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Friday, January 21, 2022

The Great Reset(s)

 
By Anna Von Reitz

Very briefly, no, I don’t think Joshua was ever a Baal priest. I think he was misrepresented as such, in much the same way that we have all been misrepresented as Wards of the State, as Cestui Que Vie Trusts, as Special Purpose Vehicles, Public Transmitting Utilities, and so on.
The responsibility for this is on the Liars Club, not him.
Those of you who have followed along also know that 1100 years were edited out of our history during or soon after the First Council of Nicea.
As a result our clock is off by more than a few minutes. This circumstance requires us to “Reset” everything and when we go digging, we find that the world is not going end in the legal sense. It’s going to reset, instead.
The economies of the Ancient World functioned according to the lunar calendar — and so, every seven years there is a Silver Jubilee of debt forgiveness, and a Golden Jubilee of Debt Forgiveness takes place after seven times seven (49 years) Silver Debt Jubilees.
And then, there is also a Great Reset once every 2160 years to mark the change of the Precessional Age.
The Fixed Stars were used by the Ancients as God’s clock—- a very different time system than what we use now, but still valid and accurate.
Because of Saint Jerome, we still know and can read the infinite selection of spatial time templates — we just have to add 1100 years and look at the fixed stars overhead.
Doing this reveals where we are.
So Jesus was teaching in the middle of the Age of Pisces, not the beginning or the end.
And then we just count backward to the Age of Sagittarius and discover that the Sons of Saturn that we are wrestling now, came here approximately 17,000 years ago.
And we also know, thanks to St. Jerome, that so far as the stars are concerned, we are advancing into the Age of Aquarius.
No matter what men do to mess things up, the Fixed Stars remain.
When a New Age begins, it’s important enough to have its own “reset” which is known as The Day of Reckoning. In Egyptian Magic, this is the day known as “the Great and Terrible Day of the Lord”.
Once every two thousand one hundred and sixty years The Book of Life is opened and The Book of the Dead is opened, too. The people are judged according to their Law and the persons are judged according to their law—— and a great deal of sifting and winnowing takes place.
This is also known as Judgment Day, but as it only happens once every two thousand years we humans don’t tend to think about it much. Our chances of being around on that particular day are pretty remote.
However, there are Gatekeepers on the Earth who calculate the times and the seasons and the “signs” of this phenomenon, and about 200 years prior to their Best Guess date they begin to prepare for—- you guessed it—- the Great Reset.
During a Great Reset, everything changes. The world stage we live on is changed, we are changed, and much is swept away, waiting to be reborn.
It is quite clear that the Day of Judgment tends to be disruptive and violent, with each one judged according to their ways. Only those who appear in the Book of Life remain and are allowed to stay.
Sometime around 1809 something happened, something so odd and universal that everyone “forgot” the front page story.
Preparation for the Great Reset began.
So don't let these Fakirs fool you when they talk about the "Great Reset". It has precious little to do with money, except for settling who owes what. The Great Reset is a reference to the Eternal Clock presented by the Fixed Stars. It is the necessary change to accommodate new energies, new values, new everything as the Precessional Age clicks backward into place.
The more open-minded, compassionate, humorous, and free-spirited you can be, the easier this change will be. Love, not grim discipline, is the keynote of this Age. Exploration, curiosity, and inventiveness reign supreme. Sudden inspiration, synchronicity, generosity, and joy are your inheritances.
Don't be afraid. Remember that perfect love drives out all fear, and if you love this planet and you love your country and you love other people with an open heart, this transition will be like coming home to you.

Remember when you were a kid and you'd come home from school and run to get out of your school clothes and into your play clothes? It's time to put on the play clothes, because what comes after this is happy and relaxed. Look forward to that and attune yourself to that vision of where we are meant to be, happy as children at play.

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The Truth About Atlantis and Atlanteans

 By Anna Von Reitz

The Atlanteans were an advanced slavery-based society that invaded the Mediterranean at about the same time as King David ruled in Israel, circa 10,000 BC.
Their original home was a volcanic atoll of islands strewn along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Today, the modern Azores are all that remains. The rest of the islands were destroyed by earthquakes and subsequent volcanic activity.
We know that they were related to and traded with the early Carthaginians and the Dwarka Civilization of India. We know that they had advanced metallurgy, ceramics, and polymers. They were also able to navigate and map the world using magnetic ley lines to establish east-west spatial parameters.
The ruins of their pyramids and great stone works scatter the sea floor from the coast of Nova Scotia to Cuba and beyond. Above ground, a series of distinctive round stone forts, all placed on ley lines, marked their outlying trading posts; a very few of these have continued to be used and have been built upon, so that you can still get a faint idea of their distinctive, odd, architecture.
For all their technological advancement, the Atlanteans violated the Law of Free Will, just like their modern counterparts. They were known to use deceit in their business dealings, and worst of all, had a habit of enslaving their neighbors.
When they invaded the Mediterranean, they enslaved and brutalized the people living there and carried many away to work on plantations and in mines. They were cruel masters and had no regard for life. The picture that emerges is of a piratical race enriching itself via violence, racketeering, theft, and trade.
The slaves created a large underclass similar to the Untouchables in India. Above them, were castes of merchants, military officials, and priests, with the priests occupying the pinnacle of the Atlantean social order--- again, similar to the Brahmins of India.
These similarities and various cultural artifacts in common with the Dwarka civilization suggest that there were cultural ties to India in distant ages. Deep and murky waters along the Atlantic Ridge, and lack of sufficient profit prospects have meant that comparatively little effort has been expended to explore the wreckage of their culture despite enduring popular interest.
Though we have been told that Atlantis was just a myth, in the same way that we have been told that King Arthur and Jesus (Joshua) are myths, the basic facts about Atlantis have been known since at least the 15th century, and probably never really "lost" at any time.
Rather than being lost, they weren't liked, and despite all their riches and technology, once their islands sank beneath the waves, there was little reason to make Herculean efforts to retrieve whatever riches may have remained.
In the end, Athens stood alone against the Atlantean invaders, and won; but, in a story reminiscent of the Hebrews crossing the Red Sea, their army was "swallowed up by the Earth" soon after the victory.
One has visions of a giant mudslide or cataclysmic liquefaction caused by a severe earthquake, or both: "and they were swallowed up by the Earth, both man and beast". It's clear that the Atlanteans were associated with black magic, bad luck, evil omens, and shifty practices, which again discouraged any would-be investigators who might otherwise poke around their fallen kingdom.
They seem to be a people who, during their time on Earth, served themselves and little else.
There are no surviving records or commentaries about their religion other than the fact that they had priests called "Soloms" ---- same root word as the name Solomon and "solemn" --- and nothing to explain their odd practice of keeping women sequestered together in large communal houses apart from the male population for most of the year.
There are a great many things about the Atlanteans that we may never know, but one thing we do know for a certainty is that they did exist. Whatever else, they do not belong to the realm of myth, and there have always been scholars, mostly Roman Catholic scholars, who have known that.
Why didn't they speak up?
Good question.
Was there some benefit to keeping quiet?
We regularly talk about and discover new Ancient Civilizations. We talk about the Babylonians, Sumerians, Akkadians, Hittites, Mycenaean Greeks, Persians, and so many, many more vanished peoples. What's one more? Why is the cloak of secrecy drawn over the fate of the Atlanteans? So much so that they have to be relegated to the realm of myth?
Given the fact that the Atlanteans prospered themselves by enslaving others, and that they had sophisticated means of managing large slave populations, it may simply be that the Roman Church adopted these methodologies to promote its own Slave Empire.
If so, the reason that we have been kept ignorant about Atlantis is easy enough to understand.
It's the same reason being used to Deep Six thousands of technology patents: they are regarded as trade secrets vital to National Security Interests --- never mind which "nation" is being referenced, nor how the Toadies are serving their own interests by suppressing new technologies.
Growing up in this weird world we live in, too many of us have been cowed down and shamed and subjected to guilt, by men whose moral compass went South centuries ago. We've been shamed into not asking questions, not pursuing answers, and told by those in positions of authority that it's not our business, that we are entertaining fantasies, that we are "Conspiracy Theorists" or whatever other label they attach to us.

Finally, the wall of silence is being breached. Things that can't be talked about are being talked about, anyway. And as we do this, we are here to witness the brittle lies all crumbling away.

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Dark Night or Misty Morning

 By Anna Von Reitz

This past week I have received all sorts of strange correspondence, including several letters from Satanists cackling with glee over the thought that my faith has been destroyed and taking great pleasure in the pain and damage they’ve caused by corrupting the churches.  

But wait….

Let me explain….

Soren Kierkegaard is a Danish philosopher most famous for mapping out what he called “the dark night of the soul” — the existential crisis and experience of the Abyss, that all those who truly love must face.  

I read Kierkegaard as a college Freshman. I sat in the back row and listened to my classmates as they struggled to comprehend what he was even talking about.  

They had never been in the Abyss, where all lights fail.  They had no context for his words. 
But I knew it all well-enough even then.  

As a young woman I watched my beloved Father die a day at a time, very slowly, very painfully, over the course of fifteen years.  The only certainty in my life was the inevitability of his death and all the questions I had to ask of our Creator were fundamentals: 

Why do you allow such suffering when you could end it?  

Why do you allow disease while you express perfection?  

Why should such a good man suffer and the wicked prosper?  

What is the use of living, if it only ends like this? 

I sat in the back of the classroom, hunched into my chair, swaddled in the Abyss.  It had become a familiar darkness.  I said nothing at all.  

There was no shoulder to cry on.  No security at all. I was fully cognizant of being alone in my own private despair being torn apart by unanswerable questions. 

At the end of the class I trudged wearily homeward through the dying landscape of autumn.  I listened, but there were no answers.  

Very well, then, I thought, I do not need a God with no answers.  I felt like a fool, caught believing in nonsense, asking the empty air for answers to unanswerable questions. 

Why did it have to be my Father stricken with this loathsome disease?  

Why not some venal, selfish, violent scum of a man instead?  

Is there some mathematical Quotient of Suffering that must be met and extracted like a tax from Mankind?  

And even when the suffering ends, the physical suffering, that is —- what then?  

Then all searing memories remain like a branding iron on your brain, marking you forever. 

I was eighteen.  I had, though I didn’t know it, seven more years of this dread and agony to endure, this numbness of emotion, this Abyss to cross through.  

Encased in its grip I had little care for earthly things.  All the niceties of conversation and the company of other young people, all of it seemed stilted, uncomfortable, and meaningless.  

I wanted to stop talking about mundane things and shout the news, “Hey, listen, you Dumb @$&/)$@s!  We are dying.  Every moment we live we are dying!” 

I didn’t even notice the sudden appearance of my College Mentor on the deserted Quadrangle. If I had looked up and seen him, I would have been grimly amused. 

He was a man who had it all, for he was healthy and handsome and rich, the perfect wife, the perfect house, the perfect life. Even perfect kids.  And all the other students he mentored that dark autumn were, more or less perfect, too.   

I never once imagined that he had anything of value to offer me, the Black Sheep, the Token German awash in a sea of healthy, happy Scandinavians, Ole and Lena jokes, and Team Spirit.  

Though I didn’t know it at the time, he had glanced out his office window and seen me making my slow and dismal progress across the vast expanse of dead soggy leaves and dying grass.  

I didn’t know that he had thrown on his coat, a great flapping British raincoat, and rushed down the stairs two at a time to intercept me. 
I almost walked into him, I was so lost in my own thought.  

When I did finally look up, he was within arm’s reach. My glance shot upward and to my amazement I saw tears running down his face, just before he caught me up in a bear hug. He cradled my head against his chest and wept hard enough that I could feel his sobs.  

“We have two kinds of students here,” he said hoarsely.  “All the innocent Norwegian farm kids, and those who are jaded early in life by the suffering they have already known.” 

No need to ask which group I belonged to. 

“Come on,” he said, “it’s cold and starting to rain. I’ll drive you home.” 

So began one of those friendships that you never can predict and which, from the outside, makes no earthly sense.  

Slowly, like an anchor dragging behind a ship, he brought me back to the normal world, up and out of the Abyss. 

That was my first plunge into existential crisis; it was hardly my last.  From time to time I have been taken away into the Primal Darkness and wondered how I could return again?  

Through it all, each and every time, I have been resurrected as someone new and made better by the experience.  

We are all on a hero’s quest to be the masters of our own lives.  I suppose the Satanists are, too, just approaching the Crux of Creation from a different point of view.  

This latest realization about Baal Worship embedded in the Church is another hammer blow among many, and yes, the familiar Abyss may gather round me, but remember that  I have traversed the Abyss many times. 

Always, I emerge from the Refiner’s fire, a stronger, wiser, and better version of myself, more at peace, more alive.  

No pain, no gain, they say—- all such knowledge comes with a price.  But I affirm that a faith built on falsehoods is no faith worth having.  And this bitter pill, too, shall pass. 

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