for myself. So, we are working together on this at the same time. You are giving me therapy, and I am beginning to work on writing my book. It’s a win-win situation. I smiled. That is also something I want to talk about, win-win situations!"

I then felt some strain on my forehead as I began to put together what I was going to say next. I was sure I would be a little surprised by what I would say. However, before I got a chance, the therapist interrupted. 

Oh, and I must ask this before I forget. It's a formality. What is your name?

I am Timber. Timber Swynn, I say. 

He nodded, then asked, Do you know where you are?

I am at your office, I replied.

And do you know what year it is? he said.

I smiled, then paused for a moment, suddenly not sure how to answer. It is sometime between 2009 and 2024. I can't say that for certain, believe it or not! Even I was shocked by my response! I thought I knew for certain not only the year, but also the day. But for some reason, I couldn't say for sure.

The therapist nodded, with a combination of relief and concern on his face at the same time and took a very quick note for himself.

I carefully considered his expressions (which didn't surprise me at all), and then after a moment my mind cleared a bit. I waited until he looked attentive enough to my satisfaction, and then I said, looking up at the ceiling, I want to write about aliens and abductions. And about soul contracts. About defiance and rebellion used for good and bad, and how things are not what they always appear to be. I want to write about masters of awareness. I want to talk about obscure people that have secret knowledge and how they operate in the world without other people realizing it. I want to write about how people… I paused without finishing my sentence, and then said, And look! I am choosing my words carefully even to you right now! I want to write about how those obscure people communicate with other masters of awareness. Higher level ones, so to speak. 

I paused, then continued, I also want to talk about the ‘bad guys’, and who they communicate with. There are different agendas among the bad guys. They are not unified. That is their weakness. 

I paused again, this time looking for my glass of water and checking to see where I put my own notebook, which happened to be a green spiral notepad.

But! I began to smile, even though there was still strain on my forehead, I would like it if there was a way to make it so even the bad guys win! I paused again, and let another breath out, like I had been storing it unconsciously and releasing it. But I don’t know if that is really possible. I keep picturing a chess game… like a cosmic chess game, where the ‘good guys’ and the ‘bad guys’ are playing against each other. And I can see how both have roles to play in what I am calling the ‘expansion of awareness’. But…. this gets into murky waters. Murky in many ways. I would love it if the game ended in a stalemate, and the players just shook hands. It would be better if they BOTH win the game, somehow, instead of a stalemate. At worst, the ‘bad guys’ lose… but that’s how most stories end. And those stories usually end with a hint that the ‘bad guys’ are still around, and they will always keep coming back. A lot of stories end that way. I sighed.

But alas! I said. "Even that is better than the way I see it playing out - this cosmic chess game - in the grand scheme of things. Things are… things are probably going to happen to some of the characters that are too scary to imagine. Hopeless even. I am thinking of the gate to Hell in Dante’s Inferno, ‘abandon hope, all who enter here’, something like that. And… worse yet for me, if I even talk about some of this stuff, I put myself and others at risk. Because I don’t want to encourage anyone to break spiritual laws that put their own souls at risk! Dang!" I said, my eyes getting a little wet.

And to complicate it further, I need to draw from personal experiences in order to write well, but I can’t use anyone’s name. Or heck, even refer to groups of entities by name. Or should I? For example, I want to say that the woman with the indigo dress is yelling through the bullhorn for ‘ZION’ - but that is a loaded word, isn’t it? I don’t want to get people digging for ways to castigate me and categorize me as if I had an agenda against anyone or anything in particular. But that is another thing I want to talk about! ‘Categorization’ and division. Take, for example, the word ‘conspiracy theorist’. It is often used to ‘categorize’ certain groups of people that don’t follow the PRESCRIBED code of conduct in their thoughts and words. They don’t get in line with the more common view, so they are ‘stereotyped’, and this gives them less credence. The categorizing also gets people to start bickering and arguing about things, and this defuses the value of certain ideas. Furthermore, it drives the energy down. It goes against raising the vibration which is part of the alien agenda and of those of, let’s just say for now, ‘black magicians’ or certain ‘sorcerers’. Gosh…

Oh my! laughed the therapist. You do have a lot going on up there, don’t you? he laughed. Then I started laughing. We shared a moment of laughter together. This had meaning to me, and even then, I was teaching something…. It's like I had no choice. Like that was what I did, like what I was meant to do. That was part of why I came here.

Oh, but we are just barely scratching the surface! I said, a little louder, sitting up straighter in the soft chair, leaning in towards the room a bit more.

So… I began, gathering my thoughts a bit, given an opportunity to start talking about the book I was considering writing from a different angle. This, too, served my purpose…

...different angles… I said, looking to the right, at my glass of water.

The therapist paused. He had gray hair, and touched his goatee, focusing on the right side of it. I just caught the end of his gesture which he probably didn’t do purposefully, but it was a way of relaxing himself, I thought. And I considered the possible significance of which side of his face he was touching, his right or his left. Was he in rational thought or irrational thought? Left side or right side?

I scratched right below my nose and shifted my back a bit, as it started to feel a bit strained.

So, let’s get back to it. Do we still have time? This is very helpful to me. It was true, it was helpful, but I also had to make sure I believed it so that I could move on with a clear conscience. I have for as long as I can remember, wanted to make sure that everything I said was true, so that I could have a clear conscience. 

Yes, plenty of time, he replied.

So, before I go on, I said, I want to make sure it is clear. I am talking about this so that you can take notes for our session, and you can help us get more clarity on my situation. And by straightening this out, you can… I smiled in a way that probably looked more like a smirk, and I remembered a teacher in high school who told me to "Wipe that smirk off your face!"

....so that you can help me get into my, shall we say, ‘deeper issues’. I smiled. I wanted it to come out funny. I wanted to convey that I knew what he was trying to do with me. But, in any event, I figured that what I was saying still served us both.

So, I had a vision about a woman. I said. I’m pretty sure she is an alien. Or a construct to be used by some of the ‘bad guys’. And behind her in the distance there are two men. I think they may also be aliens. Or, you could say, maybe they are distantly related to us. They may have been part of a team of aliens that helped form our DNA in the past. This gets into time travel, etc. Wow! I said. "You see? It’s so freaking complicated! But I want to tackle this head on! I want it to be bombshell. Not necessarily in any one single idea that I want to convey, but in how I convey it and in what context.

So, let’s talk about ZION. I want to use that word in all capital letters for some reason, I am not sure why yet. So, what does the word ZION mean?" I asked him so that he could ask me.

What does it mean? responded the therapist.

I smiled, thinking about questions, and how when I heard ‘voices’ in the past, questions were the essence of what the voices loved to focus on. I later found out that I was the one feeding the questions with my own questions. I shook my head, trying to refocus my thoughts and not lose the therapist all together.

It could mean ‘the heavenly city or kingdom of heaven’. But that could mean different things to different people. I hasten to point out that the word ‘Zion’ is used in some of those movies. But the word is spun in such a way as to have a different sort of connotation than it is commonly used. Already here, I am starting to get close to the stuff I don’t want to talk about directly. And honestly? It is only a very small part of the greater picture that I want to convey! But again, why? Why do I want to write this! I know I already explained it in a way… I said and paused.

Tell me. Remember, what you say in here stays in here, he said.

Does it? I said with what might be construed as a ‘smirk’ again. And maybe it was, in a certain way. An ‘I know things you don’t know’ sort of way. A belittling way. Not what I really wanted to convey, or was it? I pondered this and my own motivations even down to the most minute expressions on my face. Every word was chosen very carefully. I wanted to reveal and be transparent. I wanted to be authentic but also shrewd. It was a challenge I was working on at this very moment I was talking to the therapist.

Remembering that he wanted me to go on about why I was going to write, I said, I want to convey this because I have to. I am in the front row. The stuff I set up before I was born… dang. It is amazing how I set this up. No doubt I was collaborating with others when we came up with - and are coming up with - the script for my life. If I screw this up, there is no way I can repeat it. The timelines are converging and separating, this is like… the nexus point. This is a definitive moment for humanity…

Ugh! I thought to myself without saying it out loud. Then I started thinking about ‘thinking without words’, and how this is something I tried to do when I heard voices, before I concluded that the voices couldn’t read my thoughts unless I verbalized them in my mind.

I sighed. "Okay. So, let’s talk about the chess game. I can picture it fairly well. There are people - dead people coming into a sort of temple where the game is just starting. The good master is playing against the ‘bad’ master. But it is not an ordinary chess game. They have to choose what the battle will consist of and agree upon the terms. They have to choose what colors the checkerboard will be. The chessboard represents the battlefield played out on Earth and the moves they could make with their players. But what also makes this chess game different is that they have to choose what the pieces are. For example, there will be bullhorns. BOTH sides will end up using bullhorns, probably in place of ‘Knights’. But they will be employed for different reasons. Indigo will come into play. And another thing that makes the game special is they have to agree on the qualities of the battlefield. The good master will pick indigo for the dark, or black, squares on the chessboard. The ‘bad’ master will find this ridiculous,