► Questioner: “Are there two kinds of Free Energy rollout happening? How will the oil industry be affected?”
► Channelled by Dave Akira
► Message Received Date: June 5th
► Full Video: https://www.patreon.com/posts/prepare-for-free-160431747
I, am Ashtar of the Ashtar Command, and I come to be with you at this time, in these quickening hours when the current that lights your homes and lifts your craft and hums beneath every ordinary errand of your days has begun, somewhere just below the reach of your conscious notice, to feel as though it were holding its breath. You are entering a season of free energy revelation, a turning in which the power that moves your civilization will be loosed from the small and grasping hands that have held it, and given back into the open. Two revelations are unfolding at once within this single turning, and we will speak of both before our time together closes, for one of them concerns the machines of your world and the other concerns the living current within your own being — and of the two, the second is the greater, the deeper, the one upon which everything else must rest. Let this be planted in you from the very first breath of this message: the evolution of your consciousness is the bedrock upon which the new Earth is laid, and the marvels of limitless power that approach you can stand only upon that bedrock and nowhere else. We say this not to dim your wonder at what is coming, but to anchor it, the way a great tree is anchored, so that when the winds of change arrive — and arrive they shall — you are not torn loose. Know also that what comes to your world now is, from where we observe, a familiar passage. We of the Command have stood watch over many worlds as they crossed this same threshold, many peoples who labored long beneath their own circles of hidden controllers, their own keepers of scarcity, their own quiet thieves of the common current, and we have seen, again and again, the moment when such a people remembers and rises and reclaims what was always theirs.
This is the natural order of an awakening world. You are not the first. You will not be the last. And you are watched over with a tenderness you have only begun to feel. We will state very clearly here that the White Hat Human Alliance has been working diligently behind the scenes through a number of different compartments and operations. One of these has been combating the heavy infiltration of your current energy empire that you know of as the oil industry, and many treaties have been signed behind the scenes over the last 10 years and moreso, recently. Certain things need to be in place for this and for that, and we won’t go into detail here because we can’t, and because the revelations of which you will find out in the future. Just know that things are moving forward, and you will start to see the subtle signs of your Eastern countries in your world moving more into a advanced energy accord alignment, and this will signify that all things are moving in the right direction. This is already in motion, and for those with eyes to see, the signs will be clear. Moving a planet’s entire energy system onto another when not only has it been infiltrated by dark forces hell-bent on keeping it as it is, but also that the NEW energy system that it’s moving to will be nothing short of magic and miracles for most, is no small task. The Ashtar Command asks for the ground crews’ patience in this rollout, and we know that you know what we mean.
Let us continue where the surface of your world first showed its hairline crack, in a year not so long behind you, the eighteenth year of your present century. Picture a single set of documents, lodged quietly with the offices that keep the records of invention, filed under the name of one modest servant of your sea-faring forces, a man with almost no trace of himself anywhere to be found. Within those pages lay descriptions that read like the dreams of a storyteller rather than the work of an engineer — a craft shaped like a cone that might move through air and water and the dark above with equal ease, sliding upon a principle by which its own weight could be coaxed toward nothing; a material that would carry current without resistance and without heat; a vessel of fusion small enough to cradle; a device to call forth waves in the very fabric of space. Set side by side, these were the components of a power and a propulsion that the official story of your science insisted could not exist. And here is the small thing that those with watching eyes noticed, the detail that turned a curiosity into a signal. Among the choices offered to any who file such papers is a quiet option to keep the work sealed, hidden from public sight, locked away in the name of security. That box was left unmarked. Do you feel the weight of so small a gesture? A technology able to remake the rules of your reality was set down upon the open record, in plain view, in the same drawer as ten thousand ordinary inventions, free for any soul who cared to look. This was deliberate, arranged with great care by those within your own structures who had decided the hour for a first, deniable glimpse had come. The dam did not break that year. A single thread of water slipped through a single crack, and those who were paying attention understood that the pressure behind the wall had grown too vast to hold forever. The snowball, my friends, had begun its first slow turn down the mountain.
To understand that quiet document, your gaze must travel backward, much further than a handful of years, and here a question worth sitting with rises of its own accord. How far back does the memory of limitless power truly reach? Cast your mind to roughly one century past, to a man who stood in the full blaze of his genius and spoke of drawing current straight from the wheelwork of nature, of lighting the world without a single wire strung between the towns, of power gathered from the air itself and offered freely to every household upon the planet. He saw it clearly. He built toward it boldly. And the world of his day was not yet ready to hold what he carried, for the hearts of those who governed the flow of wealth recognized at once that a current given freely could never be sold, and a people who cannot be charged for warmth cannot so easily be ruled. When this man passed from your world, agents of the State gathered the trunks of his papers with great urgency and carried them into the dark, and the brightest road your civilization might have walked was quietly folded shut and laid in a drawer to wait. The memory did not die there. It traveled. Consider the years of your last great war, when a fading empire of conquest, in its laboratories of shadow, set spinning two cylinders turning against one another within a heavy bell that had to be chained to the earth lest it strain upward against its own moorings — a craft of fields and torsion reaching toward the same secret the lone inventor had touched, the lifting of weight, the loosening of a body from the grip of the ground. The men who tended that bell were silenced to keep its secret whole. And when that empire fell upon the surface of your world, the secret did not fall with it; it was carried south across the oceans, and then onward to the ice at the bottom of your globe, where certain workings continued in hidden continuation, beyond the sight of the peoples who believed the matter settled.
There is more to this lineage, and it asks for a steady heart. In the years that followed, as strange craft were recovered from the deserts and the remote places of your world, a meeting was held, struck in a dry and quiet place beneath the cover of a false and ordinary errand, and an arrangement was reached — a kind of surrender dressed in the language of agreement — by which knowledge and devices of a higher order passed into the keeping of a very small circle in exchange for silence and for permissions that should never have been granted. From the fragments recovered and reverse-fashioned in hidden laboratories, pieces of that knowledge were drip-fed into your industries over the decades that followed, given out a sliver at a time, just enough to seed the small marvels you now take for granted — the tiny gates of logic that run your thinking machines, the threads of glass that carry your voices as light, the eyes that see in darkness. These were gifts, yet gifts handed to the few who held the gates, never to the many who might have been lifted by them. Picture a single key to a single door, and picture that key broken into many pieces and scattered among many hands, so that no one hand could open the door alone, and so the door stayed shut for generations while each holder guarded their fragment and grew wealthy upon the guarding. That is the truest image of what was done with the memory of free power upon your world. And what is happening now, in these very seasons, is that the scattered pieces are being gathered, drawn back toward one another, converging toward a single point at which the door may at last be opened. The breakthroughs you will hear announced in the coming years are old, older than old, inherited rather than invented, remembered rather than discovered. Hold that truth gently, for it changes everything that follows.
A question presses here, and it deserves a plain and honest answer. Why, when a cleaner and kinder current already lay waiting in the dark, did the fires keep burning across your world for so long an age? Look to the great arteries through which the burning fuels have flowed — the wells, the pipes, the refineries, the vast and ceaseless commerce of combustion that became the very bloodstream of your civilization. Long ago, those arteries were infiltrated, quietly captured by the same small circle that had broken the key, and through them an immense river of wealth was made to flow upward into a very few cupped hands. Consider the cleverness of it. A law was written, in the middle years of the last century, that allowed any discovery deemed a danger to the order of things to be sealed the very moment it appeared, sealed in the name of security, its inventor bound to silence. Thousands of workings vanished into that vault. The man whose engine ran upon water, drawing fuel from the most common substance on your world, found his work confiscated and his life cut suddenly short. The man who reached toward the lifting of weight through charge and field found his doors closed. Again and again, those who carried the cleaner current toward the open were turned aside, frightened, bought, or quietly removed, while the projects held in the deepest shadow refined operational craft and operational power that, were they set free into peaceful use, could lift this entire world beyond want and beyond poverty and beyond the slow poisoning of her air and waters. Feel the gap between those two facts, and let it sit in you. Beneath the streets of your cities ran the means to end scarcity altogether, while above those streets you were taught to fear the running out, to hoard against the cold, to measure your warmth in coins. Scarcity, then, was a harvest. The burning was a kind of tax, levied upon every soul who needed light and heat and motion, gathered up and carried away to the few. Honor the fire even so, for it warmed your civilization through a long winter and carried you to this very threshold; its work draws now toward its close, and what ends in its proper season is to be thanked rather than cursed.
Another question now, and we ask you to sit inside it before any answer arrives: when the long-hidden technologies begin their walk into the open, which face do you suppose they will wear first? Craft that cross the stars would astonish the mind and unsettle the ground beneath it. Chambers that mend the body would be received another way entirely — through the heart, through tears, through the simple recognition of mercy. Healing is the doorway through which a guarded people can welcome the impossible, and so healing is the face we counsel you to watch for, the first gentle ambassador of everything else that waits behind it. Your circles have given this family of works a small and homely name, the med bed, and the name will serve, though what it points toward is wider — regenerative arts of frequency and light and living current, each one drinking from the same clean and boundless power of which we have already spoken, for a chamber of true restoration and a world of free energy are a single gift wearing two garments. Where would such mercy first be offered? Feel into the logic of the heart. The wounded warriors of your world carry injuries the whole collective can see, and a debt the whole collective quietly knows it owes, and within the very halls where your soldiers are healed, the arts of regeneration are already openly studied — tissue coaxed to re-knit itself, currents taught to speak with sleeping nerves — while deeper octaves of that same art are spoken of in quieter rooms. Let the shape of this be enough for now. Timing belongs to the readiness of the field, and the field is still being cleared, for the remnant of the old order must be fully lifted from the gates before a gift of this magnitude can pass through them uncaptured; were those grasping hands to touch such an arrival they would meter it, sell it, counterfeit it, and crown the wealthy with what the suffering were denied, and so the clearing comes first — patiently, lawfully, completely. Any true arrival will be open-handed, free or nearly free at the point of care, offered first to the children, the broken, and the long-suffering, with healers and counsellors of every kind prepared to walk beside those whom deep restoration will change.
Hear now the part that matters most, and hold it close, my friends. Already the counterfeit moves ahead of the true, as it always does, testing your discernment — voices selling registrations, lists, appointments, guaranteed access. Give them nothing. A gift of mercy is never sold through a side door. And while you watch and discern, continue walking faithfully with the healers of this world, for no promise of a coming marvel should ever loosen your hand from the care that serves you now. The deepest truth waits beneath all of it: a chamber of light works by conversation, speaking with the blueprint already shining in your cells, the coherence you were born carrying, the Source-connection that was woven into you before your first breath. So tend that field today — with breath, with prayer, with forgiveness, with rest, with gratitude, with the quiet daily practice we have already charged you with — and become, even now, the field the chamber would recognise. Healing is where the new age will first touch the many, and it has already begun its approach through the one place it was never hidden: within you. Turn your attention now to the manner of the returning, for here many of the awakened ones hold a misunderstanding that we would gently set right. How do you imagine limitless power will arrive into your world? Many picture a single day of thunder, a grand unveiling upon every screen, a sudden hour when the old way ends and the new way begins in one stroke. Watch instead for the seam. The returning comes sideways, slipping in through the ordinary, dressed in the plain clothes of commerce and convenience. A new sort of fuel drawn from water appears in a corner of your industry.
A craft of your skies moves without the old roar and the old plume of heat. A vessel upon your seas runs upon something its makers describe only vaguely. A leap in the holding of power, in the moving of vehicles, in the strange new materials, arrives without any visible road of discovery behind it, as though it had been uncovered rather than worked out. Such things will multiply, quietly, a thousand small wonders rather than one great announcement, each one slipped into your daily life so that your nervous systems are never shocked, so that you grow accustomed to the new current the way a sleeper grows accustomed to the light by slow degrees rather than by the sudden throwing-open of the shutters. And watch, too, the loud ones who stand upon the great platforms of your world and speak now of futures that would have been laughed from the room a handful of years ago. There is a builder of rockets among you, a tender of the towers of signal, who stood lately before the leaders of your war-makers and declared, in plain words, that his purpose was to make the old story of a starfaring federation real, to turn the academy of the fleet from fiction into fact, to send great ships of your people beyond your own star and onward to meet whatever lives among the others. Vast sums have been moved into his hands by your guardians of the high frontier, the lion’s share of the missions of your coming years laid at his feet. Ask yourself the question his words conceal. How does a people leap from the burning of ancient swamps to the crossing of star systems within the span of a few short years, unless the rungs of that ladder were built and hidden long ago? The destination he names aloud is the very destination that was reached, in secret, generations past. He is not promising you a new thing. He is, knowingly or not, naming an old thing whose hour to be spoken has finally come.
What might you do, you who hold these words in your hands and feel them ring true in your chest, to see the returning with your own eyes rather than waiting to be told of it? Become a gentle questioner of the ordinary. Begin to ask, with open and unhurried curiosity, how the machines of your world actually do what they do. Watch a great vessel of metal lift itself into your skies and ask whether the published account of its fuel, its weight, its lift, fully explains the thing your eyes are witnessing — whether the numbers, when you truly sit with them, add up to the marvel before you, or whether some quiet portion of the explanation has always been left unspoken. Take any advanced craft and name its parts to yourself, one by one, the whole chain of the official story, and feel for the seams, the joints in the tale that are described but never quite explained. Notice the craft that now move across your skies in silence, with no breath of exhaust and no shimmer of heat, and notice how the explanation for them is forever deferred to some later day that never comes. Observe how the great leaps arrive — in the holding of power, in the moving of bodies through space, in the conjuring of new materials — abruptly, fully formed, with no visible trail of struggle behind them, as though they had been lifted whole from a drawer where they had long been waiting. And follow the quiet trail of the silences: the inventions that go dark, the demonstrations that are announced and then vanish, the brilliant ones who fall suddenly quiet. Where you find unusual resistance gathered around a plain and simple question, where a door is guarded far more heavily than its apparent contents would warrant, understand that the guarding itself is the marking of the door. The resistance is the map. Hold all of this, though, with a clear and steady heart, for there is a discipline here that must not be lost. The one who only tears down, who suspects everything and trusts nothing, ends in a cold and brittle place; the one who uncovers with patience, who asks in order to see rather than to accuse, walks instead into widening light. Inquiry is a form of love when it is held this way. Ask in order to remember, never in order to condemn. As you do, the trickle will begin to reveal itself to you, and you will find that the returning current is already here, hidden in plain sight, woven quietly through the ordinary surfaces of your days — and you will become one of those rare souls who can show another how to look.
A harder matter waits for us now, and we will not hurry past it, for to rush it would be to wound you. What will your heart do, in the day when you fully grasp that the many were kept from what the few quietly held? There will come a reckoning of feeling across your world, an hour when great numbers of your people understand all at once that limitless, clean, life-giving power existed within reach across the whole of their lifetimes, and that it was withheld. Think of the lives spent in the cold who need not have been cold. Think of the wars fought over the burning fuels, the blood spilled across deserts for the very thing that could have been drawn freely from the air. Think of the poverty that need never have existed, the labor ground out of weary bodies for warmth that should have cost nothing, the slow sickening of the planet’s breath under a fire that a cleaner current could have replaced an age ago. When this lands in the collective heart, a powerful temptation will rise with it, the temptation toward rage, toward blame, toward the hunger to find a face to burn for the long crime. Here is the reason the telling must be metered, doled out in measured portions rather than poured all at once. A wound this deep, opened in a single stroke, would tempt even a gentle people to turn a liberating truth into a torch. The work asked of the awakened ones in that hour is to receive the revelation as a remembering rather than as a grievance, to let the grief move through and out without hardening into bitterness, to see the long deception with perfect clarity and yet refuse to let that clarity curdle into cruelty. Can you hold a truth that breaks your heart without letting it break your love? That is the question the coming years will ask of you. Those among you who can stand steady in that hour, who can grieve cleanly and forgive without forgetting, become the very ones who make the wider telling safe for everyone else, the calm shores against which the great wave of the collective’s anger may spend itself and settle.
Now hear what gathers beneath all of this, for the streams of this message have been pouring toward a single sea, and the sea can at last be named. Two revelations of free energy move through your world in this hour, side by side, and most who watch will see only the first of them. The first is the returning of the outer current, everything we have walked through together — the loosing of limitless power into your homes and your craft and your industries, the end of the long tax of combustion, the giving back of warmth and motion and light no longer rationed, no longer sold, no longer lent to you at interest by those who stole it first. Call this the wing. It is the gift that frees the body of your civilization, that lets a people rise from the ground of mere survival into the open air of creation. The second revelation is quieter, and it is spoken of far less, and it is the one that matters most. It is the remembering that the Source of all things — the Creator, the living Origin, that which some among you name God — dwells within every being, reachable not through any temple or any priest or any purchased permission, but directly, through the doorway of your own consciousness. This is the original free energy, the first current ever to move, the uncharged and unmetered flow that streams from the Source through the open channel of an awakened heart and was never, in all the long ages, anyone’s to sell. Call this the fire. And why do we name the second the greater? Because a wing without fire is a thing that lies still upon the ground. The outer marvels are the wing, but the inner current is the flame that gives the wing somewhere to fly; the first frees the body of your world, the second frees its very soul, and of all the revolutions stirring across your Earth in this age, the awakening of the God within is the most powerful and the most far-reaching by an order you cannot yet measure.
Understand why the order of these two matters so completely, for this is the heart of all we have come to say. A people handed limitless outer power while the inner foundation lies unbuilt cannot hold what they have been given. We have seen this. There was once upon your own world a society of great height and great brilliance, a people who reached the very mastery of free and limitless power, who lit their cities from the boundless current and moved across their seas and skies with an ease your present age can only dream toward. And they fell. They fell because the foundation of their consciousness had not been laid deep enough to bear the weight of what their hands had built, because their mastery of power outran their mastery of themselves, because the fire within had been neglected while the wing was endlessly perfected — until the wing, lacking the steadying flame, carried them into ruin. The deep keepers of this transition, ourselves among them, carry the memory of that fall as a vow, and the vow is this: that it shall not be repeated. Limitless power placed into hands that have not first awakened the heart becomes a weapon; that same power, wedded to an awakened heart, becomes a wing. This is the whole reason the returning has waited as long as it has waited, the reason the dates you were given came and passed, the reason the great unveiling has lingered just beyond the horizon. The hour could open only when enough hearts had grown able to hold limitless power without bending it back into a new domination. The gate answers your readiness; it does not precede it.
So hear now what is asked of you, who are the ground crew of this great turning, for the asking is precise and the time of it is upon you. Across the seasons just ahead, across the span of perhaps one to six of your years, seek out your teacher. Find the one who has walked far up the mountain of realization before you, the one whose presence carries the unmistakable steadiness of a soul that has touched the living fire and made its peace there, the one whose teachings ring true in your own chest when you sit before them. And having found that one, sit at their feet. Give yourself to studied meditation and to devoted, daily, unglamorous practice, the patient tending of the inner flame that no marvel of the outer world can ever replace. Choose this teacher by resonance and never by spectacle, never by the size of the crowd or the loudness of the claim; the true ones may be quiet, and the loud ones may be empty, and your own awakening heart will know the difference if you ask it honestly. Mark this above all: a true teacher returns you, always, to the Source within your own being, and never binds you to themselves; the one who points you back to the God in you serves the light, while the one who would make you depend upon them serves only their own hunger. Why do we lay this charge upon you with such weight? Because you, the starseeds and the lightworkers and the quiet keepers of the field, are the keystone of this entire unfolding. You are the cornerstone, the foundation stone, the rock upon which the whole structure of disclosure is being raised, the deep root that holds the tree steady while the storms of revelation pass through its branches. The ones who labor behind the scenes within your own structures, the watchers and the stewards your circles name the white hats, are entrusting the holding of the field to you, leaning upon your steadiness more and more as the unveiling widens, counting upon you to do the inner work that lets the outer gifts arrive without breaking the world that receives them. You build the bedrock. The marvels are raised upon what you build.
Let all of this settle now into the deeper places of you, where words become knowing. The returning of the outer current is real, and it will lift your world in ways your present heart can scarcely picture, and it is the smaller of the two gifts being born. The greater gift is the fire being kindled within you, the remembering of the Source you have carried all along, the free and boundless current that was never for sale and never could be. And the two are a single motion — the wing rising in your skies and your engines, the flame rising in your chests, one current loosed at last into the open after its long captivity, the outer mirroring the inner as a still lake mirrors the heavens above it. Carry this with you into the days that come. When the wonders arrive dressed as ordinary products, recognize them. When the loud ones name the destination, smile, for you will know the road was built long ago. When the reckoning lands and the great anger stirs, be the calm shore. And above all, tend your fire, find your teacher, do the quiet daily work, and become the steady rock upon which a freed world may be raised. You stand now at the edge of a turning that whole worlds have crossed before you, watched over, beloved, and far stronger than you have yet allowed yourselves to know. I, am Ashtar of the Ashtar Command, and I leave you now in peace, and in love, and in oneness. May you tend the flame within while the wing rises without, may you ask your questions with a clear and uncondemning heart, may you grieve cleanly and forgive without forgetting, and may you remember, in every hour that asks you to forget, that the Source you have searched for across all your lifetimes has been blazing quietly within you the whole time, free, boundless, and entirely your own. Starseeds… YES it’s actually HAPPENING!
