This was spoken in 1973.   There is nothing new under the son.  Repent, America.  Come out of the beast. The only hope is repentance and a return to the ways of our Creator.  We overcome by the blood of the lamb and the word of the Testimony.

Judgment is coming like a thief in the night.   If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray, and turn from their wicked ways, I will from heaven, and forgive their sins and heal their land . . . .

Tremendous information for those who either have been touched with cancer, or have a friend or family member who has experienced this disease.   This is one episode from Ty Bollinger’s heroic work where he speaks with caring, independent, health based   – not death by chemotherapy and radiation based – therapies.

I’ve been doing what I can to fulfill the promise I made to my father as he was passing from this life.  In 1999, he succumbed to lung cancer  – it had been navigating his system for years – since his time spent in the foundries as a teen. Asbestos wasn’t thought of as a carcinogen back then.

When my father was five year old, he had watched his father place a shotgun between the soft brown eyes of the family pet pony. The bullet pierced. Blood glistened. Screaming tears from my father didn’t drown our his old man’s diatribe;

“You can’t buy a job. Government’s corrupt. There are no jobs. How can we feed a damn pony?”

Shortly after, I was told, dark suited men came with papers his father – the grandpa I never met – was forced to sign. My dad’s mom packed the meager belongings and they left the farm forever. It was 1929.

My father took his last breath on income tax day, 1999. A fitting departure date. He knew the IRS was corrupt then, along with the Federal Reserve and every contrived war. He was prone on a portable hospital bed, his nostrils inflamed by plastic inserts rushing oxygen to bronchial tubes already filled with pneumonia and carcinoma, eyes heavy from the morphine/Ativan cocktail, and his still muscled frame facing due east. My mother helped the Hospice RNs position his bed so he could gaze through his favorite window. His beloved black lab, Lindy, could reach up to nuzzle and lick his feet and hands.

My father loved the woods. The smell of wet underbrush. Fluttering yellow cinnamon leaves. Ruddy quartz scooped from mountain streams. Distance from the din of civilization. Pheasants. Cardinals. Squirrels. Deer. He felt more at home in North Carolina that in any previous dwelling. Three years earlier, he and my mother had purchased thirteen acres of woodlands in an isothermal valley and built a small home. This was to be their land of milk and honey. They had often laughed about their decision. Most people in their 70s sell homes and buy condos. My parents did the opposite.

As death flowed from his lower limbs, I whispered in his ear. “It’s ok, dad. I’ll help take care of mom. And I won’t spend every last nickel, but I’ll do all right. And now I know which trees to take out and which ones to leave. I’ll only do music part time and, dad . . . about Leisha. She needs help. Please, ask God to help her. I love you dad.”

So, today, as I’m hauling those nasty pines to the fire, I’m thinking about that promise I made to my dad. And how he forsaw so many of the institutional lies we are bombarded with. There’s nothing new under the son, said the wisest man who ever lived. And certainly the rape, pillage and destruction of the human soul is not new – it’s just packaged a bit differently – to entice, to force, to engineer to transhumanize, indeed to buy and sell every breath you take, every gene you have and then, as the Beast would dictate – murder billions of us useless eaters with via Agenda 21 and scorched earth and GMOs and nanotube stairways to heaven. Bruce Gagnon – a long long time peace activist who probably knows more than anyone on the planet what weapons are being birthed in space – wrote an excellent article today called the Techno Utopianism Seminar Report. He does a pretty good job of detailing the scientific demonic totalitarian old world order tools that are currently being employed to rid the world of truth, light, beauty and Elohim.

Most often, those pines burn all night – and in the morning I come to inspect. Just a tiny bit of stoking those coals – even if it’s rained or snowed – gets that fire to burn again. Seems that’s just like the spirit of Elohim – probably there was a good reason it was a burning bush that spoke to Abraham. A little reminder that that there is a fire that will never be extinguished. The fire of truth, of the Creator, of the blood of the lamb – becoming flesh and dying to defeat death itself. This evil won’t win. It’s already determined – that’s not to say that some of won’t need to give our lives, but hey, that’s a small price to pay – since we didn’t create ourselves – and we don’t “own” anything anyway.

These days I think about my dad, and how he understood the times and the seasons. Little did I know then, that I would be called to be on the right side of history – and if you’re reading this, that means you may be too. Join me in prayerful repentance for the crimes of our nation. The fire is still burning. Just stoke it a bit.

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