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Beneath the Surface

By Steven & Evan Strong


For a considerable time after the first star rock was given to us by Ros Mulder, Evan and I saw this rock as being a rock. No more or less than a piece of geology that cannot talk, walk, eat or breathe, for all intents and purposes they just sit or stand there for a very long time seemingly contributing nothing to anything. I remember at school having absolutely no interest in geology, and my marks in tests reflected that disconnect. As more rocks were bought or found by others then given to us unconditionally, the numbers increased but nothing changed as they still remained rocks. Granted they are totally special, and exhibit so many controversial attachments, cuts and applications, but deep down was not on our radar, as they just sat and waited. And that was the rub, they were waiting for us to catch up, to them!

To an extent, that lack of depth in vision and connection with the inner mystical qualities of many of these rocks is understandable, as we were somewhat ‘blinded by the light’ with what lay on the surface. The constant use of so many types of undeniably advanced technology beyond the embrace of any stone, bone and stick tool-kit, which is claimed to be all there ever was until the British Invasion Fleet dropped anchor in the Eora tribal estate in 1788, was something that just kept getting so varied and obvious. The marks, shaping, thin veneer of melted rock attached, insets, ridging, cuts, precise lines and geometry seen on so many of these rocks demands a series of metal blades and points, temperatures of thousands of degrees and adhesives still functioning after tens of thousands of years.

Photo by Ildi Budai

The problem was we were only addressing half of ‘as on top, so below,’ what we could easily see was on top of each rock, but beneath the surface runs to a different narrative of magical inclinations. This is where it gets tricky for us, as our research and reputation is founded on rational arguments based around strong empirical evidence, very simply we do our science properly in setting a solid foundation before venturing into maybes, potentials and possibilities. We also explore the esoteric side of each equation, but keep a clear distinction from the pragmatic, as we are doing here. We have begun our review of the top ten rocks as selected by me, and will soon return to complete that assignment set by myself. In the interim, the time is right and what will be discussed are eight rock/human connections that break so many rules of science that have been personally witnessed by us.

These eight excursions into our ‘magical mystery tour’ are totally lacking in any hard evidence or scientific pedigree, and all are fully reliant upon my recollections and that of Evans. We have no photograph, video, recording or stat. dec. signed by a third party, we are obliged to concede that we have no proof beyond our claim that we are telling the truth.

The Rock on the Table

This all begins about eight years ago at a time when we saw them as merely rocks. My wife decided to paint a photo-realistic depiction of Ros’ Rock 1 as a way of thanking her for selflessly giving the rock to us. I placed the rock on the table in a position she could paint, and knowing it was a male rock she took special care in keeping some distance.

Photo by Samarah Wood

Around a half an hour into the process, I was four rooms away and for some reason just knew something was amiss. My wife called out at the same time and my immediate reaction was to ask her, “Did you touch the rock?”(1) I wasn’t there, but I knew before sighting, that this rock was somehow involved.

She was sitting by the table near the rock and clutching her right wrist, she told me two things. That she absent-mindedly touched the rock in attempt to get a clearer view, and got something far more ominous in return. The pain was moving up her arm and this all came about immediately after touching the rock, it was certainly painful and her description of “sharp”(2) and “twisted”(3) only accelerated the need to react. My problem was I had no instructions or knowledge in dealing with recalcitrant rocks. I smoked her arm and applied a healing rock, and much to my surprise and relief the pain went as quickly as it came.

We knew it was a male rock, but this was way past any expectations held, the rock was hurting my wife and if I hadn’t intervened it may have killed her. What needs to be appreciated is that my wife gave this event a pain rating of 8, I asked her soon after to give me some sort of indication in relation to the intensity of this rock pain with a score out of ten. With 10 like being stabbed by a knife and 1 a soft pinch on the skin, this was rated by my wife as close to being stabbed with an 8. That immediately left us with a real issue as to how to handle this rock, and what of the other rocks?

Granted at the time such activities would have sounded ridiculous to others and took some time and quite a few more prompts and less than subtle reminders before we began to come to grips with this hidden side. For close to a year after this supernatural event, it left me in a sort of suspended state of where to next. Was the rock innately hostile, bound by protocol or even more than that? The only certainty that still remained was that once Karno gave me the Dreaming Story associated with this rock, both Ros and I knew that Karno’s tribal estate would be the final resting place for this rock, and the rocks that followed. We both gave our word and a signature testifying to our intention that at some time in the future these rocks would assemble together on his land, and we would then see what eventuated out of this union.

The Adelaide Rock Workshop

Until this seminal meeting where the divide between myself and the rocks collapsed, all we knew was that this particular rock had something stirring within, and as for all the others, they may be all ‘running on empty.’ Whether this rock was benevolent or malicious was still unknown, and to be honest I had barely moved forward with any of the rocks since our first hostile introduction. This presentation was put on not that long after Karno passed over, and quite a few of those connected to him, plus others, were part of an audience of about 60. They had come for a two-day session, and the first day was devoted to the rocks, of which at this early stage numbered just over 50.

It was the only presentation given where we had no real idea as to the structure or conclusion. The problem I faced was that not only Karno, but so many others were relying on me to bond, converse and dig deeper, and I had nothing. Sure, I could talk about the advanced technology, amazing geography and incredibly high temperatures required, but that was all surface deep and in seeking the deeper meanings and consequences, I had barely scratched the surface. So great was the impasse, about half an hour before beginning I approached the Elders assembled with a request and admission. I told them I had nothing, sure I had been given the correct rock ceremony to open proceedings and got a protocol tick, but that was all there was. My suggestion, perhaps desperate plea is a better fit, was that I be allowed to let Original Elders hold the rocks today and see what happened or was shared, my thinking was that it could be that I just wasn’t welcome or up to task at hand.

The Elders went away, talked for a while and then returned repeating the directive Karno had often given, no-one but me can touch the rocks, if anyone else did so they would be dealt with force by the rocks and that just wasn’t going to change.

Inwardly I cringed twice over, 15 minutes before speaking I was parked in a rock cul-de-sac, and equally, how was I going to string out 6 hours with a 2-hour script? I was barely five minutes into my introduction, trying at the same time to manufacture some extensions or additions ahead and getting nowhere in between. Unbulara suddenly stood up and apologised then explained Karno had just ‘spoken’ to her and the denial for my request for assistance, had been rescinded with one extension. Karno not only agreed to the rocks being held by others, but this was open to all assembled. Whether Original or non-Original, until noon it made no difference and would cause no offence. In the spirit of Wirritjin, of the four volunteers three were non-Original.

Then it happened, the rocks as an ensemble woke up, they collectively leapt into action, and none of us, certainly neither Evan nor myself, were prepared for what happened throughout that day. We had three devices that measured multiple forms of energy release and when placed above so many of these rocks, some I had barely noticed as they looked so non-descript, the needles were locked on the highest reading. We have placed the same meters above these rocks later and got nothing, but on this day everything was different in every possible way. Chris Blackmore placed his hands above the same healing rock I used when my wife was dealing with Ros’ Rock 1 angst, and electrical sparks were flying from the rock into his palm. Everyone, all of the 60 attendees, saw this happening. So too what escaped no-one was that one of the cameras filming this was resting on a table that was continually shaking. So much so the camera was moved to another table.

The only definitive fact that came out of this day was that Karno was responsible, and from that day on the rocks have been extremely forthcoming and candid with me. We now work together and have done so from that time till now.

Breaking Rock Protocol and the Repercussions

As the numbers grew, so too did the diameter of the two circles of rocks that form a sacred figure-8 arrangement given to me by Karno, and once positioned on the ground they created a powerful portal of pure energy that could instantly heal, or if need be, kill quickly or slowly as the punishment fitted. Until two years ago when the rocks decided to accept public participation, the rocks were only placed in sacred formation at our property and were only open to people invited by us.

Photo by Ildi Budai

Always a private event thereby safeguarding the rocks and vetting those sitting inside each circle, we felt this would guarantee the integrity of each session. And so it did, with one notable exception, each ceremony went as it should. But on one occasion those invited brought a companion unknown to me, who they both vouched for.

What happened was through no fault of his own, he just wasn’t ready to sit inside this circle and nor was he prepared for the consequences. I cannot remember the reason why, but while this person was sitting inside the stone circles, myself and another who vouched for his integrity, left that area for a few minutes. Upon returning I found him still seated, but there resting in his right hand was one very powerful rock with spirit writing.

He knew the rules of non-contact were non-negotiable, and equally, his excuse was right out of the pages of Lord of the Rings in pleading the rock called him. I did point out how poorly that turned in the book and this time around this was not fictional and had consequences. He did ask as to whether I would be involved. I pointed out that in this incarnation such business is no longer my task, but what was more pressing was that rock, of over a hundred to choose from, was the rock Karno specifically singled out and stated it was the one he was most drawn towards. Which meant, as I pointed out in clear unambiguous terms, it would be Karno who decides if or how the punishment would be meted out.

“So good luck there, because you will need it.”(4)

It was about three months later when the same person contacted us. We had already heard he had fallen on hard times in losing his job, separating from his partner and recently been evicted owing to a lack of money. What we did not know until he came to our house was how rapidly his body was decaying. He had cancer, quite a few actually, and had lost a lot of weight. But above all his many alarming symptoms and a prognosis of certain death, the sickly grey colour of his skin accentuated by dark sunken eyes, meant his time on this planet was severely limited.

There were two other people visiting at that time, and one was female psychic who did possess some skills. She too was noticeably distressed by his plight and offered to heal him through means not understood by me. After a minute or so massaging and chanting, she stood back and sighed. From her perspective it was too late, she didn’t say anything, and didn’t need to.

He came to see us, he didn’t know this lady, and his request was simple, and he did say before our guest took matters into her hands, that he hoped that we had a healing rock that could help as all other avenues had been exhausted. I wasn’t sure, yes, the rock that healed my wife when under rock-attack had a track record, and I did offer its services but in doing so, made it clear I had absolutely no idea how it worked before and if it would perform now.

Photo by Samarah Wood

I placed the rock on his back and began to rub. No more than ten seconds past initial contact he let out a huge sigh, the psychic swears she saw a huge dark mass exit at the same time, and of course I have no way of verifying that. But I did feel it was way past coincidental that within a second of this release there was a scream of “get off me!”(5) It came from the bedroom window down the far end of the veranda, the psychics male partner was actually catching a mid-afternoon nap, and was now suddenly awake and screaming.

It turned out he was asleep, until what he described as a massive surge of negative energy literally tried to “jump inside me.”(6) It could have been a nightmare, maybe a replay of a horror movie seen on video, or perhaps it was the curse in motion after being released. The only clue we now have in resolving which of three alternatives is most likely, is that the same person who was ‘on death’s door, had completely recovered within three months and according to him, “that white rock saved me.”

Rock Ceremony on Karta (Kangaroo Island)

It couldn’t have been more than eight months later when most of the rocks were taken down to Karta on sacred ground. From that point on the rocks were keen to engage and share with me, and the channels of communication were becoming clearer. We were now getting on without issue or transgressing rock-protocol and I felt the coast was clear and we were on friendly terms. All that proved was that I was still on a steep learning curve and the next rock-lesson was up close and personal, and right next to the wheels of a semi-trailer.

This was a sacred gathering held each year and was the first after Karno passed over. I set up a sacred eight-formation beside the fire-pit where the Spirit of Sacred Fire (Mum-mo-wee) was in attendance. In the spirit of the agreement made that all rocks would be set up in permanent residence at his tribal Ramindjeri estate, when the fire ceremony gathering was completed I chose fifteen rocks which would be staying behind. Even though the infrastructure and legalities involved in setting up the security and structures needed were far from resolved, an advance party was still sent forward so as to cement a permanent connection. The real trick was selecting a fair representation from the various rock-genres, and I sensed there were many rocks willing to step forward.

As became very obvious soon after, the fifteen chosen were but a very small percentage of those keen to stay and many were less than pleased to leave the island and their colleagues. It turned out not long after the Ramindjeri Culture Centre was the centre of the eternal political divisions and manoeuvres that are a curse all Original societies must suffer through, and the land and numerous buildings were actually taken off the rightful custodians. The fifteen rocks were hidden and are patiently waiting for days that are hopefully very close. Returning to what happened immediately after fifteen took up residence, the rest flew back to Sydney and on to Ballina/Byron airport. That steep learning curve mentioned earlier was still the rock’s first priority.

It was a two-step/day return, my flight from Adelaide was too late in the day for the local airport at Ballina as it cannot cater for night-flights, so I had to stay at a motel a bit over five-hundred metres from airport. It was so close I only had to cross one road to get to the domestic terminal. I spent the night in the motel with each of the two bags crammed with 25 kilograms of rocks and they made it clear they were not particularly enamoured with their current situation. Dragging fifty kilos of Original rocks is a heavy load at the best of times, but in the worst of times the impost is nigh on deadly.

It was eight o’clock in the morning and the traffic on this road was non-stop. I was half a kilometre from the closest set of lights, which were inconveniently positioned in the opposite direction, and the mere prospect of dragging two very heavy bags in a return trip of one kilometre walking away from my destination point of two hundred metres, was not on my agenda. And it was there the three of us waited, and waited some more, and more again, till it got to the stage where I began to question whether an extra kilometre in transit up the road wasn’t such a bad idea. Just as it got to the stage where it was time to move on, I sighted the slightest of gaps in the traffic ahead. In what first appeared to be a stroke of good fortune, the truck driver at the far edge of this opportunity to cross the road could see I was standing there and motioned with his hand urging me accept the offer.

By my estimate this stream one-way traffic had a gap of about one hundred metres, and noting that the truck seemed to be decelerating somewhat, I readied myself and once the next two cars passed it was ‘full steam ahead.’ By my estimation the time needed to cross was doable and the first three steps with a bag on wheels in each hand in tow were at a solid clip, but my fourth step forward was accompanied by something that was totally unexpected, a force of some type that knocked me off my feet. I was air borne, close to horizontal and fully face first at that. All I had to cushion the blow was my open palms.

The asphalt road was rough and loose and both hands were torn open, my left cheek was grazed and bleeding, the left hip took the lower brunt of the impact, but further up it was both hands and half the face that was grazed, bleeding and replete with tiny pieces of gravel. All of this happened so quickly, but the present reality was that all this collateral damage was merely a backdrop for the main event. The driver slammed on the brakes and everything past that really seemed like it was a surreal slow-motion film I was watching as if sitting in aisles. The truck began to fish-tail, and even though I was beginning to rise reaching the full vertical and then moving, well that just wasn’t going to happen. I managed to catch a glimpse of the driver, and that expression has never been lost to me, he was utterly terrified. Despite all of what could be, the brakes worked, brilliantly from my very close perspective. The truck did stop, just over a metre from where I fell and now nearly stood, unharmed, well to an extent.

The cuts, bruises, blood on my hands, cheek and torn shirt aside, there was no major damage. What was interesting was checking in. I had two red bloodied hankies wrapped around my hands, a crimson tissue on my left cheek and a shirt torn in three places, and as concerned as the lady obviously was, right now I was in no mood to talk. I knew from the instant both my feet were pulled from underneath me, that the rocks did this, it was their communal way of voicing their displeasure.

Half an hour later I had patched myself up to an extent and was sitting in the plane as it taxied out of Sydney. I remember thinking at the time how appalling my hour with the rocks in Sydney was, and for some reason I actually wondered whether the next time the rocks came to Sydney whether it would as dramatic as it was this time around. But I snapped out of this bout of predictive melancholy when looking at my hands and gently touching my cheek, surely this is as bad as it gets.

Six Months Later …

It was just on six months after being thrown face-first on the road by the rocks I was packing a dozen rocks to take down to Sydney in one last attempt to get mainstream scholars and curators to engage and acknowledge. Deep down I knew this clandestine ‘ambush’ into the ‘bowels’ of the Australian Museum could never succeed, but nonetheless the opportunity was there and be it ever so remote, there was always the chance that the ethics of good science would prevail.

Two people, who we were working with at the time were public members and subscribers to the Museum, were given the opportunity to purchase tickets to a very rare tour of the lower levels of the Museum and bought three tickets, two in their names and third for an unnamed guest. That was deliberate, if my name had appeared, as the Museum had already threatened to take me to court, my entry would not have been approved.

I am not sure if it was the second or third floor below, but as we stood at the doorway, we spoke to an Original guide from the Wiradjuri tribe who confided with us that it took her three months to actually stand inside the room we were about to enter. She was overwhelmed with the grief and despair of the hundreds upon hundreds or artefacts and sacred objects trapped and imprisoned within an island of polyurethane, metal shelves, neon lights and artificial air. Our psychic friend barely lasted five minutes inside before the negativity and frustration was too much to bear. She left the room and waited outside comforted by the Wiradjuri women who could fully sympathise with the misery she was experiencing through rock-osmosis.

I never get rolled by any location, but this was so different, I barely heard or remembered anything discussed or shown during this sixty-minute peep show. The only saving grace was when the Original lady we met earlier first spoke at the beginning, she told those assembled the dilly-bags she held in her hand absorbed the genes of the lady who made it. So too the rocks and artefacts, but that narrative was not welcome here in this huge dungeon. The spears, tools and sacred rocks just wanted to be freed and go home, they were stolen from country and nothing else matters.

There was only one reason why I remained through sixty minutes, my intention was to ‘ambush’ the head guide, who was third-in-charge, and convince her to look closely at a dozen rocks. It worked in the short-term, she was stunned by what she saw and earnestly promised everything, and delivered nothing.

I had been in the city for three days and that is as much as I can endure in one continuous sitting, and once escaping that room full suffering and dark energy, I was driven directly to the airport. Soon to be back home in the rainforest and far away from the chaos and gross disrespect in the Museum, there was a shining light at the end of this tunnel and all I needed to do was get past the security inquisition of X-ray machines and guards. When standing in the queue with the canvas bag containing twelve rocks on the rubber treadmill about to be X-rayed, I remember I was still grappling with the intensity and despair that huge room reeked of, but a few seconds past my reminiscing the atmosphere had changed dramatically and the ‘terrorist bell’ was peeling.

“What’s in the bag?”(7) The gentleman assigned the task of checking the images of every bag on his belt watch, didn’t bother to look up as his eyes were still on the screen.

“Just rocks, sacred Original rocks, that’s all.”(8)

He didn’t respond, but did rise, but that was only because he wanted to scan the bag again. Which he did, and then, as if he was on an automatic replay loop, repeated word for word what was said before. “What’s in the bag?”(9)

I am not sure if it was my feeble attempt at trying to lighten the mood or a ploy to assess his sense of humour, but saying “Is this a scene from Groundhog Day?”(10) went over like a lead balloon. In attempting to control the damage I did quickly add, “like I said they are sacred rocks, and there is nothing else in the bag.”(11)

“Yes there is.”(12) He grabbed the bag and scanned the contents for a third time, then picked up the phone. Very soon after another guard with a badge titled supervisor pinned to his shirt wearing two white gloves made his way over and asked the same question yet again. He had a dead-pan expression and delivery, and I suspected the Groundhog Day joke was best left on the reserve’s bench.

He took over and ushered the underling off the viewing seat and put the bag through a first and second scan, insisting that “there is more than rocks in here.”(13)

By now the line behind me was on overfill and stretched out into the public area, and it only took a casual glance, to confirm I was the only topic of conversation. It was only after my bag had six separate viewings and a barrage of X-rays, did the supervisor rise from the chair, pick up my bag and placed it in front of me.

I reached down to reclaim my possessions and was told quite brusquely not touch it because until released from the rubber belt “legally it is our possession.”(14) When I did challenge that ridiculous claim, I was smugly told “it is the law.”(15) Once establishing his position in the legal pecking order, he did momentarily let his guard down when replying to my question as to what it was they saw that created this revolving charade of questions and answers.

“Well, this machine is the best in the country, brand new and working perfectly. But every time we put the bag through all we got was a thick black mass. We can’t see rocks or anything else, so I will have to thoroughly search the bag.”(16)

“Fine, but do not unwrap the bubble-wrap of any of these rocks. If you do Black-fella Law demands you will die. I do not care if you believe me, that’s your choice, all I can do is give you a chance to stay alive.”(17)

The mask dropped, he did open the bag, but the rocks remained in their plastic protective wrapping, and he remained upright and breathing, for I have absolutely no doubt my warning was real. He checked every lining and pocket, there was nothing. It made no sense, and me telling him the rocks had absorbed the dark sinister energy in the Museum would have fallen on deaf ears. So, the solution was simple, the machine was defective and turned off, so too the queue of over a hundred let out a collective sigh of frustration when told that they had to line up elsewhere.

An Unexpected Pause in Proceedings

After promising Evan that this article would be brief and all eight mystical rock induced events were to be briefly analysed and dissected, yet here I am just over half-way through and just under 5,000 words. Alas, just as it was with the first article on the science, mathematics and the precision of the top ten rocks selected by me, it is now clear there will have to be another article to complete this esoteric journey into the ancient past and immediate future.

The central premise in this report and the one that follows, is that these rocks are aware and retain powers that can only be described as magical. This totally unexpected truth was learnt through incremental steps, but throughout this evolving learning curve what we didn’t know until quite recently, was their future plans. They have assembled at this particular time to facilitate and motivate. Never before or in the future, but right now when the ceremony at Uluru succeeded. The healing energy and ascension of the Earth has been activated and what was prophesised by the Mayans who spoke of ‘two roads’, and the Hopi, who described a “fast flowing river”(18) and a ‘door’ or ‘hole,’ has actually come to fruition. This is why the rocks are readying and preparing themselves for the days of future past.

Now, with chaos, fear and division signposted along one road while the other leads towards an Earthly renaissance of Old Ways and Nature’s Concord, all humans must cleanse their soul or meekly surrender and obey. The rocks have passed on messages and signs to me before, but always for private consumption. This is different, they want this promise they made to be widely shared and hopefully accepted. This is the appropriate time for them to enter the fray. Each soul is being tested and tempted, the Earth’s heartbeat (Schumann Resonance) is quickening, and we must do so also.

They see their task is to assist, inspire, motivate, succour or whatever the rocks feel each individual needs to be given when they sit inside for ten minutes. The promise is simple, it is a case-by-case assessment, for those who are genuine they will be sanctified, for those with a heavy heart they will receive purpose and fortification and for those who are confused, but still trying, they will see the light and reasons why. However, there is one caveat, some may come yet are just not ready as they still have not managed and controlled their inner demons and delusions. The rocks will either refuse to contact or cause some mild form of discomfort. There is no shame or judgement attached to this disconnect, and the $10 paid for the ten-minute session will be refunded by the attending rock custodian without question.

This is their offer, the reason why they gathered and hopefully within a few months, they will be on site, on the earth and on-call. Granted this is an incredibly unscientific claim to make, but regardless, it is what it is. We have seen, experienced and endured many episodes of rock-magic.

It all comes down to this, if these rocks can do what we said, then isn’t it possible they can do what they said?


(1): Steven Strong, 2015, Personal Communication to Dellene Strong.

(2) – (3): Dellene Strong, 2015, Personal Communication to Steven Strong.

(4) : Steven Strong, 2019, Personal Communication.

(5) -(6): Richard Clarke, 2017, Personal Communication.

(7): Security Guard no. 1, 2017, Personal Communication to Steven Strong.

(8): Steven Strong, 2017, Personal Communication.

(9): Security Guard no. 1, 2017, Personal Communication to Steven Strong.

(10) – (11): Steven Strong, 2017, Personal Communication.

(12): Security Guard no. 1, 2017, Personal Communication to Steven Strong.

(13) – (16): Security Guard no. 2, 2017, Personal Communication to Steven Strong.

(17): Steven Strong, 2017, Personal Communication.

(18): Thomas Banyacya Sr. (Hopi Chief), June 8th , 2000. (Shared by Wendy Nickerson, Department Administrator for the Department of Family Medicine and Community Health), “We are the Ones We’ve Been Waiting For: Prophecy made by Hopi Elders”, COVID-19 UPDATES – Office of Academic Clinical Affairs,

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Watched the video with the cleric fellow who's name has escaped me at the moment but I feel drawn to the knowledge that you are speaking of I will be there as soon as I am released from home prison ty covid John and I am part original eternal search for the answers have seen much hope I can return some knowledge gratis and respect John.


Wow! Absolutely mind blowing, I always knew rocks were conscious, but that experience is just simply breath taking and magical all in one. How deadly! Must admit your sense of humour is boss as, might not of made them security scanners laug but had me in cramps 😅 Looking forward to exploring more of your website, super grateful I just found you!

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