Michael Mullen
In 1976, Michael Mullen was writing a book about the horrendous sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis, based upon Top Secret papers released to him by President Gerald Ford. Every major publishing house in America clamored for his book, when suddenly, Mullen was visited by the Man on the Burial Shroud of Turin who told him, "Do not write that (U.S.S. Indianapolis). Write this (War of the Angels)."
Scientists who proclaim the Shroud of Turin to be a fake are critically wrong. Not only is it the burial shroud of a man crucified 2000 years ago in Jerusalem, but that same man whose image is embedded on the cloth is still alive. Mullen was escorted by him numerous times to a vast Dark World. There he beheld angels from opposing forces battle. The Man on the Shroud told Mullen to write what he saw.
Through the author''s eyes you will:
See the face and body of Jesus Christ
See the face and body of the Dragon (Satan)
See the "Living" Star of Bethlehem
Patrol the celestial heavens with Archangel Michael
Battle Satan and his armies of dark angels
Visit the Bottomless Pit and its gruesome inhabitants
Discover who murdered Pope John Paul I
Learn who is paving the way for Satan''s return
See Michael shout the start of World War III
Be raptured to a Cloud World
Witness Satan being cast into hell
World Leaders prepare for the Antichrist, and to succeed, they make you believe that Satan is just a cartoon character in a funny red suit. But his existence is no joke. War of the Angels was written as commanded by the Man on the Shroud of Turin. It is a final warning. Take heed.
Michael Mullen worked in the National Basketball Association for ten years, where he helped pioneer NBA franchises into the computer age. He was the first person to fully automate an NBA franchise. He was first to create a commercial basketball site on the world wide web when he designed and maintained the original site for Prodigy, and he managed an international cyberstaff of more than 200 volunteer reporters. He was recognized as the top computer analyst in professional basketball, and was acknowledged by the White House and the U.S. Senate.
Mullen eventually left computers and ventured into other areas of the sporting industry. He chaired career seminars with numerous professional teams, and with multiple USA Olympic governing bodies. He also authored, "How To Get A Job In Sports (Masters Press)." He served as General Manager of historic Venice Arena (former headquarters of Ringling Brothers and Barnum&Bailey Circus in Venice, FL), where he hosted international events in Olympic-style boxing for Team USA, and nationally televised professional boxing. He consulted for the newly revised American Basketball Association, then became one of the league''s first General Managers. He currently assists emerging authors through AuthorHOUSE, the largest book publisher in the world.
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON
September 6, 1991
"Dear Mr. Mullen:
"You are an example of what can be achieved through hard work and determination. Congratulations on your success, and I hope that you''ll continue to share your story and to encourage others. Keep up the good work, and God bless you."
Sincerely,
George H. W. Bush
"Michael Mullen of Indianapolis, Indiana, is a true American success story."
Richard Lugar, United States Senator, Chairman Foreign Relations Committee
October 20, 1979
I strolled along the sidewalk of a busy metropolitan area. I was in a hurry to get somewhere, but the old, white-haired lady in front of me was in my way and slowing me down. I decided to pass her. Pedestrian traffic poured by heavily from the opposite way, so I slid around to the right. But she side-stepped and cut me off. I did not particularly get angry with her, because old folks were sometimes confused about where they were going. I reversed to the other side, like a football player cutting back against the grain when the designed hole suddenly closed with a wall of linebackers.
Hey, Lady! She did it again. She deliberately cut me off and blocked my path. Old or not, I was about to angrily confront her, when I heard the elderly person say, "Be patient."
I stopped in my tracks, not because of what was said, but because of how it was said. The elderly person in front was not a woman at all. She was a man, or rather, he was a man. His voice was ...
Hey, you''re the Friendly Alien.
I recognized his voice, but had never before seen him. Nonetheless, there he was in front of me. Pedestrians continued to pass by swiftly, unaware the Friendly Alien was amidst them. I was the only one who saw him. But standing behind him, I did not have a good look. I saw only the back of his long, white hair, which I had earlier assumed crowned the head of an elderly woman.
The Friendly Alien turned. I glimpsed his profile in great awe. He was a regular human male, albeit old. His aged skin had weathered to a leathery texture, like that of a salty, timeworn sailor. But his wardrobe simply did not fit the character. The Man draped an elegant, deep-purple cloak around him that was designed for Royalty. Tailored for a King.
I strained for a better look at the Man, who had his majestic collar pulled high to conceal all but a small portion of his face. The Man turned slightly more, offering me a better view. I noticed his hair was not as long as I originally assumed. Earlier I had thought it flowed well beneath his collar, but it was actually about collar length. Then the strangest thing happened, causing me to miss what the old Man said to me. As the old Man spoke, he became YOUNGER; and by the time he finished his sentence he was no older than in his early thirties. AGE meant nothing. AGE had no relative meaning in whatever world I was visiting.
The Man spoke again, and the citythe entire citychanged, or rather disappeared. The Man and I had suddenly traveled to a new place so quickly that I had no time to say goodbye to the city. We were now standing at the intersection of an isolated dirt road in the middle of nowhere.
Suddenly I understood what he was trying to teach me. The big city was still around us, only now it was invisible as if we had simply moved behind a different curtain of air. Furthermore, ALL the cities from Everywhere were around us. In this world, WE WERE EVERYWHERE, ALL AT ONCE. The Friendly Alien was showing me a world that did not recognize TIME or DISTANCE.
The Man briefly raised the cape from his feet, allowing me the quickest of peeks at the flowing, white robe beneath. And I saw that his feet glowed a bright light of some kind. Then he quickly lowered the white garment that covered his feet, and draped the outer cloak back over the white garment. Then he grasped his outer cloak by both corners of its neck collar, and pulled the material high up over the back of his head, as if framing his face like a fine work of art. He turned to face me squarely.
Looking at his face was like he had lassoed the very air at the bottom of my lungs and yanked it out. The Man was not really a Man, although he had the shape of a Man. His dark complexion was uniquely Middle-Eastern. So were his high, solid cheekbones, as was his large aquiline nose. His thick, heavy eyebrows matched his snow white mustache. A thought suddenly raced through my mind for no apparent reason: "He doesn''t have a beard."
Then his eyes disappeared, leaving me to stare deeply into his empty eye sockets. It was as if a switch had been turned on, and an enormous flow of energy emitted from the bottomless wells of his eyes. Looking into them was like seeing everything that ever happened, in every place, to every person, ever born or who would ever be bornall at the same time.
As a simple human being, I could not take such a sight nor could I withstand so much energy. The split-second I saw such a thing I was knocked off my feet and onto my knees on the ground. His vacuous eyes housed the answers to every question ever asked. Every solution to every problem. I''d seen them for only as long as the blink of an eye, yet it was too great an experience for me. My tear ducts ruptured as a broken dam, my lungs quaked in crying heaves, and any sense of self-worth I had ever harbored had abandoned me. I had been reduced to absolute zero. I fell flat at his feet and hoped he would have mercy on me for whatever tortures he had in store for me.
The Kingly Man reached down and picked me up. He hugged me tightly like Daddy used to lovingly squeeze Little Mikey, only I was too weak to hug him in return. He placed his soft hands directly on either side of my face, looked right at methis time without the tremendous weaponry of energy flowing from his eyesand gently said, "Well done." His lips never moved when he spoke, but the words came out just the same.
(And I turned to see the voice that spake with me ... like the Son of Man, clothed with a garment down to the foot ... His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters ...
And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, "Fear not ... Write the things which thou hast seen.") Revelations 1: 12-15
The Man backed awaydrifted away, rather; his feet never touched the ground. He said, "I will be back shortly. Occupy yourself." He smiled, then vanished.
I was alone in the dirt road, until the scenery changed again. I was trapped inside a walled city; a large one, completely enclosed. I searched in vain for the Friendly Alien to come take me away. Something awful was about to happen. Something terribly bad, and I knew it.
The city was on the verge of destruction. An unparalleled disaster approached. Fear spread rampant. People tried scaling the walls to flee, but their attempts over the towering barricades were futile. There was no escape as they begged to get out of harm''s way.
Death sped toward them. Like swimmers drowning in panic, people lashed out at one another, trying to gain a foothold: men; women; children. All hysterical. Everyone for himself.
I looked beyond the walled city at the source of the terror. A deadly tidal wave rolled toward us. It smashed every building, every tree, every person in its path. It consumed all. Nothing escaped its wrath. It was the end. The ultimate end.
When the tidal wave came closer I saw that the source of destruction was NOT water at allit was OIL. It was a tidal wave of fiendish petroleum sweeping over everyone in its path. Debris and bodies swirled and tumbled within the churning black surf. Oil was the enemy. Oil was Death. Oil was Evil. Oil was the ultimate end of everything. Bad Thing, that Oil.
The Black Wave burst through the walls and smothered the city, gobbling it up, people and all. It hovered above, about to crash down on me as it crested. But before it tumbled down to kill me, I suddenly vanished.
My entire body changed into a transparent substance. Nothing else was changed about me, other than how my spirit was packaged. The part of my soul that was a living creature was no longer housed inside a vehicle of flesh and bone. I still had a body, but it was not made of earthly material.
I was not the only thing that changed, either. The whole earth seemed to have vanished, as well. The oil was gone. Trouble was gone. Fear was gone. Happiness came to stay. I held my breath in awe of my new surroundings. It was so very peaceful, so very opposite of the chaotic destruction going on in the world down below.
It wasn''t really a permanent world. I knew, somehow, that it was a temporary shelter to protect me from the Bad Things happening on Earth. It was an in-between world, a barrier separating me from the Dark World above, and the Earth below. The scenery above me was all lined in black, with zero visibility because there was simply nothing to see. It was a solid black curtain. Below me it was a soft, solid white. I was hovering above a Cloud World. These were not ordinary clouds, for they were much too thick for earthly clouds. Their only purpose was to shelter me from the Bad Things that went on down below because of the Oil. I was so thankful to have been yanked from the worldly destruction and chaos of the Bad Oil, and into the friendly confines of the Cloud World. It had happened so fast it had taken me completely by surprise. The only thing I said when I saw the beautiful clouds was, "Wow." And I was not alone. Although I did not see anyone else due to the thickness of the clouds and their resulting low visibility, a new sense of knowledge told me that the Cloud World had a large transient population.
The Friendly Alien, hiding within the cloud puffs, spoke three words: "Do not worry."
I returned to my body crying. Sometimes I cried happily. Sometimes fearfully. Good tears and bad tears. Good Things. Bad Things. But I did not understand. The Friendly Alien had established a pattern of speaking to me in riddles and mysteries, never offering reasons or logical answers to my many questions. But when I came home to my own world, I did know that somewhere, somehow, Bad People were doing Bad Things with Bad Oil. And the powerful rulers of nations wanting the oil did not care what happened to the screaming people. Whatever Oil wanted, Oil was going to get at any cost, even to the ultimate end. Wars were going to be fought over oil. The final destruction would be caused by oil. We would all be dead over oil, except for those who would be yanked to safety into an extraordinary Cloud World.
The End.
Although I did not attend church often, I waited until service was over the next day, then drove into town to see Charlie Scalf. I told him about my experience and he handed me a Bible and showed me some related verses that astounded me:
"All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh for men ... There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial ... There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. Flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom of God.
"Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all (die), but we shall all be changed (into a new type of body). In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye." (I COR 15: 39-52)
" ... with the voice of the archangel (Michael) ... the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we which are alive and remain (at the time of the end) shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air ... (to escape the wrath of the Beast, who''s been cast down to earth.)" (I Thess 17)
On Charlie''s dining room table, a newspaper lay opened to the Weekend Entertainment section. I nonchalantly glanced at the movie listings and saw a display advertisement for a movie: In Search of Historic Jesus. "Oh, my God! Charlie, it''s him! It''s him! It''s his photograph! It''s the Man I saw! What is this? What is this picture?"
The Shroud of Turin
