The Undergrounders and Salvador Freixedo

[Sindy-S.R]

Thanks to The Cassiopaean Experiment's Substack, I was reminded of an old memory of a book I read about 15 years ago, The Human Farm (They, the Invisible Owners of This Planet) (1988) by Salvador Freixedo.

The Undergrounders Part 1

From Agartha to the Deros to the Cryptoterrestrials

cassiopaea.substack.com

LA GRANJA HUMANA de Salvador Freixedo | Casa del Libro

Consigue LA GRANJA HUMANA de Salvador Freixedo en PDF ¡Entra YA!

www.casadellibro.com

I'm adding information about the author and the book:

Salvador Freixedo (April 18, 1923 – October 25, 2019)[1] was a Spanish Catholic priest and a member of the Jesuit order. A ufologist and researcher of paranormal subjects, he wrote several books on the relationship between religion and extraterrestrial beings and was a speaker at several international UFO congresses in Europe, the Americas, and Asia. He was also a contributor to several parascientific magazines, such as Mundo Desconocido (Unknown World),[2] Karma 7, and Más allá (Beyond),[3] among others. He also appeared in several TV and radio shows dedicated to these subjects.

Salvador Freixedo - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

For those unfamiliar with Salvador Freixedo's work, his approach to the UFO phenomenon is considerably similar to the vision of Laura and the Cassiopaeans.
I suspect that Freixedo, unknowingly, had, through some acquaintances, an indirect relationship with some undergrounders
I believe the book is only available in Spanish. To begin, I'll add the chapter "Lula," translated into English.
In the next few days, I'll publish two more chapters related to encounters with undergrounders.

LULA​

I've known Lula since 1973. I had been invited to speak about my experiences in researching the UFO phenomenon at the home of an English friend, an engineer by profession, in Caracas. For that reason, he had also invited a group of people interested in the subject. One of the guests was Lula, who was supposed to come with her husband, who, although not as interested as Lula, occasionally spoke of very interesting things about these same topics, which showed that he was thoroughly knowledgeable about the subject.

Lula came, but without her husband, and actively participated in the conversation that followed my talk among everyone who had attended. We said goodbye, and at no point did I suspect that precisely at that time she was a direct witness and, in a way, the main character in a very interesting drama in which the other actor was an "extraterrestrial," with all the reservations that this word arouses in me.

It would be almost ten years before I saw Lula again, this time in Madrid, after Antonio José Alés's "Medianoche" program on Cadena SER.

Lula called me saying she wanted to talk to me the next day. During all that time, I had heard from her many times, through mutual friends who began to tell me about her extremely interesting case.

It all began in the early 1970s, at the Carriage Museum in the Royal Palace of Madrid. Lula was taking a vacation to relax from the many tensions she had recently been under due to her poor relationship with her husband. The arguments were almost constant, and the large age difference between them made things even worse. Although she disliked having to be away from her young children for a few days, she decided to leave so she could reflect more fully on the situation and calm down.

That afternoon, the museum was practically empty. Lula had stopped in front of an old landau when she heard the firm footsteps of someone slowly approaching her. As the footsteps drew near, she felt as if a cold knife was being driven vertically down her spine.

But she didn't turn around. She only glanced down to see if she could make out who was standing behind her. She could only make out a man's polished shoes, but she didn't look up to see his face. Shaken by the strong physical impression she had received and at the same time intrigued by who this individual could be who had caused such an inner commotion, she left the place and went out to the garden, sitting on the seat of an old small train that was still running at that time, on a short tour for tourists. She took out a book and began to read.

After a while, the stranger approached her and without saying anything, sat in the seat next to her, even though there were many other seats empty, since at that hour they were practically the only visitors to the museum.

Lula felt the same strong sensation run down her spine. But she didn't look up from her book, even though she was frankly annoyed by the stranger's lack of tact. By then, she had realized that he was a young man, extraordinarily tall and very well dressed.

After a few moments, the stranger broke the tense silence:

"Miss, where are you from?"

Lula was tempted to send him to hell, but she held back and said nothing. And again she heard the voice:

"Are you Spanish?"

A long silence. Lula was determined not to exchange a word with that impertinent stranger. But again her voice was heard slowly:

"No. You're not Spanish. Nor French... nor Italian." There was another silence.

"You're Venezuelan!"

Lula jumped like a spring at being thus discovered by someone she had never seen before and who, moreover, was finding him not only unsettling but even repulsive, so bold and inconsiderate. In a hostile manner, as if she didn't believe what he was telling her, she retorted:

"How do you know? And besides, who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am or how I know. The truth is that you are Venezuelan."

"Yes, I am, but I have no intention of speaking to you if you don't tell me who you are and, above all, how you came to know that I am Venezuelan."

The stranger—whom we will call Jorge in the future, although the name he used was not that—said his name, but remained secretive about his origins, defending himself with evasive answers to Lula's questions regarding many details of his life.

The conversation, which had started tense, ended relaxed and much more lively. When, after a good while, it was time to close the museum, they said goodbye politely on the sidewalk. After a few days, Lula returned to his homeland and, after a time, he had completely forgotten about the strange incident at the Carriage Museum.

Several years passed. Lula was hosting a reception at his large house in Caracas and was busy that afternoon attending to the details of the party when he heard that someone was calling on the phone. On the other end was an unfamiliar voice:

"Hello, Lula, do you remember me?"

"Not by voice."

"It's Jorge."

"Jorge? I know several Jorges, and besides, many people are coming to the party today, and I don't know if you're one of them, but I can't remember... Have we ever met?"

"Yes, we have, and we're old friends." Do you remember the visit to the Madrid Coach Museum? Lula instantly remembered the strange incident she had experienced in Madrid several years before, but preoccupied as she was with the night's party, it seemed like bad luck that that strange man had shown up again on that very day. An idea occurred to her:

"Why don't you come to the party tonight so that, besides seeing us, you'll have the chance to meet lots of interesting people? Because I imagine you won't have many friends here in Caracas." "Perfect. I'll be there on time."

When Lula hung up, she congratulated herself for having found such a quick and brilliant solution to the problem. Within five minutes, absorbed in preparing the canapés and other reception details, she had already forgotten about Jorge's call.

It was time for the party. Lula and her husband were welcoming the guests one by one as they arrived. She was greeting one of them at the door when behind her she felt a chilly wind that stabbed her like a dagger down her spine. Instantly she remembered her experience in Madrid. She turned quickly, and there was Jorge smiling at her.

The party ended without anything unusual, except for the extraordinary charm Jorge displayed over everyone attending it, and they said their goodbyes. At the door, he announced that his stay in Caracas wasn't temporary, but that he intended to stay and live there.

From that day on, he began pestering her to divorce the surly, old man she was married to. He constantly repeated, "Get out of that old building," referring partly to the large house she lived in, located in one of the best residential neighborhoods in the capital, and partly to her husband, who, as we said, was several years older than her.

At first, Lula didn't listen, but as the arguments and differences with her husband grew, she ended up getting divorced, later establishing a relationship with Jorge, which culminated in marriage a little over a year later.

Based on everything said so far, we have no right to suspect that Jorge was anything other than an ordinary human being and to equate him with the strange entities we are referring to in this book. But we know much more about him, told not only by Lula but also by his family and friends. And while it's true that none of them suspected he could be a "non-human," they were still very surprised by his strange qualities.

I've already told the reader how my opportunity to meet him personally was thwarted when he didn't want to accompany Lula to an evening at a friend's house, where I spoke about topics he probably knew much more about than I did. He wasn't a fan of frequenting gatherings or making new friends. But if he ever attended a gathering, he would almost certainly become the center of attention and the talk show host. He gave the impression that he knew everything, and not with superficial knowledge, but with the details worthy of a professional in the field.

There are many reasons why a scholar of these matters might have suspected that he was a "non-human," and Lula keeps them well in his memory, just as he told me in a long conversation that I have recorded on several tapes.

After her marriage to Jorge and in her close relationship with him, Lula began to discover things that amazed her every day. These strange qualities of her husband not only did not prevent her from being very close to him, but she confessed to me that she was completely in love.

"As a husband, he was perfect. He treated me with great affection and at the same time with great respect. Sometimes he looked at me as if I were a little girl, and in reality, I felt that way, seeing his great superiority in everything."

"With my two children (from my first marriage), he was an ideal father. I think he understood them better than I did. They loved him very much and at the same time respected him. He fully understood their needs and desires.

There came a time when, faced with so many extraordinary things Lula saw her husband do, she didn't know what to think." She never thought he was an "extraterrestrial"—a term that was very fashionable in Venezuela at the time—but on more than one occasion, she asked him, half-jokingly, half-seriously, where he was from or where he had come from. He always told her the same thing: he was a descendant of Italians who had come to South America in search of better opportunities. Indeed, he used an Italian surname that was quite common in Argentina. And when Lula became impertinent, urging him to tell her who his parents were and where he had acquired so much knowledge and so many abilities, he told her not to be so curious and, with a few jokes, got around it. But he never implied that he wasn't human. Rather, he tried to make people believe he was, and in a way, he tried to preempt any small doubts she might have about his actions that surpassed all human limits.

His life was normal in some ways, but in others, it was far from it. The source of his income was a book import-export company that had one storefront and a few employees. Jorge treated it as a secondary matter in his life and gave the impression that he cared little whether things were going well or badly, although he never lacked money or complained of financial difficulties.

His extraordinary qualities were both psychological and physical. Regarding the former, he used precognition as a matter of course. On many occasions, he foresaw and predicted what was going to happen and adhered to his behavior accordingly, not doing things he had previously done or doing something in advance that, due to predicted events, he would later be unable to do.

There are many facts he could recount. One day, as they were driving along the highway, Jorge suddenly began to urgently tell Lula, referring to a truck about two hundred meters ahead of them on a steep slope:

"Look at that truck! Look closely!"

Lula stared at the truck. Several long moments passed, and seeing nothing unusual, she asked, intrigued:

"I can't see anything. What's going on?"

"Look! It's going to crash!"

A few more moments passed until, suddenly, a car pulled off the side of the road and the truck, despite braking sharply, slammed into the road, then overturned. It was a serious accident, and had Jorge continued at the speed he was traveling, he would have been involved, as he would have been overtaking it at that moment. How did he know the truck was going to crash without any sign that the other vehicle was coming from the side?

Lula can recount countless incidents like this.

Sometimes, when we were traveling at high speed on the highway, he would stop abruptly, and when I, frightened, asked him what was happening, he would calmly reply: "Something was going to break." He would get out; lift the hood, fix it quickly, and we would continue our journey. His driving style would have been suicidal for a normal human being. He was more like flying than racing. At first, Lula was reluctant to ride with him because of the panic he felt, fearing that at any moment they would crash. She begged him to slow down. He obeyed for a while, and in part, always saying not to be afraid, that nothing would happen. But after a while, the car was hurtling again, at nearly 200 km/h, on bad roads. This was so normal that Lula became accustomed to it, especially after repeatedly witnessing how he knew how to navigate the most difficult situations and always emerge unscathed where other drivers would have perished. It seemed as if the distances were shortened, and Lula assured me that on several occasions they made the trip from Caracas to Barquisimeto in three hours, something completely impossible for a normal driver. She was also amazed at how a car with such low power—a Valliant—was capable of reaching such tremendous speeds for such a long time.

As for his physical qualities, he gave the impression of having been raised in the water and belonging to that element.

"When we went to the beach, it was a spectacle to watch him swim." On the roughest days, when no one dared to enter the water because of the strong undertow and the violence of the waves, Jorge would calmly go into the sea, disappearing beneath the large waves and reappearing in a sea of foam ever further from the shore.

"At first, I was very scared, but given his confidence and seeing that he always came back without any problems, I ended up giving up on him going in and out of the water. On one occasion, when one of the lifeguards saw him off the beach at a hotel entering a very rough sea and going into the water, he ran to me, knowing that I was his wife, and told me that this was crazy and that I should signal him to come back immediately because he was in great danger. I calmed him down and told him not to worry because my husband was a real fish, and I had done the same thing on many other occasions. He couldn't believe it and walked away, protesting that he wouldn't be held responsible if anything happened.

"Sometimes it took him hours to return, and I couldn't see him anywhere, even when I looked for him with binoculars. Sometimes I saw him more than a kilometer out to sea, returning to the beach, swimming at a good speed, in places where sharks abound. I usually took my bath and then sat down quietly to read, for which I was well prepared because I knew my wait could be long.

"When he arrived, he would come up to me, caress me, and ask me affectionately how I had done, and then the second part of the spectacle would begin, even more extraordinary than the first and at least much more visible. Often, people who had realized that this man had braved the fury of the waves for more than two hours on days when no one went to the beach would come closer to see him up close, but they were even more astonished when they saw him routinely practicing his exercise that we could call "post-swimming."

"He would say to me: 'Lulita, I'm going to warm up a little.' And he would begin to run the length of the beach. At first, he would start by trotting with long strides, but gradually his speed would increase until it was comparable to that of a racehorse at full gallop. People, from the seawall and from the road that ran parallel to the beach, were amazed by "that thing" they saw zoom by, covering the two or three kilometers of beach in less than two minutes. Upon reaching the rocks at the far end, without stopping at all, it would turn back and do the same route at the same speed. It crossed the beach several times in both directions, and it was so striking that cars would stop to watch it, and people would get out and approach the sand to see up close the person running at such speed. Anything I can tell you on this matter is less than true.

Lula continues to tell the tale, and although several years have passed and Jorge is no longer in this world, you can still see his enthusiasm when he recalls the exploits of the one who was his perfect companion.

"And note that this was done by a man who had just been swimming nonstop for two hours or more in cold ocean water, and it was done by someone who didn't have lungs!"

Lula's statement made me raise my eyebrows. She, noticing my surprise, told me she would explain a little later how she knew such a strange detail about his anatomy.

I was surprised when she told me she had a photo of Jorge. As I've already said, these individuals from other dimensions don't like being photographed and manage to prevent anyone from doing so, and if they do, to prevent the photos from appearing. Although the truth is that having just one photograph of such a beloved husband is rather strange, when the logical thing to do is to have several dozen of them in all positions and from different periods.

But it seems Jorge made an exception and believed it was enough to leave one for his wife. In many other cases where there has been a strong bond between a "non-human" and a human, the former, despite the friendship, has refused to leave or allow any photos for his friend.

Naturally, I asked him to let me see it. Jorge appears in it seated, with his long legs crossed, not completely facing forward, but turned sideways, so that his eyes are not visible. Once again, it seems that he didn't want the camera to focus on him head-on and capture his eyes. Otherwise, his features are unremarkable. You'd think he might have some Indian blood, given the tone of his skin and his black hair. Lula, quite rightly, treasures his only photo.

The reader will be intrigued to know what ended Jorge's union with Lula, since we have said in the previous lines that Jorge was no longer in this world.

Shortly after their marriage, Jorge began to complain about the severe air pollution he breathed. He said it was seriously damaging his health. Lula suggested they buy a house on the outskirts of the city, where the air was much purer. Jorge, incomprehensibly to Lula, replied: "It's not the city air itself that's hurting me. It's the atmosphere." Lula didn't understand the distinction at the time. Because of this "atmospheric pollution," Jorge sometimes felt very ill. He would become cyanotic and lie in bed at full length, remaining completely motionless for a long time. Then he would grab a small bottle he always carried with him, uncork it, and hold it to his nose, remaining there for a few moments. When he removed the bottle and recapped it, he would sit up in bed, as if he had come back to life; he spoke completely normally, and no one would have guessed that a minute earlier he had shown signs of dying.

Before going any further, let's say that this mysterious little bottle served on more than one occasion to test her husband's clairvoyance. He had told her very kindly that if she ever saw the bottle anywhere (which was highly unlikely because Jorge always carried it with him), she should not be tempted to open it, much less smell it. And this without exception. He made her promise, and Lula had promised it wholeheartedly, and she kept her promise on the very few occasions she had the opportunity to break her word.

But since we humans are what we are, and as the saying goes, "temptation makes a thief," one time Jorge was lying in bed in his room. Lula entered the bathroom and saw the intriguing, tiny bottle on the sink. Although she was determined to keep the promise she had made to her husband, she couldn't help but wonder what mysterious substance could be in such a small bottle that was capable of performing the miracles she had witnessed so many times. She took it in her hands and was observing it closely when she heard Jorge's voice say:

"Lulita, what are you thinking? Bring me the bottle and stop thinking about things."

Jorge's breathing difficulties became increasingly frequent and severe. He never followed Lula's suggestions that he see a specialist and never missed a doctor's visit. He was somewhat allergic to doctors, and at home he was the one who treated the children's minor ailments and his own, except for those related to breathing. His condition wasn't exactly asthma or anything like that; he always complained about the same thing: the air in the atmosphere was bad for him, even though it wasn't contaminated by fumes and gases.

One day, after several attacks from which he emerged in the usual way, he fell into a kind of coma from which it seemed he would never emerge, as time passed and he didn't regain consciousness or show any signs of life, as he had done so many times. At this point, Lula called an ambulance, and they took him to a clinic for the first time. There, given the symptoms Lula explained to the doctors, they performed a lung X-ray. When the doctor saw it, he rebuked the X-ray technician and told him to pay more attention to what he was doing, because the film was poorly taken and useless. The technician defended himself and said that he had taken it with the utmost care and that this was what it showed. When he took the second film, the technician himself was surprised to see that the film was completely abnormal. He took another and another until the doctor himself was convinced that the subject had no lungs. The only thing visible in the lower corner of the film was a strange tissue that had nothing to do with human lungs. Several doctors, extremely surprised by what they were seeing for the first time in their lives, carefully examined the films and, with complete certainty, decided to attend the man's autopsy if he died, to see how he had been able to oxygenate his blood despite lacking lungs. But the individual was still alive.

In the hospital room, Lula never left his side, sometimes assisted by his mother and a private nurse. Once admitted, he never regained consciousness. His breathing became more labored, until, in the presence of one of the doctors attending him, he stopped breathing. The doctor, already intrigued by what he had seen on the X-ray, took all his vital signs and was absolutely certain that the patient had indeed died.

Lula, following instructions Jorge had given him, did not allow an autopsy to be performed, leaving the doctors with the desire to see firsthand the extremely strange anomaly they had detected on the X-rays.

Shortly before the outcome, the bed had been moved about two-quarters away from the wall so that Lula could stand at the head of the bed without disturbing the doctor and nurse who were caring for him from the other side.

When Jorge, according to the doctor, had expired, Lula hung around his neck and remained there for a long time. Having accepted the trance and recovered from her initial emotion, she sat up, ready to leave the narrow corridor where she was against the wall and move to the other side. When she tried to get out through the back of the bed, which was about twenty centimeters from the wall, she became entangled in the sheets and bedspreads, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't untangle the tight knot they had formed. When she tried to move them aside, she found that what was preventing her from getting out was not the tangled bedspreads and sheets, but her husband's feet, which reached the wall. She looked at his head, and it was hitting the headboard. Jorge had grown twenty centimeters since his death in five or seven minutes! The corpse was well over two meters tall. The doctors once again had the opportunity to see that when it comes to anatomy and health, not everything is covered in their textbooks.

As for the mysterious little bottle we mentioned in the previous lines, something very strange happened to it. Jorge was now dead, but the bottle was, as usual, on the nightstand within reach. Well, at one point, without anyone touching it, as if obeying an order, it slowly began to rise, in full view of everyone present (who later had no difficulty testifying to this), and once in the air, at a height of about two meters, it opened itself, and everyone saw a kind of vapor emerge from inside and dissipate into the air. Then, obeying the law of gravity, it violently fell vertically to the ground, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. When those present bent down to see what remained of the small bottle, even though they knelt down to search for the fragments, they were unable to find a single one.

As Lula tells it, if we were to recall strange anecdotes from Jorge's life, we'd be endless, because on a thousand occasions, he would surprise those present by quite naturally doing things that clearly exceeded human capabilities. Often, out of politeness or lack of trust, people would pretend not to notice. But Lula could see on countless occasions how those present, without saying anything, would put on faces of astonishment when Jorge guessed their thoughts or did in their eyes, as if it were normal, something that was clearly impossible.

Months before his death in the clinic, Jorge had begun to tell Lula that he "would be gone soon." He never spoke of dying, and when Lula, distressed by his cabalistic phrase "going soon," asked him what he meant by that, he always answered by repeating the same phrase and evasively. In his final days, when he was already feeling very ill due to his problems "with the air"—as he called it—he had hired a nurse who also treated him in the hospital. He had given this same nurse precise instructions "for when he left." The first of all was to send her to buy some wide, long bandages similar to those we see on the mummies of the pharaohs. In addition to this, he had instructed his wife very carefully what she was to do with his body when the time came to leave. He told her to cross his arms folded over his chest and to place seven silver coins in each closed hand. In this position, they had to wrap him in the long bandages he had ordered from the nurse and which were already in Lula's possession at the time of his death. This was how they shrouded him, the whole body wrapped in the bandages, just as we see on the mummies of the pharaohs.

Between this and the exaggerated length of the coffin, its appearance when it was lying in the funeral home was, according to those who visited it, truly impressive.

All these events happened eight years ago, and Lula told me that he wanted to exhume Jorge's remains once the legally required time had passed. But, more specifically, Lula believes it won't be a normal exhumation because he is certain, apparently based on something Jorge told him, that when the coffin is opened, absolutely nothing will be found inside.

Just over a year ago, the author had an appointment with Lula to attend the exhumation of Jorge's remains, but Lula didn't show up. And this is the sinister, or at least incomprehensible, aspect that so often accompanies or culminates the relationships between the "gods" and mortals. Lula has disappeared, or at least has been lost from the sight of all those who have known her for a long time.

Accompanied by two friends who have known her for many years and who also knew Jorge, I spent an entire afternoon trying to find her in Caracas. We tried to contact her mother and old friends but couldn't get any leads. No one knows where she's gone, although, given her way of acting, it wouldn't be surprising if she were on some strange adventure in Egypt or the Middle East, in which she experienced phenomena as strange and inexplicable as those that had happened to her on a previous one.

The reason for this trip may have been some "apparition" of Jorge telling her to drop everything and go where he told her to, just as happened when we last saw each other in Madrid, back in 1983.

According to Lula, some time before we met, one night she woke up as if someone was calling her, and when she opened her eyes she saw Jorge's face next to her. Internally, he felt that Jorge was speaking to him, telling him to leave Madrid and return to his homeland, as he had an important mission to accomplish there. As soon as he perceived these words, the vision vanished. Jorge's order was not easy to follow, since at that time Lula was living with his children in Madrid, where he had a very good, well-paid job, and in Caracas, he had nothing secure and it would be very difficult for him to find a job as good as the one he had in Madrid. However, faced with such an explicit order, given in such a "supernatural" way, he didn't hesitate; he quit his job, upcycled the nice apartment he had in an elegant neighborhood of Madrid, near the Bernabeu stadium, and went to live in Caracas.

And this was where Lula's troubles began. From the moment he arrived, things began to go wrong for him. First, he couldn't find any job comparable to the one he had in the Spanish capital, and in fact, he didn't find any worthwhile one, so he began to experience financial difficulties, which he had been free from until then.

He also had health problems, and what was worse, he had some serious family problems involving one of his sons, which caused him great anguish and problems, even with the law, so he had to spend quite a bit of money.

As a result of all these tribulations, and I believe that in part because Jorge's abandonment couldn't be explained, since the mission he had spoken about was nowhere to be seen, Lula disappeared from the scene, and the exhumation of Jorge's body couldn't be carried out. However, I don't despair of being able to attend it one day and see for myself that there is nothing there, just as Lula assures us will happen.

One explanation for such an unexpected outcome could be this: the Jorge who appeared in the apparition was not the same person who had lived with Lula; it was a meddling entity that played on Lula's credulity and feelings.

Lula, in my opinion, was too naive in the face of such an irrational and illogical request as leaving Madrid when she was so well-off with her children. When she told me of her desire to uproot her house and leave for Venezuela without having anything permanent there and with the social and economic conditions in that country deteriorating sharply, my reaction was negative. I thought that in her case, I wouldn't do it without first making sure I wasn't taking a leap of faith, as in fact happened.

"Don't completely surrender your mind to anyone," as I advise in "Let's Defend Ourselves from the Gods," is something that all contactees should always keep in mind, but unfortunately, they don't, because their minds are usually completely controlled. Lula was completely determined and sure of what she was going to do, and she also felt that if she didn't do it, she would be, in a way, being unfaithful to Jorge. That's why I preferred not to interfere or cast doubt on what she was determined to do, respecting her mistaken decision. Besides, I had no idea how things would turn out. However, the fact that Jorge told her that "he had a mission to fulfill in Caracas" put me quite on guard.

Whenever I hear a contactee say that they have been told that "he has a mission to fulfill," I suspect there's a trap and that those communicating with them are not to be trusted. It seems that some of these entities have a compulsion to speak to their chosen ones about "missions to fulfill" or that "they are necessary." And it could also be that these messages are simply a technique to, supported by human psychology, gain greater control over their minds.

I think we can't stress enough all kinds of mystics, contactees, and psychics, who must always be very on guard against the interference of these "mocking entities" — let's remember the activities of the jinn — who know how to camouflage themselves very well in place of others and give the impression of being the originals.

The reader will be wondering to what extent all these things are credible. But on the other hand, I imagine that if you've read this far in this book, you must already be cured of fear and have a mind more willing to accept such facts than if it were the first time you'd heard such unusual things. Throughout the book, you will have seen that things happen in the world, both small and large, that are far from ordinary.

Regarding the events described in this chapter, while it is true that Lula is the main source of information, the fact that Jorge lived with well-known people and in a specific location means that we are not dealing with conjectures or abstract ideas but with concrete events.

Furthermore, to support some of these facts, and specifically the sudden growth of Jorge's body and what happened to the famous small bottle at the time of his death, there are testimonies from the nurse who treated him, Lula's mother, and one of the doctors who was present when the incident occurred. I was unable to witness any of these extraordinary events firsthand, and I have to make do with the accounts of these people, and especially those of Lula, whom I know well enough to be able to assure you that she is a serious woman with no desire for prominence. Obviously, she gains nothing from what she has told me and instead exposes herself to being the target of indiscreet commentators and investigators. Therefore, she begged me not to give her full name or give too many specific clues so as not to be easily located. Unfortunately, today this has become a reality, and Lula is untraceable, even for those of us who are her friends. I hope it is only temporary and that I will soon be able to attend the exhumation of her husband's body with her, to witness his empty grave firsthand.