After I quit Church Security and we moved to Grandview, Missouri. Jackie sewed homemade clothes and dress the kids as the Amish and Mennonite people, at my request. I wanted my family to be a migrant family, traveling wherever and whenever, and doing whatever job I could find. I wanted to raise the kids in poverty … the exact opposite of what the world wanted.

In Grandview, I found two part-time jobs.

There were lots of job offerings anywhere we lived for a guy like Grandpa, who could have been whatever he wanted to be in life, but was willing to work for minimum wage. I got a part-time day job with a company called, Patco Products (n.k.a. Caravan Ingredients) cleaning bathrooms, raking leaves, sweeping floors, and doing anything else the company asked me to do … for $4 per hour. This was unusual because the company was unionized and didn’t have any current openings.

To get more hours, I took a graveyard job at the Belton Inn in a town close to Grandview—Belton, Missouri. It was a shady motel where men would often bring prostitutes for a cheap room. I was the night auditor, so I saw all kinds of people. I didn’t have a problem with any person I saw staying at the motel. My new enlightenment had completely changed how I judged others—I no longer judged. I did my thing and was perfectly okay with everyone else doing theirs … no matter what their thing happened to be. The motel manager paid me $4 an hour; so I had two part-time jobs and worked as much as I could.

It was 1988, and Jackie and I had never taken one penny in charity or help from the government. The union pay at Patco started at $9 per hour. At that time, I thought that was an enormous amount of money. One of the non-union company managers often saw me working alone and very hard. All those years on a farm as a kid paid off. I could outwork anyone. The manager called a union meeting of the other employees and offered me a union job. Being paid $9 per hour full-time, with benefits, I was able to quit my motel auditor job.

I remember singing to myself as I swept out the maintenance rooms alone at Patco:

Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let, fifty cents.

No phone, no pool, no pets, I ain’t got no cigarettes

Ah, but, two hours of pushin’ broom

Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room

I’m a man of means by no means, king of the road.

(King of the Road, sung by Roger Miller.)

I loved not being tied down to worldly expectation and success. I could work wherever I wanted at whatever job I wanted. Jackie and I lived as poor as anyone could possibly live. But we always had enough food to eat and a place to live. Working for a union and all the politics involved was not for this King of the Road. I quit Patco after just a few months.

We had a brand-new Mazda truck, which we used to pull a small trailer made out of the bed of an old Ford truck, from Utah to Missouri. I couldn’t afford the monthly payments so I sold our Mazda truck once we settled in Grandview. I bought an old, six-cylinder car. I can’t really remember what kind it was, but it was old enough that I could work on its engine as needed. There were no computerized engines back then. I bolted a hitch on the back of the car, hooked on our little trailer full of everything that we owned, loaded up my little family—Jackie, Brittany, Joshua, and not quite a year-old Brandon—and moved on … King of the Road.

I had no idea where we were going next. It didn’t matter. God knew. And I knew the real God, so I went wherever I wanted.

I had never been to North Dakota, so I got out a map put my finger down on a spot, and off we went. We settled in a small town near Minot. There were all kinds of abandoned houses from old farming families, who had lost their farms to Corporate America. We found one and asked the owners how much they wanted for rent. The older couple didn’t want to charge us any rent, but I couldn’t do that, so we agreed on $100 per month, plus we would pay the utilities.

It was an old house. It was a cold house. The water came from an old well that hadn’t been turned on for quite some time. Jackie turned on the faucet and a rusty liquid came out for a long time before it got clear. We unloaded our few belongings and huddled together at night because the house wouldn’t heat very well. During the day, Jackie would keep the kids bundled up.

I had made a pact with Brittany and Joshua about eating candy. On January 1, 1989, we made a New Year’s resolution promise that we wouldn’t eat any candy for one entire year. Whenever we would go into a store, Brittany would remember the promise. Joshua, not so much. But neither of them asked for candy. The kind couple from whom we rented the house felt sorry for us. On Easter that year, the couple showed up at the house with three Easter baskets for Brittany, Caleb, and little Brandon. The kids’ eyes were huge. The kindness was more important than the promise we had made. I let them have their baskets full of candy. But after that, we went the rest of the year eating no other candy.

Brittany was precocious beyond her years … way beyond. She was being homeschooled by Jackie and started to read at five-years old. Brittany had a wit and strong personality. She would argue with anyone … except me. She was definitely a “Daddy’s girl.” On one occasion, Jackie had made some pancakes for breakfast. There was only one left, and both Brittany and Joshua wanted it. I brought in the idea of Jesus to the circumstance. The kids had become somewhat familiar with Jesus by attending church for a short time.

“What would Jesus do?” I asked the kids. “Would Jesus take the pancake for himself or give it to another?”

“Joshua, you be Jesus.” Brittany quickly said without blinking an eye.

Brittany was very intelligent. Her reading skills were above anyone I had ever seen of her age. Joshua was the kindest, funniest, most laid-back little boy I had ever known. Joshua always listened and did whatever Jackie or I asked of him. Brittany would too … especially when I was around. I never knew how Brittany got along with Jackie when I was not home. In the near future, I would find out that they had many typical stepmother-stepdaughter issues.

I worked again for $4 per hour for a popular wheat farmer in Minot. He owned 2000 acres of wheat. I would spend 10 to 12 hours every day on the tractor either plowing, harrowing, or seeding his expansive wheat fields. All alone on that tractor, I only listened to one thing: tapes of the New Testament and of the Book of Mormon.

I knew the power of the story of Jesus and how it had transformed the world, not only for good only, but mostly for bad. I wanted to understand fully the concept of the real Jesus and how the concept was being used, so that I could utilize it with my new enlightenment. I figured that I couldn’t do that, unless I knew everything about the books which were written about Jesus. With my new mindset and enlightenment, I studied, devoured, and practically memorized the New Testament and the Book of Mormon. No one on this earth, except for four others, knows these two books as well as I do.

Alone in a tractor all day, I listened with new ears and began to understand the significance and power of the Jesus concept (i.e., the Spirit of Christ). I knew that neither God nor Jesus actually existed, but these entities had been real in my own mortal life for the first 25 years. I also knew that they were real to my family, friends, and Jackie. My enlightenment taught me that, whatever a person believed, was right for that person.

I was not a messenger at the time. I had no idea then that my mentors even existed.

I knew the Book of Mormon was created and produced by Joseph Smith in an attempt to counter the Bible and change the mindset of American Christians. I also knew, from memories that kept popping into my head, that I had lived as Joseph’s closest friend and confidant—his older brother Hyrum. These personal memories convinced me that Joseph Smith was an incredible man, whose only desire was to equalize the race problem in America. All of this convinced me that the Book of Mormon was an incredible book. Its teachings, principles, symbolism and the clues it contains about Real Truth™ are profound.

When I read about immortals—John the Beloved in the New Testament, and about the Three Nephites in the Book of Mormon— I figured they were used simply as an expression of the story to teach something unique. I assumed they were used to counter the orthodox Christian views that the world had embraced. Because I knew that Jesus wasn’t real, there was no way that John the Beloved and the Three Nephites could be real either.

I was right. There were no such actual, historical persons as John and the Three Nephites of Book of Mormon lore. But what I didn’t know then, that I would find out a couple of years later, was that there were actually four mortals who have been alive upon this earth, two since its beginning, and two for hundreds of thousands of years. Yeah. Really!

When I first met these four in the spring of 1991, I wasn’t even convinced then that they were who they claimed to be. I wouldn’t know for sure until many years later. (These details are coming up in the next chapter.) But what I knew for sure was that whatever a mortal was perceiving and living as their reality was a product of their True Self’s brain activity.

On that tractor, studying the concept of Jesus, I had no idea the world was as evil and as corrupt as it actually is. I had no idea there was no hope for the human race. I had no idea that this was the Sixth Dispensation of Human Time. And I didn’t know that there had been five previous dispensations, when humans who had thrived all over the earth and destroyed themselves, leaving a few remnants in enclaves that carried on human existence upon Earth.

The fact is, while driving that tractor all day long and memorizing Christian scripture … I didn’t know much about the Real Truth™.

Those who recruited me as their True Messenger had the knowledge from personal experience of how a mortal brain operates. They understand how a mortal brain that is given the knowledge that I had been given during my transfiguration handles the information. Unbeknownst to me at the time, they had followed me throughout my travels waiting for the right opportunity to introduce themselves to me. I needed a lot of personal experiences before I would have firsthand knowledge of what I would need to know to accept the role as their True Messenger.

Although two of my mentors were born with the knowledge of Real Truth™, as they have lived since the beginning of time, the other two were not born with the knowledge. The other two are from very, very, very ancient Peruvian ancestry, long before the modern Peruvian ancestors flourished in South America.

During the Fifth Dispensation of Human Time (previous to the current dispensation), these two had been part of an entire civilization of both white- and black-skinned people who had developed and spread throughout the earth, hundreds of thousands of years ago. These two were among a few darker-skinned people, who had escaped the ancient cities and technologies that had developed during that time. They escaped by living “off-grid” and away from the so-called civilized people who would eventually destroy themselves.

They were born during the transition period between the Fifth and this final Sixth Dispensation of Human Time. What happened to my brain had happened to theirs at about the same age—25. The group of people to which they were born had carried the DNA and genes that had been developed and bioengineered while mortal science and technology flourished during the Fifth Dispensation. However, there were others who had refused to be immunized against old age and disease, or were too poor to afford the technology, who had survived. These off-grid enclaves of few had children and were the ancient ancestors of the native American peoples found in South America.

Joseph Smith and I called these two “Mathoni” and “Mathonihah,” using Book of Mormon names for them. If you don’t age, you’re not going to be too popular among people who do. The aging people are going to want to know what witchcraft from the devil you are using to be immortal. (Ever wonder from where the stories arose about immortal vampires that roam the night and hide during the day? Well, now you have the answer.)

These two brothers had to move around a lot with their isolated families to avoid detection and destruction. They hid. Machu Picchu, Peru, was once one of their more modern secret enclaves. The people who developed the cities back then were afraid of the mountains. They thought God lived there. The perfect hiding place for the brothers and the few who had survived for thousands of years without being detected by the other developing South American civilizations was high in the mountains. But, as is the case, they were eventually discovered and destroyed—all except two. These two were recruited and helped in their escape by the other two of my mentors we call “Timothy” and “John.”

Now, Grandkids, the world is going to call Grandpa crazy for presenting this information and claiming it is true—yeah, the same fucked up hypocritical Christians who claim to believe in their scriptures, the same ones that teach about the immortal John the Beloved and the Three Nephites! These people believe that these four exist, because “God’s word” says they do. But, for heaven sake, NO! It can’t be true that they recruited your swearing, blasphemous grandfather to be their True Messenger and do their work! IT CAN’T BE TRUE!

But IT IS TRUE! Because it’s true, everything that the religious- and scientific-minded people believe is true, is FALSE!

And, Grandkids, there’s an easy, empirical, way for you to know whether it is true or not.

People who have been around as long as these guys would know things. They would know how human societies develop and what causes their destruction. They would know what economy and social structures work and which ones don’t. They would know how to solve worldwide poverty … Don’t ya think?

Go ahead—ask anyone you want … anyone.

Ask the Pope, the Mormon Prophet, the Dali Lama, or any other religious leader on Earth, of any religion. Ask them how poverty should be solved. Ask anyone who has studied economics, politics, business, or whatever else they teach in colleges these days, how poverty can and should be solved.

Ask these supposed worldly successful and admired ones what they would do to change politics and set up a government that would work—that would eliminate poverty throughout the world without taking from the rich and without impeding anyone’s free will.

They don’t know!

So, how does your profanity-mouthed grandpa know? Unless you’ve studied The Humanity Party®, don’t you even try to say that Grandpa doesn’t know. I KNOW! I was taught by four of the most intelligent and knowledgeable mortals that have ever lived on this FUBAR planet.

They also taught me what the symbolism means in the Bible’s book of Revelation. They taught me what Joseph Smith’s temple endowment means. They taught me so much that could change and save this world!

By the time you’re reading this autobiography, you’ll find all kinds of mean stuff on the Internet written about Grandpa. People call me a murderer, a pedophile, a sexual predator, a terrorist, a fraud, a conman, a manipulator … For heaven sakes, a backwoods, Idaho, Christian judge found me guilty in a civil suit of fraud and racketeering! (Of course, the guy who countersued me for these things, after I sued him for defamation, can’t prove any of his allegations … but with the right judge, you can “prove” anything. If it’s proven in court, or rather, if a prejudiced judge thinks it’s true, then it must be true, right? Not!)

But what you will NOT read is any counter proposal to solve poverty or any logical proof that the plan The Humanity Party® presents is not sound and the only way to do it! You will NOT read anything that even comes close to the explanation I have given of the feared and esoteric book of Revelation! You will NOT read anything that logically and prudently confounds anything that Grandpa has shared with the world … NOT A SINGLE THING!

And you will NEVER read anything that comes close to explaining who we are and why we exist like the things that your Ol’ profane Grandpa explains … not from my words … I only wish I was that smart … but from the words and teachings of four … yep, immortals.

These four will make themselves known in their own time, at a time when the world won’t try to kill them for what they know. But for now, the only tool they have to teach the world what they know is your grandfather.

While I was driving that tractor all day near Minot, North Dakota, I was far from ready to be their True Messenger. But what I did know then was that I had no right to ever condemn or judge another for what a person’s mortal dream experience produces in their advanced mind. Until I became a True Messenger, I didn’t try to change anyone’s mind. I worked with what people believed, supported their idea of Santa Claus, and played in their game while I played my own.

Jackie never complained about anything … ever. Jackie did what “God” wanted her to do—yep, the God in which she still believed. Jackie’s God was okay with me, because her God was the LDS/Mormon God who gave men the right to His revelation and women the commandment to listen to men as they received God’s revelations. I can’t speak for why Jackie followed me all of those years, but I knew her God well. Because Jackie was comfortable with following her God, I assumed she was comfortable following me.

Because I chose the life of a migrant worker, the migratory lifestyle kept Paula from seeing Brittany and Joshua. After I tried to get back with Paula before Jackie and I were married, even giving her custody of Brittany, whom she quickly gave back to me, she didn’t try to see the kids until after we were married.

Paula’s father was a Mormon Bishop. Paula was still a Mormon, I thought. I wrote her some ridiculous letters about why I wasn’t going to let her be involved in the kids’ lives. The letters were based on Mormon doctrine, in which I still thought she believed—Paula and I were married and sealed forever in the Mormon Temple. She was mine forever. If she wanted to be with our children forever, she would have to be my wife in heaven along with Jackie.

What I didn’t know at the time that I was trying to use Paula’s Mormon beliefs against her in order to justify my new lifestyle, was that she was quickly figuring out that the LDS/Mormon religion was untrue. I sincerely didn’t know that at the time I tried to point out why it was more important for me to raise our kids with Jackie than with her and her worldly ways, which according to the Book of Mormon, were not the Mormon God’s ways.

I’m sure all my moving around hurt Paula a lot. But she had made the choice not to be their mother. She had given up full custody and control to me. What neither she nor I had anticipated, however, was my brain’s transfiguration. She thought I had gone bonkers. According to this screwed-up world, I had.

After the wheat fields were planted in the Spring of 1989, I quit my job, loaded up the family, and decided to move to the Pacific Northwest near Seattle. I mentioned the LDS/Mormon fanatic friend, Jeff Thomas, whom I’d embraced after I had met one of my incognito mentors at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey. Reuniting with Kyle Williams hadn’t worked very well, but I thought Jeff would be more receptive to the idea that the LDS/Mormon religion wasn’t true. Jeff and his wife, Brenda, lived in Seattle, Washington.

So off we went in an old car, pulling an old trailer with all of our belongings. On our way, we stopped in Utah. My family had become convinced that I had pretty much lost my mind since leaving the Church. We dressed like the Amish, for goodness sake! What were these Mormons supposed to think? They were dressed in fine clothing and pursuing college degrees to make a lot of money in the world.

Regardless of how we were living, both Jackie’s and my family knew we were great parents, who always took care of our kids and kept them safe. At the time, the summer of 1989, they did nothing to intervene in my new lifestyle. But I could tell they were very leery and uneasy with the idea.

After we left Utah and settled in Seattle, I went to the government and changed my name so that my family wouldn’t bother me and I could live more unmolested (not interfered with) than in my former life as a Nemelka. I took Jackie’s name as my last and added “Abraham” as a middle name in a symbolic notion that God had changed my life … Yep, the true God had.

I found Jeff and Brenda, and to my surprise, beer in hand, Jeff had already figured out that the LDS/Mormon Church was corrupt. He was a Security Officer while I was. He was the one who told me about becoming a Security Officer. But Jeff took things completely differently than I did, because he didn’t have the same type of brain as I had. I went completely unworldly and Jeff went completely worldly. That was the end of our friendship.

Jeff later tried to intervene in my life and “save” women from me. Yeah. Really! (I told you … you can’t trust any “friend” … not a one!)

We eventually made our way to Monroe, Washington in Snohomish County. I found an old Ford pickup for sale, with a camper on it. I sold the old car and the trailer and bought the Ford and the camper in which we could live. We traveled up into the beautiful forest east of Monroe to a city called “Gold Bar.” I noticed a huge lumber mill and stopped to see if it had any job openings. It did. I was hired for $10 per hour working on the green line. (That’s where the newly cut lumber is separated into size and grade.)

After getting the job, I got back into our truck. Brittany had pulled her sweater over her face and Jackie was silent and sternly looking straight ahead. You could feel the tension.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” I gently asked Brittany.

“Jackie said she hates me,” she responded.

This took me by surprise. This was the first time I was made aware there were problems between Jackie and Brittany. I became annoyed and frustrated. I had grown up with a stepmother who treated me poorly, and I wasn’t about to let my little girl go through the same experience.

“You said what?” I raised my voice at Jackie. She said nothing. “Don’t you ever tell my daughter that you hate her! You can take Brandon and go back to your family! I will make you leave if you ever say that to Brittany again!”

Jackie never responded. And she never left.

Although she would have ample opportunity to leave me, Jackie never did. Her family, and my family would have gladly supported her leaving me and my unworldly lifestyle, getting her away from me … gladly!

Why Jackie never left me during all those years, and many more to come, is something that one would have to ask Jackie. The details of my life will reveal that in spite of my playing the game of polygamy for a short time and doing everything else that I did, Jackie never left me. It wasn’t until I told Jackie that we were done, in December of 2000, that she finally moved on for good.

The very last thing I said to Jackie before leaving her was, “Will you support me in doing this sealed portion thing?”

“F*** no!” was her response.

And that was that.

Years later, in 2006, when I was trying to see our kids, I asked Jackie why she stayed with me all of those years. Her response. “Because I was in love with you.”

How, Grandma Jackie, could you have loved a murderer, a pedophile, a sexual predator, a terrorist, a fraud, a conman, and a manipulator???

But anyways …

I got a job at a milk processing plant for the De Jong Dairy in Monroe, Washington. With my new name, I became a certified milk processor and held a pasteurizing license in the State of Washington. While living in the truck’s camper, we used the processing plant’s bathroom and hoses to wash ourselves. I became the Assistant Manager of the plant and had won the full trust of the owner and the manager. I was making pretty good money.

Eventually, we found a small cabin between the small towns of Index and Baring, east of Monroe. The area was beautiful … spectacular! Jackie and the kids loved that cabin. It was while we were at this cabin that Kyle Williams showed up out of the blue.

One of the customers who was associated with De Jong milk was Dan Bartelhiemer, a popular farmer in Snohomish, Washington. Dan had a small processing plant and a farm store that he had on his property. The store was called Walt’s Milk House. It was locally renown for its milk products. Dan would often buy De Jong milk when he couldn’t find enough for his products.

Dan had a huge farm (1500-acres plus). He grew potatoes and seeds for spinach and beets. He also raised a few cows, among other things. I was bored, after just a few months of managing the milk processing plant, and I asked Dan if I could move my family onto his farm and work for him. I was paid a lot less than I was making at the De Jong Dairy plant, but I didn’t care about money. I cared more about personal liberty and living as I wanted to live … completely unfettered (released from restraint or inhibition) and unworldly.

Dan basically turned over Walt’s Milk House to me and Jackie to run and make a profit. He asked only for 1% of the profits in return. Yeah. Really! Dan was a Christian, but unlike most hypocritical ones, he was also an incredible human being.

By this time, I had sold the Ford truck’s camper and purchased a 17′-travel trailer. Jackie was very pregnant with our second child. We parked the trailer in one of Dan’s barns.

One morning, Brittany sweetly said, “Dad. There’s a bunch of cows outside the window.”

Dan’s cows had gotten out and were all in the barn. It was quite a sight to behold. There we were, living in a small trailer inside a barn surrounded by cows. On January 7, 1990, Caleb Marc Nemelka was born inside that barn. If anyone ever mocked Caleb for leaving a door or window open, saying, “Geez Caleb! Were you born in a barn?” Yep. He was.

Jackie’s second delivery went pretty smoothly, inside that small travel trailer in the barn, with Brittany, Joshua, and Brandon just a few feet away. They were still asleep when Jackie went into labor and never awoke during the delivery. Caleb never cried. I don’t think the kid cried once while he was an infant. Unlike Brandon, who cried more than any of my kids, Caleb was quiet, too quiet. I once commented to Jackie that he might be deaf. But since Caleb always responded to sounds, we never thought much about him actually being deaf. I don’t remember any time while he was an infant ever hearing Caleb crying.

After I delivered Caleb and laid him in Jackie’s arms, I went to work delivering corn silage to Dan’s customers. After making the deliveries and taking the receipts to Dan, he asked, “How’s the family?”

“Jackie had a little boy this morning. We named him, Caleb,” I said without any emotion.

“What? You delivered a baby this morning and you didn’t tell us?! You went to work?”

I don’t think there is anyone whom I have ever worked for who was more impressed by my unorthodox lifestyle than Dan Bartelheimer and his family. It was Dan and his wife who convinced the Snohomish County Sheriff in March of 1990 of my integrity and care for my family. Dan’s testimony of the facts about me kept my father from getting me arrested, barely two months after Caleb was born.

Go ahead, Grandkids, ask Dan Bartelheimer, a very respected and popular man in his community … in fact, at the time of this writing, he is the President of the Snohomish County Farm Bureau … ask Mr. Bartelheimer if your grandpa did anything unbecoming or insane. Ask him if your grandpa was a murderer, a pedophile, a sexual predator, a terrorist, a fraud, a conman, or a manipulator. My critics and enemies won’t ask him. My critics and enemies don’t want any information proving to the world that the facts of my life are what I am presenting in this autobiography and that I am who I claim to be.

My intent was to give my children the best opportunity to be happy, while they lived in this mortal world. There isn’t a wealthy person in this world who is really happy. There are more less-stressed poor people than rich. I was determined to make sure my children were raised in poverty. The lower the expectations, the greater the chance for happiness. Jackie’s family, my family, and Paula’s family couldn’t have disagreed more.

I knew how to play the game of mortal life … better than anyone else … except for four others whom I would come to know while living in Kent, Washington.

Now let’s get to the specific details of how I met these four immortals …