Pearl Hunting

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I am no longer a man who walks along a lonely road. In one year, fifteen thousand miles have passed beneath my home’s front window. Those miles brought conversations with strangers who soon became friends and now I am blessed to call family. We met the most extra ordinary people. I crawled my way up a desert mountain outside of Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico with a man who was braver than most heroes ever hoped to be. He has fought for his family with bruised knuckles, sharpened steel and faced the refiners’ fire. He took to the forests with his family where he felled trees, stoked the woodstoves for warmth and built himself a life of love. I met Adam Wegman for the first time on Padre Island, Texas where the National Park was turning into its wild west.

The Government Shutdown had an unintended consequence which the bus bound road gypsies soon exploited. Driving through the open and empty gates visitors were greeted with signs of warning about the “UNPATROLED Areas of the park.” The countries National Parks were officially free and unregulated so a small community opened up on the beach where the boondocking campers planted stakes, lowered jacks or dug in, to the scenic spot. Adam, his wife, and three children had spent the last eight months painstakingly converting a 40 foot School Bus into an actual home.

A full-size residential door greeted you as you walked into a custom wood-paneled space of unique wonder. A smoldering woodstove just behind the driver’s seat was casting off its warmth and filling the seating area near the kitchen. Their children flooded out as we first met them and began pulling various shoes from cubbies and bikes off trailers.

The Wegmans like us had merely begun their journey on the road. They joined the continually growing number of families who are unplugging from the rat race nonsense. Where day after day families are greeted with more debt, bullies and bad influences both in schools and work. The constant race between worlds steals their present giving them less time to be together.

This is forcing parents to make costly decisions to safeguard their families from the dreams of liars. No longer do the younger generations believe the lies our parents were sold. The American Dream was always waiting around the corner, right? As we matured we learned nothing was waiting but debt, and inert degrees which proved useless. Many who once sought to make a difference instead compromised with corporate jobs that paid better but ultimately led us deeper into despair.

While the years passed, we saw families ruined because they chased this well-marketed masquerade. Instead, of becoming another notch in this necrotic noose, we chose to do something drastic. We stared down our desires and drove out the fears of failure and went searching for a life of meaning. Soon the scales of deception fell from our eyes and we saw a new world of creation is waiting outside the walls of want.

Day by day we began to set our selves apart from the promises this world falsely provides. Each day we abstain from their games shaves the subtle and crafty scales from our eyes. We see hiding behind the promises of fashion, feminism, and fame is a dagger of deception waiting to kill our covenants and bury our beliefs. The world is a maze designed to steal, kill and destroy everything of wonder, delicacy, and delight. We flee to the mountains of madness and battle the pains of realizing we’ve all been deceived. Desperately, we go to our friends and families begging them to see the truths we’ve learned. But soon they return to their comfortable sands of ignorance.

Then we come to a decision where we must choose whether to stay or go. Do you stay in the systems of corruption? Or do you run into the wild and see if The God of Creation still brings water from rocks or manna from the sky? Chelsea and I cut the cords once mooring us to the shores of secure income, neighborhood nonsense, and obligatory corporate holidays. We joined the wild westerners who are rich in experiences, but poor in screen side entertainment.

When I sat down with Adam on the side of a muscle strewn beach in Texas, I saw these riches and grew wealthier by the minute. The smells of salty air were cut by crisping coconuts, eggs and pancakes as breakfast was served. Batter splattered on sizzling propane stoves and drew the attention of three Pelicans who came swooping down to investigate. Within minutes I’ve cracked open cans of sardines and salmon for everyone to feed to three beaks clacking up and down.

Just as the moment builds, I see the something I’ve been seeking. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of it. Looking closer I can just make it out of the mists hugging the bay. The pearl of infinite worth is here hiding in behind the moment’s authentic life, provides. Two men led their families through obstacles of stuck tires, frozen pipes, and doubts about their abilities. Yet they persisted to fight for their children to see their pearls are waiting in the lands of unexpected encounters. Chelsea and I spent hours, then days and weeks with this family from afar. We decided after a week going our ways we would meet up in the eastern side of Texas where we could launch out across America’s most dangerous deserts.

Visions of raptors stalking the lumbering Brontosaurus peppered my mind. As the miles rolled by we passed checkpoints where pirates still pillage, kidnap and ransom Americans day after day. Just before we made the trip across the eastern edge of Texas, we had numerous people warn us to do whatever possible to avoid driving through El Paso. To strategically detour around this deadly choke point we elected to travel north into New Mexico and risk crossing the deserts of White Sands Missile Range instead. Along the way, we could spend two days at Carlsbad Caverns National Park. This superb marvel held within its coffers the largest publicly known cavern in North America.

Adam and I were always on a quest for a free place to sleep so our wives would spend hours hunting down places off various old forums, apps and websites. These were places some guy had parked at once back in 2008, but no one knew if it was still worth the travel. Located less than ten miles from Carlsbad was a precarious dirt road that snaked its way to the top of a mountain. The road was unmaintained and a terrible idea for anyone whose vehicle does not have 4×4 carved into steel somewhere on the frame. We both had plenty of determination and not enough wise experience to go ahead anyway.

Within two hundred feet our rigs were bouncing off of three-foot rock dips. The edges of those stone crumbled and carved steel off our RV’s frames making those spine shaking screeches of nightmares. Before I could convince him to turn back Adam drove higher and higher still. Climbing eventually more than a half-mile towards the top. I ran the rest of the way with him to the top where we summited a mountain without a name.

To the east fires pockmarked the landscape where thousands of petrochemical wells sucked the marrow of the earth and belched out the poisonous leftovers. To the west were miles of the cracked and creviced mountains where we would soon go. We look down to the families who’ve flocked together around our RV now too small to make out. They will be putting back the pans, and pieces of fruit which bounced out as we fought for the summit. Our wives are there, raising our children on the side of the desert road. Teaching them lessons about how to hold a fork, sit at a table be respectful and love even the oddities of life.

Because we choose to live this way our families are not so easily entangled with the snares the world so craftily creates. We instead battle through the challenges of living in a tiny space, finding a place to get water or dump our urine. We wash the same four bowls three times a day and have to go reset breakers when our power suddenly shuts off. All along the way our wives are still there, they’ve not forsaken their families and left us for careers, comforts or the illusion of a sitcom romance. They work harder than any person I know to raise their family in a strange and peculiar way. They teach the world and their children lessons by the way they bandage the bruises of their husband’s hearts, the scraped knees, and soggy jeans. They are women whose characters been shaped by their commitment to live with and raise their rare and precious fruit.

My whole life I wanted to know people like this family I shared a month while traveling to destinations unknown. They taught me how to weep with those who weep as they prayed for our marriage and we prayed for theirs. They showed me how to be patient with their children when they had the same discussion for the fiftieth time. They loved deeply, fought fairly but overcame their oppression by their faith in the One who called them to the road.

This family changed mine, they left us with the impression of their conviction and a willingness to persevere. They are a strange family, a lovely family and so too are those wanderers who are looking for a refuge out there whose builder is not a man but God.

The great pearl of wonder, you see is trapped behind those serpentine scales civilization provides. Those pearls are hiding in farms where children go gather snacks from the grass beneath orange trees, not boxes on aisle three. Its tucked between the sand of a creek waiting to be unearthed. You must go find it no matter the cost. Whether you’re rich in possessions or rich in debt, doubt, and disbelief; sell everything which has its hold on you. And just maybe that will be enough for you to learn the pearls of greatest worth are the simple truths all around you. They are scattered amongst the men and women, the children and old who have been waiting all this time for someone to help them see the truth. They are stuck between cubicles, crammed into traffic or recently let go. There are longing to loosed from their screens of solitude by a hand of hope. Go out and uncover their worth, dust off their cobwebs of cowardice. And when their road gets bumpy fight for their new-found freedom. Live a life of peculiarity and offer the befuddled spectators a chance to see authenticity is not a word but a walk.

These strange loving people altered my perception of what is wonderful. The cost I had to pay to learn this lesson was paid by my prideful belief that I could be the one who provides. I am not the man I thought I would be, and neither is Adam. We led our families into the deserts of the unknown wilderness because we weren’t willing to sacrifice our children for the sake of a better position at work or place in ministry. When bosses told us to put our marriages on the back burners, we left our resumes with vacancies instead of our beds. We tried to provide through the means of a system where the money comes from selling our pearls for the sake of air conditioning, sterile food, and doctors of deceit. But no matter how hard we tried…. the world with its promises just would not provide. On the side of a strange Mexican land, I saw the God of Adam will always provide. Whether it was food from the pantry of widows, or donations from people who live in their cars; our families have stored up faith in their furnaces that will burn brightly for all the weary world to see.

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What if you had only fifty-seven seconds of life remaining? What if you could see the timer ticking away, counting down the moments of your life? Would you reach towards your wife and hold her tight? Would you pick up your daughter and tell her your final words? Would you run from the inevitable end of zeros and screams?

Fifty-seven seconds was all I had left, standing on the edge of oblivion I had to choose would I live while another perished? Or would I let those moments tick away until there was nothing but a body left behind? Two men gave in to the terror and cast themselves into the flames of fear, but my feet remained rooted to the ground. Shaking, I stood, unable to hold back the dread. In no time at all, I was weeping, unable to contain my doubts and shame. It reverberated through my bones as I knew the judgment was to come.

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The pangs of survivors’ guilt creep back up my spine, reminding me I didn’t die that day, but they did. Two men, in particular willingly perished so I could live. They ripped me away from the dread and threw me into freedom instead. I am unable to escape their merciful act. It comes to remind me every crisp November morning when I see the scars on my body where blades and bullets punctured and pulverized tissue and bone.

The first man saved my life by letting me steal his own. He allowed me to win during a fight to the Death. I was full of a vengeance laced fire when I faced him. He was a rock of calm as I unleashed my chaos and fought to avenge the innocence which had been stolen by monsters masquerading as men. Admittedly, I was convinced the soldier who once stood before me was the embodiment of evil. Cowardly commanders had decided the face of death would soon be his to wear into the flames of another crematorium.

I was embittered and so angry at what they’d done to the people I loved. I was convinced my rage could snuff out their filthy flames. For years I took their torment and channeled it into the end of steel and a silent syringe. I watched men die while sleeping soundly next to their wives. I took them violently when they resisted, but in all my thieving, I soon learned you couldn’t steal what was freely given.

The soldier standing in front of me that day refused to let me steal the gift of life he’d been given. Unlike so many others before him, he did not fight me with his hatred, rage, or fury, but instead, he murdered my madness with mercy, forgiveness, and peace. He cut me with a double-edged dagger that went into my heart and exposed its suffering to the light of love. He banished my fury with a faith I never saw in the Sunday school classes I attended. He gave me kindness instead of cowardice, and here I am, decades later, still hearing the sound of his beating heart quieting itself to silence.

I can’t escape what he did that day. His sacrifice consumed my fury, and left me weakened, never to return its rage. The carefully prepared plans of mind-controlled men were thrown into the sea of someone else’s nightmare. The soldier’s sacrifice gave me a minute to choose a minute to pause and decide whether I would live or die.

In the depths of my despair, this man had sown a seed of sacrifice which could never be plucked up, passed over, or forgotten. He gave me life while I went on raging in my quest for Death. He gave me hope when I was facing down warring factions of Families who guard covenants for perverts and priests. I chose to turn against the beasts who fed me their folly when I was not yet thirty years old. I gave them the same gift that the soldier had given me, and I offered them another chance to choose what they would do with the moments, months, or years remaining. I gave them a chance to escape the inevitable timer ticking away the final seconds of their freedom.

They chose the cowards clock while I was made to force the timers’ hands by stealing away my future. I placed the pommel in my palm, and just like Saul on Mount Gilboa, I ran myself through with steel until the blood flowed freely. The bullet soon blew away my thigh and left me limping like Jacob on his way to face his brother Esau’s justifiable rage. Fifty-seven seconds began to tick away as I felt my strength fade. I stepped into the cold mountain air that November morning twelve years ago waiting for the Reaper to come and his laughable revenge.

Even there on the side of that cursed mountain, another soldier intervened. He had seen these moments of mine long ago and knew the only way to save a life was through His sacrifice. He saw the many men who would face the Reaper, the women who would face the fires of fury, bowls, bitterness, and other men’s greed-laced lusts. He chose to be born in affliction. He decided to embody the suffering we all would come to understand by weaving himself a tapestry of torment. He made himself a life of loss, so that no matter our level of pain, affliction, or failure, He could carry across the chasm of chaos.

He let other soldiers with braided whips tear him to pieces, all the while knowing so many have felt the sting of someone else’s scorn. He suffered the rejection of his mother, his brothers, family, and friends. He knew what if felt like to be abandoned, passed over, and forsaken. He became intimate with all we have come to regret about this cruel world. He tasted the bitterness that bleached the beauty and turned decades of love into unstoppable apathy. He faced the fury of the very people He came to rescue, and yet He chose to live and lose for them all.

The loss of his life on the Timber doomed the world and would have left us all full of fickle failures and the inevitable destruction. Those who loved him most screamed and grieved for their hope had died with Him. Who could escape those three days and nights of sorrow? Who could run from this horrid reality? No master magician, supreme sorcerer, or wealthy king had defeated Death’s permanent sting. But yet three days still came, and there stood the Soldier, with the Keys of Death in His pierced palms. He rent them from the Reaper and took back what was rightfully His. He alone could conquer the coward’s curse and make monsters into men of meaning, purpose, and passion.

While my blood spilled out of my body, the Reaper came to call me to fill the coffers of his cursed collection. But then came The Captain of Hope, the rescuer of the murderers, liars, and thieves. He who is worthy to be seated above all the gods of old and heavenly hosts came down and rescued an 18-year-old soldier who was bleeding to death on a concrete slab seven thousand feet above the oceans roar. With an unshakable strength, he commanded the Reaper away and ransomed my life with His own. He redeemed me when I was at my weakest, my worst and most ashamed. He chose to rescue me from my madness by giving me the wisdom to save my life and stop the bleeding.

If 57 seconds were all that stood between you and the great void, do you have confidence that The Soldier will be there to carry you across Deaths chasm? Can you rest today knowing you’ve fulfilled your purpose? Have you seized the passing moments with your wife and loved her well? Have you cherished your children and prepared them for wars of wounded wolves, corrupt corporations, and liar’s lips? Have you been bold enough to share your hope with the hurting? Have you fed the hungry your attention, your comfort, and a warm meal? Have you leveraged your resources, reputation, and retirement blanket to clothe the divorced widow or abandoned orphan? Or did you give your wealth to some corporate franchise church where they squandered it on buildings, branding, and marketing their denomination instead of deliverance?

The timer on your life is ticking away. Too many people woke up this morning, not realizing they would never see their son again. They would never have a chance to ask him to forgive them for failing to protect them from the bullies at school who indoctrinated him with lies and grade points earned for studying perverse truth. Men woke up every day, not knowing it was their time to die, but I did. I woke up with their number on my List, and their life was soon measured in seconds, not seasons. I hunted down their final moments, and with a final twist of my wrist, I quieted their clock. Some of them were the embodiment of evil, caught in the act of infidelity. I made sure the next child they met was not another notch in their belt. But unfortunately, some of those clocks I crushed were not monsters, but a stumbling block to a corporate contract and military budget review.

Dozens and now hundreds of men and women died while you were reading this for nothing but a race to collect imaginary ones and zeros on their way to a job they hated, leaving behind the family they once loved. They will be forgotten just like the children who were murdered by school nurses and oath keeping doctors who raped them with syringes of foreign DNA and mutilated viruses. Those children will not get a day where the nation mourns for their shattered minds and ravaged bodies. Their parents will be left with ruin for listening to superbly funded and immaculately dressed liars.

If there are only 57 seconds left on your clock, you’ve already waited far too long. Today can be the day you restore your marriage, reconcile with your children, and leave the seductive systems of man. You can flee the fear of failure and find courage is a currency that only grows when you give it away. Freely I was given more time on my clock, so freely I give to all I can. Take from my life the lessons you need, the courage you’re running out of, and let them fuel the furnaces of your hope. I am a dead man walking, and so are you. But the Author of Life has freely extended to you His eternal inheritance of peace.

So go and be the strange and peculiar person you were made to be. Cast off the weighty accusations those cowards levy on you and weigh yourself down with devotion to a greater weight of glory. You were made for this time, this one moment, perhaps by His generosity, you will be given another, maybe even many more to come. But don’t count yourself greedy for the gains this world would offer you. But instead, count yourself greedy to give away all you have for the sake of the oppressed orphans, those suffering sons, and daughters living all around you. Give them the courage they need to press on no matter the pain in pasts or the scars on their resumes and report cards. Give the young ones your attention instead of the black mirrors you where endlessly gaze. Stand up for the weak when their legs give out from student loans and lost homes. Be the man who sacrifices his fortune, for a marvelous pearl he has uncovered.

Be the woman who stretches out her faith-filled hand towards the tzitzits of deliverance gracing her Redeemers robe. Be the child who has mercy on their parents and forgives them for letting liars raise them, and doctors rape their health and poison their futures. Be merciful with those who doubt. Love them enough to give them your precious moments when they mock you, for by doing so, you will steal away their accusations and resurrect the courage they once had to stand for what they believe in. My brothers, you wounded wolves who still hunt the horrors of your past, remember this. You can’t kill the Reaper, nor can you shed enough blood to make right the wrongs of yesterday. Learn to hunt for hope instead of hating the joy a good life can provide. A man’s life is more than any Monday morning slavery can provide. A woman’s life is not going to be fulfilled by abandoning her children and divorcing her destiny for the sake of another meaningless career. Live abundantly with the ones you love and fight for their freedom by sacrificing your idol dreams and deadly doubts. Then and only then, when your final fifty-seven seconds tick away, you will come to share in that eternal peace and welcome the end with great relief.

Becoming a Double Agent

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Have you ever been given a treasure so precious you hid it away? Maybe you peeled back the layers of carpet and crammed it between concrete and foam. Perhaps you wrote of its location, this great pearl, in an old journal, which is now lost in the boxes marked, “ATTIC SPACE.” Or maybe you grew up in a home where gifts weren’t hidden but were cherished, cultivated, and allowed to grow into wonders beyond compare.

For decades I was raised inside a den of thieves. I was taught by professional criminals how to remain undetected. The sleight of hand was not bound to disappearing thumbs, quarters, or handkerchiefs but evidence of bribery, blackmail, and bitter acts of revenge. I was taught how to live between the shadows of people’s perceptions and the fuzzy reality of truth. It was a subtle art taught to me by people who worshiped a fiery serpent called by many names. This Plumed Serpent gave them a strange fire which they used to deceive the minds of men. It helped them to hide “the hand” which dealt so devilishly with the world.

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Each and every one of us was born into our own strange worlds. Some stranger than others. I could not comprehend the normalcy of my neighbors when I went to their 4th of July parties, where children ran around in honest enjoyment. In wide-eyed wonder I’d see them fill their squirt guns with water from the hose. Meanwhile, my Family taught me to fill them with Ammonia and how to aim for the eyes. I viewed their ‘normal’ life as that shadowy underworld… the place where dreams are made true by the innocence and ease of life. Their world was an endless mirage of fruit trees budding to life in the distance. All the while my Family’s deserts of death rippled in between.

No one ever gets a pass in this life, whether your grow up rubbing elbows with the elite or you beg for food on the street. Life, just as with death, is truly inescapable. There is no way to avoid the explosion of emotions that comes when a phone rings carrying the news of miscarriage, divorce, infidelity, or loss of income. Life will always come calling.

The echoes of those rings can bring us tears from memories of childhood hilarity or teenage antics of ‘risky behaviors.’ Sometimes life sounds like screaming from the frustrations of situations we have no control over.

For all of us the sounds of life trigger memories of the patterns we were raised in. For my wife, Chelsea it was by and far a wonderful life. Where families took care of each other and tended to their children’s needs. One which gave her lenses to this world that were clear, and marred only by the inevitable stains worldly living leaves on us all. The lenses with which I learned to see the world were shattered, giving me visions of many lives perpetually wandering in and out.

She saw the innocence of childhood through her own eyes, while mine came through those stolen vicarious glances. I looked with desert dried eyes at “the family next door” and tried to catch a glimpse of something unfamiliar to me. In all my peering I was convinced by those master magicians, that those moral families, were a cursed land of meaningless misery.

Instead I fell in love with a lie. I embraced it as identity as we all have done. I longed instead to be alone. To cut off from my soul the gift life brings. Maybe you cut the gift of life off, with the job you are addicted to; a career, which allows you to escape your children or marriage and hide behind your pursuit for a better tomorrow. Maybe you hide from the ringing sounds of life by running into the black mirror of a technology. Those breathless idols who seduce us with their promises of comfort and convenience.

We run from the sounds and realities of Life because at key moments in our earlier life those gifts were stolen away from us. They were taken by a dirty comment, a lust fueled touch or someone playing a cruel joke on us. They snatched away from us the truth of who we are. When they told us we were mistakes, failures, or foolish one night stands. Those thieves stole from us the truth and left us a nest of lies built by an architect of evil.

There is a real architect of this prison system we’ve been ensnared in. The authors of evil, the designers of worldwide webs of deception hide among Parent Teacher Organizations, City Hall Councils, hair stylists, and kings alike. They have willingly, but often ignorantly, agreed to be agents of deceit. They create the problems in our life, they manage our reactions like a farmer does his crop. They prune us with poison, while watering their strategically placed seeds of deceit. Until the day comes when they can harvest our reactions and provide us the solution of our demise.

They are masters of their Craft. They walk in to churches and bow their well-practiced knees. Raising their hands higher still they masquerade with the righteous. Hoping their other ‘brothers’ see their good deeds. But The Most High God is not befuddled by their mimicry. He has never been fooled, hoodwinked, or usurped. There has never been a carnal ascension to His Holy Throne. Gods have fought for it and in chains of darkness were they bound, to be punished. Men and women have died in their quest for apotheosis their bodies are found rotting with putrid worms instead.

Dragons, and the agents who serve them, do not battle opponents directly. Instead they are patient, ever eager to allow ‘nature’ to take its course. When Komodo Dragons want to hunt dangerous prey, like a water buffalo, they do so with a far more ancient method of warfare.

The dragons, normally solitary creatures gather together in order to target a far larger prey. In this example they start by appraising a group of buffalo feeding on the island grasses. The dragons soon choose one of the buffalo and then they surround it from its support system. Once it’s been driven from the heard, the dragons, in a moment of frenzy, suddenly launch an assault on the buffalo.

They lash out with the most delicate dance of small bites until a small stream of blood is started. They strike at the heels until they pierce their flesh surrounding the back of the hoof and then suddenly they stop. Letting their panicked prey get up and leave. The dragons retreat, keeping an eye on their prey with a rotating shift. The animal soon becomes desensitized to their smell. Even beginning to sleep with the dragons who use the animal as warmth. All the while knowing, those small wounds are still seeping. The dragons wait patiently while their poison does its work.

For days, and then weeks, and sometimes longer, the dragon’s nest with their prey. Waiting for those long forgotten wounds to fester. Soon the sores begin to stagnate, the venomous infection spreads into every area of their body, as they leak their life into the soil. Then at a moment of their choosing the dragons gather as, wolves to the wounded where they tear their prey apart. Those subtle and crafty dragons are patient predators who consume their captive when it no longer can provide them “a meal on wheels.’

Komodo Dragons, like the Serpents of old, have a poison which does not kill you quickly. They are ancient creatures who are patiently and precisely infecting us all. Whether they walk in a Jesuit’s cloak of concealment, a politician’s promise, or deemed “Safe and Effective,” by our white robed medical priests, they profit off the poison they feed us, the treatments that ail us, and the death of their meal on wheels.

The world is at war with you and the gift of life you were given. Each and every one of us was entrusted with just one life. One day, one moment, a single span of attention bridging the past, present and future. It is what we do with those single moments, which feeds the dragons or reveals their deeds. It comes when the prey suddenly sees the dragon sleeping next to it as the devil it is and crushes its arrogant head.

The reason the architects of evil have so ensnared us all is because human beings are the embodiment of what they can never be. These rebellious watcher angels and fallen princes of heaven will never have forgiveness. They can never be redeemed. And yet there exists a creature who, even after choosing death, can instead be freed to life. The creatures of clay, mankind in all its flaws and weakness, can be forgiven.

No matter what you have done. No matter what you have failed to do. No matter how many times you drank the poison, and let the dragons consume your joy, steal your peace or ruin your family. You can choose to change.

You can choose to turn from your path of self-hatred, regret, or indifference and embrace the gift of Life again. You can be brought out of death itself. Your soul can be resurrected from the grave it was cast into, by your hand or the hand of any other. You can be saved from the destruction of pornography, abuse, violence, rage, and indifference.

You can take the chains, which once bound you to despair and cast them into His furnaces of redemption. The metals of our misery can be refined in the fires of His freedom. He alone teaches us how to turn wicked wounds, into an armor of hope and weapons of deliverance.

We were never supposed to be seduced by the liars we called boyfriends, bishops, or doctors of pedigree. And yet… we all were. All of us have been deceived. We have all been lied too, cheated on and stolen from. We had thieves take our character traits that made us passionate, playful, delicate and overwhelming. But the joys of this Life can be restored to us. It comes when we choose to spend the single moment of time we have been given on the truth. When we do this we will leave the dragons to their nests of unrest and we will find a home built upon The Rock of Redemption.

This world was built to make us believe lies. The gods of this age, those corporate Entities like Disney, the bitten Apple, and SERCO, are ruled by master magicians, wizards, and unholy priestesses of ancient orders. They wave their wands and broadly cast over us false realties that make our little girls want to be heroes of The Hunger Games, until they become trained seduction-wielding assassins like a Red Sparrow. They imagineer our sons to want to be sissy soldiers and turn grown men into teenagers who play video games, while they rape our wives and sisters in their corporate offices, because Feminism and Liberty is our goddess in the United States of Columbia.

So the question remains…. How do you fight an enemy you can’t see? How do you fight a venomous lie spoken into your soul forty years ago? How do undo what happened to you when you were in third grade and didn’t know any better? You stop fighting feelings with bullets, booze, and bitterness. You must learn to fight with an unseen arsenal. You must utilize weapons that did not originate from their armory.

You slay the dragons of deceit by your refusal to believe the lies you were infected with. You fight with humbled knees, tear stained cheeks, and a relentless devotion to resist. We seek to do good instead of evil, to bless and not curse, even to the ones who stole our innocence. When we sacrifice our fury, bitterness and hatred you will be given an unshakeable faith to do the impossible. Forgive….as many times as you have been forgiven.

In doing so, we weaponize the one thing the dragons do not have, repentance, forgiveness, mercy, and above all else…Truth. At the end of the day, the only thing which will slay the dragons of old is the Blood of The Lamb, the words of our testimony, and not loving our lives even unto Death.

We must turn from the internal targeting, which shoots the man in the mirror with the guilt of another person’s mistakes. Instead, we lay our sights on vein imaginations, doctrines of devils and seek to destroy those wounds from within. We ask The Most High God to deliver us, by the power of His Hands from the wounds of words, the guilt of glances, and the curse of cowardice.

We seek salvation not from the life He blessed us to live, but instead from the feelings which stole our peace. We must remember to learn and study the Words He’s given us and fight for our homes to be set free.

Those dragons may come to consume some of us along the way. But no matter what happens, you can come to know the one whose name is Wonderful, Counselor, and Prince of Peace. The Captain of The Heavenly Host will teach you to slay your dragons (Joshua 5). He will show you what they look like, how they speak with their forked tongues of beauty and dis-ease. He will equip you with everything you need to conquer the kings of chaos, titans of sorcery, or restless sleep.

Call upon Him and see if He is not able to rescue. He does not grow weary, He will never fall short, He will reach into the depths of The Abyss and draw you out. (2 Samuel 22) He is merciful forgiving the chief sinners of their detestable days, nights, and worthless slights. He is mighty to save, quick to deliver, and the only One who will once and for all slay The Dragon of Old.

These words are written to remind you, our battle is not with flesh and blood. All wars, whether they are fought with shrapnel or keyboards are first fought in the spiritual realm. The disciples and masters of these magic-(ka-el) realms do so with fervent devotion. They have sworn the oaths against heaven and earth. Forsaking all others, instead they darken their understandings. Divining the secrets of cosmic archons through their astral projections into quantum realms of occulted ethereal space. Ever seeking to succeed they sear their conscience with the hot irons of incest, murder, and spirit cooking’s ceremonies. In doing so, they have done every detestable thing (Ezekiel 8, 2 Kings 3).

They have sought to skip across their Kabbalistic trees of death, by descending to the Abyss of Apollyon. It is from this debased place where they can seek the fallen hosts of captive rebels, called the Qlippoth. These angelic prisoners of perversion are held in the chains of Tartarus beneath The Pit. It is in the dungeons of dragons where modern mystics makes ancient covenants among Death, Hell, and the Grave. They seek to pass through the strange fiery rings of these dragons of the ‘radiant darkness.’ In a quest to go upon the straight path from hell to holy. If they are not slaughtered in their fiery disintegration and they pass through the destruction, they become “illuminated.” Rising from this abyss the magician ascends to a veritable godhood of powers so that they can reign as the Qlippoth’s earthly stewards of evil to achieve their ‘Great Work.’ Now full of the harlots cup they become bodies for the beasts they serve. From this position magicians launch coordinated covert assaults seeking to ensnare the hoodwinked masses into their inevitable destruction.

These super-charged devotees feed their Family spirits and ancient masquerading gods with the dis-ease of the nations. They weaponize fear, guilt, and shame transmuting this negative energy into strange ethereal fires. Only after their supply of wicked deeds are at their fullest will they strike. The precision-guided weapons shoot like fiery missiles into the hearts and minds of mankind. These doctrines of deception find soils prepared by ‘Great Workers’ now long deceased.

Just as a single spark sets the forest ablaze, so too their serpents sting sets the world alight. Look no further, than the rise of spiritism in the 19th century, or the emasculation of man, morality, and eternal meaning in the 20th. But the single greatest truth these master magicians don’t want you to know is this: Their mental magic whether it came from, Aleister Crowley or Jerry B. Jenkins, can be extinguished. (

No matter the scale of the ritual working, these scientifically spiritual practitioners are opening gateways in all realms of life. Look no further than the five decades of experiments with portals being opened by Neutrinos at Sandford Labs in South Dakota, or with their collider rings and accelerators in Transylvania, China, New York, and France. (

Our media forces us and more importantly, our children, into front line seats while fallen angels are fed the focused emotions of the fans of millions. The Qlippoth’s high priestess Madonna performed her perfect 33-minute ritual at the 2012 Super Bowl Half-Time Show. This single performance still broadly casts her invocations and evocations to billions of eager eyes and open ears.

We must close these doors of deception once and for all. We must cleanse their curses of death by our relentless pursuit of life. We must banish these Magical Kingdoms like Disney from poisoning our children. We must stop daily divorcing our children. Sending them away to institutions of indoctrination where they will be married to the churches of science, state, or emergent new age faiths. We must never be complicit in allowing others to raise our children in nests of deceit.

We can choose this day how we live. We can choose to live authentically. Even when the sounds of Life come calling with bad news and broken hearts. We must stand firm when our Monday morning feeling comes to convince us we are miserable.

We need to be better husbands, fathers, and sons. We need to fight for fellowship, friendship, and truth. We need to leave this world of worries to The God Who Provides. We must stop looking for the gods of Mammon to bless us and instead seek the provision that does not rot, rust, or leave us empty. We must be encouragers, quick to clothe the naked with mercy, sincerity, and comfort. Freely we have been given this life, so freely give your life to all you can. In doing so, we might finally shirk off the accurate accusations of our apathy and indifference to the lost and hoodwinked sheep.

Find a way to fight a quiet war of redemption for the souls of whoever may ‘coincidentally’ stumble across your path. The path we must walk upon will always be narrow. Few will find it…fewer still will overcome the obstacles and fulfill the greatest mission of all. Just what that mission is….is between you and the One True King.

I am not the man you should look to for your marching instructions. I am not here to be a leader of a movement, to fight your battles, or be a shot-caller to wolves hiding among sheep. I am a man like many others who was raised by people under the influence of dragons and thieves. I seek other pilgrims who are progressing through life learning to accept the truth instead of hiding behind false identities. I seek your friendships, your fellowships, and your sincerity. I wish to learn to love the life I’ve been given and to fight for the deliverance of the people who once stole it from me.

Whether you are a wolf hiding among the brethren, a courageous peasant hiding in plain site, or a dragon nesting with the elite, you are welcome to walk with me along as we plot our course through the dens of devils and seek to snatch the family trees from those fires of iniquity.

If someday these words find their way to the ones who dealt their Death cards in response to my recent blog and video revelations, may you know; He alone quieted the murderous rage of the sons of Cain. Those Dr. Jekyll’s and Mr. Hyde’s. Those betrayed ones you trained to kill and forget, are now finding peace to calm their storms. May you not forget my family still lives, not because of anything I did, but because of who He is. Do you not know Yahweh is merciful and quick to save those who cry out to Him in their distress? And yet Families love to cling to old traditions.

Only cowards send children to fight their battles, while the Family elders hide behind walls of blood oaths, corporate loopholes, and Family Trusts. Enough people have fought your dirty wars, but we are no longer soldiers for your mystic “jesus.” We have grown weary of your bloodlust, greed, and promises of future bliss.

From within your households will come the agents of your destruction. I am like millions of others, who were double agents hiding in your fiery midst. We may have been born without the freedom to choose, but we have come to know the Author of Freedom. We are no longer children bound to your broad ways of bitterness, envy, and strife.

Long ago and maybe last week, us Survivors were the blackmailed bodies from the pages in your little black books. But we have recorded evidence of your double dealings and sown this terrible truth into the winds. Everything you thought you did covertly will be brandished for all. What a terrible and dreadful enemy El Shaddai is to those who persecute His beloved.

My body will one day be broken but my spirit will never again be bound to my former Families ultimate defeat. Your reprisals, threats, and attacks are ill-advised as the spotlight is only growing brighter on your darkest deeds. You have been warned to flee the destruction to come. Soon, the strange fires you wield will consume your Families, your fortunes, and your spell-casting fame. May none of you be found among them. For their magical and material houses will come down, and the crashes they bring will be unlike anything the world has yet seen.

Be relentless in your devotion to understand the Truth and to wield your spiritual weapons with practiced poise. Do not doubt our Deliverer is among us and He will transform what they intended for evil into the saving of many lives. Count it a joy my dearest brothers and beloved sisters when you are able to finally suffer for The Truth, rather than our petty mistakes. Let your hearts be filled with hope because as of now, your gift of Life is still beating. Pounding away those precious moments. May you choose to spend them wisely. I hope you never again are satisfied with hiding your treasures, those gifted brilliant moments, under the rugs of regret, and the carpets of cowardice. Let us be guilty of a life lived with unquenchable passions to see captive hearts and minds set free.