By Bruce A. Smith
A dramatic – and surely shocking for many – documentary on the crash of Flight 800 is about to be shown on cable TV. In the July 17 broadcast, titled “TWA Flight 800,” six members of the official NTSB investigation will describe how their work had been compromised seventeen years earlier. They charge that evidence was doctored or stolen by the FBI, and that the official conclusion that TWA Flight 800 exploded in mid-air due to faulty fuel lines is untrue.
A special screening of “TWA Flight 800” will be broadcast at the Triad Theater in Yelm on July 17.
I am eager to view the documentary because I have many personal ties to this crash and investigation. As a former commercial beachcleaner on Long Island, I know well the area where the remains of 800 washed-up, primarily the beaches at Suffolk County’s Smith Point Park.
In addition, the downing of TWA 800 was one of the first major pieces of investigative journalism that I’ve conducted. But more importantly, this story was part of a powerful transformation – an instrument that helped launch my re-location to Nashville and become a more vibrant and creative person.
TWA Flight 800 crashed shortly after 8 pm on July 17, 1996 about eight miles from the sandy shores of Center Moriches, Long Island. Moments before, it had taken off from JFK and was headed for Paris. 800 burst into a fire ball at about 17,000 feet and was seen by hundreds of eye witnesses as it plummeted into the Atlantic Ocean.
Over 200 passengers and crew perished.
The 1997 Congressional Inquiry found that rubbing fuel lines had caused a static electricity build-up that somehow entered the empty fuel tank located at the center of the aircraft, causing it to explode. This, in turn, triggered a series of explosions in neighboring fuel tanks.
Aircraft flying eastbound over the Atlantic typically fly with at least one empty fuel tank because they need less fuel since they are assisted by the winds of the jet stream.
Nevertheless, dozens of witnesses claim they saw a missile or some device blast from the surface of the ocean and impact the plane.
Further, noted military remote viewer David Morehouse has publicly stated that Flight 800 was brought down by a particle-beam weapon.
The downing of Flight 800 touched me deeply and in 1998 I had a powerful interdimensional experience that involved this tragedy. The following story is my account of an encounter with an interdimensional being who called himself “The Blue Angel,” and he told me a unique version of the Flight 800 story. He asked me to write a song about it, which I’ve done.
The Writing of the Ballad of Flight 800
My song, “The Ballad of Flight 800” was born in the summer of 1998 at Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment in Yelm, Washington.
During a session of Blue Body Dancing, a meditative discipline that is like free-form dancing, I experienced an overwhelming fear of being incapable to provide myself with food, clothing and shelter. Instead of joy, my dream of becoming a professional storyteller and musician felt like a monstrous nightmare of poverty, isolation, and vulnerability. I attempted to dance a resolution to these anxieties but the more I danced the deeper I felt I was drowning in an oceanic vortex of despair. I cried for help.
“Please, help me, Ramtha.” Unbeknownst to me, Ramtha was standing right in front of me, seemingly just waiting for me to ask for help. He stepped up to my right ear and said matter-of-factly, “You can do it”. Then he stepped back and walked away.
I refocused on my dance. Instantly, I was catapulted into a realm of blue consciousness that I had never been to before. I felt “totally elsewhere.”
While in this blue consciousness an entity with a round, smiling face approached me. I saw him and all the surroundings in shades of sparkling blue. For the next four hours I experienced a stream of interactive visions with this blue entity who told me, “When you tell people about me, just tell them I’m “The Blue Angel.”
In these visions The Blue Angel told me the full story of the downing of TWA Flight 800.
The Blue Angel told me that 800 was shot down by a particle bean weapon that had been smuggled into the adjacent Brookhaven National Laboratory by French-speaking commandos who were employed by conservative elements of financial interests in Europe. Their mission was three-fold:
First, they were to blow-up the plane to assassinate a passenger who was a liberal-leaning member of a powerful European bank and end his populist initiatives. More importantly, though, they were to kill the banker’s 10-year old daughter who was destined to be more popular than Princess Diana and yet have legitimate political power. She was going to implement the policies that her father advocated.
In addition, the plane was blown up over United States air space in full view of summer beach goers to shock the American people into action against the government, in particular the presidency of Bill Clinton. The banking people who organized this assassination wanted to “knock-back” Clinton because of his popularity generated by his successful intervention in Bosnia. At the time of the downing of Flight 800, Clinton was the most popular politician in Europe, which was not tolerated well by these conservative elements of European power.
But The Blue Angel’s primary purpose was to encourage me to write a song that would help assuage the guilt of Boeing employees who felt they had built a “bad” plane. My angelic friend wanted to assure the good folks of Boeing, who take great pride in their work, that their labors were not at fault and that Boeing was just being the “fall guy” in the international drama unfolding with Flight 800 at the center.
He told me that he wanted me to write a song based on what he was showing me.
“Why me, Blue Angel? I’m not a singer, I’m a storyteller.”
“Why not you?” The Blue Angel replied. “Besides, who else should I ask, James Taylor or Jackson Browne? They’d never do it because they’re wrapped up in their careers. You, I know you’re open to the possibilities. With you I’ve got a chance.”
In the first vision I saw myself as The Blue Angel’s commanding officer in Viet Nam, flying a B-52 bomber out of Guam. Then, Blue Angel morphed into a second entity called Jimmie T. Rogers, and introduced himself as my copilot. He then told me he was to become the skipper of TWA 800 the night it crashed.
Although I have never flown a plane, let alone a B-52 bomber, the visions were fully lucid. I really felt like a bomber pilot. These first few visions were straightforward and linear like I was watching a video, but they shifted into a hyperdimensional quality where I felt like I was both the Blue Angel and Captain Jimmie T. Rogers at the same time, so I had the experience of watching myself be someone else. And through it all I felt the song coming alive.
Lyrics came in complete line, meter and rhyme, or in odd chunks. The opening phrase “Jimmie T. Rogers was a good man, he hailed from Tennessee,” came immediately. It became a talisman that I would mentally return to while dancing whenever the visions dimmed. Later, after my retreat when I was composing the song, it was where I started each writing session and it felt like an old friend that reassured me that I could write the song even when the project seemed too big or too scary.
During the three days of my dancing with The Blue Angel, I debated whether I should write down any notes or chunks of lyrics. Always my knowingness said, “No, there will be time later. Right now, while you’re still at Ramtha’s school continue to drink from the well.”
And drink I did. After my retreat, while sitting with four bottles of red wine on the tailgate of my pickup and camping in the woods in Yelm, “The Ballad of Flight 800” finished up in six days.
The song however, is only the first part of the overall “Flight 800 Project” that the Blue Angel charged me to complete.
The second phase involved recording the song and getting it heard by Boeing employees. While dancing, I had many visions of taking the song to radio stations and walking into the receptionist area.
“I’d like to see the program director, please,” I’d say. “I’ve received a song from a spiritual entity who calls himself ‘The Blue Angel’ and he wants me to give it to your radio station in order to get air play so that Boeing employees will hear it.”
Moments later an overworked, overweight and highly skeptical middle aged man comes out of an office.
“You have a song that you want me to listen to?”
“Yes,” I reply in my visions. “It’s titled ‘The Ballad of Flight 800’ and it’s about the crash of TWA 800 several years ago. An angel appeared to me and gave me the song. He wants me to get it air play in markets where Boeing employees might hear it. It’s a song to heal the fears of the men and women at Boeing who feel they are responsible for not building 747s properly. I’ve written the song. That was my job”, and then handing him the tape I say, “Now, I give it to you.”
“Please listen to it,” I continue, “and decide if it meets your standards for air play. If it does, please play it. If you think this is all too crazy for you, and you’re just going to throw it in a trash can when I walk out of here, then please give it back to me. I’ve spent all my money making just a few dozen copies, so if you really don’t want it, I take it back.”
I see the PD hesitate, then a look in his eyes tells me he’ll at least listen to it. I know I’ve gotten to first base, and the rest is up to him and his God.
In the visions the song gets a little air play at first. I pass out copies to Boeing employees at entrance gates. I go to union offices and pass out copies to Boeing people there. Slowly the word gets out. Then it explodes like a dam bursting and the third phase, direct healing work begins.
In the last phase, Blue Angel asked me to perform the song, talk about my visions, and share what I know about particle beam weapons and government cover-ups. In my visions I meet with these groups and dance with them – circle dancing while holding hands, like old fashioned country dancing. The purpose is to heal, and build connections with each other – to dispel fear and isolation.
One whole day of Blue Body Dancing with The Blue Angel was devoted to singing and dancing with B-52 crews at an air base, such as McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington. They risk their lives flying planes loaded with nuclear bombs and feel a great pride in protecting us, but they also feel a double bind as their work secures a power elite that lies to all of us. It’s a rub that cuts deeply- to risk their lives for people who don’t deserve it, and who could betray them in an instant when political winds blow against them.
During my encounter with The Blue Angel I wept profusely. In the rest periods between sets and lying flat on the floor, I was so thick with mucous I could hardly breathe. Something in side of me was healing, too; I could feel it. A fear of embracing who I really am was transmuting. I was accepting my outrageousness, my boldness, my unique individuality. I was discovering what I truly love and finding how to truly love myself, so much so that I can take any subject onto my stage and perform it with all my heart and soul. No fear. Complete joy. Total wholeness with my dream and vision.
As I began singing “800” my voice opened up tremendously. I could finally sing the way I always wanted. My greatest dream, to sing professionally, is now unfolding. In 1999, I moved to Nashville, Tennessee, the “Music City” and spent fifteen months learning to hang with “The Boys who Make the Noise, on 16th Avenue.”
Note: Ramtha® and Blue Body® are registered trademarks of JZ Knight. Used with permission. Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment is a division of JZK, Inc., PO Box 1210 Yelm, Washington 98597.
The Ballad of Flight 800
Jimmie T. Rogers was a good man, he hailed from Tennessee. (Bm-G-D)
And he was my copilot over Nam in ’73. (Bm-G-A)
I hadn’t seen him since that time but I saw him last night. (Bm-G-D)
I thought I was sleeping, so maybe this was a dream, all right. (Em-G-D)
But there he was in front of me as plain as daylight
He looked just like the old days; his eyes were clear and bright.
But all around him sparkled with electric blue light,
Then he gave me a friendly wink, let me know ev’rything was all right.
“Smitty, my man, come fly with me tonight.
I know how you like to fly in the hours past midnight.
I remember how you used to say on the Guam pre-dawn flights,
‘Hey Jimmie T, it’s just you and me, and the angels up here in the sky tonight.’ ”
“Smitty, my man, I’ve come to you tonight
‘Cause I was the skipper on 800’s last flight.
I was sitting in the big chair the night that we went down
And now I’ve come to sing a song and let a healing truth resound.”
“We had just taken off from JFK,
300 on board, ev’rything was okay.
80 people on the ground saw us hit and go down,
On the beaches of Long Island, next day our remains were found.”
“We were hit all right, but not a rocket or grenade.
A ground-based laser put 800 in its grave.
The experts say they can’t find a trace of explosives (and it’s true)
‘Cause what put 800 down that night was a super-duper, hi-tech microwave.”
“We were gone in a second, no one suffered, there was no pain.
For the next few miles, on flew that glorious plane.
Then the ‘lectromagnetics ignited up the fumes
In the empty belly fuel tank and down we went in a fiery plume.”
I’m here to tell the truth, not start a revolution.
Don’t mean to rile people up, startin’ investigations.
But I was a good Captain and proud to wear the blue.
And I want the world to know what happened to my passengers and crew.”
“Tell the good people of Boeing there’s no blood on their hands. (D-G-D)
The ’47 I flew that night was the finest in the land. (Bm-G-A)
A particle beam weapon brought us down that night. (Bm-G-D)
So tell the good people of Boeing, Blue Angel says to sleep good tonight.” (Em-G-D)
“Now don’t go blaming the Navy or the scientists at Brookhaven.
We had been diverted so those boys could test their weapons.
An elite commando team used the Navy as a ruse
To take out a big money player who wasn’t playing by the rules.”
“I’m talking big money son, the kind that dictates the direction.
Of what a country can do or not, by its financial obligation.
Well, one of those grey men, he had a change of heart.
So they took him out over U.S. soil to foil any more upstarts.”
“Now, Smitty, my man, sing this ‘cross the nation,
People gonna call you crazy, say you got too much ‘magination.”
…“You’ve got that right Jimmie T, I’m just a storyteller.”
“Well, Smitty, if ya catch any flak, just tell those folks that the Blue Angels sent ya.”
Then Jimmie T smiled and glided to my right.
Dozens more blue figures came forward in that light.
They stood beside me said, “Don’t be afraid.
This is a healing song, many gonna be helped by what you say.”
“‘pecially tell the good people of Boeing
There ain’t no blood on their hands.
The ’47 Jimmie flew that night was the finest in the land.
A particle beam weapon took him down that night.
And tell the good people of Everett, Washington, the Blue Angel says to get some sleep tonight.”
A real good sleep,
A long overdue sleep,
Sleeping like a baby all through the night kind of sleep,
Sleeping with an angel, up in heaven, that kind of sleep,
Bruce A. Smith
PO Box 158063
Nashville, Tennessee 37215