Listings of Advice Pages/Including More Practical Advice| Ramola D | May 14, 2024, 5:54 pm, 6:59 pm
You are at the Center. | May 14, 2024
We are ever growing, breathing, reaching. | May 29, 2024
We are born in Sunlight. | August 28, 2024
Something is moving, which is Light. | October 23, 2024
Breathe. Pray. We’re Reaching God. | November 18-20, 2024
Some Links to Information, Reassurance, & Advice From Others | December 12, 2024
You are Whole, you are History | February 1, 2025
Prayer to the Ancestors of the Native American Peoples and Tribes | October 14, 17, 2025
- You are at the Center.
- You are at the Center of ever-generating, ever-expressing, ever-manifesting, ever-expanding. Yes, You.
- There is always Restoration.
- There Is Restoring, deep, from the depths of only You.
- There is Movement.
- From deep inside, deep inside the core of You, always, movement.
- Do not believe what others say about Time.
- Exist to express You.
- You are unique, whoever you are, however you came into this world.
- In the space of You there is only and always only You. No-one can replicate, replace, remove you.
- You are ever evolving. Deep inside you are ever evolving.
- There are Angels here with us, there are Gods, also in movement, expressing. You are close by.
- We are in a Tapestry of ever radiating outward, with Them.
- We are in Life. This is still Life.
- Never stop expressing You.
- The Creativity that is being stemmed, the Voices being removed, the Lives already destroyed–even if yours–is Here, in Us.
- This from the Gods is ever growing, shaping itself into Beauty, Art, Life–yours can too.
- Ever whorling, petalled, tearing at ends, still, Growing, ever Growing. Believe this Life is evolving continually inside you–You are at the Center.
–for the Questing, deep, silent, young, Questing, always young, inner-whorled, even silenced, silent, Questing
***
May 29, 2024, 12:47 pm:
1. We are ever growing, breathing, reaching. Outward from a very dark, silent Center.
2. We do revive. We are lifted. We are always and ever Seen.
3. There is an Infinity, hidden, Folded and whorled, way deep deep inside.
4. Nothing needs Pruning, Removing to come through.
5. We shine in Sunlight. The infinite, ever burning heart of the sun through all our lives, way from the start. No one needs to shear, shape, sharpen, trim, slice us down “for a new growing.” No.
6. Young, very young, we do need to be Seen. Held up, recognized, understood–in our newness, our absolute difference.
7. We need Mirroring.
8. We thrive in Nature. Our own feet, on the great pulsing power of the Earth. Our lives, springing upward. Our own lives. Yes, we are Separate Beings.
9. Leaf or root, vein, calyx, infinity of opening in the flower: we are each a separate being, each with its own Way of Arrival in this world.
10. We are born into a world Rich with the swirling energies of Upholding. Not one of us can be/seen-as Withheld from this Ever Swirling Ever Reviving, Restoring.
11. This is the space of Nature. A power in the world we are born Into. There for us, always.
12. The root nourishes the plant, the leaves carry Sun to the Root. The Flowers bloom. The arms of who we are, even Silenced, speak to the Whole of who we are. The Earth–in that deep silence of Sun, midsummer, or spring–holding us, Knows, Knows us each, Raises us.
…1:24 pm, 1:29 pm.
August 28, 2024, 11:00 am:
We are born in Sunlight. Gold, everflowing, over all our arms, petals, fingers, growing.
So many. A Myriad of us, all around, Seas, gold and spilled into each other.
It is Eternal, such spreading forward in sun, the cool satin of petals touching.
There is Room for each, for All, whorled, unwhorling, spreading wings into sun, pulling away, skeining Outward.
Nothing and no one dies for we are the Anchor, the holding, even as we Rise upward.
It is Eternal, that mosaic of freedoms, jostling, shining, wet with newness. It is in each unfurling New, ever renewing.
There is No Need for shutting down one or the other, slicing down one so another can grow; all grow together, all stay themselves, are Made Silken of Self, their own Selves alone.
To remove a single Self or more an Act of betrayal of the Whole. No one Needs to winnow and prune but Shine in Sunlight, grow Outward.
The Gifts that spill from our arms, our lives, spill eternally.
Into an Infinity of unfoldings, all we can ever imagine creating Worlds, worlds in Time Undeciphered yet, unknown. In the lightening fields of Sun, expanding.
–August 28, 2024, 11:18 am, 11:24 am,4:44 pm, August 29, 2024
Somewhere, slow, moving downwards, toward that which resists movement, that which stays, silent, covered, colored in dark, removes itself, has removed itself, believing itself removed, so Removed no light can approach, there is the same kind of lit Blooming, moving.
It is the same kind of lightness and Life we think of as renewing, sustaining.
It is that exquisite Immanence we know gives Life.
It is not against us.
It moves slowly over the surface of what seems to remain dark, very dark, entrenched, still, as if unable.
Here and there, slight forms of light.
The same forms, as if flowers, as if hearts, leaves.
Slight, as if traced, or surfacing, flames and flickers from the same soul-space we all come from, were born from, have been given as birthright, inhabit.
Shapes unique and expressed, faintly, as if reticent, unclear.
Those slight limnings of light, heeded.
Those formings, petalled.
There is Time between us.
That One, whole, exquisite, formed, we think, known, which slides all over the surface of this studded dark with its jasmine light lifting, here and there, is not finished.
The Moving curves over the deeper dark which believes it is Infinite, moves over and under and shows us there is an Ending, for curves show Ends.
Something is moving and it is dark where the Moving is.
Something is moving the dark Over.
Spears turned dark, half moons of suns, darkened, silent.
Rosettes of sun, orange, melon, gold, everywhere, in the End, which is here, now, in sunLight.
As cherries turn bronze, and red, and mauve, and purple, and gold, inside, deep inside is the cone heart of the echinacea, the dark, with its seeds forming, at the center of the tree, inside, holding the tree, flowering.
Its petals the same as the whorled lotus or waterlily, spread in waves over and over as you Sing, as you Speak yourself, your own Name.
Which is the Same as this held Moving, which is Light, which recognizes the Light in you, which brings you to yourself, at the End–the End which stays, beginning.
…8:46 pm, October 23, 2024.
Breathe. Pray. We’re Reaching God
November 12, 2024, 2:24 am:
It’s been a while now–a few days–and I’m still unravelling the meanings of what I’ve seen, what’s come perhaps, given, unasked-for, unexpectedly. There has been a continuous sense of going inward, deep, and below, and subterranean, and finding movement there, God’s hand, his thumbprint on the world.
It will take me a little while to express all that I can remember. These memories are not ours they belong to others. There has been much shadow-work over Time. All over the dark, the shadowing, and their forays into Light brief and well-covered. I am not speaking of any particular someone or someones.
But what has been done is a clustering of shadow, as if at the level of tissue and bone, a growing infestation.
2:32 am: All over, a greying, a growing and the faces of babies, covered. This is a look deep into Time. The babies light, their skin light. Their eyes closed.
There were faces–in forests, in cages, in newspaper graininess: animals–foxes, raccoons, chimpanzees, dogs, wolves, bears, their faces changing as if one into another, does, locked in Time, from a different Time, a distance, eyes, crying, looking, looking For, reaching–those felt sensations, in captivity, reaching out as if in cameo, one at a time, resigned, suffering.
Before this–earlier–chimpanzees came to me, incessantly, showing their mouths, their teeth, human hands with steel implements in them removing teeth, removing their body parts, their ability to live, eat, their agency in their own lives. There were birds too, of different kinds, swans, herons, egrets, they appeared to be mired in low water, reeds, they were covered, unable to breathe–I wondered if it was the nano graphene and barium in the air raining down on them. Bears too, later.
2:43 am: When I looked again into that unremitting dark it seemed something was moving deep, ever deeper within and I saw the whorled thumbprint of God, a left thumbprint on the left, a thumb at the center of a moving vortex, circle upon circle moving quietly in place and on the right I saw we were back at the coral reefs of rays shooting upward from depths, the graying lightening and moving upward, the studding of dark with light, the flower shapes, the Flower of Life forming even from those very deepest of depths and moving, ever moving Upward.
It was a kind of crystalline raying, crystal or coral sheafs of structure, infrastructure, yet beneath water, as if water, space, underneath. The first time I had seen these reefs they were shown to me as if the dark understory of the World, intractable. This was different, a continuous raying in pale light even gray, upward.
2: 49 am: Once I saw a continuous whirling as if taken back to the precipice of Time, the beginnings of our Sounded world. There were letters and phonemes in that whirling which was half dust, half golden.
Last night I saw again the shapings of alphabets, once on stone. Different letterings, languages. I saw letters in Roman numerals, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, Japanese, perhaps Sumerian, perhaps Indus, Dravidian, Sanskrit, perhaps Mesopotamian. In Thamil I saw the bowl shape of a letter as if a bowl and water pouring into it.
2: 54 am: There was more earlier, the atolls, the clear water, the continents, volcanoes lifting up land, and scientists in labs playing with Life. Long patterns, holographic, fluorescent.
A sense of all we have come to having come to before by someone, a group of someones. That being on the brink of changing Life as we know it, changing genomes and cells, beings.
2: 57 am: Continuous brocade, repeating. Gold or bright yellow, a tempered sunrise yellow, in patterns like the fleur de lys or florets of broccoli, very small but patterned, strung together, held as if in Leggo patterns, as if plastic.
Dark in the center, blotches of dark. Patterns and strings of gold turned this way and that, moved about.
And that dark unravelling, ribboned, all around them.
I saw a greying over that gold here and there, once seeming frog-like cannibalism, one consuming another, gray over gold, one gene bead consuming another right beside it, continuous.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
There were flickers of smudged yellow after that moving on the right through the florets, randomly shaped, as if random. A sense too of movement on the left. Opening outward, coming closer, I witnessed a moving of the circles as if a spiral galaxy, unravelling. Counter-clockwise, a small vibration and trembling. On the right very slowly the movement lifted itself, enlarged to show a series of clockwise concentrics and something stem and root like in between. The whole splash of yellow resolving into a cluster of concentric turnings, clockwise, flowers of Life starting to nestle. The sense I received was that of the genes, deformed, being healed. At that level everything looked golden.
Several times I asked [God] for clarity and saw again this brocade of genes, the light and the turning. That zooming in to show me the turning on the right was clockwise. The smudges of gold light with the random shapes moving and slipping here and there on the right were signs of God’s hand–fingerprints, thumbprints–on Life, repairing. Incessantly working. The Left, undoing. The Right, being healed. 3:19 am, 11/12/2024.
November 19, 2024, 10:17 pm:
For a long while I saw the Lotus of life, giving, radiant, petals all around, packed and spread–then it was the center of the Sunflower and those rayed, seeded whorls, the petals then a thousand rayed flowers–daisies, asters, gerberas, calendulas the colors gold, orange, deep, a kind of coral or magenta each spinning into the other: Life: God: Center, whorling outward and that Light, many-petalled, many-centered, one flower becoming another. Then it was chrysanthemum, zinnias, dahlia, those packed exquisite petals, opened, opening, orange, deep. gold. Then it was cannas, hibiscus, also brilliant, vibrant with color, and millions just millions pouring through and near each one’s being, all coming into being, all crowned with their own Being, all patterned into the same World, all exquisite, similar yet different, needed, brought into Being because Needed.
The centered sunflower became a Coneflower, Echinacea, Rudbeckia, the two growing here–the Mexican sunflower–also growing here in the back garden, brought to the front, the Echinacea a single plant at first now slowly spreading, upright a globe center. But the cone of the flower kept coning upward and the petals rayed, this stayed with me for a while.
The day the second man came (October 3) and started to attack our cherry tree and swept a very large branch down, his engine running, those reverberations terrorizing, intended to spread Terror, I was praying not knowing I was praying, forgetting to pray, forgetting the names of the Gods, scrabbling for names, for mantras, for prayers, I sensed I was being told to pray, sometimes I have seen those hands in prayer and I have put my hands together then, I must have said the Om Namah Shivaya, the Our Father, the Hail Mary, I closed my eyes for a moment and saw the coneflower it was as before flowering, the petals were moving, it was growing, it moved, very subtly as I watched, it entered the tree, into the center, it became a part of the tree, its center, it was then, when that occurred, when I saw that occurring I knew it was a message, a very solemn message, a promise, it was Protection, it was the God of the Cosmos, the Native God of America, of Massachusetts and Virginia, the Cone Center of the Echinacea promising to keep the cherry tree safe, its silent, breathing, leaf-giving self safe and in its center, alive, it was then I knew this God was here, was speaking. I kept on praying for a while, I tried to breathe as I prayed, I could barely breathe. In this moment of great Terror, the heavens that spoke–angelic forms, unseen, sensed–gave me those two pillars to hold on to: when in deep crisis like that, not knowing what to do, shaking, in Terror: breathe, pray.
Breath is God. Prayer reaches God–as meditation does too.
The day the police department came swarming onto the porch yelling my name, acting manic, like men intent on kidnapping me out of my own home (October 18) there was Terror then too, that was Violation which went on well beyond any previous police visit (the police had no business being here at all). I don’t think I was breathing then either, nor was I praying. At some point I tried to breathe, to pray. Once again reaching through shock to find words, prayers, Gods to reach. I seem to be looking for Gods all the time–there are a few I know. But how is it I forget the ones I know even. In any case I was saying the Hail Mary a few times, the Gayatri mantra–the Gayatri mantra steadied me, kept me saying it, a prayer for Light, for Clarity. [Does the police department have a right to come here and terrorize me in this fashion? No they don’t.] As I prayed I sought the lotus, pale pink in its center I silently sent the petals lightening into white into water, further and further out to send those men away. I kept saying the prayer.
My eyes were closed. Once more I saw the Cone Heart of the Echinacea the exquisite symmetries in dark at the cone, the raying petals, this time it came close, entered me, I felt the sense of reassuring, of comforting. A sense of Being With, the kind of gift we give in friendship, the Holy Comforter, in Echinacea, this steadied, calmed me.
These moments of Echinacea, this Form of flower coming toward us, the tree, myself, I felt were significant. The Native God of this earth, this country, coming toward, reassuring, centering us. God is here, in this country.
–11:04 pm, 11/19/2024
November 19, 2024, 11:24 pm:
Two weeks ago after sweeping the pile of bronze oak leaves to the curb, leaving some of the bright reds and golds of the cherry on the walk, ribbed, serrated at edge, so fully grown, I was inside, at night I saw the oak tree, the hundred year old oak outside, one of two left on this street while the local arborist has teamed with the rest of the tree killers on the block to slash down and disappear numbers of trees so this street once deeply shaded, cool and quiet has become wide open to wind, sun, heat, dust and 5G thrums easily from roof to roof, pole to pole, no leaves to stop it. [What the MIT/DARPA/CIA is doing in this town: encouraging the removal of solid, centered, growing trees.]
This tree is still filled with leaves, some half gold half green, some coppery gold and green, some all copper and bronze. Piles and piles of acorns on the street, our wildflower strip, our garden beds.
A harvest of acorns this year and we sweep them onto the curb, the street, cars ride over them, some survive. Each acorn perfectly made, topped by its patterned cap, some losing their caps, alone.
At first what I saw was the trunk its girth, extended, then the roots and the sense of the tree wanting its acorns back, they weren’t being appreciated and used, the trunk at the foot reaching out and tucking the acorns under as if almost human, wanting to speak and showing me if it were in a forest or away in a meadow somewhere the roots would be comforted with its own leaves its own acorns around and under it, it would keep its seeds if no one wanted them. The feet of the trunk were old, very old and gray and umber and they moved when they spoke in this way, conveying this message.
When I looked up I saw the tree and it was old, very old, the bark bitter grey and brown and black and hundreds of faces in the trunk, Native American faces, craggy of nose and forehead, long, lined and wrinkled, dark, sun-darkened–the look of the Japanese about them, the look of the tribes, the people of this country. Were they natives then or–the sense I received then was the sense of generations of oaks from which this oak was birthed, acorns building oaks, acorn upon acorn upon oak upon oak until this tree was birthed, that ancience carried in those faces, that coming forward from the past. Where these oaks and acorns came from carried in those faces, those Beings, those Tribes, right there in its trunk, undiminished.
There is something special about the Acorn, the Oak. I saw God’s hand briefly open and an acorn held in it, as if drawing my attention to it. Standing by the window near where they burned the ferns and a small new oak is springing upward, I was given the vision of the very young oak tree rising from acorns, showing me how it would keep its arms close together and upward, how it could constrain its growing but grow upward, like a hedge, or fence, in careful hold over its own incipient spreading, all those arms in imitation of the veins themselves on the leaves, leading upward. Bronze leaves here and there left on it when done.
I wondered who was speaking whether that new young springing-up oak by the ferns was speaking or ones yet to come up–acorns longing to be born into oak, to birth the oaks deep inside them. It was, it felt supernatural, a gift across Time, a bending of Time, with a message. A hunger to be born. Acorns, longing to come into our world as trees, eager to reassure me they could make themselves small, narrow, careful of others.
I am longing too, then, for all these acorns to be born–people should take these acorns and plant them everywhere, give these acorns that gift of birth. I have become aware now of the great gift of this tree, the generations of lives and tribes it has seen, its ancestors have seen. I thought at first it was the Beings in the tree, all the Old Oak Beings in the tree’s past history. But the faces were of the tribes, the Indians here, the people. So I don’t know really know who they might have been, but the faces were old, and not happy. All oaks in America must hold this sacred history. This oak too was speaking, calling for someone to free his roots from the tar over it, the road, calling for forest beneath his/her feet, calling for leaves, fallen, soil, a freeing. 12:14 am.
There is one more story to tell and that is of the arborvitae by our drive, its seeds too opening out of woody fruit covers, its feet–roots–too wanting to spread, its longing too to spread its seed far into the Future, she too wanting space all around, and forest floor with her needles of spruce-like brown all over it. Our trees when we plant them are becoming themselves, we need to see where we are planting them, give them plenty of room to grow.
–November 20, 2024, 12:19 am
November 20, 2024, 12:29 pm:
A few more things to convey: one, of those gold and branched beadings, connected, deep inside, either RNA or what makes this. The gold branched yet held together. On one side curls and spirals and colors and then this gold this branching, floreted, all over and dark at the center, spinning.
Once I saw slides of this connective branched gold inside a larger space, pulled out as if from a drawer and a knife sliding over, cutting, with steel sides, then a plier like look to it–the implication was cutting. The connective tissue here being cut–as if in a lobotomy or a gene editing.
The other was seen from above as if a tree the branched florets on all sides of that tree, seen from above, as if a cluster of oak leaves right at the top growing, one after another those gold palmate leaves climbing.
Then this spinning of the thumbprint of God on the left and on the right a splatter of light — flickers of such, here and there and a sense of being drawn close very close as if zoomed in where I saw then again the spinning, the clockwise spinning here a clutch of multiple spinnings, all to the right here and that yellowish gold light give way to a spinning which resolved somehow to that same kind of spinning on th left a bit of light among the dark but not grey and not to the left but right and round and around, and gold–I understood then these that were done to the world were being undone and redone–the Great Undoing on the left and on the right much harder, an incessant respinning, redoing, reforming, using Light in snatches, splatters, here, there, patchings, remade though, being remade.
Each time I looked there was this constant remaking.
After a while a colored spinning–pages of it or vast areas all small spinnings red and blue merged in. An electric blue which resolved into dots. The red I did not probe or was not given to see. I did see black shivers of almost iron filings–ferrous oxide perhaps–the magnetic nano particles rained down on us, contaminating water. On white. But a little further up (less zoomed in) that continuous spinning to the right, clockwise.
Several times earlier, when I looked at those gold small branchings, the gaps between them, as if space, or dark, it seemed that spinning gold light was pulling things together, pulling parts of those florets together, branchlets, twiglets with oak leaves almost, leggo-piece-like, pulling them together, locking, I saw the light pulling those pieces of gold together–whether gene beads or the substance of RNA–and locking them, that was the restoring, that was the weaving together–of that Light at the very deep, very center of Being.
It made me think the world was being restored, remade, the genome, not just of us, but the Tree of Life’s genome–the animals, the birds, the trees, the plants, everything.
This question of how, how this could happen, was this really happening, could this be happening–is God remaking the world? is God healing the slashed-open and messed-with Genomes of every being? is God sealing gold Light into the damaged RNA in cells, in bodies, post vaccines, post aerosols, post radiation, post experiments with radio frequency weaponry, post genetic modification of embryos, post cloning?–rose in me, and I saw, a few times, the answer. The folded hands of prayer, the steepled hands of prayer, everywhere: in buds, in those gold florets of life, in a natural coming together–the answer is prayer. Once with those hands I saw clasped hands, as if a benediction, as if a sealing. Prayer and the restoring of life is sealed. Pray and the response is healing, immediate. This is the kind of thing you see written about in the ancient texts, in gospels, in old leaves. It was shown to me in praying hands, the closed buds on trees, hands–our hands, healing.
That’s really all–I’ll have to explore the gold branchings more, are they genes, is that the tissue of RNA, connected?
But to know what has happened here in the world I saw in an instant who it was and how it was: a radio tower, and inside it sprinkle-filled, those gold branchings, florets, and dark here and there and a smile at the bottom of the tower, a clown’s-smile, that false mouth, extended–a sinister intention against Life, all humanity as we know it–and then changing into what seemed like a straight-line mouth on whiteness.
We’ve all been irradiated and some of us more than others. But the answer seems to be Prayer, and Meditation, and Breathing.
For breath is God, the vast body of Hindu literature will tell you. Water is God too….and much else. But you can bring that Light into you every minute, breathing, consciously breathing.
Looking deep, falling into the looking, without questioning, that serious remaking and spinning of the whorls to the right became gold of a sudden, a bright golden radiance, swirling and spinning, right in the Center, that sense of Other, Golden, there, or Here with us, silently working, burning with gold effortless light, smudged into a brilliance, right there, at the burning center.
–1:15 pm, 11/20/2024
[Please see Advice for the Vaccinated, Advice to All Targeted for healing suggestions and pointers, plus the whole body of COVID vaccine coverage here for advice from healers, nutritionists, scientists, physicians in the know regarding removing all vaccine poisons and remnants and healing at cellular and genetic levels.]
Some Links to Information, Reassurance, and Advice from Others, December 12, 2024
Answers to many often-asked questions from Judge Anna von Reitz, on Life, our Universe, and many metaphysical matters:
Dear Jeremy | No. 5161, at Annavonreitz.com
The Two Gods | No. 5159, at Annavonreitz.com
You are Whole, You are History, February 1, 2025
For a while now I’ve been seeing the gold intricate brocade of leafed, petalled structure, almost toroid in dimensional form, sometimes parting to reveal a dark going Inward, sometimes resolving into smaller and smaller intricacy of structure.
This is how we are Made, we are material beings, our Souls imprinted in structure.
We are History, for the whole history of our ethnicity, our mixed ethnicities, our species, our mixed species, hominid, humanoid, hybrid, primate is contained in the deepest fabric of who We are.
Yes, we are Primate.
Someone made us. “Gods” shaped our heads, skulls, faces, made us out of another, shaped us. The first Creations were not theirs, but came from the One behind and above them, the Sea and Ground of Consciousness.
Scientists. Once.
If you go deep into the RNA of your unwinding, into this Reality, this Moment, deep, deep, asking, where are the Genes, where are the Genes of who we are, the Sea of Consciousness in which we dwell will show you Time–deep, down into that Well of Time where it is Dark, Dark to us, for we are here in another Time, we are here in Time Unfolded.
You will see the shapes, the faces, the first Forms from where we have come.
We have come from Africa.
We are Primate.
Those locked inside the labs now where they are attacked everyday, held captive everyday, experimentally assaulted, physically, chemically, biologically, psychologically–their own children snatched from them, their bodies electrically assaulted, their brains BCI’d, their voices cut, their teeth removed (pulled), their eyes ignored–or sewn shut–they are Us.
There are many, deep in Time. Those hands which shaped them are not Gods.
We pray for the One Immanence to seal and heal the harms done to us Genetically, we pray for that is a Key, and some know it.
Such knowledge comes in Silence, Voice and Singing, Music, Meditation, Seclusion, Family: in other words, yes we come to God in different ways but the great Relief of this Time is God is Here.
Prayer seals, heals, unlocks the doors of Removal and makes Whole again.
***
When I looked it was ice, it was snow, it was Winter. There were five strands, structured, intricate leading outward from a white Center. The colors were bluish white, blue grey, Ice.
A hand with a syringe, a needle, into that center or coming close.
Pulsings, a slight wash of pink, electric, felt, over the whole of it, and a rise of white smudge cloud, white at one time, grey another, a kind of brown-grey another. Pulsings.
We are being artificially pulsed (this is Brain Attack/what some have named Mind Control) at levels of release of thought from the brain, close to 4 Hertz, every few seconds or minutes; once, I recorded this. [Also see scientist Clifford Carnicom’s notes, he did too.]
We are inevitably pulsed by wifi, for all EMF is pulsation, is pulsing. Light is a pulsing. All waves are a pulsing with a peak and a trough.
We are pulsed by 5G, 4G, 3G, 2G–that transmission of RF is waved, pulsed, it throbs through our cells and the cells of every plant, tree, building, bridge every second.
Imagine that pulsing after the mRNA of a different species is injected into you–along with lipids, nanoparticles of metal, carbon, iron, cell-line mRNA of monkeys (also a different species now from you an I), bacteria, chickens, eggs, cows, pigs, and random chemicals.
Something breaks through dissolution. Something dissolves. Clouds and smoke and smudge in cells now, and these are cells of the muscles, near veins. They are veins the needle breaks into, they are capillaries. The multi-fangled “load” of the vaccine enters the bloodstream, the nerves, the neurons, the brain, neurotoxic, prevents the brain from reaching the mRNA of your own cells, neurons–programming failing as it seeks and cannot be answered: instant death.
Lipids and graphene in the capillaries, the veins, stopping the flow of lifegiving blood, turning up as stringy clots in coroners’ findings.
Fibrin, clotting, stoppage.
The exquisite beauty at heart of who We are: intricate, dimensional Structure, broken.
Something is cut, something is cut Out.
[Are there gene-editing chemicals? Is it pulsed wifi, along with mRNA-vaccine load? Is it that foreign mRNA, cutting in? For something is cut, something becomes or makes Cloud and Stoppage.]
***
At heart of the whorled, intricate structure of gold, curls in fives threading outward and down through Time, are strings of beads. Each bead a gene, carried down through the generations.
In neurons, beads. Silvery gray, as if rubber.
In the gold of genes, brown, wicker through Time: wholeness. Each bead is whole. Each gene exact. To its original, its source. No flaw, no break, no fracture.
Yet some have sought to slide knives–cutters–into the gene, to cause fissure, lesion, dissolution.
Some have sought to slice away clusters of genes, from sequences and helix, the pentavalent crystal of strings, splice in others, from other species.
Some have sought to create a new sequence: destroy the old perfection, break in on species, create a new sequence of genes for these mRNA strings, so progeny reflect that new spliced-in. Remove and remake: Deformity.
Couple that with other destructions at the Micro level: of neuron, cluster of neurons, nerves, with specific pulsed radiation. With the replacement–going down from the Micro level toward Nano–of mRNA at cell-heart with the mRNA of other species: equally from “food”: animal source, and now, vaccine or “gene therapy”: removal of Self, of Core, of You, of your CPU and your CPU’s programming. Genes destroyed. The Language now changed: into Death, Disease.
The mysteries of the Gene need further elucidating.
But the Gene itself is whole, inside you, from your past, your history, our common history. The moment of assault on the Gene is one which has come toward Humanity a few times before, in the larger history of Life on this Earth. Deformity has entered the human genome. Current-day Genetic Experimentation has also dabbled with Deformity: to be Outlawed.
Attack on the gene is an attack on Genetic Family Heritage, on Health, on Species Singularity, on the Expansion of Consciousness.
Keep your Genes whole. Keep Health in keeping your Genes whole. [Stay away from CRISP-r and mRNA/Gene changers (no use calling them “therapies”) of any kind.]
Prayer to the Ancestors of the Native American Peoples and Tribes, October 14, 2025
The prayer for/to the ancestors of these lands, the American lands belonging to the Native Indigenous, those who have lived here for generations, the Tribes, the First Nations, the People of This Land and Soil, This Earth, this Place we have now come to, from across the Seas, and have come without intending even, those many years ago, to call our own Home–for many reasons, through many and varied circumstances, in Many Generations of Arriving: We ask Permission to be here, to make our Homes here, to settle here in this Land and to share the Memory of this Land with you, We ask Permission to bring our own homes and families here, to Live on this Land and Soil as you have and as you do, We ask Permission to be here among your Trees, your Plants, your Animals and Birds and to learn how to take care of them; We Agree to Remember all that you Have Been and Are still today, to Remember especially Your travails and Losses, the battles fought against you, the Injustice, to remember in order to bring it forward and pass on the Memories of Who You Were to our children and all who come after so that this Land will never forget its History; We Thank You for your Lives and for the Life of Giving you have lived, the Life of Being and Expressing Your Selves and Inner Truths you have lived, for all you have done all the years of your life for this your Land, for all the Animals and Birds and Trees and Flowerings here, and your Families; We Promise to Give of our Knowledge and What we Have to Your People and Your Animals and Birds, to share what we have, and to help and assist them in any way that they might need, always, as we can, so that Harmony and Connection and Closeness to Nature and to the Gods of this Land and each other will bind us all, each to each other, and to this Land’s Earth.
After the vision of the Great Ones in the Oak–perhaps the Massachusett, the Wampanoag pre-1620 and the Mayflower–I have felt the need to say a prayer like this to the Ancestors here. It seems our Ancestors, in Spirit, never leave, they stay…the Places they stay in are Places they hold dear still and wish to watch over –10:57 pm, October 14, 2025; 7:40 pm, October 17, 2025.
