Rather than fall backwards into the pit, Alan somehow managed to throw himself forward – he then careened down into Miriam and sent them both rolling in a pile down the remaining steps.
“Ouch!” Miriam tried to catch her breath as they came to a stop on the damp stones at the bottom of the steps.
“Sorry,” Alan rolled off of Miriam, removing his masks as he gasped for breath. Then looking back at the chasm he asked. “How are we going to get back out? There’s no way we can make that leap back UP those missing steps – if any steps are still there.”
“No time for that. We’ve got to keep moving.” Miriam got up and raced ahead, following the only path available – a sharp curve to the left.
This cave was level – yet even more slippery than before because of a slimy mildew that clung to the rocks. Eventually they came to yet another triple fork. Miriam again chose to go left, yet the cobwebs filling this doorway were so thick she actually had to use her flame to burn them away.
Nonetheless, when they entered the next cavern, not only were the walls narrow, but worse yet the ceiling grade sloped in upon them and after just a few paces, Alan was forced to bend down further and further until eventually he was crawling, “Are we almost there?”
The masked Miriam didn’t reply, but instead pressed ahead.
Crawling on hands and knees, at last she wriggled her way through a tiny opening and then called back, “Don’t worry, I can stand up – this room is larger. Come on.”
Yet when she flashed the light back to give Alan a view, he panicked upon seeing that the opening was the size of a watermelon.
“I can’t do it!” Alan began to hyperventilate even without his mask on. “I’ll get stuck.”
“You CAN do it. Just stick your right arm and head through first, then I will pull you the rest of the way.”
Alan hesitated. For nearly a candlemark he refused to move, regardless of Miriam’s encouragements.
At last Miriam reached her limits and not even trying to mask her frustration she growled, “Would you rather just stay where you are and have me go on without you?”
That’s all it took to get Alan to move. Closing his eyes, he began squeezing into the hole before him…
Only to get himself stuck!
Alan wriggled.
He writhed.
He huffed and puffed, and all the while the rocks tore into his clothes and scratched at the flesh beneath.
Yet no matter what, he couldn’t get through. “ARRRGH! I’m going to die here.”
“Hush, you’re not going to die.” Miriam tried to calm Alan as he remained stuck in the cave. “You can’t die. Remember?”
“But that’s even worse!” Alan whined. “I’ll be stuck here forever.”
“Sshh. Just give me a moment to think.” After a pause, Miriam joked, “Well, look on the bright side, after a couple months, you’ll lose a few pounds and maybe you can squeak through then.”
“Not funny. Just get me out.”
Miriam stood for a moment more, and then came up with an idea. “Close your eyes.” Then after taking a deep breath, she kicked hard three times against the edge of the portal under Alan’s arm which was sticking through on her side – the rock cracked! After a more kicks, large chunks fell away – making the opening wide enough for Alan to push his way through.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Alan gasped, trying to regain his senses.
He and Miriam were now in another antechamber – and although it was only about five feet by six feet, and Alan still had to stoop a bit, this place must have seemed like a coliseum compared to the suffocating corridor he just came from.
“Don’t worry.” Miriam advised. “The rest of the way should be no problem. Er, assuming that nothing else has changed.”
“Hrmpf.” Alan clenched his teeth. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Miriam took the only way available – a sharp turn to the right – followed this a short way, but then suddenly she stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Alan asked.
Miriam held up the light before her – revealing a blank wall.
“Did we take a wrong turn?” Alan asked anxiously, surely feeling the weight of the earth above him and dreading a return back towards that tiny hole. Yet before the phobia took further hold of him, Miriam bent forward and pushed at the lower right corner of the wall, causing the stones to grate apart.
“Ah good, another wall that moves.” Alan remarked casually — no longer surprised to see that Miriam had found yet another secret cavern.
“This is it – The Sacra Crypta.” Miriam rejoiced. “We found it – praise God!”
(Well, this should be interesting – even I don’t know what to expect now…)
God has set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom it.
I was sitting on my back porch, wasting another day. Off in the distance I spied a raccoon nosing around the area that covered the body of my intruder from a month ago. It set me to thinking…
I took another sip of my version of Stone Pale Ale and got ready to ponder further, when suddenly a new vision was forced upon me — a view of my friends as they continued on with their pointless escapade…
Alan and Miriam were now sitting at a corner table outside a small cafe in Rome. Like the other diners, my friends were masked and gloved and all the tables were socially distant – as always this was claimed to be for protection against the virus, but was in reality just another population control method to keep the people separated so they couldn’t ‘conspire’ against their NWO overlords. Waiters (read: guards) constantly checked on guests (read: patrolled) to ensure the diners wear wearing their specialized Meal Masks correctly.
(You’ll recall that Meal Masks were an invention that came out around 2022 that allowed diners to wear a specially fitted mask that had a small opening around the mouth. That opening could be used to insert a paper straw into for drinking liquids or it could be configured so that it sensed when food was near the face and thus briefly opened to allow the diner to insert a small amount into their mouth. When used in the latter manner, the masks included a timer that only allowed the diner to insert food no more than once per minute to ensure the diner wasn’t contaminating the air with too much of their own breath. All of this was beyond absurd in my opinion, since like everything else with the Covid plandemic, there wasn’t any science to support Meal Masks doing anything to prevent the spread of the virus, but since Dr. Flipflop and the WHO recommended Meal Masks they’d long since become a fixture at public restaurants. Meanwhile, on a more positive note, one of the unanticipated side effects of Meal Masks is that, by limiting people’s time to eat, they became a fantastic method for portion control and in turn weight loss. You’ll probably remember the Meal Mask Diets that were all the rage a few years back – when it seemed like every celebrity was peddling some version of their own glammed up Meal Mask that they sold for a massive upcharge – causing more than a few fools to spend their entire monthly UBI’s on so they could show off to their friends).
“Why didn’t you tell me you about Purgatory?” Alan was chagrined as he left his espresso untouched on the table.
“Alan, it was not my place to tell YOU about your own secrets.” Miriam soothed, knowing that he was both embarrassed and pained.
(Lord, do I really have to sit here and watch this lover’s quarrel?)
“But, Miriam, what a fool I have been in front of you all these years!”
“Of course — for surely if Jesus was willing to tell me about your purposes, why did I not realize he would explain to you about me? Oh, how bloody stupid I’ve been!”
“Alan, stop. What’s done is done. I knew eventually you would come clean with me before our time was through.”
“And yet… would it… have been different between us?”
Miriam fiddled with her mask and whispered, “Oh, Alan, who can say? We can’t change the past.”
Miriam reached her gloved hand across the table to grasp Alan’s hand, “Thank you, Lazarus.”
“But, what about the future? What happens now, Mary?” Alan’s eyes was hopeful.
(Sorry, buddy, it’s not happening…)
Looking down, Miriam pulled her hand away, “Alan, right now we have a mission to complete.”
And after a pause, she whispered, “I’m sorry, but there is no time for a love that might have been.”
(Ouch!)
I watched as Alan did his best to swallow a (re)broken heart. In a stony voice he replied, “Alas, Miriam. You speak the truth. Even Solomon echoed your words, ‘No man can control the evil times that fall unexpectedly upon him.’ Such is the case with us too, neh?” And rising from the cafe table, “Well, we best be moving forward again. Ready?”
“Ready.” Miriam nodded, keeping her head down as she arose so that Alan would not see her tears.
There was a brief haziness to my Sight, but soon enough it returned.
Apparently some time had passed, because when I saw Alan and Miriam again they were disguised as tourists – complete with obtrusive cameras, dollar-store sunglasses, and an armful of sightseeing brochures. Naturally they also had on their Covid QR Cards hanging around their necks so that the omnipresent patrols could scan them to verify their Vax Status. And of course they were masked and gloved like all the other visitors to The Vatican.
My friends looked to be part of socially distant tourist group on a tour of Saint Peter’s Basilica. It was amusing to see them pretending to listen to the masked clergyman giving the tour as he told all about the history of the grand structure – pointing out the architectural contributions of grand masters like Bramante, Michelangelo, and Bernini; explaining how the church could seat upwards of 60,000 people for a mass; and even giving interesting tidbits of knowledge about some of the unique furnishings inside the cathedral.
I could tell that Alan was rather enjoying the tour. Oh, probably not because the information provided was new to him – for in truth, Alan knew far more about this place than the young priest who was their guide – but instead because the subject of Religious Antiquities was his passion. I’m sure that such a discussion allowed his mind to escape some of the recent pains that had been reopened regarding Miriam.
Unable to resist, Alan ventured a question – modifying his voice in a Hungarian accent, “My friend, I noticed that you didn’t mention the old church of Santo Stefano degli Ungheresi?”
Miriam’s looked in surprise at Alan’s unexpected query, yet her Nano Mask effectively hid her facial expression from others.
Meanwhile, the tour guide hesitated only a moment before advising, “Oh, scusi me please, I didn’t realize you were Hungarian. How could I forget to mention your country’s national church? Certainly, my friend, Santo Stefano once stood over here.” And he led the group to a different area of Saint Peter’s. “In 1776, Santo Stefano was torn down in order to make this section of the Grand Basilica. My apologies, friend, but surely you’ll agree the space was put to good use, eh?”
“Of course. Grazie.” Alan replied.
“Shall we move outside to the Piazza?” The guide asked the group.
As it turned out, Alan and Miriam never did go outside with the rest of the tour; instead they loitered inside Saint Peter’s, using the mandated social distancing requirements to get lost in the shuffle and eventually making their way into a cordoned off section known as the Chapel of the Choir.
Once inside, Miriam shuffled Alan into one of three wooden stalls.
“We can’t hide here,” Alan protested as he removed his mask to get some fresh air. “Surely the guards will check these stalls before closing.”
Miriam kept her mask on, but pulled a hidden lever under a section of molding that opened a secret inner chamber and then proceeded to pull her startled friend into it.
(Oh, you didn’t know about that hide-away? No matter. But surely you DO realize that The Vatican is filled with hidden labyrinths, right? Why there are probably more secret meeting places there than anywhere else in the world).
Ensconced in their hiding place, Alan and Miriam were able to remain on site long after the church closed. Although my Sight thankfully did not force me to endure the monotony of waiting in real-time, I was amused to catch one tidbit of their conversation – Alan coaxing Miriam to tell him the history of this secret chamber, clearly unable to believe that there was yet another piece of religious history that he was not aware of.
(It wasn’t the last time he was due to get such a surprise).
Meanwhile, half a world away, another older gentleman was also in a good mood…
(Like I said before, you’re just gonna have to take my word on it as to how I know things like this. Let’s just say, I have visions – oh you can call them revelations if you like but to be honest I’m a bit tired of that term. And no my visions are not some crazy side effect from the Covid vaccine – there’s plenty of those to go around but this ain’t one of them. Don’t worry about how it works, I’ll explain more in a bit, but for now, it will be easier for both of us if you would simply let it be and trust me that I AM telling you the truth).
And so I watched as Joseph Alois Ratzinger was nearing the end of a rare public appearance. In this case the ‘public’ aspect was via webcam since virtual news had remained the norm due to the never-ending pandemic. More importantly though, does the NAME of the man ring a bell for you?
If not let me help you. Officially ol’ Joe had retired in 2013, although I knew he’d tried to get out of the rat race long before then – in fact even before he had stepped down from the ‘big chair’ Joe often told me all he really desired was to “rest, maybe write a bit, and perhaps enjoy his old age.”
The fact is, Joe had never wanted to rise to the top of his profession in the first place and, prior to attaining that rank, he’d actually gone so far as to submit his formal resignation on three separate occasions — yet each time his prior boss had talked him out of it.
I told him countless time to just quit and be done with it all, but he didn’t listen to me and in the end, Joe had remained obedient to his superior’s wishes eventually he became The Big Boss himself.
Even still, it’s common knowledge that Joe’s allegiance to his company has done nothing to help his health concerns. His past and present conditions read like a laundry list of serious medical dilemmas:
hemorrhagic stroke in 1991;
serious fall and head trauma in 1992 (I can relate to that one!);
another stroke in 2004;
chronic heart palpitations and a case of serious bronchitis in 2006;
a broken ankle in 2009 (and when you’re 81 years old that’s a big deal);
he was living now with a pacemaker and chronic high blood pressure;
and the list went on and on – poor Joe.
All of these aches and pains lead to his formal resignation in early 2013 – and while it’s not newsworthy when most people retire, for my friend it was a big deal.
If you don’t know my friend yet, let me clue you in…
Joseph Ratzinger is perhaps better known to you as Benedict XVI — Pope Emeritus of the Catholic Church.
As for his ‘retirement,’ did you know that Joe was the first pope to step down since the year 1415?
For you math wizards that basically means that no pope has voluntarily retired for over 600 years – they’re pretty much expected to die in office.
As for that previous abdicator, it was Pope Gregory XII – I’m sure you don’t remember him, but trust me when I tell you that when Gregory XII stepped down it was was a really big deal back then – oh the scandal! Believe me I know, after all I was there to see it all.
But Joe is cut from a different cloth – he had no intention of letting the wolf pack otherwise known as The College of Cardinals salivate around his death bed while they conspire around him on who will be the next Pope.
Instead he came up with a new exit strategy – install a puppet for his figurehead and wield power behind the scenes – after all he’d seen Dick Cheney do this very effectively during the GW Bush Administration of US Politics and I’m sure Joe figured he was at least as smart at the gun-totting American VP.
Enter Jorge Mario Bergoglio – the charismatic Jesuit from South America was the ideal solution for Joseph. Jorge took the name Pope Francis, Joe happily passed the baton to him, Francis became the doll of the news, and Joe sailed off to the sunset. The perfect cover for a man in power.
Which brings us back to today – with Joe having to endure an interview from the fake press.
Knowing he only had a short time left in this world, I knew how much Joe despised wasting any of it on personal interviews like the one he was presently enduring – that’s what the new guy Francis was supposed to be for. Yet somehow Joe had apparently agreed to do this appearance and thus here he was, trying to maintain a happy face in front of his computer.
“Do you have any final words for the people of America, Your Eminence?” The virtual interviewer asked. “Although the United Nations and World Health Organization partnered with governments around the world to help us build back better after the first pandemic, our planet continues to struggle from the devastating damaged caused by capitalism for so long. Many in my country of America still fear the partnership between the United Nations and The Bates Foundation as they roll-out an Identichip that’s tied to a ‘one-world’ digital currency. I’m talking here about the groundbreaking Crypto Yuan that’s endorsed by The World Economic Forum and its members as not only a replacement for the outdated US Dollar but a new kind of currency completely – one that not only offers the benefits of first-generation cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin, but also adds the all-important social credit system to the equation so that we can help ensure our citizens live their lives in a globally sustainable manner. Do you favor or oppose this new currency system?”
Realizing that this was the final question from his prep list, my friend’s face lit up and he exhibited the charisma which had undoubtedly been the reason why he had been elevated to his present position…
“My children, if we let Christ fully enter our lives, are we not afraid that he might take something away from us too?”
And after a pause, Joe answered his own question, “No! Don’t you see, if we let Christ in, we lose absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful, and great! Instead, only in this friendship with Him do we experience liberation. When we give ourselves to Him, we receive back a hundredfold in return! Focus not on your personal liberty. Forget the reality of your present lockdown life. Do not pine for what once was. Instead, I say open wide the doors to Christ – and you will find true life. We are all ONE people. ONE Body in our Lord Jesus Christ. If this is true, why not have ONE currency? Nay, even ONE world government! My Children, there is nothing to fear and only peace and freedom for ALL to gain…”
Less than an hour later, I watched the Pope as he relaxed in private in his apartments.
(BTW, I’m still going to call Joe “The Pope” because, as I’ve already mentioned, Joe continues to pull the strings in The Vatican and thus the figurehead that is Pope Francis is barely in this story).
While alone, Joe disregarded his formal papal garments – his red satin mozzetta, wide-brimmed saturno, and yes, even those neo-traditional red papal shoes that everyone thinks he fancies.
Do these look comfortable?
Oh those colorful shoes! I remember how he had worked hard to bring them back to popularity (with the help of Prada and a sizable “donation” to Joe’s personal rainy-day fund!), yet each time he wore them now, I knew that he bitterly despised them – for he always complained how they were so uncomfortable. (I kept telling him to try them on before he endorsed them, but once again he didn’t listen to me.)
Nonetheless, The Pope was now dressed in a luxurious silk robe, whilst plush slippers caressed his overworked feet. Letting the cares of the outside world melt away, I watched Joe press a button to deactivate all the cameras and interactive media devices in the room, after which he traipsed over to his wet bar and poured himself a tall glass of a German honey-flavored liqueur called Barenjager.
(Personally, I’m not a fan of German liqueurs, I like the harder stuff – Jack, Wild Turkey, a good grain alcohol, any of those and some ice will do the trick for me – but Joseph was always a connoisseur. In terms of this present liqueur, he previously explained to me that most Barenjagers that were exported from Germany were between 60-90 proof, however, given his position, Joseph now had access to a private label reserve from Teucke & Koenig, and as such, his version – called Barenfang – was actually a 95 proof product – much to his delight).
As he took a big sip of the drink, Joe smiled as he looked upon the label on his bottle – a cartoon of a bear drinking the liquor – a picture far different from that shown on most of the commercial bottles of Barenjager (which usually showed a fur trapper catching the bear).
“Give me neither poverty nor riches, but only my daily bread.” As he finished the smooth spirit and poured himself another, “Ah, and a little of this stuff too, neh?”
Strolling over to the corner of his living room, he sat down at his Fazioli grand piano. Immediately no less than three of his feline friends scampered to join him.
(Yuck — I absolutely hate cats! But Joseph had long had an affinity for them and as such the Vatican had become quite infested with them since he rose to power. Francis tried to quell the tide but so far had been unsuccessful – the cats still ruled).
“Amadeus, come here…. Adolf, you rascal! Ah, and, Deter, my love.” He happily nuzzled all three. (Deter was always his favorite, but don’t ask me why – they all look the same to me). “OK, boys, let me play for you, please.”
And after taking another sip of his Barenfang, I watched as my friend proceeded to lose himself in his music – whilst his cats curled up against him and purred contentedly.
Yet suddenly one of the cats hissed, causing the other two to bound off in fright. “What is it, Deter?” Joseph stopped playing and looked down at his friend, seeing the cat’s entire body bowed up.
“I believe that’s Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21.” Said an unexpected voice that I didn’t recognize.
“His music is by no means just entertainment,” Joseph replied, without turning around. “It contains the whole tragedy of human existence.” For a brief moment, his body tensed at the intrusion, whilst he whispered, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do…”
And yet, outwardly, he refused to let his surprise show; instead he took another long sip of his drink, placed Deter on the floor so his friend could scamper away to safety, and then smiled as finally he turned around to face his visitor.
“Ah, I see there are two of you this time?” The Pope commented dryly, observing his guests.
Both men were dressed in black robes, Nano Masks, and gloves – although I knew that neither was a member of the clergy or on staff at the Vatican. Their ebon garments and face masks clashed terribly with the stark whiteness of their skin, their fair hair, and their light eyes. Stoic and stiff, they might well have been twins for all that they looked so much alike, and yet, like me, Joseph knew they were not.
“Hello…Your Grace.” One of the men stepped forward, his voice sounding clear due to the masks high-tech design.
The Pope did not reply. Nor did he bother to put on gloves or a mask himself (like me he knew masks were useless). Instead Joe followed protocol, rose up to stand before the intruders, and then proceeded to offer his bare hand in formal greeting.
Despite the outdated (and now illegal) form of greeting, each of the gloved men took the Pope’s hand and shook it, being sure to allow their middle finger to entwine with his during the shake in order to verify their identity.
“The Viper coils…” One of the men said.
“And its strike is deadly…” Added the second.
“To the uninitiated.” The first man finished the greeting.
“Bruders.” Joseph smiled slyly, “Welcome. I was expecting you. Don’t worry, we are unwatched and can speak openly”
My vision of the Pope and his ‘friends’ continued, and an hour quickly passed while the conspirators conversed. German was the language spoken at this meeting – native to all three — but I had no trouble following along. Given their continued wearing of masks, I realized these were only low to mid level operatives, so I was curious as to why Joe would even be bothering with them.
“The date, Your Grace?” Asked one of the masked men.
“Ah, that’s the beauty of it.” Joseph smiled. “I assume you know about the meeting at Mount Moriah?”
“You mean Har haBáyit – The Temple Mount?” The other Brother questioned.
“I’m surprised that you would know the Hebrew word,” Joseph snickered. And before either of the men could reply, he continued. “December 21st. That is the date. And the mosque at al-Aqsa there on the mount is the site.”
(Please understand I had no idea what they were plotting so this was all news to me. Sure, I get these revelations but to be honest they are not all that revealing if you ask me. It’s not something over which I have any control – whatever He chooses to send me is what I get. Also I am not omnipotent or anything. Hell, I don’t even have control of when the visions appear! And when I’m watching, although I can see the people pretty good and hear what they are saying, I can’t read their minds or anything so I don’t know what they are really thinking. Thus, I had no idea what Joe was up to).
“You are certain?” the second assassin slithered, the sound of him sucking air through the ventilator holes in his mask repulsive.. “There can be no mistake. If BAVI is really The One, then he must be there.”
“Fool.” Joseph replied. “You need not worry about my intelligence findings. Marrollo has assured me that BAVI will be there. And yes, he IS the key figure. After all, it is his blood which will complete the… ah… Grand Ritual.”
(Hmmm. Was I watching a plot to assassinate someone? And with the old pontiff at the head? Who was this BAVI they were talking about? It was obviously a code word and given that Joe had deactivated all The Eyes in his room it had to be someone important. I’ll admit, it was interesting, in a passing fancy sort of way, and had I been younger, I might have still cared about the implications of what they were discussing. However, as it was, whether Joe and his buddies killed one man or a hundred, that was their business. Nobody can give me what I really want so what do I care what happens to BAVI or anyone else?)
“The whole world loves BAVI – just like he so desperately wants.” The first assassin mocked. “Why he might as well be The Second Coming for all the praise he is getting.”
“They will grow to dread him soon enough.” Joseph replied.
“Remember — though the wicked spring up like grass, they will be forever destroyed in the end. When our plans are completed, BAVI will be reviled for the villain he truly is.”
“And the Jews are on board with all this?” The first man laughed, his loose tongue perhaps showing some of the effects of the Barenfang.
“That’s the beauty of Marrollo’s foreign planning.” Joseph explained, taking the other’s glass away from him and setting it down. Yet, after thinking twice, he picked the drink back up and downed it himself. (That’s my boy!) “That’s too good to go to waste.” He smiled, before getting serious again. “Chief Rabbi Metzger believes he is really the one responsible for setting up the December 21st event. It’s all part of BAVI’s grant to support Metzger’s Interfaith Dialogue mission. Why he’s already erected an altar on Temple Mount to mark the new holiday that will be created.”
“And you will be there too, Your Excellency?” the first man was salivating in his excitement.
“Naturally, for Metzger has asked the Ayatollah and I to join him in consecrating the grand altar to The One True God that we all serve. And BAVI will be the guest of honor in recognition for his many technologies saving our world from so many disasters.” And with a chuckle Joe added, “However manufactured those crises might be.”
“Glory be! I can’t wait to see BAVI delivered upon the altar to the destiny he deserves.”
“I suppose Evil comes to him who searches for it, eh?” The Pope let the thought hang ominously, even as all three conspirators nodded to one another and smiled.
(Just then my vision ended. Interesting? Yes, but like I said, had I cared, I probably would have made arrangements to visit with Joe and get the scoop. As it was I was just thankful when the vision ended so I could get some sleep.)
The Last Temptation of John 