By Anna Von Reitz
Belay the funeral! Call off the professional mourners, pallbearers, and the dreary consignments to the dirt! No massive floral displays! No sniffling! (No Irish whiskey, at least, not for a wake.)
I am satisfied that Neil Keenan lives. I heard from him today, and yes, it is "Himself" reporting from whatever exotic location he is in.
It's very strange but after corresponding so many years with someone you can hear their "voice" in the typed communications. AI can't duplicate it.
So we have good news about Neil and hope that we can and will help bring the whole worldwide Mess to a happy conclusion for humanity.
It would be truly righteous if Neil Keenan and I can finally meet face to face and take a bow together at the end of the day. Ben Fulford, too.
I don't think that guys like Neil and Ben ever "retire". I don't think they can. They can't stop thinking and doing and trying to make things work and make things better. Me, either.
However, we could stop fussing about such dolorous topics as dishonest banks and glued up world finance and crooked politicians and worse courts.
Yes, we could putz around thinking about better barbeque recipes, instead. That would be nice.
Neil said he missed me and explained the long silence; Lord knows, I have missed him, too.
The people who have been on a journey like this together -- a fight for so much more than any personal glory -- come to love each other, if only for the many times we've been attacked by the same bandits.
Maybe someday the bandits will no longer be a problem. Who knows? Maybe they will settle down with their own little hacienda and their own fruit trees and families. It's possible.
Until then, Neil Keenan is alive and I stand corrected. Happily so. Just in time for Christmas.
Merry Christmas, Neil! Merry Christmas, Group K!
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