Prologue to book:

HEALING CODES FOR THE BIOLOGICAL APOCALYPSE

By Dr. Joseph Puleo

 

“The Gathering of the Eagles”

In 1974 I quit my job as a hospital administrator to take my Aunt Betty, whom I loved dearly, to Dr. Ernesto Contreras’s clinic in Tijuana, Mexico. She was dying of lung cancer. While there, Dr. Contreras asked me about my background. I had directed a hospital and had expertise in marketing. When we entered his office, behind his desk hung a big picture of Jesus. During my aunt’s medical interview, he asked us whether or not we believed in God. My aunt and I both said,

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in Jesus?” he asked.

I said, “Yes.”

“DO you have faith?”

“Yeah, ” I replied.

“Well, I think I can help you.” he reassured.

Aunt Betty had not been doing well. I had been giving her shots of Demerol every three to four hours. Her pain was excruciating. She could not walk. On the trip down from the East Coast I had to carry her into the hotels, bathe her, and feed her. Her weight dropped to eighty pounds. She could hardly breathe. Within three weeks of going through Dr. Contreras’s laetrile treatment, she no longer needed any pain medication. Moreover, she was walking again unaided. For the next six months, I watched patients fly in by helicopter, with their guts hanging out in many cases. I met their families. I saw people getting well and walking away. I thought, “Wow! What a miracle this place is.”

At the clinic, one morning, I met a man who walked up to me and said, “I know all about you. You’re going to be doing some great work for God. And you’ll be at a ‘gathering of eagles.’ Would you kneel with me and pray?” Although we were in a waiting room packed with people, I said, “Sure.” I knelt down, he placed his hand on my head, and we prayed together. After several minutes of listening to his prayers he stopped. But I could still feel his hand on my head. Finally, I opened my eyes and there was nobody there. It was the strangest thing. Though I could still feel his hand, he had disappeared. I asked the people all around, “Hey, did you see that guy who was kneeling and praying with me?” They all looked at me as though I was very odd and said, “No”

During the next year, my Aunt Betty’s condition improved dramatically. One day I needed to go out of town for awhile, and had to leave Betty with my cousin, Nancy, who was a nurse. She was well qualified to care for Betty. But when I returned, Nancy told me that Betty needed chemotherapy. She had taken her for treatment. Thirty days later Betty died.

Soon after I moved to San Diego, California where I met and moved in with a Spanish woman. Kathy and I became intimate friends, but we were never meant to be together. One day she said,

“I want you to go to Tijuana with me. There’s a seer there. He’s also an herbalist. People in my club say he shares gifts from God.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I replied despite the fact I was studying herbology. “I don’t believe in that psychic crap. I don’t want to go.”

She cried and told me she was afraid to drive to Mexico alone. So the next day, we drove over the border. We went into the mountains outside of Tijuana to a little village. There was no electricity there. The shacks had dirt floors. Big ruts grooved the main street. Soon we found the seer’s herb shop and walked in. The place had no phone. Antique urns full of herbs lined the walls and interesting jars filled the shelves. A minute later an old, frail gentleman came out to greet us. He only spoke Spanish. After a few words of introduction he took Kathy into his back room for her “reading.”

While they were in the back I browsed the shop examining the old glass herb jars. Then I moved to the glass counter. There was a little Aztec calendar medallion inside. I looked at it and thought, “What a nice medallion. I’d like to buy it. I’ll wait till they come out and ask the old guy how much he wants.” About fifteen minutes later Kathy came out with her fiery red hair blazing. The old man had told her that we wouldn’t be together too much longer.

“He’s waiting for you to come in,” she bellowed. “He wants to speak to you.”

I protested, “I don’t know this guy. He doesn’t even have a phone. I didn’t call for an appointment.”

Angrily she responded, “God told him you were coming! The angels spoke to him. Now get in there!”

“Okay,” I said, and then we walked into the back room where he held out his hand to me. We sat down, said a prayer, and he went into a trance. He told Kathy that she would need to translate for him, that because she was angry and might not like what he had to say, be inclined to mistranslate the information. He told her if she failed to translate exactly what he said, a great curse would befall her. Then he began. He immediately told me that I would not be living with Kathy much longer, as he had told her. I would not marry her. Then I suddenly understood her anger. The old man said I would be going to the Pacific Northwest, into the mountains, to do God’s work at a “gathering of eagles.” He cried when he told me this. “In days to come, your blessing may become a Curse.” He hugged me and said he could tell me no more, even though he could see the future.

I walked out of the back room thinking, “This is all too crazy. This guy doesn’t even have a phone. He’s telling me he speaks to God? This is the second time I’ve heard this ‘gathering of eagles’ business. I don’t understand this.”

We were about to walk out of the store when he called to Kathy in Spanish, “Hola!” He told her to tell me that he’s not crazy, nor am I. However, since I didn’t get it, and seemed confused, the angels spoke to him and that he had proof for me. He walked over to the glass counter, opened it, and took out the medallion I had wanted. “You had thought upon this, cherished it and wished for it, my friend. It is yours Senior. Let it be proof that the angels have spoken to me.” I offered to pay him for the piece. “Go with God,” he responded. “I cannot take any money. Not for doing God’s work. Not when someone is sent to me by Jesus.’ Tears filled his eyes when he told me this and he cried as I left his store.

I pondered this meeting for weeks. I figured there was no way the old guy could have known about my attraction to the medallion. Nor could he have known about the other man who predicted my attendance at a “gathering of eagles.” He obviously wasn’t doing this for the money. Months later I still wondered about the encounter, particularly when I moved to the Pacific Northwest. I was invited to take a job as marketing director for a large resort. The place was beautifully situated in the mountains east of Seattle.

Reflecting on my search for God, I had frequently read all kinds of books—from the Bible to many New Age titles. One day Helping Yourself with White Witchcraft by doctors Frost and Frost—a husband and wife team from Berkeley—arrived by mail from my book-of-the-month club. It explained how to easily “transmute energy.” It really had nothing to do with “witchcraft,” but as I read it one afternoon on the front porch at the resort, I suddenly heard this noise. I looked up, and over the top of the book, I saw a man quickly running toward me. He came up to the porch, grabbed my book—a hardcover—tore it in half. He then threw it off the balcony, all before I could even gather my thoughts.

”Don’t ever read that kind of stuff!” he shouted. “Don’t you know who you are?”

I said, “Yeah, I know who I am. I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your butt for tearing my book in half. Meet me by the picnic tables down by the pond after work and I’ll show you who I am.”

After work I went down to the pond fully intending to break the guy’s nose. Suddenly, there he was, “Hello, I’m Larry Morris,” he said. He held out his right hand for a shake. In his left hand he held a six-pack of beer. “On my way I thought I’d stop at the store to get us some brew.”

I thought, “How can I pop a guy who’s bringing me a six-pack?” Then he totally mesmerized me when he said, “You had two previous messages. This is your third.”

I said, “What are you talking about?”

“Think about the ‘gathering of eagles.'”

My God! Mexico in ‘74 at Dr. Contreras’s, and the old man outside of Tijuana in ‘82.”

“God has plans for you,” he replied. “Not far from here you’ll be at a ‘gathering of eagles.'”

“Oh really now,” I said as I thought, “This guy is really cuckoo. Either I’m losing my mind, or he’s losing his.”

It was just dusk. The sun was setting. There was no wind whatsoever. He reached out his hands and began to speak in a foreign tongue. I knew it was a prayer because he mentioned God here and there. Much to my amazement, as he moved his hands the bushes moved. When he moved his hands to the left, the bushes bent to the left and stayed that way. Then be moved his hands to the right and the bushes bent to the right. When he stopped, they stopped and stayed. Then his hands went to the middle and came down. The bushes went back to normal. Suddenly a strong wind blew down from the mountains. He extended his arms again, this time with his palms up. He told me to reach out and place my palms down upon his. Then he grasped my hands. All at once it felt like I got hit with a million volts of lightning. I just stood there shaking and vibrating for what seemed to be several minutes.

“I’m glad I didn’t take a swing at this guy,” I thought, “because if this is any indication of what he’s capable of doing, I’d be in deep trouble now.”

Then he said, “You just don’t get it do you? You don’t really know who you are.”

“Okay. So I don’t know who I am. So what? Who are you?”

“A messenger,” he replied. He told me that he would speak with me again and then he quickly walked away.

I got into my car, drove down the mountain, and passed my house five times. I was in some kind of shock. I could see everything but couldn’t think of anything. It was like I was in my body but not really. Finally, when I pulled my car into the driveway, Kathy was standing there waiting. I told her what happened, and as I did, I started crying. Tears ran down my face. They were tears of joy.

Time passed. I got another job at another resort higher up the mountain. A few months later, as I was on my way to work, I hit a traffic jam. “There’s no sense sitting in line,” I thought, so I took the next exit. There was a Denny’s restaurant right in front of me. I hadn’t had breakfast yet so I pulled in and parked. I walked into the place and there was a reception sign that read: “Please wait to be seated.” So I waited. A few moments later a hostess walked up to me and asked,

“Would you please follow me? Your friend is waiting for you.”

I said, “Excuse me?”

“Your friend’s waiting for you.

“She must be talking to someone else,” I thought, so I looked behind me to see if anyone was there. I was alone.

You’re talking to me?”

“Of course I’m talking to you,” she replied. “Your friend saw you pull up. He’s been waiting for you.” So I followed her, zigzagged around a few tables, and there was Larry Morris sitting in the corner.

“Don’t worry,” he said as I sat down. “Nobody got hurt on the highway. God works in mysterious ways. That’s why the traffic stopped and you’re here.” After a brief pause he said,

“You just don’t get the picture do you? Look, you don’t know who you are. You’ve got to start knowing who you are. God has great plans for you.”

“Really,” I said sarcastically, and then I turned to look out at the bumper-to-bumper traffic that blocked the freeway. As though he could read my mind he said,

“Don’t worry. I said nobody’s been hurt. Believe me.”

You did this?” I asked.

“Well. You might say that.”

I said, “Liar. Who the hell are you? If I don’t know who I am, at least tell me who you are.”

“I’m kind of what you might call an angel incarnate” he replied, “and I have to leave here soon to go to East Berlin to make sure the wall falls.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I rebutted, “but they ought to call you Voltaire because you sure shocked the crap out of me.”

He said, “Look, I want to tell you this. This is my last visit with you. I have to leave now. Something important will happen in Berlin. Think upon me when you learn of it.”

“This is really cuckoo,” I thought.

He must have heard my thought. “What’d you say? You still don’t believe me? I’ll show you.” Then he began to light up before my eyes. He started to glow a bright violet purple like ultraviolet light. I sat there stunned. But I still had the presence of mind to think, “I wonder whether he’s wearing some kind of electronic device?”

He said, “You’re really thick! Do you need another electric shock to convince you, Joey?”

“No Larry. That’s okay. I really believe you.”

“Well, you’re starting to,” he returned. Then he got up and walked out of the restaurant.

Shortly thereafter, I was transferred to Montana to work at another resort. There I met a man who told me that I would soon meet an Indian man; that he would take me to a sacred place. He said I would be doing work on this Indian land for God. Then he left. About a month later, I moved to Arizona to help market another property. There I rented a house in Apache Junction. An Indian owned it. He was a medicine man for the Pima Tribe. His father was the chief medicine man. One day he came over and said,

“I have a message for you. But I have to ask you some questions.”

“Sure. Go ahead,” I replied.

“Are you interested in gold?” he asked. He had seen my maps of Superstition Mountain. Every day I went up to the top.

“Sure I’m interested in gold,” I answered, “but not the yellow kind. I’m looking for the gold of wisdom and knowledge and the hidden secrets.”

“I believe that,” he said. Then he pulled something out of his leather pouch. He struck a match and lit it. White smoke filled the room as he chanted a special prayer. Then he said,

“You are of God, and God has work for you to do.”

He invited me to go to a sacred ground where no white man had traveled. We spent three days there. On the third day he told me,

“You will be with a great ‘gathering of eagles.”’

Months later I received a phone call from a buddy of mine. He invited me to take a position with another resort in central Oregon. I asked,

“What’s the name of the place?”

“Eagle Crest.”

“Oh oh, here we go,” I thought. “I’m on my way.”

The following week I left for my new marketing post in the great Northwest. And that’s where I met my wife. Linda was described to me, to a tee, by the old Mexican fellow years earlier.

“This will be the woman you marry,” he told me.

So Linda and I got married. Soon thereafter, we moved into an old cabin in Sandpoint, Idaho, in the Pacific Northwest. Shortly thereafter, we met a group of people—metaphysical and spiritual types. One evening they asked me,

“How’d you get here?” And I told them the story, mentioning the “gathering of eagles.”

One woman there, Mary Leery, said,

“My Lord!” She told me that someone from Missouri had given her a spiral bound book. The man said,

“Mary this isn’t for you. But you’ll know who to give it to.” Mary had put the book away.

“This morning,” she said, “I found it on my car. I hadn’t looked at it for months. I never read it, and I didn’t put it there. I don’t know who did. This book is obviously for you.”

“Really?” I responded.

She pulled it out of her handbag, and then handed it to me. I read the title, The Gathering of the Eagles. The book was written by a Canadian man who owned a window washing company. He sold the company to get the money to print the book. He wrote that God had told him to do this. The book predicted “the eagles will be gathering in the Pacific Northwest, in the panhandle of Idaho.” That was exactly where we settled. In the “end times,” he wrote, “Jesus will give these eagles guidance.” Mary cried when she handed me the book.

About a year later, Mark Hammer, an alleged channeler of Jesus, came to Sandpoint to give a lecture. In the interim I had gotten his book, The Jeshua Letters, from my friend John who owned a metaphysical bookstore in Sandpoint. As I read it, I had a sense that I was there, walking with Jeshua Ben Joseph (the Hebrew name for Jesus pronounced Yesh-shoe-ah). I felt as though Jeshua was a close friend of mine. His book had such an impact on me that I had bought ten copies of it, and given them out to my friends. So when Mark Hammer came to town, several of them called me to get me to attend his lecture. But I didn’t want to go.

“That channeling stuff gives me the heebie-jeebies,” I told them, even though I had enjoyed Hammer’s book.

Early Monday morning following the event, one of my friends, Steve, called me and said,

“Joey, you should’ve been there. It was fantastic.” After telling me all about it, my friend said, “Hey, you know those business tapes you have. Can you drop them off for me at John’s bookstore? Mark Hammer is doing private readings there between eleven and noon, and I’m scheduled for a session. After that, you and I can go to lunch if you want.”

“Yeah? What does a private session with Hammer cost?” I inquired.

“A hundred bucks.”

I laughed and sarcastically said. “I can talk to God for free. What are you crazy? Spending that much money! No thanks,” I continued. “I’ll meet you at my office.”

So a little before eleven, I began the twenty mile ride to downtown Sandpoint. Just north of town, I got to the junction of routes 95 and 200. At the traffic light, while stopped, I lit a cigarette which was my ritual. This time, when I lit it, something strange happened. I went through the traffic light, and suddenly blacked out. That was the last thing I remember. Next, not knowing how much time had passed, I realized my truck had stopped. I looked up and I was parked with the motor running. I looked at my cigarette and it hadn’t gone down the slightest bit.

“How can this be?” I thought. “I don’t even remember going through town. Now I’m parked in front of John’s bookstore?” My heart was pounding wildly as I turned off the engine.

“My word! I went through town, time and space and don’t even remember it.” Trembling, I put my cigarette out and got out of the truck. I had to pee so badly due to the fright, I needed a bathroom immediately. So I went into the bookstore to use the restroom. When I came out, Mark Hammer was in the corner of the bookstore doing a reading with some lady. Just then, she got up and, with tears running from her eyes she repeated.

“How could he know? How could he know?’

Then John said, “Joey, come here

. I want you to meet Mark Hammer.”

Hesitantly I said, “Okay.”

I needed to lie down like never before in my entire life. I didn’t care if the phone rang. I was too spooked to speak with anyone. I laid down and tried to figure out what was happening to me. And as I did, I went through a déjà vu. Then I fell asleep. It was a quarter-to-five when I awoke. And the phone was ringing. I thought. “Well maybe it’s Linda?” So I picked up the phone.

“Hello. It’s John at the bookstore. Mark Hammer wants to talk to you Joey. He says he received a message for you from Jesus.”

“Oh really now. That’s cool. Put him on the phone,” I replied. Proudly I thought, “Hey. I get a call from Jesus. This is amazing.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Joey. You’ve got to come down here.”

I said, “Yeah? Cool.”

So I called Linda, told her I would be late for dinner, told her,

“You’re not gonna believe what I’ve been through today, but I’ll tell you later.”

Then I drove down to the store. As I drove up I saw a big limousine parked in front of John’s store. A large group of inquisitive people gathered around it. And when I walked up to the door, John came out and told me,

“Mark was scheduled to go to Spokane: then fly off to do a major event. But he just cancelled everything so he can spend time with you. Jesus told him he must relay a message to you.”

I went inside the store, and waited for Mark to get ready. Sitting there I thought, “I don’t want to do this. He’ll know all the crap I did in my life. All the dirty tricks.” Realizing this likelihood, I suddenly got up and headed for the door thinking. “I’m not going to go through with this.”

John called after me, “Joey! Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” I replied.

“You’re not leaving! He cancelled everything to be with you. You’re not going anywhere.”

So I started sweating. A minute later Mark Hammer sat down across from me at a table with a tape recorder. He announced,

“We’re going to tape this ‘cause Jeshua wants you to play it anytime you need to.”

Next Hammer said a prayer to bring on what he said was “a pinpoint of light” in which he allegedly saw Jeshua’s image in his mind’s eye. Then, I now believe, he began to receive Jeshua’s message:

“Blessed be unto you my Holy brother, Holy child of God. Thank you for coming. It is by no accident that you were led to where you are at this time and place. Don’t worry that I will judge you on your past, I only choose to look at the light that abides with you now.” With that I felt better.

“It was by no accident that you repeatedly received my messengers who foretold of your mission here,” he continued. “And yes, you did walk with me.”

“You will soon find a place where there will be a gathering of people—a ‘gathering of eagles.’ There will be much healing that occurs there,” he said. Tears began to roll down my face. “I’ll speak with you again soon.”

A few months later, again through synchronicity; I met Ken Page a “past life regression” therapist—who directed me in such a session. Again, all my friends called to urge me to see him. I told them,

“Hell no. I ain’t going to no channeler. No nonsense. No hocus-pocus. No “past life” regressions. I don’t even want psychotherapy!” But again, through a bizarre series of events, I ended up going to see Mr. Page.

He told me that the chronic pain in my neck had stemmed from the time that I had “walked with Jesus as Joseph of Arimathea, the uncle, teacher, and confidant of the beloved Jesus.” During Page’s session, although he hypnotized me, I remained aware of my surroundings. I couldn’t open my eyes, but I could hear Page’s instructions. Once in this “trance,” I saw myself in my mind’s eye very clearly. I imagined that long ago I had long hair, wore a robe, and walked with Jeshua.

“Where are you?” Page asked.

“I’m here with Jesus in the garden,” I replied.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m crying,” I said. “Because I have power, I have money. I have access to the Sanhedrin and the Roman officials. I thought I could stop the crucifixion and mass murders because the Romans were afraid I would retaliate. And I wanted to do it, but Jesus said to me, ‘You can’t.’”

“Why not?” asked Page.

“Because the angel said I must let this happen,” my beloved Jeshua told me,

“You have never let me down, but you have to let me do this now. I know you raised me…”

“Yes,” I interrupted, “but now I see I’ve raised you for the slaughter. I can’t live with that!”

The guilt I felt seemed to manifest itself in a pain in my neck and shoulder. The same place it had bothered me for years. I seemed to be holding that horrible incident in that part of my body. Jeshua confirmed this diagnosis and then said,

“Now we must attend to our unfinished business.”

Page then asked, “Joey, are you ready to go to the time and place of the crucifixion?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“May I come with you?” he asked.

“Sure,” I responded.

Moments later I saw myself kneeling at the cross, looking at Jeshua, with tears streaming down my face as he spoke to me.

“What did he say?” Page asked.

“He said ‘I forgive you all.”’

“No,” Page directed, “What did he say to you personally?”

“He said to me, ‘You did your job well.”’

“That’s right,” Page affirmed. “That’s what he said to you.”

“What do you see now?” he prodded me to continue.

I looked to my right and there was a little hand holding onto my hand. It was a little boy kneeling with me below the cross. The head on the little boy became clear as he turned toward me. He had Ken Page’s younger face. And before I said anything at all to describe what I was seeing, Page said, “Do you see that little boy on your right holding your hand?”

“Yes,” I said, stunned that he saw what I was seeing.

“That’s me,” he said. “That’s why Jesus and the angels directed me to you.”

Then he broke the trance ending the session. We both laid down on the floor for a while and cried. Page was so moved he cancelled all of his appointments for the rest of the day. He walked out of the store, crossed the street, and laid down on a park bench. That was the last time I saw him. I thought a lot about that experience in the following days and weeks, “All of this is hard to believe,” I realized, especially given my attitude, and life-long misconduct, that I would be so close to Jesus. Later, when I told Mark Hammer this he said, “You always had a good heart and fully supported our King.”

Despite the fact that Ken Page and Mark Hammer did not know each other, they both told me virtually the same thing: That I always served Jeshua well. Months later, during my second session with Hammer, Jeshua ended the session reminding me of the “gathering of eagles.” “This meeting will unfold as I send the eagles your way. They will gather around you. You have never let me down, and you will not now.” I offered to pay both Page and Hammer for their time with me. Both refused any money. “Normally I charge for my consultations,” Mark Hammer said, “but when Jesus asks to speak to you, I can’t charge.”

As a result of these experiences, I maintained a very close connection to Jeshua who directed me to the sacred Indian ground whereon I now reside and work. Here, with blessings from Native American tribes, whose medicine men awarded me a special bear tooth necklace in honor of having saved the life of one of their most beloved elders, I established myself as a naturopathic doctor and spiritual healer. All of this has come about with Jeshua’s constant support. The Indians also told me their wise men said I walked with the “Pale Prophet”— their name for Jesus from when, they believe, he walked the Americas. I had never told them anything about the events described above.

One Sunday I was entertaining friends when two truckloads of Indians—Lakota Sioux—drove up to our house. They were dressed in full ceremonial attire. I had been warned that they would come.

One of their elders told me he knew I would be doing important work here: “Work like an eagle, at a gathering of eagles,” he said. Then he added. “We have to do a ceremony to protect you and the property. It’s an ancient ceremonial ground. There is a vortex here and a sacred altar in the mountains above the land.” The Indians jumped out of their trucks, dusted everyone with feathers, and lit incense. They sang songs, beat their drums and tied tobacco leaves all around the house and property. After that, I started getting visions. Bible codes started coming to me for decoding and healing. What follows is the story and result of these gifts. At this critical time in history, it is vitally important for world healing.

My wife Linda, for example, was recently diagnosed with cancer—a malignant melanoma. She was given four months to live by her oncologist. By applying the knowledge given us, that we share herein, we beat the melanoma in three-and-a-half weeks. What follows mostly is a book about faith. The bits of information we provide are like facets of a beautiful gem. Each facet holds a special truth. When all is said and done, we hope a most magnificent jewel will emerge from the totality of this truth.

Peace be unto you.

 

Dr. Joseph “Joey” Puleo