http://www.mindspring.com/~hellfire/bishop/
Interview with Terry R. Wriste June 24, 1994
[“The Law of the Battle of Conquest” section presented previously is, essentially, the work of our friend and sometimes comrade-in-arms, who goes by the name “Terry R. Wriste.” This interview was recorded during our most recent encounter.]
Allen H. Greenfield: Terry, when we first met I certainly knew that “Terry R. Wriste” was a nom de guerre, because you were then writing rather inflammatory stuff about guerrilla warfare and revolution, and what-not. It never occurred to me to apply the cipher to your name, because I’ve known you so long, but Frater 99 of QBLH broke it down, not knowing you, and TERRY R WRISTE, he points out, has a cipher value of 192, as in SECRET MASTER.
Terry R. Wriste: Um? So?
AHG: So, have I been dealing with a Secret Chief all these years?
TRW: C’mon. You know how I got into this stuff. It was the Shaver thing and -
AHG: O.K. So, let’s take this from there. You met Dick Shaver in?
TRW: That’d be 1961 or ‘62. Anyhow, Ray Palmer was then reprinting a lot of the Shaver stuff from the 1940s, about the hidden world, which Shaver claimed was the survival of an antediluvian civilization that had moved inside the Earth, while Palmer and others thought this was more esoteric, something fourth dimensional or whatever.
AHG: I thought it was charming mythology, kind of the “demons” of the Shadow Mind vs. the Self in Jungian terms. NICAP told me it was all bunk, so, naturally, I wrote the guy.
TRW: Well I read the stuff Palmer was publishing, plugged into you, and you were by then corresponding with Dick. You also had a collection, as I recall, of old Amazing Stories with Shaver stuff.
AHG: No, the collection was later, late sixties.
TRW: Anyhow, Dick got into trouble with the law, skipped Wisconsin and went into hiding. Oddly, it was during that lost period when you were the only one publishing new stuff by him, that I got his address and got involved with the little group of dedicated guerrillas who had decided, in a most unmetaphysical way, to take the best weaponry they could “into the caves” as Shaver would have it, and blow the mind controlling bastards up. Dick had given several previous groups directions, and they had gone. Mostly [they] didn’t come back, but a few did, and I met a few, including one World War Two vet who had been with a team that entered a so-called “cave” located, and get this, near Dulce, New Mexico, under the Archuleta Mesa.
AHG: Isn’t that now said to be a joint Gray Alien-Human base?
TRW: You bet. I doubt there was anything there of the sort in 1948, though, and this guy and his team went through a door, and down what seemed to be an old -VERY old -elevator shaft, into a city beneath the Earth, found the Dero - this is what I was told - blew up some machinery, got Rayed and mostly zombied, killed a few DERO types, and retreated back the way they came in. It was surprise that probably saved their asses, the few that came back.
AHG: Did you believe the story?
TRW: ‘Course not. But, I figured, this could be an artifact of something real, and Shaver gave us a couple of locations right here in the South that, he said, were en- trances to the caves.
AHG: Right. I investigated both. One was Brown Mountain, North Carolina, and I found plenty of UFO witnesses there, including this guy, Ralph something, that claimed he had been inside the mountain, and whisked off from there to outer space. Quite a yarn. I went there with Gene and Geneva Steinberg once, and with Jim Moseley and his daughter Betty and Tim Beckley, on Christmas Eve, in 1968 as I recall. The other entrance dates back into Cherokee Indian legend of the entrance to Fairyland, Magonia, or whatever-you-call-it. It was the home of the Yum-Wee- Chum-Dee, the Little Men, and was near Tallulah Falls in North Georgia. I searched for years for that entrance. Up where Deliverance was filmed.
TRW: You can see it
AHG: Excuse me?
TRW: The entrance. You can see it clearly in the background in one of the rafting scenes in Deliverance.
AHG: Coincidence?
TRW: Who knows? Shaver told you the general idea. He also sent you a map. AHG: What map?
TRW: Thought you had all this figured, didn’t you? Remember those rocks he sent you with the pictures in them?
AHG: Sure. They did contain interesting images; they seemed, as I said at the time, like holograms, especially when sectioned and made into 35mm slides. Shaver claimed they were the Record of the antediluvian civilization on Earth, literally preserved in stone.
TRW: When I got ahold of them, I resectioned the rocks, used an overhead projector and came up, in one of them, with a map of that little area of North Georgia where Tallulah Falls, Toccoa Falls, Brasstown Bald—you know, the Chattahoochee National Forest. The cave entrance is clearly marked.
AHG: So, this ‘map’ includes southern North Carolina, and White County, Georgia?
TRW: Yep. With the entrance marked with a red circle.
AHG: That’s where Peter Davidson, the Frontal Chief of the Hermetic Brotherhood of Light, set up his utopian colony a hundred years ago.
TRW: You bet, and no coincidence. Where was the previous headquarters? In Scotland, right where the Findhorn Colony was later set up, another haven for the little people.
AHG: So, you and a group of paramilitary types sought out the marked entrance and found it Then what?
TRW: A door opened, we went in. We were a lot better armed than the guys in the ‘40s. An odd lot. Recent ‘Nam vets, fugitives from R.Y.M.
AHG: For benefit of younger people, that, more or less, was an armed militant wing of the anti-Viet Nam War movement.
TRW: Exactly. And one guy, the only black guy with us, who was then in the Black Panther Party.
AHG: Quite an odd lot. How many people, all told?
TRW: Ten, in all, plus a photographer who chickened out at that point. He saw the entrance and left.
AHG: So you go in. Then what?
TRW: Practically a replay from the WWII thing. No elevator shaft, but a long downward slope. It got real cold. I still figured that Shaver had been there, that this was some old mining deal right up until I heard the hum.
AHG: Machines? “Mechs,” as Shaver called them?
TRW: Exactly, and, I gather, we were expected. By then we were in a kind of cavern, only, I’d say, artificially hollowed out and illuminated by a greenish glow, defuse; not from a single, identifiable source. Anyhow, the whole area resembled Shaver’s less exotic subterranean story descriptions, and, in more recent terms, some of the modern alien base stories. We were confronted by these small, grayish beings—humanoid only in the technical sense—and one of our guys said “Dero!” and started shooting. He had an M-1 rifle, if I recall.
One shot, and [the little gray being] was illuminated in blue, and just gone. Then there was a sound, and I felt my own gun, an M-16, get unbearably hot I dropped it, turned to run, and was confronted by two of these little gray-skinned guys with a net. Whatever had convinced me my rifle was hot had ap- parently not focused on my pistol, a vintage Luger, and one of the little net-holders received the last surprise of its life. It kind of exploded, and the other one dropped the net and ran, up the slope, with me suddenly in pursuit. When we got beyond the lighted area, though, it was just gone.
I heard gun fire and explosions behind me, and that god-awful hum, and I continued, pistol in hand, looking around wildly, to go back the way I came. Only three of us ever made it back to the surface. One of them died a year or so later, of leukemia, I think. He was only about 24-25, so maybe there’s a connection.
AHG: What about the other guy?
TRW: Still alive, as far as I know. He has been back twice since; once alone at another entrance not given by Shaver, but traced from legend. The other with a group similar to my own, all of which returned alive, and is now linked with several Cavern guerrilla groups.
AHG: Why haven’t you gone back since?
TRW: For the next year, I was really pretty messed up emotionally. I tried to dissuade you, you’ll recall, from one of your expeditions in search of that same entrance. I kept the “Map Stone” for years, but by then had gotten completely deflected into radical political activity, both here and abroad. I thought I was satisfied for a long time that this was a physical cave, that Shaver had been correct and the metaphysical stuff had nothing to do with it.
And we were, I thought, hopelessly outclassed technologically. I’ve realized that Faerie is neither physical nor metaphysical because I’ve—in the last five years, I’ve seen too many experiments of an occult nature where the same beings have been conjured up and dealt with in a variety of ways. So, this stuff seems on the border of the physical and metaphysical realms, and I’m not sure, to borrow a phrase, that a truly advanced technology could be distinguished from magick.
AHG: So after our political
TRW: Until you came up with this cipher stuff: I was mainly concentrating on the abduction cases, to see if I could actively intercept and intervene. When you turned me on to the cipher stuff: I applied it to the West Virginia cases, and went out and met Indrid Cold.
AHG: That’s the being that Woodrow Derenberger encountered in ‘66 in West Vir- ginia.
TRW: Right You correctly pointed out that the cases rich in funny names, as you call them, contain messages that are meant to be conveyed through media unconsciously, by simply reporting the case. The whole Mothman flap of that period was full of pre- dictive information, and even working on it in the late ‘80s I was able to predict and intervene in several abductions. But the fact that the name “Indrid Cold” that the being gave has a cipher value of 112 in classical New Aeon cipher told me that this was important, because 112 shows up, as you know, over and over in important cases.
I was intrigued by Cold’s statement to Woody that he “comes from a country weaker than yours” which is not so much cipher as simple metaphor for being a native of one of the worlds already conquered by the Grays and their allies. I figured he was a fugitive, and probably looking for contact with others in the know, so he probably lived fairly near the contact point, as a fugitive from the Grays. I looked at 112 in that light, and some of the other cipher values involved.
AHG: So, what did you find?
TRW: His home address, virtually.
AHG: Embedded in the number 112?
TRW: In part; I am going to protect him as much as I can; although he is neither blond nor androgynous, he is what the current UFOlogy jargon calls a “Blond” and he does indeed come from the Procyon System. Like me, he’s been an outlaw all his life. In any case, just from the number 112, a number he gave an unknowing Woodrow Derenberger on a stretch of interstate, taking the context and using The Book of the Law for the deciphering purposes Aiwass and the Third Order intended, I discovered clues in the very fragmentary phrases you regard as “noise” rather than “signal.”
112 = WE ARE ONE, the code phrase that tells you you’re in important territory, but also THY WIFE and LETTER and WORDS AND SIGNS and INK AND BLACK and ALL HOUSE OF GOD and THE WHEEL and I AM 49 PLACE and, as you noted CROSS 52 I FLAP.
AHG: Good stuff What does it mean?
TRW: Like I said, I am leaving other values out I used in order to protect Mr.
Cold, but from this I began looking near the Ohio- West Virginia line, the Mothman
area, for a church (112 also yields ALL HOUSE OF GOD), with a graveyard adja-
cent (AND THE DEAD) near the Kentucky-Ohio-West Virginia border along U.S.
Highway 52.
Near a location where Mothman had literally been sighted flapping
across Highway 52, I found such a Church next to a restaurant called The Wagon
Wheel (THE WHEEL) with a church yard on the other side and an address related
to I AM 49 PLACE; I won’t be more specific. There was one little ramshackle house
with words and signs allover it about colds and stars and the like.
AHG: So you just walked up to the door?
TRW: A guy, with one big difference from the descriptions, walks up, like he had
been waiting; I didn’t knock, and I said, “Mr. Cold, I presume?” He smiled and said,
“My friends call me Indrid.”
AHG: Let me guess, he was a black guy. The Blonds can be black.
TRW: The Blonds is a conceit started by Adamski and Ric
Williamson. They have the same racial features and range we do, and can project features
at will, as Cold did for Derenberger, in the interest of security. Ric Williamson, I
guess, believed all that Nordic-Aryan race crap from the Nazis. How’d you guess?
AHG: 112 equals INK AND BlACK, so it was just a guess.
TRW: Very good. We had a long talk, and he and his little group are really isolated
fugitives. Their messages were primarily a distress signal, but to this date none of their
own have shown up, and they continue to lay low. The story Cold told me is the basic
one you hear, how much I believe I don’t know, but they speak of being over run by
the Grays and other more serious Deep Aliens working for the Negatives. The most
unusual point was his claim that they had been invited to take refuge on Earth by
the Third Order—humans and post humans who are advanced enough to qualify as
Earth’s representatives in space-based governments. But Indrid Cold, or whoever he
is, hasn’t heard from the Third Order, either. I think he may have moved on, but I will
continue to conceal some details until I know he is safe, as I promised.
AHG: I respect that, but let me make one guess, just to see if I get the pattern. 112
= THY WIFE. Does that refer to Cold’s wife, called KIMI by Derenberger? And does
the cipher value of Kimi provide additional clues?
TRW: Right. This was a distress beacon, disguised as a contact episode. The whole
Mothman thing was a distress beacon that failed.
AHG: So the whole mystery can be decoded in this way?
TRW: Probably.
AHG: So are you a Secret Chief?
TRW: That would be telling.