Worker in the Light: Unlock Your Five Senses and Liberate Your Limitless Potential

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9780765349408: Worker in the Light: Unlock Your Five Senses and Liberate Your Limitless Potential

George R. Noory is the host of America's top late-night radio talk show, Coast to Coast AM, which is broadcast to more than 500 radio stations in the U.S. and Canada and streamed over the Internet to millions of people each night. Noory truly believes that there are forces, both good and evil, at work on Earth, forces that can be harnessed by human beings. Fueled by a transcending experience at a very young age, Noory turned his life into an investigation of the possibilities and influence of such forces, and how we can use them to enhance our lives.

Now George Noory has woven his life's work into both an amazing memoir and a miraculous key that you can use to unlock the secret of your own sensual transcendence and liberate your limitless potential. Through Worker in the Light, George Noory will show readers how to:

*Unlock the secrets to unlimited spiritual growth
*Transcend all doubts and fears
*Shatter the prison walls of their five senses
*Deploy the power of intuition to see the future
*Free themselves from the confines of time
*Facilitate the power of lucid dreaming


Through easily understood, step-by-step instructions, and examples from his own life, George Noory shows you how he has surpassed his own limitations and frustrations, how he has freed himself from doubts and fears, and how he glimpsed the right way out of life's desperate straits. He will teach you how you, too, can overcome fear and doubt and find happiness and success. By the end of this book, you will no longer be alone. You, too, will be a worker in the light.

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About the Author:

George R. Noory is the host of America's top overnight radio show, Coast to Coast AM, which is broadcast over 500 radio stations as well as streamed over the Internet to over 10 million people a night. He was born in Detroit and now resides in St. Louis and Los Angeles. A three-time Emmy Award winning producer, Noory also spent nine years in the United States Naval reserve as an officer being awarded the distinguished Navy Achievement Award.

William J. Birnes is the New York Times bestselling co-author of The Day After Roswell with Lt. Col. Philip J. Corso. Birnes is the publisher of UFO Magazine and Filament Electronic Books and was the editor of the UFO Encyclopedia and the McGraw-Hill Personal Computer Programming Encyclopedia. Birnes lives in Los Angeles and New York with his wife, novelist and editor, Nancy Hayfield.

Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One
The Ouija Board
 
 It came in an old nondescript box addressed to me.     
 
A fan had sent it.          
 
With a simple, “Here,” a studio technician handed me the box just before I went on the air.
 
I had no idea what it was. Maybe it was a gift given in good conscience. Maybe someone sent it to me on a dare. I’ll never know for sure. Whatever the sender’s intention, the weathered and worn Ouija board inside the box ultimately took me to the very edge of reality, from which point I looked over the brink into an unfathomable black pool of chaos.
 
Why is it that such an innocuous piece of cardboard with its triangular-shaped planchette holds the threat of becoming a force for evil? This was not a question that came to mind that late-night in the KTRS studios in St. Louis as I was hosting Coast to Coast AM back in 2002, filling in for the legendary Art Bell.
 
I was taking calls, as usual, from listeners who had experienced their own encounters with the paranormal: ghosts of loved ones, voices offering help or consolation from the other side, cats or dogs whose behavior mysteriously foretold of danger, shadow people you could see just out of the corner of your eye, Big Foot, the giant bird, Mothman, UFOs of all shapes and sizes, and flying triangles. People were calling on open lines about abductions and other traumatic events that had shaped their lives. And then I told my audience about the Ouija board in the antique box. Should I use it on the air, I asked the listeners?
 
Calls came pouring in, jamming the switchboard, the first-time caller line, and all the wildcard lines: “Do it!”
 
I slid the Ouija board out of its box.
 
Now, for anyone who has never seen the inside of a modern radio broadcast studio, the sight of so many switches, dials, flashing indicator lights, and phone hookups, all set around a table festooned with standing and hanging microphones and computer monitors for reading e-mail can be intimidating. On those very few occasions when I have hosted in-studio guests, I always tried to let them get acclimated to the array of equipment well before we went on the air so that there’d be no dead time between questions and answers in an interview because the overwhelming presence of technology had distracted a guest’s attention.
 
This amount of technology is comforting to me, because I know I’m hardwired into the rest of the universe. However, for every diode, switch, and electronic circuit there are probably a hundred things that will cause them to fail. That’s why you have redundant and back-up systems and why you have a studio engineer as well as a producer backing you up and reading the dials to make sure the system’s working the way it’s supposed to. It’s complicated, but it’s only electronics. It’s science.
 
For every equipment failure, there’s a physical reason. And for every failure there’s a fix. That’s what you learn on the job. That’s what your engineer signals to you when a piece of equipment goes dead and you stare blankly through a glass window at the producer. That’s what you have to rely on when nothing is coming through your earphones.
 
On this particular night in St. Louis, amid the mass of electronics and blinking lights arrayed all around me like a nice warm security envelope, I unfolded the Ouija board and set it on the studio desk. I felt a hesitation. Should I or shouldn’t I? The listener calls kept flooding in. Voices in my earphones were egging me on in front of a ten-million-person audience stretched almost 5,000 miles diagonally across the entire continent from Halifax in Canada to National City, California, on the Mexican border.
 
“Hi, George, this is Josh from Watertown. Ask it a question.”
 
But I remembered The Exorcist, as well as countless other movies, when the person about to become the innocent victim finds that the pointer is out of his or her control and the demonic voice speaks through that person’s fingertips. Sure I hesitated. Who wouldn’t?
 
My audience was insistent.
 
“I have a question, George.”
 
“Can it talk to the dead?”
 
A truck driver phoned in from somewhere along an interstate outside of Lawrence, Kansas. He, too, had a question begging for an answer.
 
I took the planchette out of the box.
 
Okay, I thought, maybe just once. I told the audience what I was doing, placing my fingertips lightly on the planchette so as to let whatever force was present guide the reader across the letters laid out along the board. Ask a yes or no question, the planchette will direct you. Ask for a name or a word, and the planchette will spell it out. Remember every B horror film you’ve ever seen where the camera does a close focus on a pair of hands being guided by something out of their control, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
 
“Okay,” I said to the audience. “I’m ready. Call in with a question and let’s see what this baby can do. The numbers again are . . .”
 
Darkness, sudden and terrifying. Not even the diodes were blinking.
 
Before my eyes could adjust, the lights came on again. The back-up generators had kicked in and the studio came alive.
 
“What was that?” I heard one of the engineers say through my earphones.
 
“You’re supposed to know,” another voice said. Maybe it was my in-studio producer, Howard Morton. “Are we on generators?”
 
There was a lot of background chatter as I stared down at the planchette on the Ouija board. It was pointing to “No.”
 
“Hey, George, I got a question,” a caller’s voice crackled through the earphones. He was on a cell phone, I could tell.
 
“Go ahead,” I said. But just then my earphones went dead.
 
I signaled to my producer on the other side of the thick glass window that separated the control room from the broadcast booth, “Are we on?”
 
He gave me a thumbs-up back, but I still couldn’t hear anything coming out of the earphones. I pointed to my ear and gave him the cut sign across my neck. Audio was dead to me. I could see him check his board and shake his head. Then the sound came back.
 
“So what do you think, George? Can you ask it?” The caller’s voice said.
 
“Hey, my friend, you broke up out there,” I said, hoping that it was his phone and not our audio. “Run that by me again?”
 
I looked down. The planchette was still sitting on “No,” only this time it seemed as if it had moved a little. My hands were resting on it, but I felt nothing.
 
My caller began speaking when, as suddenly as the lights had gone out moments earlier, all the dials on the panels in front of me dropped to zero as if somebody had pulled the plug. I still had sound in my earphones, but none of the instruments were registering. And, again, I shot a what’s up look to my producer, who only shrugged and then gave me a thumbs-up.
 
“We’re having some difficulty here with the line,” I said to my caller, who, by now, was getting impatient. “So I thank you for dialing in.” And I cut off the call.
 
“Why?” I could lipread my producer through the glass.
 
I shrugged again. I didn’t know. It was as if some poltergeist were playing tricks with the equipment. But I went back to the Ouija board as another call came in with a question, this one really spooky, about, “Who was the spirit attending to the board?”
 
“What do you mean?” I asked the caller.
 
“The boards have spirits sometimes,” the caller said, assuring the audience that she had used Ouija boards many times and had communicated with spirits speaking through them and guiding the planchette over the letters. “You can ask it a question and it will identify itself.”
 
My producer’s attention was riveted on the caller as she explained that I had to concentrate my full attention on the board and ask the board to spell out the name of the spirit.
 
As I began to focus, the entire studio went black again and, this time, even the computers lost power. I could hear a multitude of voices in my earphones, lots of yelling, and the frantic sounds of engineers shouting to technicians. Then the auxiliary generators kicked in, the lights came up, dimmed, and then went out again. The studio was dead.
 
Next thing I knew, amid the darkness that seemed blacker than a moonless night, the door from the control room burst open with a crash and in flew Howard Morton, my producer.
 
“Give me that damn thing,” he said, without even telling me what he meant. But I sensed it anyway.
 
He took the Ouija board out of my hands, stuffed it back in the box, threw the planchette in after it, and folded the flaps closed.
 
“Now I’m getting this thing out of here.”
 
And he tossed it through the control room door to another technician.
 
The lights came up. I could hear the hum of the generators’ winding motors, and suddenly the dials on the panels in front of me shot up to their nominal levels. Diodes and LEDs began to flicker, and I heard the soft sound of the computer hard drive heads engage. We were back.
 
“You know what, caller from Texas,” I said into the mike. “We just got rid of the Ouija board. It was the darndest thing you ever saw.”
 
“I copy...

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