Lizard People

David Icke + A Tale of Homosexual Demonic Possession

The following is a real story. I have fictionalized it slightly to protect the identity of the people involved and to provide a bit more coherence to a story otherwise very fragmented. I was never told all the lurid details, but some of it I could guess.

The Elephant God

I once knew a man possessed by an elephant spirit.

African. Black. Enormous ears and a skull adorned with gold chains, diadems, and jewels. Sparkling stones hung from piercings in the ears. A giant silver ring on the septum at trunk's end. Jumba he was called. When I asked about the strange name David told me, "Jumba named himself. I didn't come up with it. I don't know what it means."

Jumba.

Jumba the elephant god.

How we got on the topic is a bit of a story. I had known David for many years and spent a lot of time with him because of our shared occupation. Early mornings. Late nights. Remote parts of the country. Hours together in a car. David always knew which elevator was going to open. A small thing sure, but if it happens enough times one can't help but notice. We'd be in an office building, or a hospital, or on a military base, waiting in front of a row of elevator doors. Only one or two sometimes. Others, as many as eight. I began to notice that, before the lights over the doors had a chance to illuminate, and well before any of them would beep, David would inevitably position himself in front of the elevator that would open first. Time after time. Again, and again.

"How do you do that?" I asked one day.

"Do what?"

"How do you always know which door is going to open?"

"Oh," he blushed. He'd been found out. "I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I just do."

It became a joke between us. I'd make fun of him for being psychic, saying that he'd missed his calling to become a regular on Oprah making millions telling white women when to dump their boyfriends. He'd laugh and say I was right.

You know. Nothing major.

But one night after dinner he confessed to me.

"It's a spirit," he said, apropos of nothing. We'd been discussing his new car only moments before.

"What's a spirit?"

"That's how I know which elevator will open. A spirit tells me."

"A spirit tells you which elevator is going to open?"

"Yes."

"That's an oddly specific power."

"He tells me other things too," David responded. "Sometimes I know someone has sent me an email without looking, or that they are about to call or text. I knew when my mother died hours before anyone else did. When her car crashed, before anyone found her. I knew. He's an elephant."

David spoke with the urgent hesitancy of a man who's long kept a secret he's been desperate but too afraid to share.

"An elephant?"

"Yes," David nodded. "In my mind I see him sometimes when he comes to me. He's royalty. Like a Hindu god. His name is Jumba."

My Personal X-Files

I believed him.

The supernatural does not often throw me. Long time followers of mine will know that I have had scrapes with it more than a few times. Ghosts. UFOs. Demons. Miracles. Once in Canada a snowball seemed to "manifest" in mid air before me and hit me in the chest, as if thrown by an invisible imp. David was not the first person to confess cavorting with a spirit to me, nor would he be the last. I do not however think I am "special" or anything. I just tend to notice. Years ago I was hiking at night with a friend and in the sky above us appeared a luminous ribbon far out in space, as if the Earth had temporarily borrowed one of Saturn's rings. My friend and I both saw it. He shrugged and went to bed. I stayed up and stared at it for hours until it finally disappeared. When I asked him about it years afterward he didn't remember such a thing. It simply hadn't mattered to him, so he forgot it.

I think most people "write-off" the supernatural in their lives in a similar way.

Other World is all around us.

We simply don't care enough to notice.

Curious about his powers, I tested David. Over the next few months I put him through something of a ringer of ad hoc psychic tests. I would place objects in a shoebox and ask him to tell me what was inside. I would write numbers on the back of index cards and ask him to tell me what I'd written. I'd think of a place and have him describe it.

"I see water..." he said. His face blank as he reclined in the chair. "Water and maybe a beach. But... not a sandy beach. Rocks and shells. And there are old buildings there. Not ancient but, I don't know, maybe build int he 70s? Rock buildings. There are also trees."

I was sitting beside him in another chair, conjuring up a recent memory of taking my kids to the lake at the local state park. The kind built in the 70s with those pseudo-cobblestone walls.

I am a David Duchovny respecter.

David had powers.

I was convinced.

Clairvoyance, premonition, perhaps even a touch of prophecy.

The thing skeptics get wrong about psychics is believing that these powers belong to the people that exhibit them. They don't. David wasn't the source of this knowledge, Jumba was. And Jumba or a similar spirit might perform and show off for me but it is doubtful he'd do so before a larger audience. Possessing spirits are parasites. Sunlight is not their friend. They are not going to reveal themselves to the masses. They're not, in other words, going to perform like trained monkeys in laboratory settings.

David was a homosexual. He lived with a long-term partner that I will call Julian. Julian did a great deal of cheating and, in return for allowing that to happen, David got to be abusive towards him. Screaming. Yelling. Perhaps even, once or twice, being physically violent.

Maybe even Julian deserved it.

He was always stealing David's money. Trying to sneakily use his credit cards or checks. Large ill-defined purchases frequently appeared on bank statements, which Julian always claimed were car repairs or something similar. He'd disappear for days, sometimes with David's car.

Both, in a perverse way, seemed to enjoy this arrangement. Perhaps it was some sort of "kink".

It wasn't my place to get involved. On the rare occasion my opinion was solicited I told them they ought separate, both because their relationship was abusive and because a homosexual lifestyle is a barrier to salvation. Not an impassable barrier, but a barrier.

My advice wasn't headed.

That's okay.

Julian had spirits too. If they had names he never told me what they were.

I have heard it said that in the occult world they speak of "glimmer children." Children who have "the shine" or "the glow." The belief is that children who are abused are more likely to develop spiritual power, e.g. to be possessed by spirits. Is this true? I don't know, but it does seem like some people believe that. To my estimation this is probably why rumors of satanic cults are never far removed from rumors of sex trafficking and child abuse. True, most of these rumors are probably just rumors. Nonetheless, there has been an awful lot of smoke for there to be no fire. I would wager that the U.S. probably does have an underground satanic ring of child abusers, regardless of how silly "Q-anon" and company made such sound. Julian, to my knowledge, was not a product of such a cult... but he almost might as well have been. The bits and pieces of his past he shared with me did not a pretty picture paint and he too, like his partner, was plagued by visions and supernatural terror. Once he confided in me that he would occasionally wake to see "rivers of cockroaches" streaming across his bed and along his walls, only for the river to vanish whenever he would inevitably scream. He was also prone to fits of self harm, bouts of lunacy, and appeared to be sexually promiscuous to the point of maybe wanting to catch a disease. I met his mother once. Well into her 80s and the survivor of countless diseases, she could not have been less attractive than a rotting corpse wearing lipstick. Nonetheless, she threw herself at every man that moved, grinding in an apparent attempt at seduction against a piano.

It was not hard to see where Julian got his glimmer from.

I write this to convey to you the reality of demonic possession. It's not how it's portrayed in the movies. Not usually anyway. Except in extreme cases, the afflicted individual retains a large degree of self-control. Again, the parasite analogy is apt for rarely to parasites control the whole of their host. They instead rather hang on, nestling themselves in some corner of the gun or the brain, hiding from both the host's immune systems and the stresses upon the host's body.

Parasites are weak.

They can't survive on their own.

They "leech" off their hosts. Take nourishment from them. For this reason they seldom kill them. Indeed, in most cases it is better for the parasite if the host grows fat and well nourished. Nonetheless, the oppression felt by the victim is real.

In like manner, a spiritual parasite seldom takes over the whole person. Spirits occupy niches, just like bacteria do. They take up residence only one or two corners of the host's mind. A spirit of Lust, for example, will drive its host to sexual promiscuity and degradation, the consumption of pornography, and so on, sure. But, when the host is not engaged in those activities they will appear quite normal. Julian was like that. Deeply consumed by porn. Four, five hours a day sometimes. Yet outside of this he was a successful person. Part of the laptop class. Work from home. He was healthy and trim and had a master's degree. He could tell you about classical composers. He liked to reproduce post-modern art in the medium of LEGO.

And yet, despite all that. Everyday. Every damned day.

IT had to have its time.

Julian didn't like IT. He wanted IT gone.

But, at the same time, getting rid of IT felt like killing part of himself. It would have been killing part of himself. A parasite can become so entangled with its host that removing it often comes with the cost of removing large swaths of the host's tissue. It can come to feel like part of the host himself. Like that hideous worm that replaces the tongues of fish. The host can come to identify with his parasite. To think he is demons.

Demonic Possession is kinda like this.

Julian would waffle.

Somedays he would claim complete ownership of his situation. "No, I like the pornography," he would say. "I don't want to stop." Other times he would break down crying. "IT makes me do it. I hate IT."

The educated classes of today would dismiss Julian's language. His personifying of his addiction which they are certain is merely a misproportioned ratio of brain chemicals. This is a dumb thing to do. Heroin knows what it wants. Lust knows what it wants. Alcohol knows what it wants, and not for nothing do we call liquors "spirits". Addictions have desires. Addictions make plans to achieve those desires. Addictions love and addictions hate.

They're alive.

They're alive and they're not part of you.

Sometimes very literally and physically.

What, you think you have a sweet tooth? It's not the bacteria in your gut pressing you to ingest more?

Anyway, Julian felt that what was in him was something else and David did too. Besides that, I don't know of any combination of brain chemicals that grants a man clairvoyance.

Spirits are real.

The Lizard People

David Icke has gotten a lot of hate over the years. A conspiracy theorist amongst conspiracy theorists, his ideas are a bridge too far and beyond the pale even for folks like Alex Jones. Not without reason. Icke's worldview is so far detached from the mainstream that understanding him may be nearly impossible for most people. He is, in his own words, a "renegade mind" and for my part I don't blame anyone for thinking him ridiculous or silly or not worth a moment of their time. I'm not running a David Icke fan club here. However,

He's not wrong about the Lizard People.

If you're unfamiliar with Icke he's the guy who more or less started the meme about lizard people. You know, the idea that, the rulers of this world, the so called "elites", are either in whole or in part something other than human. They were, he theorized, somehow reptilian. As if acting from a kind of cold self-serving rationalism possible only to the pre-mammalian brain. They looked like us. Acted like us. Spoke like us.

But...

They weren't us.

At least not fully.

They were something else. Some other kind of entity. Non-Homo Sapien. Maybe shape-shifters or wearing some kind of very advanced mask. Maybe, maybe, in the dark of night, you might perchance to catch a slit of reptilian pupil for just a moment in their eyes.

Or maybe not.

Either way Icke was and is convinced that "they" are not the same as us.

I'm convinced of it too.

The first depiction of Satan in the Bible is as a serpent. The last depiction is as a dragon. Why exactly is not clear but the historical record of the association between the reptilian and the satanic is obvious. Whether in concrete fact or in a simple metaphorical sense the demonic is closer to the reptile than to the mammalian. Beings which don't understand love or mercy or compassion. Creatures which lack any motivation save for the drive of the stomach. Eat. EAT. "Hungry ghosts."

And,

When a demon has sufficiently integrated itself into a human being,

That human begins to act like a reptile too.

So, if you had a pair of "They Live" sunglasses would Nancy Pelosi or Mitch McConnel appear to have serpent heads?

I doubt it.

Buy hey, you know, anything's possible.

But I do believe that most of the quote unquote "ruling class" is under the sway of the demonic. Driven, as Julian was, by a ferocious and single-minded desire to satiate the baser instincts. I've been told what goes on and Republican Conventions. I know the sort of people who swagger about in Democratic halls. To call such places Dens of Thieves would be generous. Wanton adultery. Publicly decrying abortion whilst having had four of them. Cocaine parties even as they have the police terrorize the poor for using the same. Orgies. Taking bribes to start wars.

Look David Icke might be crazy but he's never been under the illusion that such people care about him. Can you say the same? Can your aunt on Facebook? The girl in HR at your work that still has a "I'm with her" sticker on her car?

The people in Washington are animals. They have made themselves less than human, seeking only power. Only to fill their bellies. Like snakes that is their singular objection. To Acquire More.

But yeah you're the sane one. You who enthusiastically supported blowing up the middle east based on a lie about weapons of mass destruction or Ukraine over a currency war. You're the smart one, sure. Don't worry. The people you idolize went to a rape temple on Epstein's Island, and, even after that's made public knowledge you still treat the institutions as legitimate. So far as I know Icke never supported the biomedical tyranny of covid nor turned on his neighbor for not pulling a mask up over their nose. Icke never supported turning Lybia into an open air slave market in the name of democracy Icke never allowed himself to be hoodwinked into hating people based on the color of their skin, not even into hating "white" people, which is currently very much in fasion.

So.

I ask you.

Who's the crazy one?