The Cosmic Corporation

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The Cosmic Corporation

Allan J. Sweeney

Copyright 2011 Allan J. Sweeney

Published at Smashwords

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Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Prayer to St Michael

Foreword

Chapter 1 – Uncle George and Auntie Myrtle

Chapter 2 – Teresi Satblu CC

Chapter 3 – Rath Sofu CC and the Parents

Chapter 4 – Djin Scej CC and God’s Judgement Day

Chapter 5 – Michael’s First Battle

Chapter 6 – Flixie Shugle CC

Chapter 7 – The Choice of Enchantment

Chapter 8 – The Enchantment Ceremony

Chapter 9 – Saint Peter and the Pearly Gates

Chapter 10 – Inside Heaven, CC

Chapter 11 – Chamber of the COTT, CC

Chapter 12 – The Final Flourishes

Chapter 13 – The Rude Awakening

Chapter 14 – Heavenly Work

Chapter 15 – The Cosmic Corporation

Chapter 16 – The New Contract

Chapter 17 – The 23½ Floors of Michael’s HQ

Chapter 18 – Stadium Training and Battle Sense

Chapter 19 – The Tower of Guides

Chapter 20 – The Offices of the Life President

Chapter 21 – Final Conclusions

Chapter 22 – The Beginning

Appendix

Dedicated To

My Channelling

Angelic Guides

And to

Archangel Saint Michael

Who helped create the

Harmony of the Opposites,

And who gave so much

In pursuit of

Love, honour, truth, and justice

And to my good friends

Mark and Orelly Goble

Whose beautiful finca home

In Mexico City

Gave choirs of

Peace and tranquillity

To write this book

My family and friends, some of whom understand the principles in this book, and others whose paths take other directions so may never understand them :-)

All to people on Earth who are struggling to find their purpose on Earth, and yet who might already unconsciously be treading the right path, even at night.

Prayer to Saint Michael

God,

With great wisdom

You direct the ministries of

Angels and people.

Grant that those like Michael,

Who always Minister

To You in Heaven,

May defend us

During our life on Earth

Amen

Foreword

I started to write this book almost 30 years ago. My wife was ill, and I was ill. We had no job, little good health, and no savings, nothing except a beautiful daughter.

One day, a book title came in a dream. It was obvious. I must write a book called, The Cosmic Corporation. The book would describe how Heaven and Earth create harmony through joint work.

I said to my wife, I’m going to write a book. Quite rightly, she scoffed at the idea. I had no writing training, and didn’t even read books to find how to write. But it felt right to write.

So I wrote the first chapter. A man had died in a car crash, and as ambulance staff tried to resuscitate him, he watched his body as he rose to Heaven knowing he’d died.

But then it all went blank. I had no idea what to write next.

From babyhood I had been regularly hospitalised, and was registered as 80% disabled. I loved my wife and daughter dearly and still do, but it felt, deep inside, that if I stayed with them my job on Earth would never be fulfilled. I needed to be cured, to find God, and felt I could never do that unless I was alone. I had to be alone, to learn my destiny.

Despite leaving them, we now have a good relationship.

But in between times, I trod my Pathway. I learned many things, most useful to my soul, some not. I studied a writing course at Canterbury University, and developed spiritual, psychic, and healing gifts. Eventually I taught possibly every spiritual, psychic, and healing subject, in much width and depth, in Western, Asian, and Arabic countries. I was cured of my disability, and had found God and my destiny.

One day I was in bed with flu. My fingers plodded on the laptop keyboard. Suddenly, words appeared on-screen that I hadn’t intended, It was a wonderful day when the sky collapsed.

‘Either I’m delirious with flu,’ I thought, ‘or this is an automatic writing session.’ I let my fingers wander the keys. The next sentence came, then the next. Inside an hour I had automatically written the first chapter of The Cosmic Corporation. The next day chapter two came. It was intriguing. I didn’t know what would happen in the sentence I was typing, let alone the next paragraph.

The next week I travelled to Mexico to research how healing could help attention deficit hyperactive children in a school. Staying at my friend’s beautiful ranch-style home near the mountains just outside Mexico City was a perfect chance to finish the channelled writing.

The whole world is about love, and creating love from difficult circumstances. Let angels bless your Pathway to help you become more loving from now on.

Allan J. Sweeney

Chapter 1 – Uncle George and Auntie Myrtle

It was a wonderful day when the sky collapsed. Just imagine! Pieces of sky falling through the ceiling into everyone’s dinner plates! The ceiling wasn’t damaged. But even chubby Uncle George, who was usually very short sighted, noticed the sky-blue bits sticking out of his gravy. ‘It’s just not good enough,’ he grumbled. ‘God could have designed the sky a bit better than to let it collapse before I’ve finished dinner.’

Auntie Myrtle looked at him, smiling through her thick lips. ‘That’s not what you said last time.’

‘What?’

‘You know, when clouds fell in your porridge.’

‘Oh yes? And what do you remember about that?’

‘I remember you saying how brilliant God was to make the porridge so cloudy so easily. AND you said, at least you didn’t have to clean up the mess, because God always did that.’

‘Well, let’s PRAY he cleans up the blue bits of sky from this gravy,’ said Uncle George in a tone not the least bit like a prayer. He picked up a blue piece, shaped rather like a pointed ninja star that Japanese people use as weapons, and held it skywards. ‘I’ll give him a start. Take this, God,’ he cried, and with a flick of his fat wrist, he hurled the blue piece skywards.

‘Hey, what are you doing,’ a high-pitched puffed out voice called. ‘That’s my job.’

Uncle George ignored the voice. He was used to hearing things, but usually put it down to Auntie Myrtle making sounds through her thick lips each time she breathed out. He flicked another piece of sky into the air.

‘I said, That’s MY job’.

Uncle George looked around. Behind him stood a wheezing, weasel of a man, thin, with slimy greased black hair, and a slimy dribbling mouth. Uncle George couldn’t