McMoneagle, Joe - The small voice inside became a lot louder
Type of Spiritual Experience
It may seem odd to label this as ecstasy, but the voice that Joe heard was his Higher spirit and it was helping him, trying to save them both. Joe’s skills were attained via the most horrendous process of inexorable cumulative attrition – war, beating and physical abuse and so on. There may also have been some contribution from the damage done by his being premature, but I have not included this.
He may have been poisoned by agent orange too - see poisoning for some examples
A description of the experience
from The Stargate Chronicles
What is material about my time in Vietnam is how much I came to rely on my gut or intuitive nature. Many times I instinctively knew I wasn't safe, or that I was somehow exposed to danger. The small voice inside my gut became a lot louder and I listened. Inside and outside the base camp, I always listened to my inner voice, did whatever it suggested, and did it without question. If I felt an urge to get into a bunker, I did so immediately. If it was a gut feeling to zig rather than zag, then that's what I did. I once abandoned a Jeep and walked back to the base camp on advice of my internal voices. To the consternation of my first sergeant, the Jeep was never seen again.
While sitting in a listening post one night near a small unit outside of Thy Ninh, I had a terrible urge to move. The small voice in my gut was telling me to be anywhere but there. Movement was difficult because it was pitch black - the kind of dark where you can't see your hand right up in front of your face. I had to convince the two others who were there it was the right thing to do. It took almost an hour, but we shifted west of our original position by about sixty- yards. Around 4:00 am we heard a series of grenades going off in the area we had previously occupied.
During a firefight at LZ Two Bits, just north of Qui Nhon, I took up a gun position on top of a bunker facing the village just outside the wire. Within minutes my inner voices were screaming at me, "Be somewhere else!" I shifted to a firing slot inside the bunker. Seconds later the top of the bunker was racked with two direct hits from mortar rounds. My voices started yelling again. "Not enough! Get out!" So I quickly moved through the bunker entry, sliding sideways to a depression in the ground. I just cleared the bunker doorway when an RPG (a high-explosive rocket propelled grenade) opened the bunker up like a banana hit with a sledgehammer. My voices kept me moving all night long.
My life was saved more than once by simply doing what my inner voices suggested, even if at the time it seemed foolish or stupid, or that I might embarrass myself. Some began to notice. Others began to do whatever I did, just from watching me.