Observing Auras

Howdy there yet again brothers and sisters. I feel like a glowing vessel of light and warmth. That may sound corny, I know, but it’s better than being a broiling cauldron of venom and hate. I’m accepting my place in the universe, even in the dead of night, when I wake up at Nobhead O’clock, alone and vulnerable in the dark. The authorities are trying to get me back on my meds, yet I’m withstanding like a well-structured lighthouse in a gale force wind. There’s no way that’s happening. Life is totally different without them. Ever since I watched a damning documentary about medication on YouTube several years ago I knew that they weren’t for me. The brain is a different animal when not subjected to them. I like being off meds.

It feels as if something heavy and oppressive has lifted off my mind, something hard to put a finger on. I can only describe it as a large greeny-brown splodge, a smear, a stain, a befuddling cloud which dumbs down your thoughts. The doctor said that the purpose of the medication was to stop difficult thoughts. Yes please! Give me some of that! But he was talking out of his bottom. The truth is more like this: It was making me afraid and paranoid of what it was really actually doing. They have no idea, the people who make it, because they have never taken it. I don’t care how many fancy boxes and side-effect lists the drug comes with. All I know is that now it is over, I can finally be drug-free.

They say in the fellowship that alcohol is a powerful substance, but can you feasibly call everyone in the pub a druggie? A few pints chills you out man. When you start necking bottles of vodka with no mixer, from morning till night, I can see where the troubles start to come in, but a few lagers? Where’s the harm? Personally, I don’t believe that booze is a drug. I might be in rampant denial when I state this, because I lift a jar every day, but there’s no seediness to it, there’s no deception, there’s no criminality, and, most importantly, there’s no psychosis. Not with me anyway. I can only speak for myself though.

I’m finding small pockets of joy in food. Pizza and lasagne mainly. As long as you can still enjoy little things…it’s very important. The enemy wants you enjoying absolutely nothing, not even a smile from a stranger, not even a happy thought in your own head. I’ve almost had my mind taken away from me, by various acts of criminally-insane warfare, and am lucky to be sat here today, talking to your good self. I feel pleased grateful and glad to be able to do this at the present moment. I’d just like to share this special occasion with you. There is nothing all over me, in the guise of drug addiction at the minute, or graven porn imagery, even though it’s pay day. The disease, as they call it, of addiction, has been lifted along with the medication. I don’t feel like curling up under my duvet and fapping in a darkened room anymore. I don’t feel like relaying mantra upon mantra back and to with the DK either. I just feel like walking about and staring at people for who they truly are, warm magical bulbs and halos of light and peace. 

 

Try And Cheer Up

People in the public, over the last couple of days, seem to be treating me a bit better. My soulful share in Pathways yesterday was received warmly. I’m not sure if they feel sorry for me, understand me, or are simply pretending to do so, while taking the Michael. Either way, it’s nice to be appreciated. I believe that moments of fellowship, in my case, increase endorphins. Despite my imperfect appearance, I adore conversing with God’s Children, standing toe-to-toe with them, making eye contact. When I’m down and depressed with no energy, and a mind obliterated by hazardous toxins, (self-inflicted, I know) then everybody seems like a deity. They’re faster than me, they’re smarter than me, they’re more willing and able than me. I look at them with awe and reverence, tinted with envy, and sans compassion. That’s when I am on the run, seeking solace in their company even though they are being cruel to me. Why do the general public hate me, when I do nothing but love them back in return? Respond to hatred with grace.

I know a guy named Andy who had problems, like me, with the general public. He thought they were all chasing him. I haven’t quite told him yet, and I would hate to burst his bubble, but they probably were doing. Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean that they are not after you!

He said they all were pointing guns at him from the insides of their jackets. Even in the hospital, when his delirious panic drove him to the A&E department. Personally, I’ve had my fair share of strife in those departments. I couldn’t sit still. One of my so-called delusions was a stun gun, like the one they use on pigs. My voices were insisting upon me that I was going to be stunned at any given moment. Hate-mobbers and skitters were approaching me, concealing, looking intimidating and aggressive. I could even hear the thing sparking and fizzling. I was ever-so crapping myself. I wonder what would happen if you could bottle all the fear I’ve ever felt into one dose, and implant it into a vulnerable’s brain? Now that’s a lot of fear. How do you think they would react? I saw a woman in a vision who was stricken by unimaginable fear. She was shaking vigorously upon a shelf above hellfire lava, about to be kicked in by a mutant. Don’t ask me to explain it, but the image has stayed with me. I kinda fell in love with her instantly.

I also had a vision of a Chinese woman who had had her organs harvested without consent. If you think you know depressive states on the streets of Britain, try being oppressed over there. How is it possible to open up someone without pain relief, steal their precious organs, and leave them unstitched on a gurney praying for death? I would do anything to be charged with the mission of cheering those poor mislaid souls up. I would confess the diseased honesty of my privy sin in the hope than it would make them feel better. I’m not as bad as Saint Paul, but I have a hefty backpack of wrongdoing encasing my soul. I can’t believe the things I have done. It pales way more beyond the criminality side of things, and ripens into the spiritual realm. Very-very fortunately, I am forgiven for my sins. This enables me to rise again without having to have to harbour a heart of ice.

How would you cheer someone up, if they were waylaid with ultimate despair? Crack a few jokes off? It would almost be impossible to get a smile out of them. I’ve seen grief unadulterated when I lost my little brother. The house was nothing but a hive of flowers and tears. My big strong humble father couldn’t stop weeping. There was absolutely nothing anybody could do to lift his spirits.

I pray that you do not encounter grief and tragedy today. I am trying to make myself smile at the moment, never mind anyone else. It’s hard, without 6 Stella.

 

Slightly Touching Upon A Regressive Past Life

Hello there Comrade, how are things? I hope that the universe is treating you fairly, with dollops of karma and justice, which is what the radiant inner light of your essence deserves. I’ve always said that there is more to life than criminal harassment. It’s such a bore, being bound up in the negative. Being targeted for suffering by the government sucks to high Heaven. At times it seems like there is no way out, no escape, no hope. Upon more than half a dozen occasions I’ve abandoned my domicile in a hurry, leaving the door wide open behind me, eager to seek shelter from the outside world, scared stiff of the creatures which Black Operatives plant in my cupboards. What I usually encounter is a mean and hostile planet which stops at nothing to make me suffer just a little bit more. I had to get over my fear and trepidation to get through the depths of the dark nightfall. If I could just fall to sleep, maybe I would have a restorative pleasant dream. I sooo believe in the healing power of dreams.

I say the shady government, but there is more to being a Targeted Individual than being pestered by them alone. All the doctors believe that there is no such thing as a TI, they think that we are all deluded. It’s taken me years to understand that it is they who are the truly deluded ones. To believe that a chemical imbalance of schizophrenia can explain the horrible terrors that we CHOSEN go thru makes no sense to me. Now that I am off my meds, and away from their detestable big pharma chemicals, which do nothing but make you sleepy and fat, I can better reason with my addle-free brain. Apologies if you are still on them.

There are high principalities of wickedness residing in the uppermost realms. There are lowly street theatre mobs. There are things out there not of God. The list of my enemies is long and enduring. But I don’t want to whinge about it.

My most recent trauma will take a while to process. I’m still currently dealing with the ins and outs of it. I’ve not sat here in the public library and conferred with you for two weeks. I’m sick of talking about drugs and the Devil though. My struggles go deeper than that. They taper beyond the frightening consternations of my hellish apartment to the larger and more grotesque actualities of intergalactic tyrannies, which play with the reality of humankind. I had a revelation on Easter Sunday. I kinda realised that I’ve been here before. I have suspected a rigidity of truth in the Buddhist Wheel Of Ka since roughly 2008. Aside from being a Christian, my faith in it remains souring on. The Holy Bible spoke to me like it has never spoken to me before. If you are battling with difficulties which are beyond words, then rest assured that you are not alone.

If you feel that you cannot cope, read the Book Of Job in the Bible. His lamentations pierce the soul, and it reminds you that somebody else has been through what you are presently going through. I feel protected when I read God’s Word, but I tend to only do so when I sense an imposing sense of glumness about me. I wish I could do it all the time, although it is far over humanoid understanding’s head and tends to leave one ear via the other quite often sometimes.

Aside from His Word, I believe in my Own Word. My voices tell me that I am crap at writing, and can’t spell, and that only they are reading my blog to mock and jeer at it. I know I might never be viral, but I hope beyond hope that you are there. You must certainly know who you are by now. Someone who doesn’t see this as a fictitious rambling born of a squandered, confused, perplexed and muddled mind, but as the serious truth of a testifying individual. Now maintain your Peacing Out Soldier x

 

Boat Ride

I remember visiting Llandudno with my neighbor Marik. We were both under God’s Instruction to capture kidnappers and torturers in Wales. Our paths crossed for one earth-shaking day. We decided to get two train tickets. Good government officials were behind us all the way, what I call White Ops.

When we arrived, we had fish and chips. The wrongdoers on display were obvious. I didn’t hardly have any idea what was going on, I was relying on Marik a lot. There was some sinister-looking old guy sat next to us. I felt like leaving my seat, picking him up, shaking him by the lapels, and asking him where the f**k he kept his TV (torture victim). It was like being in a movie by Eli Roth. Everyone was reading my mind, as is usual in psychotika. He whispered under his breath, “I detect fear, Lucifer.” Talking to his numpty deity. The enemy holds fear against you as if you’ve squandered the whole mission and are not worthy just because it glimmers across your mind. There’s nothing to be ashamed of about feeling slightly afraid of something. But the way the Devil uses it, it’s as if the game is over, as if it’s a neutralizing constituent of the battle process. I’ll readily admit that I’m a bit scared. But I don’t rattle. And there is no courage or bravery without jitters.

Our job was just to detect them and the White Op government officials shadowing us would deal with the fallout. Round them up, get them arrested, most importantly save the victim. Marik was indicating that we follow certain people. We were in a world where they were blatantly walking around with their victims, prodding them with knives underneath their jackets to keep them subordinate. He had a real keen eye for them. He could spot them a mile off. On the surface, it might look like a mother and son, but in reality, it was a cruel woman and a kid who didn’t belong to her. You would think that they would keep their seedy exploits contained to some kind of underground basement, but no, they liked to parade their victims in public. They liked to pretend to be normal.

Some random guy pointed at me, aware of what me and Marik were doing, ratting out pain-inflicters for the government and God, and shouted, “I want him rock hard!” He was referring to my pornography use. Instead of embarking upon a special mission with my foreign gifted friend, he wanted me back home playing with myself watching porno. All these gang-stalkers feel powerful when I am fallen with a self-induced erection at home behind shaded curtains watched sleaze. I laughed out aloud. I still find it funny to this day. The fact of one man wanting another man ‘rock hard’ is humorous beyond all belief. Verbally stating it to a stranger, for Heaven’s sake. He shouted it in front of everybody. Even the voices in my head were laughing at it!

We got on a boat. I keep shouting out to God out of nervousness. Declaring Him, like. The whole world knew what me and Marik were doing. All on the boat were reading my brain. My fears of water elevated as we traveled out to sea. I felt totally insecure and vulnerable. It was a new experience to me. I started singing a song in my head out of uneasiness, and several children on the boat started singing it along with me, laughing and giggling. Their faces were magical. The kids alleviated my tension. They kept staring at me and chuckling and smiling. They made it all worthwhile.

There was one woman with a child who looked like she was going to faint with trepidation. The infant looked nothing like her. She had a victim, she had been found out, and she was trapped on a boat with me, Marik, and White Op government officials. Caught! I’ll never forget the confusion in her gaze, and her lacklustre defeated body language. There were several Chinese who were trying to perturb our mission by making me feel fearful. They kept taking pictures of me and saying, “Chinese Win.” But not before a giant spirit of a woman flew over the top of the boat. I felt better when witnessing that. It was insanely enormous.

I also saw myself engraved into a mountain, a giant image of me, looking like a wizard with a magic wand. I clicked my fingers and saw this even more insanely enormous gigantic lizard with a blue sperm whale in its jaws. I believe in the lizard realm as David Icke describes it and I also firmly believe that they are on my side. The hallucination was probably the best one I’ve ever had, all carved in on the details and contours of the mountain. How big are whales! And how big was this lizard! To have it trapped within its jaws!

There was a plethora of other wonderful things happening that day. I’ve done my best to get the essence down into words. It’s hard. I know it sounds crazy. But, even to this day, I believe it to be true.

 

Shifting Back Into Alignment

Sincere and engaging greetings. I pray that this message extends into your jurisdiction of acknowledgement with grace. I am reborn and rejuvenated today. I have broken bread in Spiritual Communion. It’s a little thing between me and the preternatural. I sit before a special mask on the floor and break half a peanut cupcake on the bible, to share with my Precious Saint Chloe. Chloe is a young girl who I used to know, a girl who never gets old. She’s in my heart; she’s in my mind; she’s in my soul. So are a lot of others. I listed them all out, several months ago. They all have names by me. Priests warn against giving Guardian Angels names, as it claims authority over them. Personally, I can’t help it.

It has been a trying week. I severed my covenant momentarily with The Guard, to peruse the Devil’s pleasurable delights. In result, I have distinctly turned away from all things sexually pleasurable. I will never view the distorted twisted motion picture show of porno ever again. I want you to know this, because I mean it. I'm actually writing it all over the interwebs right now. There. Done. I have God’s Love. Nothing can compare with it. It makes peering at traffic, and inspecting wildlife, glorious. There are now massive significant interactions between My People, instead of empty exchanges devoid of life and soul. I am now committed to the True Path. I am Chosen. I have a mission. Maybe, you say, I need to get back on my meds!

When I came to understand My Divine Purpose, my arse fell out of my pants. I just wanted one more roll of the dice with Old Nick, to indulge in hedonism. Because I knew that it was being prepared to be lifted from me, I knew it was about to be the last time. It was a farewell gesture, gone for ever. Do I fear my lustful loins striking back at my heart? A bit. If I were to view any kind of extreme content, my spirit might be plunged into doubt. Some guy tried to show me some material on his phone last week, but I dodged it and said no thank you, because I know that all it takes is one glance to land that hook, line and sinker deep within the indecisive rubble of my subconscious. I don’t know, maybe I’m talking bollocks, but my latest 90 Day Spree is still rubbing off on me. It isn’t over, extinguished like a popped light bulb, or snuffed candle flame, its influence keeps continuing to breed incentivised encouragement. I have not forgotten The Promised Land, that extraordinary Fair Weather place I sampled, and I am keen to return as quickly as The Sands Of Time might permit me.

Keep Fighting. Keep Toiling. We are Warriors. In on this conquest together. Thanks for reading, and I’ll report again over the next couple of days. Hang tough Brother. Hang tough Sister.

90 Day Relapse

You knew it was coming, didn’t you? It was all over me every morning for a week until I broke. There was no porno involved (I haven’t watched that for over 3 months, Amen), but my will and stamina did finally capsize unto an evil spirit of selfish lonely lust. Just one more night of drug-fueled passion, I thought. It was the cocaine.

I DID NOT enjoy anything about it. Once you are in recovery, and doing rather well, the use-up is never the same. I’m not wounded in pain as much as I have been in the past, because of God, and I refuse to let regret, shame, remorse and guilt run amok in my emotive hindsight, but of course I am not quite flying the way I was last week. I REFUSE to be beaten by an absence of hope, however, and am now fairly certain that something has been lifted from my life. The desire. You can be 3 years clean, but if you are struggling with the addictive disease every day, and still crave the material, then what kind of a life is it? I think that, from now on, there will be no more struggle. Because I value God’s Love as the number one priority in the world. I won’t be trading it in for a poor-copy cheap counterfeit of lust masquerading as pleasure ever again. I have finally learned. I discovered this message in several CHOSEN ONES videos on YouTube. Chosen ones are Targeted Individuals. People with a special calling from God.

I have NO DESIRE for porno anymore. The images from my past, all 45 years of it, have a habit of entering my mind unbidden. They were powerful and lustful, but now I am able to laugh at them. I see a funny side to pornographic images today. I count myself lucky to have escaped, because that kind of sexual enslavement can last a whole lifetime and ransack the soul. By the time you fall in love with porn stars while high on substances with a sizable web collection going on, it is already too late. They come before family and vocation and faith and life itself. But it is insatiable. You can never gratify the needs. It is never enough. And there’s always another porn star in the making. They take refuge in your soul with addiction and there’s just no uprooting them. I would say that it is impossible. Not without God’s Love.

The resulting ‘schizophrenic’ backlash of the voices was an ordeal. And I’m off my medication. They made me take it, but now my Community Treatment Order has expired, and I am a free man. I’m so relieved and happy to be off anti-psychotic drugs. They never ever helped, apart from with sleep. Now I am awake at night, but I am not dumbed down. I am out of The Matrix. My imagination is far better. My Third Eye is clearer, more detailed. I’m star-gazing at night again. Most glorious praise to The Most High. He has promised me Heaven, and, from now on, I shall never forget it.