Chapter 56 - Simon Parkes

Around 2017, something else happened that added another layer of complexity to my growing sense of the extraordinary. I stumbled upon the work of Simon Parkes, a man whose beliefs and teachings resonated deeply with what I had been experiencing. Simon, for those who don’t know, is a fascinating figure—a man who claims to have had contact with extraterrestrial beings, specifically the Mantid beings.

It was an odd pairing—Philip Schofield, the daytime TV presenter who would later fall from grace, hosting a conversation about aliens. It seemed like a setup for ridicule. But Simon came across so calmly, so genuinely, that I couldn’t help but believe him. His words weren’t tinged with the sensationalism that so often accompanies these kinds of stories. He wasn’t trying to sell anything or make himself a profit. It was almost as though he was simply sharing his truth with the world.

And what he spoke about—the Mantid beings, the messages he’d received—it felt like it was speaking to something deeper in me. Here was a man who wasn’t just talking about old wives' tales or typical paranormal experiences. He was discussing a broader, more intricate cosmic reality that made sense in a way that nothing had before.

I found myself drawn to his teachings, and soon enough, I started attending his Connecting Consciousness sessions in London. They were incredibly thought-provoking, more so than anything I had encountered up until then. Each meeting left me questioning everything I thought I knew about reality. It wasn’t just about alien beings; it was about human consciousness, the nature of existence, and how we all connect to the universe in ways we might never fully understand.

What impressed me most about Simon’s work wasn’t just his knowledge, but the fact that he was reaching a growing audience. He had, and still has, over a million followers these days. His sessions and teachings have become a beacon for people like me—people who are looking for answers, trying to understand what lies beyond the surface of our everyday lives.

Simon’s work, in many ways, was a turning point for me. It wasn’t just a new belief system—it was a new way of seeing the world. It was an invitation to step outside the ordinary and embrace the extraordinary, to see ourselves as part of something much larger than we could ever imagine. And as I delved deeper into his teachings, it became clearer to me that my journey, my experiences, and the strange coincidences I’d encountered were all leading me somewhere. The universe, or whatever force was behind it, wasn’t just a backdrop for my life. It was an active participant, guiding me, nudging me forward, even when I didn’t understand where it was taking me.

After many months of attending Simon Parkes’ Connecting Consciousness sessions, I began to feel like something was missing. While I appreciated the insight and wisdom I had gained from the group, something about it felt out of sync with the evolving nature of my understanding. It wasn’t quite resonating with me in the way it had in the beginning. I realised that the information and concepts being discussed were starting to feel a bit out of date, at least compared to what I was reading and discovering elsewhere.

One thing that had truly captivated me during this period was the information coming from ZetaTalk. The Zetas, their messages, and the language of their teachings resonated deeply within me. The more I read, the more I realised that the community and the messages from ZetaTalk were on a whole other level of understanding. It was as if they had access to the deeper truths that Simon, with all his knowledge, couldn’t quite tap into. ZetaTalk didn’t just offer insight—it explained things that were unfolding around me in real time. Things most people hadn’t even started to question. Like the sudden rise in plane crashes…

So, I made the decision to leave the group. I wanted to immerse myself in the deeper, more direct connection that ZetaTalk offered. I felt a pull toward their community, towards the messages they were sharing, and I yearned to find others who felt the same way. I had hoped to find a group of like-minded people who were not just curious but deeply invested in the knowledge and teachings of the Zetas.

The problem was, when I brought up ZetaTalk, even in passing, I was met with confusion. I remember being astonished by how few people had even heard of it. Here I was, diving headfirst into the Zeta information, convinced it was the next step in my spiritual journey, and most of the people in the Connecting Consciousness group had no idea what I was talking about.

I was too polite to press the issue, to demand answers about why it wasn’t more widely known, but it struck me as odd. Why hadn’t this message reached a wider audience? How could these people who were so dedicated to their spiritual growth be unaware of the Zetas, who seemed to be on the brink of revealing the answers to some of the deepest questions of our existence?

Despite my quiet frustration, I was determined. I needed to connect with others who knew, who understood. I craved those discussions that would link me to others who were also seeking truth beyond the surface. I wanted to find that ZetaTalk group, that circle of souls who were already deep into the messages, ready to share, learn, and explore with me. It was clear to me now: that was where the real answers lay.

It was during one of the one-to-one sessions I’d paid Simon for that something truly extraordinary happened. I had decided to bunk off work for a while, a little act of rebellion, to engage with the universe and, more specifically, with Simon himself. It felt like a moment of deep alignment—a time to truly open myself to the guidance he could provide. I was ready to hear whatever message the universe had for me.

As the session unfolded, Simon spoke with a calm certainty. His words, while never abrupt, seemed to carry a weight that went beyond the ordinary. And then, amidst the exchange, he told me something that hit me like a bolt of lightning, and I’ll never forget it:

"You're not from the 4th dimension, or the 5th dimension, or the 6th dimension, or the 7th dimension, or the 8th dimension, or the 9th dimension, or the 10th dimension, or the 11th dimension. You're from the twelfth dimension."

Those words lingered in my mind long after the session ended. Twelfth dimension. What did that even mean? It was as if he had unlocked some secret door in my mind, one that led to realms beyond the limits of conventional understanding. Twelve dimensions. I could barely comprehend the enormity of it.

The idea of dimensions had always fascinated me, but to be told that I wasn’t from any of the commonly discussed ones—that I was from a place beyond, a realm so far outside the known spectrum—struck me as both overwhelming and deeply validating. It was like I’d been given access to a secret, cosmic identity that explained everything I had ever felt—an otherworldly connection that had always been there but had eluded me for so long.

The shock of this revelation wasn’t just about the dimensions themselves, though. It was about what it meant for my existence. Who was I really, if not from this earth, from this time and place? Was I truly just passing through, caught up in a body and mind that couldn’t quite grasp the full depth of where I came from?

I sat with that thought for weeks, turning it over in my head. Simon’s words, though cryptic, felt like a breadcrumb trail. I started to look at my life through a new lens—one that stretched beyond the physical world, beyond this dimension of time and space. Could it be that I had a higher purpose here, on Earth, in this moment? Was I, in some way, supposed to remind others of the hidden truths of the universe?

And then came the question that gnawed at me: How would I find my place in the grand scheme of things, in a world where my essence, my very soul, came from beyond the known realms?

Now, what would you start thinking if someone you fully believed in told you that you were from such a high dimension? For me, it was a revelation that sent shockwaves through my already chaotic mind. The words hung in the air, heavier than they had any right to be. The 12th dimension. What did that even mean? I immediately got freaked out.

The greys that had fascinated me for years—the beings I felt such a strange, inexplicable kinship with—existed in the 4th dimension. That’s a dimension I could almost comprehend, but twelve? What the hell did I look like in this theoretical higher plane of existence? The thought twisted in my mind like a Mobius strip: infinite, unresolvable, and deeply unsettling.

On one hand, it was like fuel to the fire of my growing messiah complex. I mean, why stop at "special" when you could go straight to "cosmically extraordinary"? But on the other hand, the revelation left me feeling more hollow than holy. If I truly was this exalted being from a realm so far beyond human comprehension, then why couldn’t I manifest a single superpower to help me in this mundane, often miserable human existence? No telekinesis to lift my phone when it fell off the table, no psychic ability to escape awkward conversations. Not even a flicker of supernatural insight to make sense of why my life felt so… ordinary.

The whole thing had the flavour of a cruel cosmic joke. Like someone had handed me the keys to a kingdom I couldn’t even locate on a map. I spiralled for days, torn between wanting to embrace this “truth” and questioning if it was all just a delusion. Was I grasping at straws to give meaning to my life, or was this something bigger than I could understand?

And yet, for all my doubts, the idea refused to leave me. It clung to me like a shadow, forcing me to reframe everything I thought I knew about myself, about existence. If I was truly from the 12th dimension, then what was my purpose here? Was I supposed to accomplish something monumental? Was I meant to suffer through this human life, caught between dimensions, so I could learn something profound?

Or maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about being extraordinary at all. Maybe being from the 12th dimension wasn’t a blessing or a curse—it was just another layer of this strange, labyrinthine reality we all inhabit. Something I could never fully understand but would spend my life trying to grasp.

And so, I carried on. No superpowers. No higher calling magically revealed. Just the quiet, nagging thought that maybe there was something more to me than I’d ever realised. Or maybe there wasn’t. Either way, the journey to figure it out was mine alone.

The Connecting Consciousness groups, as fascinating as they are, felt somewhat out of date to me compared to ZetaTalk. While Simon Parkes and the community offer valuable insights and discussion, ZetaTalk takes it to another level in terms of immediacy and relevance. The Zetas, who provide the commentary for ZetaTalk, update their discussions daily, often with a precision that feels surgical in its detail. They don't just respond to big events or obscure theories—they provide insights on current world events, political shifts, and even global phenomena in real-time.

What sets ZetaTalk apart is their ability to consistently offer timely, nuanced commentary, especially in times of social or political turmoil. They don’t just make broad statements or philosophical musings; they break things down with laser-like accuracy, dissecting news stories with an almost prophetic understanding of how things will unfold. They seem to know what’s coming before it does, which makes their daily commentary feel not just timely but incredibly prescient.

This level of up-to-the-minute analysis is what made Connecting Consciousness feel like it was lagging behind. While Simon Parkes and his groups focus more on the metaphysical, spiritual, and personal aspects of awakening, ZetaTalk offers a wider lens—connecting the metaphysical with the very real, day-to-day events happening in the world. For me, ZetaTalk’s approach felt more in tune with the speed at which the world is changing.

It's this constant, cutting-edge commentary that keeps ZetaTalk not only relevant but ahead of the curve, and it's hard to find that level of detail and precision anywhere else. If you're someone who wants to stay informed with a spiritual perspective that is tightly connected to the world’s pulse, ZetaTalk's daily updates are second to none.

To this day, I still think about that twelfth dimension comment more often than I probably should.


 

Dave Monk

  • Nationality: Welsh
  • Ethnicity: Caucasian
  • Eye Colour: Blue
  • Hair Colour: Brown
  • Tattoos: None
  • Star Sign: Aries
  • Bra Cup Size: n/a
  • Date of Birth: 46 ( 05 th Apr 1979 )
  • Weight: 60 kg

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Chapter 10 - Menage: A Story of Love, Loss, and Chosen Family

Growing up in a ménage à trois wasn’t just some outlandish experience; it was the foundation of my worldview. I didn’t see it as unusual. It was my norm, my reality. My mother’s love was abundant and multi-faceted, and her partners were as much a part of our family as anyone. There was no jealousy, no animosity, no hidden resentments. Just an open space of care and understanding. To me, it seemed like the perfect kind of family.

But when my non-biological father, the one who was the more traditional figure in my life, asked her to make a choice, it was like watching the house of cards fall. And when she chose him, it was a kind of heartbreaking affirmation that the world outside didn’t understand, or maybe even accept, the way we had lived.

I was 17 at the time—old enough to understand the emotional gravity of the situation but still young enough to feel betrayed by the change. In a way, my mom’s decision represented the same pull the world outside had over me: the world was dictating what was acceptable, and now I had to learn how to adjust to that.

Chapter 9 - Luck child

When I was young, someone once called me a “luck child.” I didn’t understand it at the time, and to be honest, I’m not sure I still fully do. It was one of those phrases that just stuck with me, like a little puzzle that I couldn’t quite solve. I often wondered if it was a compliment or something else entirely, but I couldn’t shake it.

As I grew older, the phrase kept circling in my mind, a strange kind of whisper that never quite faded. There were times when I felt like the universe had it out for me, but then there were these odd moments—random moments—where everything just fell into place. It wasn’t like I was living a charmed life or anything. There were struggles, plenty of them. But even in the midst of hardship, I seemed to find myself in situations that felt... well, a little too perfect.

Chapter 8 - A Sick Nod from the Universe

Music has always been the soundtrack to my life. From the moment I first pressed play on a cassette player, it was like opening a door to a whole new dimension. Growing up, Nirvana was the band for me—a raw, unapologetic voice that spoke to the angsty teenager I was. So, when my parents surprised me with tickets to see Nirvana on their upcoming April 12th show in Cardiff, I was ecstatic. I remember jumping around the room, disbelief and excitement colliding in a way only a teenager can feel.

But then, life, in its cruel and ironic way, decided to intervene. On my birthday—just days before the concert—I woke up to the news that Kurt Cobain took his own life. The tickets, once a symbol of my teenage dreams, became a bitter reminder of his tragic end. What were the odds? My birthday wasn’t just ruined; it felt tainted.

I chalked it up to an eerie coincidence. Until it happened again.

Chapter 7 - A Nightmare at Brynteg Avenue

At the time, Duke Nukem 3D was the game, a chaotic, over-the-top playground of action and humour. But for me, playing wasn’t enough—I wanted to create.

One day, the idea struck me: what if I turned my school into a map for Duke Nukem? I’ll admit, it was a bold and slightly mischievous idea, but the thought of navigating those familiar halls with explosions and alien mayhem was too tempting to pass up.

So, I set to work. Piece by piece, I painstakingly recreated the corridors, classrooms, and assembly halls of Brynteg Avenue with every detail I could remember. It wasn’t just a map—it was an immersive experience, a twisted reimagining of school life that turned ordinary routines into an action-packed nightmare. Hence, A Nightmare at Brynteg Avenue was born.

Chapter 6 - Hostile Hits the Halls

Before I knew it, Hostile Magazine was more than just a personal project. It became something bigger—a product. I started distributing copies around school, and before long, it wasn’t just my classmates reading it. I managed to sell advertising space to local businesses, earning a bit of cash in the process.

Looking back, it might have been my most lucrative venture to date, especially considering how naturally it all came together. I wasn’t just creating anymore—I was running a business, even if I didn’t fully realise it at the time.

One of my proudest moments was designing full-colour posters to promote the magazine. They featured a bold image of a gun and some edgy, provocative slogan. At the time, I thought it was clever—half-witty, half-menacing, exactly the kind of provocation Hostile was built on. But in hindsight, it felt careless.

Chapter 5 - Hostile Beginnings

By the time I was 15, everything changed—I had a computer. No more typewriters or scavenging old magazines for pictures. With a keyboard and the infinite possibilities of digital design at my fingertips, I was unstoppable.

That’s when I founded Hostile Magazine. The name wasn’t just a catchy title—it was a declaration of who I was at the time. I was hostile to the world around me, to the endless doubt and disbelief I’d faced growing up. Most of all, I was still furious that no one seemed to believe in aliens yet.

Hostile was my rebellion. It wasn’t just about aliens, though they made frequent appearances in my articles and artwork. It was a place where I could channel my anger, my creativity, and my growing discontent with a world that felt so small-minded.

Chapter 4 - God Mode Philosophy

When I was 15, I discovered something that would blow my creative obsession wide open: Quake. It wasn’t just a game; it was a canvas for chaos, and I had a paintbrush made of code.

I started messing around with the game, diving into its files and hacking it to bits. Before long, I’d customised everything—the characters, the levels, even the dialogue. My friends and I turned death matches into full-blown comedy routines, battling against avatars we’d created to represent ourselves, complete with all our ridiculous trademark sayings.

Imagine a grim, post-apocalyptic battlefield echoing with smack talk like, “Oi, pass me the ketchup!” or “You’re going down faster than last night’s curry!” It was absolutely hilarious. Every frag was met with roaring laughter, not just because someone lost but because the game would scream out some absurd catchphrase we’d forgotten we’d even programmed.

Chapter 3 - Beyond Addicted

I was hooked. The day after The Brackla Tattler launched, I decided I couldn’t stop there. Why wait for a competition when I could make my own newspaper? I got straight to work, fuelled by the rush of creating something from nothing.

This time, the front-page story was even bigger—or at least, it felt that way to me: “Riot at Strangeways Prison!” I was 11 years old, covering prison riots like a seasoned journalist.

Back then, I didn’t even have a computer. I was using my mum’s old typewriter for the text—each clack of the keys a declaration of my ambition. For the visuals, I raided stacks of old magazines, cutting out pictures and headlines to make elaborate collages. My bedroom floor became a sea of scraps, glue sticks, and ink-stained fingers.

I was beyond addicted. There was something magical about piecing it all together, watching a blank page transform into a story people could hold, read, and react to. The process consumed me in the best way.

Chapter 2 - Breaking News

By the time I was 11, I was part of a global competition to create a school newspaper. And thus, The Brackla Tattler was born—a journalistic masterpiece (or so we thought) with a name that suggested the kind of scandal and intrigue we were determined to uncover.

The inaugural issue had a front-page story so wild it could’ve been straight out of a crime thriller. The headline? “Body Parts Found in Bags Across City!”

It was gruesome, sensational, and absolutely perfect for the tone we were going for—true crime meets small-town gossip. I still remember writing it, trying to balance shock value with just enough professionalism to impress the judges.

Even though we were just kids with big dreams and bigger imaginations, that story gave The Brackla Tattler its identity. We weren’t afraid to tackle the dark stuff, even if we barely understood it ourselves.

Chapter 1 - The Alien Among Us

When I first woke up, I was in Bridgend, South Wales—a quiet, unassuming place where nothing out of the ordinary seemed to happen. But even as a kid, I was obsessed with two things: aliens and making magazines.

The alien obsession stemmed from my first truly traumatising memory. I was walking home from school one day with a friend, chatting about whatever kids chat about, when they casually dropped a bombshell: "Aliens are already on Earth, hiding in human bodies."

I swear on my life, I saw one shortly after that. I can still picture it—something inhuman beneath a very human façade. My stomach turned, my heart raced, and from that moment, the world didn’t feel safe anymore. I was terrified.

For months, I couldn’t sleep. Every shadow was suspicious, every sound proof of some otherworldly presence. But when I tried to tell people, nobody believed me. My classmates thought I was crazy. The more I insisted, the harder they laughed. Even my parents decided it was all in my head.

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