28.  The 2.10s of Jesus

Leaving the country was not on my mind any longer. I was even less inclined to break a promise I had made to my wife that I would not perform another surprise departure, as I had in 2003. 

There was a time when escaping far away was on my mind. But I did not have the funds to travel. Now, at a time when I was able to draw on funds, the desire to walk away has diminished. There was a job for me to do, a mission to complete. If God gave me the desire to travel, I would do so gladly. I was determined to follow the Spirit inside guiding me. 

On Sunday afternoon, August 28, 05 in Sydney I was wondering, where else I would be led to and discover clues to play with? I say play, because I believed that where God was leading me to was not for me, but more for those around me, who doubted God's ability to lead that way. Otherwise, discovering writing on the road or a special car registration plate, would have been meaningless, just like a special power that accomplishes nothing, but merely bends spoons etc.

I had only minimal difficulty locating Isobel’s brother’s home addresses. I spent about ½ hour or so in Eastwood and a similar amount of time in Cremorne, just chatting casually, as relatives would, who had not seen each other for many months. 

One of Isobel’s brother is a partner in a well-known law firm. He and his wife are good friends to the parents of Ben Mitchell, the young man, whose name had featured early in my story. I had the distinct impression they knew about my strange journey. 

It was around 4.30pm when I said good-bye. This was a little early to return straight home, so I decided, instead of turning left onto Spit Road, to drive straight ahead and park just beyond this junction. Locally this locality is known as Spit Junction. Isobel and I used to live not far from there, after we first were married.

What followed during the next ½ hour was nothing short of a miracle. Don’t they say, magic happens? Just taking this walk, without any firm plan or direction, I came across information, which all seemed to fit into my wild world of codes, as if I had followed a script of a screenplay. 

Expecting nothing and suddenly finding that I had walked to places, as if somebody higher than I had it all mapped out beforehand, was the most amazing aspect of my whole journey. HE who is supernatural knew the street names, road markings, car registration plates etc etc. 

My mind and body were simply following this script, without realizing until it had commenced. After that there was no looking back. Yet, I would not compare this to functioning like a robot. Robots don't have free wills. Robots don't have a love relationship with their operator, nor do they have close, spiritual contact to function. Humans do with God. I did. It worked wonderfully. 

 

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In between editing this I gave my son Jon a driving lesson. I directed him to a street in the next suburb, beyond Parafield airport. A fire had been reported in a unit, where an aged pensioner lived.

I looked up the reference in the street directory - The grid reference was a clue - Map 70 K 8 =7 OK plus 1. 

More Da Ninci - We reached Palm Ct. the scene of the blaze, via Kings Rd/Lavender Drive, past Edenfield Estate. I have no doubt there was a fire, but we didn't see it (unlike Newton/Grove Av Enfield) on Christmas Day. The fire must have been in a unit not visible from the street.

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I walked south along Military Road and noticed a Medical Centre on my left. Their phone number on the board outside read … 9 1111. It sounds silly, but this number made me pause, think and walk into the Medical Centre, which was open even on a Sunday afternoon. I knew with this number came names. 

One doctor was called Say Love; another, a professor specializing in acupuncture, had a ten-letter name. With two exchanges of a/o, without moving letters around, the ten letters come to SA-US-Son-Ben. Only now as I transcribe my diary into my online version, can I see my story in that professor’s name: I went from SA to the US, I have a son, his name is...

In an earlier story, in Book 1 - More in number - my family doctor, died under suspicious circumstances. (Only in my online diary was his death suspicious; officially it was reported as a heart attack). I had called him Dr. Lang, a name I was to come cross right here in Sydney a few days later. (I have already reported it at the end of chapter 10).

An old chap was sitting on a bus stop. I noticed his Legacy badge on his coat. I nearly engaged him in a conversation, but decided to walk on. I turned left, thinking, there may be some views of the ‘Heads’ from around the corner. North Head and South Head are steep cliffs, landmarks to the entrance of Sydney’s famous harbour. 

(A few days before writing the fleet in the annual Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race, sailed through these Heads. The winning boat, Wild Oats, broke the race record - nice name Wild Oats, plus a link to Tasmania). 

A few hundred meters further down the hill I read a street sign - Superba Lane. Superba Lane, a silly name, a superb name? Either way, it was enough to make me walk that way. It was a narrow lane to my left, with wooden fences on either side. On the ground only a few meters into this super La ne (sic), I noticed a small drink container. 

As I walked past I read “SO GOOD’ in large letters on the side. With my address on it, so conspicuously, I had to pick it up. A second later a lady was just coming out of her gate to deposit some rubbish into a big box. I had not intended to keep the carton, so I disposed my ‘good’ rubbish into a nearby box. It looked like there was to be a rubbish collection the next day.

By now my mind was fully switched on. I took notice of my surroundings as if I had discovered a hidden chamber under a pyramid in Cairo. A few meters further a late model car was parked. It was a Lexus. A few paces beyond I noticed a number written on the road; 2.10 (please note) in yellow digits. I took a photo.

 

Left: There was something about the number 2.10 written on the road. (Read on) for a possible link. 

Right top: A Coffee House with my letters as business name. 

Right bottom: Croft - craft. Seeing and linking names, numbers or letters was a becoming my special craft. This businesses phone number consisted only of 3 Nine's and five zeros.   

 

Around the corner the street sign read Mandalong Street - D man (came) along. Crazy or magic – you decide! There were further markings on the roadway. Just as big as 2.10 were the letters JB, also written on the roadway. Minutes later a parked car on Military Road carried registration number (how could I seen it and not made the link) JB ...

Here is a link from 210 to JB ... The number after JB could be expressed like this: 1 between 2 0. Of course, this is highly speculative, I admit, but if an intelligent mind thought all this up, another intelligent mind interpreted it. 

A further code, written on the pavement, in white letters this time,  reminded me of a code in a shop window in Huntington Beach, California – AWLD 14 T (Chapter 10). 

My exploration that afternoon went much faster than I am spending writing about it. I was conscious that people could be watching from behind their apartment windows. The average tourist would certainly not take photos of scribbles on the roadway. I wasn't the average kind of tourist! I believed the scribbles were not there by chance.   

There was more. Back near Military Road, on the corner of Field Lane, was a Fire Station. On a large display board an event was advertised. (From memory, I think it was a Fire-Safety display). It was to be taking place from Sept. 2-11. Looking at the entry in my diary, I am puzzled at the length of this event, lasting for 9 days?

I read 2-11 as 21 won at first! As I write I see another code in this -  210 plus 1.

(Fire trucks like me, I know from experience. Yesterday, on 3/1/06 I noticed a fire engine, registration ...362, which I happened to see again today, one day later). 

Another way to look at 2-11 is two minus 11. The result = minus Nine. 

I walked to the other end of Field Lane, where I saw another parked vehicle - if I was the kind of person who would get excited about registration plates, I would have gone crazy. All I do is take note and tell everybody on the internet about it. This plate could not have been more fitting ...21 N.

Some weary readers may think that all is becoming rather predictable. I agree. The reason I still report it, however, is not to merely entertain. As mentioned a moment ago, if an intelligence brain designed all this, it is only fair that the higher intelligence, who saw it all, responds. And please keep in mind, I only regard myself as the observer and typist. 

My diary lists more data, which my have been by intelligent design; car registration numbers J 077, 30 HE or .. YN 51 were the most obvious that afternoon. After getting back into my vehicle, as I was ready to drive off, across the road I saw the letters SABA above a shop window. Alert readers may remember, this was the same name of the lady serving coffee earlier that day at Hillsong. 

 

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Co-incidents or God-incidents:

 

Above is a supplement - The 2.10's of Jesus -  in the 'Every Day with Jesus' I had bought at Narrandera.  Two days later I took the photo of the number 2.10 on the pavement in Mosman. 

On the reverse side is a quote from 'Herald of his coming - Dec.  1963 (nice number to go with the 12 of December):

 When you start out to do a thing always be sure that you act in faith and love, and if either is lacking - wait on God till your heart is right with God and man. 

In bold print: Remember to add your faith to ours on Friday Nights, if you cannot be present at the "Faith Pool". Time 7.30-9.30 pm. 

Sorry, but I can't attend the pool hall in London Friday nights. But I find it interesting that 7+3 = 10 and 9+3 = 12. It is almost impossible to imagine there is a link, but isn't it fun just to play this game?  

Two special timing factors surround above card. I happened to scan it on 2/1, January second. As I did (you may think this is fabricated, but it was unplanned) I looked at the P/C and saw the time 12.10 pm. 

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I drove back to my daughter’s apartment and wrote it all down into my diary. Often the reality of what I had experienced did not fully sink in until much later, often when I wrote my diary. Writing it all down gave me a new perspective, as did the rethinking process, which needed to happen to produce this online autobiography.

What I discovered was at times amazing. Even more amazing was the fact that I could only write a fraction of what I experienced. Further still, I believe what I perceived was only the tip of the iceberg. Much of what surrounded my unreal, real life, took place behind the scenes. I may never know the full story on this side of eternity.

From experience in writing diaries for nearly 40 years, I knew that the earlier my thoughts are captured on paper, the more accurate and detailed they would show up in my diaries and in my public writing.

 

Michelle’s cousin Andy, my nephew, was visiting Michelle that afternoon. He lived with his family in nearby Manly, undoubtedly Sydney’s most popular tourist spot, with both the magnificent harbour and the beach to attract visitors. Both my son Ben and Michelle had lived in Manly with this family, after leaving their nest in Adelaide for the first time.

Later that evening I took Andy home and briefly said hello to my relatives, Isobel’s brother and his wife. Before returning home I saw an opportunity I would not want to miss. I remembered a car crash, which took place in nearby Fairlight, not long before Christmas 03.

A 68-year-old male driver, supposedly, had lost control of his vehicle on a bend and crashed into a childcare centre. The children had been sleeping as the car mounted the kerb, smashed through one wall and came to rest after smashing the rear doors.

The car caught fire. Two tiny girls, Molly and Sophie, allegedly were trapped under the burning car. Firemen came rushing in, rolled the car over and saved the girls. Quite incredible, but this is how the reports in the press read.

From the enormous publicity the case received, plus the circumstances, why did the girls not die, I wondered what was behind it all. In the end, after emailing various authorities, I suspected the whole incident could have been a blatant scheme, a collusion by various instrumentalities for one purpose - to make money.

Some more research into the sequel of the alleged crash revealed that a foundation to support the young girls, was formed. A lot of money was collected. Another article revealed that some time later one of victim’s family returned to England.

There was much high-profile attention in this case. I read about a $ 200 a plate fundraising dinner, hosted by a top Sydney radio personality, initials A J, where no doubt large amounts of money would have been collected. Who ensured the money was spent appropriately? Were clever business (dirty business) people cashing in on the ‘tear-jerk’ dollar? How on earth could I or anyone prove that my concerns had grounds for merit?

If I am up the creek, wipe me off as lunatic. However, if I have made people cautious and think before opening their purses, so be it. So many charities do such a great job; it would be a crying shame to see money channeled away from them into dubious schemes.

 

- - - - - - -

There are two types of rubbish littering the streets. Real rubbish and real good rubbish. I seem to be able to distinguish between them.

Left: This real good rubbish was outside our house for a few days, before my curiosity won the day - HI C V(ictory) as Regal. There are a couple more clues in the w hi sky carton. The number at the bottom is 1801. (Please do not take this as endorsement of the product or message).

Right: Real old rubbish - Grab h. Does it not look like old is missing? It was the reverse side of a brochure about a redevelopment in Gilles Plains, called Wandana Estate. When I picked it up I was sure I was being watched by a person in a parked vehicle. This didn't bother me. 

- - - - - - -

 

Around the time following the pre-Christmas crash I had emailed my doubts to various media outlets and politicians. Visiting the scene was out of the question - until now, late August 05, while I was visiting family a few kilometers away. 

Driving to the scene that night, plus a later visit on the bicycle, seemed to confirm - something was not as it should be. There were people who agreed with me. Nobody had answered my emails. Instead supporters were communicating in codes.

Otherwise, what I saw at the scene of the crash, even 20 months later, would not make any sense - all would be just another co-incident, of which I would have been getting tired of, it this was all there was to it. Judge for yourself, if my thinking is on track?

 A property was for sale right across the road from the Childcare Centre. The house number was 53. The salesman’s name on the sign read R. Mitchell. His first name, by swapping a/o, minus R, spells ‘a man’.

Mr. Mitchell’s phone number ended in 199, while his mobile phone number had 111 at the end. The business, where Mr. Mitchell worked or which he owned, fitted into the picture rather well, it was called ... Acumen - thanks to my son Ben for this great word I learned. It fits perfectly. If it included an L, it would be super perfect, can you see why?

As I am writing and researching the incident again, I discovered another interesting twist. The street, where the crash had occurred, is called Suwarrow Street. It is runs down a big hill, right opposite the child-care centre. (As I understand it, the driver had not lost control coming down that slope, but lost control on a relatively gently bend). 

An article I came across while writing, recalled the incident, drawing attention to the plight of the crash driver.

Dated 23/12/2003 the article in the Sydney Morning Herald is titled: Child care crash man talks of his sorrow. It was not hard to create SA Row from sorrow, which made me take the street name and also play with it - Us war row.

Fasten your seatbelt - I discovered a further strange name and an equally potent interpretation with my outside the square brain. The elderly driver, who was reported to not have had a wife or children, was Mr. McNeall - Son of all en.

His name rhymes with kneel. If Mr. McNeall's first name started with D - it would certainly be a potent message in the en d.

 

Chapter 29

Index