Evidence for a Hollow and Inhabited Inner Earth

glr_Andrea's picture

 

Evidence for a Hollow and Inhabited Inner Earth

 

GFP commentary: we received a note pointing out that the Secret Diary is a fake. The article talks about a movie that came out ten years before the "Secret Diary of the Admiral" was released and there's parts of the two that are almost identical. As we cannot confirm one point of view or the other about Admiral Richard Evelyn Byrd we give you the link to the article: http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/tierra_hueca/esp_tierra_hueca_20.htm. This of course does not mean that the Hollow Earth does not exist, simply that it is not clear if Byrd has done his trip there or not.

 

 

For some time I’ve been looking into the theories about our planet being hollow—and I say theories not because I disbelieve, but because as yet, no one has irrefutable proof that the masses accept—but pretty close!

I have enough faith in our gifted souls who share information about past lives and channeled messages, as well as the scientific evidence presented through alternative channels to believe that there are people living on the underside of Earth’s crust. Atlanteans and Lemurians were denied their place in history for a long time but have since been confirmed enough for me, so why would we stop there?

If I believe our Star Families are “out there” watching over us as our guardians, I would consider it hypocritical to deny there could be advanced beings hiding themselves in the Inner Earth; far from we primitives, waiting for the ideal time to mingle and share the secrets of their existence as well as ours.

The most intriguing hook in the Hollow Earth tale for me was the entries in the U.S. Navy’s Rear Admiral Richard Evelyn Byrd’s secret diary from 1947. I could see in my third eye what he was describing and recall thinking, “Why not?”

There are also whisperings of intelligent beings living within other planets in the Universe rather than on their surfaces, and there is growing evidence that our own moon is hollow, as well as Phobos, the moon of Mars. It seems a natural solution on an inhospitable sphere to go subterranean.

There are also books describing the escapades of others who claim to have stumbled upon Inner Earth as well as details from remote viewing sessions.

We know we’re at least thousands of years behind most of the Universe as far as technology, so I believe pretty much anything is possible, and I suspect that later this year, probably after Disclosure and First Contact, we’ll find that anything IS and already has been possible for a very long time.

Our limited thinking and beliefs are the only obstacles preventing us from seeing possibilities and potential where we currently do not—that and our dense, low vibrational plane from where we are unable to detect the higher realms.

 

Yes, our “masters” have defined our reality for so long that Humanity in general is severely handicapped in its ability to accept or recognize truth and reality. We need to trust some of the recent information coming forth and begin to establish new guidelines for reality if we are to graduate into higher beings and navigate life from a grander perspective.

I certainly can’t improve on Admiral Byrd’s own diary, so I’m including below the entries that pertain to his impromptu visit with the beings residing below the “surface world” as they refer to it, and you can evaluate it for yourself.

It’s not as long as you might think, as his plane was only sidetracked for about 3 hours.

Even if none of it were true, what a glorious story it makes, and a timely one, as we are now at the point of extinction if the wars and plundering of our planet don’t cease, and our star families are again warning us that nuclear war is not an option.

The Secret Diary of Rear Admiral Richard Evelyn Byrd: A Flight to the Land Beyond the North Pole

BYRD’S JOURNAL (with some minor editing by a publisher)

The reader will relive that period as he reads this document. l beg your pardon. The reader will relive that period as he reads this document. To say it is fascinating is to place it mildly but read it now for yourself and I think you will conclude in the Admiral’s own words just as the long night of the Arctic ends the brilliant sunshine of truth shall come again and those who are of darkness shall fail in this light.

And of course that was a quotation by Byrd himself. Now here is the contents of what he has written. He says:

I must write this diary in secrecy and obscurity. It concerns my arctic flight of the 19th day of February in the year 1947. There comes a time when the rationality of men must fade into insignificance and one must accept the inevitability of this truth. I am not at liberty to disclose the following documentation in this writing.

Perhaps it shall never see the light of public scrutiny but I must do my duty and record here for all to read one day in a world which hopes the greed and exploitation of certain of mankind can do no longer suppress that which is truth.

 

O.K. at this point of course he begins with his flight log and the flight log of course is posted as any flight log would be in a military manner, using military times and so forth. Now the hours are eliminated so we won’t use those. Those could be 1400 hours, it could be 0900 hours whatever, but these have all been deleted so for the purposes of this narrative and presentation we’ll just say hours. At the beginning hours it says all preparations are complete for our flight northward and we are airborne with full fuel load at such and such hour.

Next entry: Fuel mixture on starboard engine seems too rich, adjustment made and the Pratt Whitneys are running smoothly now.

Next entry: Position check with bubble sextant, recheck with sun compass our heading execute slight heading change and of course as planned.

Next entry: Radio check with base camp. All is well and radio reception is normal.

Next entry: Note slight oil leak in the starboard engine, oil pressure indicator seems normal however.

Next entry: Slight turbulence noted from easterly direction at altitude of 2,321 feet correction to 1,700 feet. No further turbulence but tail wind increases. Slight adjustment in throttle controls, aircraft performing very well now.

Next entry: Radio check with base camp, situation normal.

Later another entry: Turbulence encountered again, increase altitude to 2,900 feet, smooth flight conditions prevail.

Next entry: Vast ice and snow below, no correlation of yellowish nature and dispersed in a linear pattern.

Altering course for a better examination of this colour pattern below. Note reddish or purple colour also. Circle this area two full turns and return to assigned compass heading.

Position check made again to base camp and relay information concerning colorations in the ice and snow below.

Next entry: Both magnetic and gyro compasses beginning to gyrate and wobble. We are unable to hold our heading by instrumentation. Take bearing with sun compass yet all seems well. The controls are seemingly slow to respond and have sluggish quality but there is no indication or actual icing.

Next entry: In the distance is what appears to be mountains. Next entry: 29 minutes elapsed flight time from the first sighting of the mountains. It is no illusion, they are real. They are mountains and consisting of a small range that I have never seen before.

Next entry: Altitude change to 2,950 feet encountering strong turbulence again.

 

Next entry: We are crossing over the small mountain range and still proceeding northwards as best as can be ascertained. Beyond the mountain range is what appears to be a valley with a small river or stream running through the center portion. There should be no green valley below. Something is definitely wrong and abnormal here. We should be over ice and snow. To the port side are great forests growing on the mountain slopes. Our navigation instruments are still spinning; the gyroscope is oscillating back and forth.

Next entry: I altered our altitude to 1,400 feet and executed a sharp left turn to better examine the valley below. It is green with either moss or a type of tight knit grass. The light here seems different. I cannot see the sun anymore. We make another left turn and we spot what seems to be a large animal of some kind below us. It appears to be an elephant. No, it looks more like a mammoth. This is incredible, yet there it is. Decrease altitude to 1,000 feet and take binoculars to examine the animal. It is confirmed; it is definitely a mammoth-like animal. I report this to base camp.

Next entry: Encountering more rolling green hills now. The external temperature indicator reads 74? Fahrenheit. Continuing on our heading now. Navigation instruments seem normal now. I am puzzled over their actions. Attempt to contact base camp. Radio is not functioning.

Next entry: Countryside below is more level and normal if I may use that word. Ahead we spot what seems to be a city. This is impossible. Aircraft seems light and oddly buoyant. The controls refuse to respond. My God. Off our port and starboard wings are a strange type of aircraft. They are closing rapidly alongside. They are disk shaped and have a radiant quality to them. They are close enough now to see the markings on them. It is a type of swastika. This is fantastic. Where are we? What has happened? I tug at the controls again. They will not respond. We are caught in an invisible vise grip of some type.

Next entry: Our radio crackles and a voice comes through in English with what perhaps is a slight Nordic or Germanic accent. The message is Welcome Admiral to our domain. We shall land you in exactly seven minutes. Relax Admiral; you are in good hands. O.K. at this point he says I note the engines of our plane have stopped running. The engine is under some strain to control and is now turning itself. The controls are totally useless.

Next entry: Another radio message received. We begin the landing process now and in moments the plane shudders lightly and begins a descent as though caught in some great unseen elevator. The downward motion is negligible and we touch down with only a slight jolt.

Next entry: I am making a hasty last entry in the flight log. Several men are approaching on foot towards our aircraft. They are tall with blonde hair. In the distance is a large shimmering city pulsating with rainbow hues of color. I do not know what is going to happen now but I see no signs of weapons on those approaching. I hear now a voice ordering me by name to open the cargo door. I comply and this is the end or the log for now.

From this point I write all of the following events from memory. It defies the imagination and would seem all but madness if it had not actually happened.

 

The radioman and I are taken from the aircraft and we are received in a most cordial manner. We were then boarded on a small platform like conveyance with no wheels. It moves us towards the glowing city with great swiftness. As we approach the city seems to be made of crystal like material. Soon we arrive at a large building that is a type I have never seen before. It appears to be right out of the design board of Frank Lloyd Wright or perhaps more correctly out of the Buck Rogers setting. We are given some type of warm beverage which tasted like nothing I have ever savored before. It is delicious. After about ten minutes two of our wondrous appearing hosts come to our quarters and announce that I am to accompany them. I have no choice but to comply. I leave my radioman behind and we walk a short distance and enter into what seems to be an elevator. We descend downwards for some moments. The machine stops and the door lifts silently upwards. We then proceed down a long hallway that is lit by a rose colored light that seems to be emanating from the very walls themselves. One of the beings motions for us to stop before a great door. Over the door is an inscription that I cannot read. The door slides noiselessly open and I am beckoned to enter. One of my hosts speaks.

Have no fear Admiral, you are to have an audience with the master. I step inside and my eyes adjust to the beautiful coloration that seems to be filling the room completely. Then I begin to see my surroundings. To my eyes is the most beautiful sight of my entire existence. It is in fact too beautiful and wondrous to describe. It is exquisite and delicate. I do not think there exists a human term that can describe it in any detail with justice. My thoughts are interrupted in a cordial manner by a warm rich voice of melodious quality. I bid you welcome to our domain Admiral. I see a man with delicate features and with the etching of years upon his face. He is seated at a long table. He motions me to sit down in one of the chairs. After I am seated he places his finger tips together and smiles.

He speaks softly again and conveys the following. We have let you enter here because you are of noble character and well known on the surface world, Admiral. Surface world I half gasp under my breath. Yes, the master replies with a smile. You are in the domain of the Ari Anni the inner world of the earth. We shall not long delay your mission and you will be safely escorted back to the surface and for a distance beyond; but now Admiral I shall tell you why you have been summoned here. Our interest rightly begins just after your race exploded the the first atomic bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki Japan. It was at that alarming time we sent our flying machines that is the fukurods (flugelrads) to your surface world to investigate what your race had done. Fukurods incidentally are Flying saucers. This is of course past history my dear Admiral, but I must continue on. You see we have never interfered before in your-race’s wars and barbarity but now we must for you have learned to tamper with a certain power that is not for man; namely that of atomic energy. Our emissaries have already delivered messages to the powers of your world and yet you do not heed. Now you have been chosen to be witness here that our world does exist. You see our culture and science is many thousands of years beyond your race, Admiral.

I interrupted. But what does this have to do with me, sir?

The master’s eyes seemed to penetrate deeply into my mind and after studying me for a few moments he replied. Your race has now reached the point of no return for there are those among you who would destroy your very world rather than relinquish their power as they know it.

I nodded. And the master continued. In 1945 and afterward we tried to contact your race but our efforts were met with hostility. Our fukurods were fired upon, yes even pursued with malice and animosity by your fighter planes. So now I say to you my son, there is a great storm gathering in your world, a black fury that will not spend itself for many years. There will be no answer in your arms, there will be no safety in science. It may rage on until every flower of your culture is trampled and all human beings are leveled in vast chaos. Your recent war is only a prelude of what is yet to come for your race. We here see it more clearly with each hour. Do you say I am mistaken, he asked. No, I answered, it happened once before. The dark ages came and they lasted for more than 500 years.

Yes my son, replied the master, the dark ages will come now for your race and will cover the earth like a pall. But I believe that some of your race will live through the storm, beyond that I cannot say. We see at a great distance a new world growing from the ruins of your race seeking its lost and legendary treasures and they will be here, my son, safe in our keeping. When that time arrives we shall come forward again to help revive your culture and your race. Perhaps by then you will have learned the futility of war and its strife. And after that time certain of your culture and science will be returned to and for your race to begin anew. You my son are to return to the surface world with this message. With these closing words our meeting seemed to come to an end. I stood for a moment as if in a dream but yet I knew that this was reality and for some strange reason I bowed slightly, either out of respect or humility, I do not know which. Suddenly I was again aware that the two beautiful hosts who had brought me here were again at my side. This way Admiral motioned one.

I turned once more before leaving and looked back towards the master. A gentle smile was on his delicate and ancient face. Farewell my son, he spoke, and then he gestured with a lovely slender hand a motion of peace and our meeting was truly at an end. Quickly we walked back through the great door of the master’s chamber and once again entered into the elevator. The door slid silently downward and we were once again going upward. One of my hosts spoke again. We must now make haste Admiral as the master desires to delay you no longer on your scheduled timetable and you must return with the message to your race. I said nothing; all of this was almost beyond belief and once again my thoughts were interrupted as we stopped. I entered the room and was once again with my radioman. He had an anxious expression on his face and as I approached I said it’s alright Howie, it’s all right. The two beings motioned us towards the waiting conveyance. We boarded and soon arrived back at the aircraft. The engines were idling and we boarded immediately. The whole atmosphere seemed charged now with a certain air of urgency. After the cargo door was closed the aircraft was immediately lifted by the unseen force until we reached an altitude of 2,700 feet. Two of the aircraft were alongside for some distance guiding us on our return way.

I must state here the air speed indicator registered no reading yet we were moving along at a very rapid rate.

Here’s our log again. A radio message comes through. We are leaving you now Admiral, your controls are free. Auf wiedersehn.

Isn’t that interesting. Auf wiedersehn, German, Germanic.

We watch for a moment as the fukurods disappear into the pale blue sky. An aircraft suddenly as though caught in a sharp downdraft for a moment. We quickly recovered our control, we do not speak for some time; each man has his own thoughts.

Entry in log continues: Hours we are again over vast areas of ice and snow and approximately 27 minutes from base camp. We radio them; they respond. We report all conditions normal. Base camp expresses relief at our re-established contact.

Next entry: We land smoothly at the base camp and I have a mission.

And that is the end of the log entries.

O.K. on March 11th 1947 (this is Admiral Byrd speaking) I have just attended a staff meeting at the Pentagon. I have stated fully my discovery and the message from the master. All is duly recorded. The President has been advised. I am now detained for several hours – six hours and 39 minutes to be exact. I am interviewed by top security forces and a medical team. It was indeed an ordeal. I am placed under strict control via the national security provisions of the United States of America. I am ordered to remain silent in regard to all that I have learned on the behalf of humanity. Incredible. I am reminded that I am a military man and I must obey orders.

Final entry. These last few years elapsed since 1947 have not been kind. I now make my final entry into this singular diary. In closing I must state that I have faithfully kept this matter secret as directed all these years. It has been completely against my values of moral right. Now I seem to sense the long night coming on and this secret will not die with me but as all truth shall it will triumph and so it shall. This can be the only hope for mankind. I have seen the truth and it has quickened my spirit and has set me free. I have done my duty towards the monstrous military industrial complex.

END OF THE JOURNAL

So once again, it seems the military hushed up a story, yet now it has resurfaced and has ricocheted all over the Internet to help us put our shredded past back together. Interesting that he wrote, “the monstrous military industrial complex”. He knew.

Byrd wrote that just 4 months prior to the Roswell crash. Something to think about.

I thought it particularly interesting that he says the beings were a tall, blonde probably Germanic-speaking race—the Ari Anni. It sounds so similar to Hitler’s planned Aryan race; and flying saucers with swastika-like markings on them—a coincidence?

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The smokey God " I love this one" And i Love you

Aashna's picture
THE SMOKY GOD
Or
A Voyage to the Inner World

 

"He is the God who sits in the center, on the navel of the earth, and he is the interpreter of religion to all mankind."
-- Plato.

PART ONE:
Author's Foreword

I fear the seemingly incredible story which I am about to relate will be regarded as the result of a distorted intellect superinduced, possibly, by the glamour of unveiling a marvelous mystery, rather than a truthful record of the unparalleled experiences related by one Olaf Jansen, whose eloquent madness so appealed to my imagination that all thought of an analytical criticism has been effectually dispelled.

Marco Polo will doubtless shift uneasily in his grave at the strange story I am called upon to chronicle; a story as strange as a Munchausen tale. It is also incongruous that I, a disbeliever, should be the one to edit the story of Olaf Jansen, whose name is now for the first time given to the world, yet who must hereafter rank as one of the notables of earth.

I freely confess his statements admit of no rational analysis, but have to do with the profound mystery concerning the frozen North that for centuries has claimed the attention of scientists and laymen alike.

However much they are at variance with the cosmographical manuscripts of the past, these plain statements may be relied upon as a record of the things Olaf Jansen claims to have seen with his own eyes.

A hundred times I have asked myself whether it is possible that the world's geography is incomplete, and that the startling narrative of Olaf Jansen is predicated upon demonstrable facts. The reader may be able to answer these queries to his own satisfaction, however far the chronicler of this narrative may be from having reached a conviction. Yet sometimes even I am at a loss to know whether I have been led away from an abstract truth by the ignes fatui of a clever superstition, or whether heretofore accepted facts are, after all, founded upon falsity.

It may be that the true home of Apollo was not at Delphi, but in that older earth-center of which Plato speaks, where he says: "Apollo's real home is among the Hyperboreans, in a land of perpetual life, where mythology tells us two doves flying from the two opposite ends of the world met in this fair region, the home of Apollo. Indeed, according to Hecataeus, Leto, the mother of Apollo, was born on an island in the Arctic Ocean far beyond the North Wind."

It is not my intention to attempt a discussion of the theogony of the deities nor the cosmogony of the world. My simple duty is to enlighten the world concerning a heretofore unknown portion of the universe, as it was seen and described by the old Norseman, Olaf Jansen.

Interest in northern research is international. Eleven nations are engaged in, or have contributed to, the perilous work of trying to solve Earth's one remaining cosmological mystery.

There is a saying, ancient as the hills, that "truth is stranger than fiction," and in a most startling manner has this axiom been brought home to me within the last fortnight.

It was just two o'clock in the morning when I was aroused from a restful sleep by the vigorous ringing of my door-bell. The untimely disturber proved to be a messenger bearing a note, scrawled almost to the point of illegibility, from an old Norseman by the name of Olaf Jansen. After much deciphering, I made out the writing, which simply said: "Am ill unto death.  Come." The call was imperative, and I lost no time in making ready to comply.

Perhaps I may as well explain here that Olaf Jansen, a man who quite recently celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday, has for the last half-dozen years been living alone in an unpretentious bungalow out Glendale way, a short distance from the business district of Los Angeles, California.

It was less then two years ago, while out walking one afternoon, that I was attracted by Olaf Jansen's house and it's homelike surroundings, toward its owner and occupant, whom I afterward came to know as a believer in the ancient worship of Odin and Thor.

There was a gentleness in his face, and a kindly expression in the keenly alert gray eyes of this man who had lived more than four-score years and ten; and, withal, a sense of loneliness that appealed to my sympathy. Slightly stooped, and with his hands clasped behind him, he walked back and forth with slow and measured tread, that day when first we met. I can hardly say what particular motive impelled me to pause in my walk and engage him in conversation. He seemed pleased when I complimented him on the attractiveness of his bungalow, and on the well-tended vines and flowers clustering in profusion over its windows, roof and wide piazza.

I soon discovered that my new acquaintance was no ordinary person, but one profound and learned to a remarkable degree; a man who, in the later years of his long life, had dug deeply into books and become strong in the power of meditative silence.

I encouraged him to talk, and soon gathered that he had resided only six or seven years in Southern California, but had passed the dozen years prior in one of the middle Eastern states. Before that he had been a fisherman off the coast of Norway, in the region of the Lofoden Islands, from whence he had made trips still farther north to Spitzbergen and even to Franz Josef Land.

When I started to make my leave, he seemed reluctant to have me go, and asked me to come again. Although at the time I thought nothing of it, I remember now that he made a peculiar remark as I extended my hand in leave-taking. "You will come again?" he asked. "Yes, you will come again some day. I am sure you will; and I shall show you my library and tell you many things of which you have never dreamed, things so wonderful that it may be you will not believe me."

I laughingly assured him that I would not only come again, but would be ready to believe whatever he might choose to tell me of his travels and adventures.

In the days that followed I became well acquainted with Olaf Jansen, and, little by little, he told me his story, so marvelous, that its very daring challenges reason and belief. The old Norseman always expressed himself with so much earnestness and sincerity that I became enthralled by his strange narrations.

Then came the messengers's call that night, and within the hour I was at Olaf Jansen bungalow.

He was very impatient at the long wait, although after being summoned I had come immediately to his bedside.

"I must hasten," he exclaimed, while yet he held my hand in greeting. "I have much to tell you that you know not, and I will trust no one but you. I fully realize," he went on hurriedly," that I shall not survive the night. The time has come to join my fathers in the great sleep."

I adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable, and assured him I was glad to be able to serve him in any way possible, for I was beginning to realize the seriousness of his condition.

The lateness of the hour, the stillness of the surroundings, the uncanny feeling of being alone with the dying man, together with his weird story, all combined to make my heart beat fast and loud with a feeling for which I have no name. Indeed, there were many times that night by the old Norseman's couch, and there have been many times since, when a sensation rather than a conviction took possession of my very soul, and I seemed not only to believe in, but actually see, the strange lands, the strange people and the strange world of which he told, and to hear the mighty orchestral chorus of a thousand lusty voices.

For over two hours he seemed endowed with almost superhuman strength, talking rapidly, and to all appearances, rationally. Finally he gave me into my hands certain data, drawings and crude maps. "These," said he in conclusion, "I leave in your hands. If I can have your promise to give them to the world, I shall die happy, because I desire that people may know the truth, for then all mystery concerning the frozen Northland will be explained. There is no chance of your suffering the fate I suffered. They will not put you in irons, nor confine you in a mad-house, because you are not telling your own story, but mine, and I, thanks to the gods, Odin and Thor, will be in my grave, and so beyond the reach of disbelievers who would persecute."

Without a thought of the far-reaching results the promise entailed, or foreseeing the many sleepless nights which the obligation has since brought me, I gave my hand and with it a pledge to discharge faithfully his dying wish.

As the sun rose over the peaks of the San Jacinto, far to the eastward, the spirit of Olaf Jansen, the navigator, the explorer and worshiper of Odin and Thor, the man whose experiences and travels, as related, are without a parallel in the world's history, passed away, and I was left alone with the dead.

And now, after having paid the last sad rites to this strange man from the Lofoden Islands, and the still farther "Northward Ho!", the courageous explorer of frozen regions, who in his declining years (after he had passed the four-score mark) had sought an asylum of restful peace in sunfavored California, I will undertake to make public his story.

But, first of all, let me indulge in one or two reflections:

Generation follows generation, and the traditions from the misty past are handed down from sire to son, but for some strange reason interest in the ice-locked unknown does not abate with the receding years, either in the minds of the ignorant or the tutored.

With each new generation a restless impulse stirs the hearts of men to capture the veiled citadel of the Arctic, the circle of silence, the land of glaciers, cold wastes of waters and winds that are strangely warm. Increasing interest is manifested in the mountainous icebergs, and marvelous speculations are indulged in concerning the earth's center of gravity, the cradle of the tides, where the whales have their nurseries, where the magnetic needle goes mad, where the Aurora Borealis illumines the night, and where brave and courageous spirits of every generation dare to venture and explore, defying the dangers of the "Farthest North."

One of the ablest works of recent years is "Paradise Found, or the Cradle of The Human Race at the North Pole," by William F. Warren. In his carefully prepared volume, Mr. Warren almost stubbed his toe against the real truth, but missed it seemingly by only a hair's breadth, if the old Norseman's revelation be true.

Dr. Orville Livingston Leech, scientist, in a recent article, says: "The possibilities of land inside the earth were first brought to my attention when I picked up a geode on the shores of the Great Lakes. The geode is a spherical and apparently solid stone, but when broken is found to be hollow and coated with crystals. The earth is only a large form of a geode, and the law that created the geode in its hollow form undoubtedly fashioned the earth in the same way."

In presenting the theme of this almost incredible story, as told by Olaf Jansen, and supplemented by manuscript, maps and crude drawings entrusted to me, a fitting introduction is found in the following quotation:

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and the earth was without form and void." And also, "God created man in his own image." Therefore, even in things material, man must be God-like, because he is in the likeness of the Father.

A man builds a house for himself and family. The porches or verandas are all without, and are secondary. The building is really constructed for the conveniences within.

Olaf Jansen makes the startling announcement through me, an humble instrument, that in like manner, God created the earth for the "within" - that is to say, for its lands, seas, rivers, mountains, forests and valleys, and for its other internal conveniences, while the outside surface of the earth is merely the veranda, the porch, where things grow by comparison but sparsely, like the lichen on the mountain side, clinging determinedly for bare existence.

Take an egg-shell, and from each end break out a piece as large as the end of this pencil. Extract its contents, and then you will have a perfect representation of Olaf Jansen's earth. The distance from the inside surface to the outside surface, according to him, is about three hundred miles. The center of gravity is not in the center of the earth, but in the center of the shell or crust; therefore, if the thickness of the earth's crust or shell is three hundred miles, the center of gravity is one hundred and fifty miles below the surface.

In their log-books Arctic explorers tell us of the dipping of the needle as the vessel sails in regions of the farthest north known. In reality, they are at the curve; on the edge of the shell, where gravity is geometrically increased, and while the electric current seemingly dashes off into space toward the phantom idea of the North Pole, yet this same electric current drops again and continues its course southward along the inside surface of the earth's crust.

In the appendix to his work, Captain Sabine gives an account of experiments to determine the acceleration of the pendulum in different latitudes. This appears to have resulted from the joint labor of Peary and Sabine. He says: "The accidental discovery that a pendulum on being removed from Paris to the neighborhood of the equator increased its time of vibration, gave the first step to our present knowledge that the polar axis of the globe is less than the equatorial; that the force of gravity at the surface of the earth increases progressively from the equator toward the poles."

According to Olaf Jansen, in the beginning this old world of ours was created solely for the "within" world, where are located the four great rivers -- the Euphrates, the Pison, the Gihon and the Hiddekel. These same names of rivers, when applied to streams on the "outside" surface of the earth, are purely traditional from an antiquity beyond the memory of man.

On the top of a high mountain, near the fountain-head of these four rivers, Olaf Jansen, the Norseman, claims to have discovered the long-lost "Garden of Eden," the veritable navel of the earth, and to have spent over two years studying and reconnoitering in this marvelous "within" land, exuberant with stupendous plant life and abounding in giant animals; a land where the people live to be centuries old, after the order of Methuselah and other Biblical characters; a region where one-quarter of the "inner" surface is water and three-quarters land; where there are large oceans and many rivers and lakes; where the cities are superlative in construction and magnificence; where modes of transportation are as far in advance of ours as we with our boasted achievements are in advance of the inhabitants of "darkest Africa."

The distance directly across the space from inner surface to inner surface is about six hundred miles less than the recognized diameter of the earth. In the identical center of this vast vacuum is the seat of electricity -- a mammoth ball of dull red fire -- not startlingly brilliant, but surrounded by a white, mild, luminous cloud, giving out uniform warmth, and held in its place in the center of this internal space by the immutable law of gravitation. This electrical cloud is known to the people "within" as the abode of "The Smoky God." They believe it to be the throne of "The Most High."

Olaf Jansen reminded me of how, in the old college days, we were all familiar with the laboratory demonstrations of centrifugal motion, which clearly proved that, if the earth were a solid, the rapidity of its revolution upon its axis would tear it into a thousand fragments.

The old Norseman also maintained that from the farthest points of land on the islands of Spitzbergen and Franz Josef Land, flocks of geese may be seen annually flying still farther northward, just as the sailors and explorers record in their log-books. No scientist has yet been audacious enough to attempt to explain, even to his own satisfaction, toward what lands these winged fowls are guided by their subtle instinct. However, Olaf Jansen has given us a most reasonable explanation.

The presence of the open sea in the Northland is also explained. Olaf Jansen claims that the northern aperture, intake or hole, so to speak, is about fourteen hundred miles across. In connection with this, let us read what Explorer Nansen writes, on page 288 of his book: "I have never had such a splendid sail. On to the north, steadily north, with a good wind, as fast as steam and sail can take us, an open sea mile after mile, watch after watch, through these unknown regions, always clearer and clearer of ice, one might almost say: 'How long will it last?' The eye always turns to the northward as one paces the bridge. It is gazing into the future. But there is always the same dark sky ahead which means open sea." Again, the Norwood Review of England, in its issue of May 10, 1884, says: "We do not admit that there is ice up to the Pole - once inside the great ice barrier, a new world breaks upon the explorer, the climate is mild like that of England, and, afterward, balmy as the Greek Isles."

Some of the rivers "within," Olaf Jansen claims, are larger than our Mississippi and Amazon rivers combined, in point of volume of water carried; indeed their greatness is occasioned by their width and depth rather than their length, and it is at the mouths of these mighty rivers, as they flow northward and southward along the inside surface of the earth, that mammoth icebergs are found, some of them fifteen and twenty miles wide and from forty to one hundred miles in length.

Is it not strange that there has never been an iceberg encountered either in the Arctic or Antarctic Ocean that is not composed of fresh water? Modern scientists claim that freezing eliminates the salt, but Olaf Jansen claims differently.

Ancient Hindoo, Japanese and Chinese writings, as well as hieroglyphics of the extinct races of the North American continent, all speak of the custom of sun-worshiping, and it is possible, in the startling light of Olaf Jansen's revelations, that the people of the inner world, lured away by glimpses of the sun as it shone upon the inner surface of the earth, either from the northern or the southern opening, became dissatisfied with "The Smoky God," the great pillar or mother cloud of electricity, and, weary of their continuously mild and pleasant atmosphere, followed the brighter light, and were finally led beyond the ice belt and scattered over the "outer" surface of the earth, through Asia, Europe, North America and, later, Africa, Australia and South America.1

1The following quotation is significant; "It follows that man issuing from a mother-region still undetermined but which a number of considerations indicate to have been in the North, has radiated in several directions; that his migrations have been constantly from North to South." - M. le Marquis G. de Saporta, in Popular Science Montly, October, 1883, page 753.

It is a notable fact that, as we approach the Equator, the stature of the human race grows less. But the Patagonians of South America are probably the only aborigines from the center of the earth who came out through the aperture usually designated as the South Pole, and they are called the giant race.

Olaf Jansen avers that, in the beginning, the world was created by the Great Architect of the Universe, so that man might dwell upon its "inside" surface, which has ever since been the habitation of the "chosen."

They who were driven out of the "Garden of Eden" brought their traditional history with them.

The history of the people living "within" contains a narrative suggesting the story of Noah and the ark with which we are familiar. He sailed away, as did Columbus, from a certain port, to a strange land he had heard of far to the northward, carrying with him all manner of beasts of the fields and fowls of the air, but was never heard of afterward.

On the northern boundaries of Alaska, and still more frequently on the Siberian coast, are found bone-yards containing tusks of ivory in quantities so great as to suggest the burying-places of antiquity. From Olaf Jansen's account, they have come from the great prolific animal life that abounds in the fields and forests and on the banks of numerous rivers of the Inner World. The materials were caught in the ocean currents, or were carried on ice-floes, and have accumulated like driftwood on the Siberian coast. This has been going on for ages, and hence these mysterious bone-yards.

On this subject William F. Warren, in his book already cited, pages 297 and 298, says: "The Arctic rocks tell of a lost Atlantis more wonderful than Plato's. The fossil ivory beds of Siberia excel everything of the kind in the world. From the days of Pliny, at least, they have constantly been undergoing exploitation, and still they are the chief headquarters of supply. The remains of mammoths are so abundant that, as Gratacap says, 'the northern islands of Siberia seem built up of crowded bones.' Another scientific writer, speaking of the islands of New Siberia, northward of the mouth of the River Lena, uses this language: 'Large quantities of ivory are dug out of the ground every year. Indeed, some of the islands are believed to be nothing but an accumulation of drift-timber and the bodies of mammoths and other antediluvian animals frozen together.' From this we may infer that, during the years that have elapsed since the Russian conquest of Siberia, useful tusks from more than twenty thousand mammoths have been collected."

But now for the story of Olaf Jansen. I give it in detail, as set down by himself in manuscript, and woven into the tale, just as he placed them are certain quotations from recent works on Arctic exploration, showing how carefully the old Norseman compared with his own experiences those of other voyagers to the frozen North. Thus wrote the disciple of Odin and Thor:

Continue to Part Two

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