Prophesies 2023 & Beyond

Disclaimer Prophecy

All prophesies contained herein are released in good faith with good intentions. I am a prophet of God, or of the Gods, if you prefer. Self-proclaimed if you like, but when is that not the case? 

I'm not trying to convert you or initiate you into a particular belief system. Are we not blessed with free will? Probably not, but that's another discussion.

Disbelieving in these prophesies is actually a good thing. When they are borne out, you'll be impressed and perhaps more likely to start paying attention, not necessarily to prophecies, but to everything. Paying attention makes it easier to find beauty, which filters the noise surrounding us. Any truly magnificent God would require paying attention while living on this Earth, and witnessing beauty in others is the pathway to finding all kinds of love.

Oh God, there are so many lost individuals out there, in here, people living so far from what they might describe as "God's Will" that they are aptly described as lost. And, in a democracy, they vote.

The times in which we live mark the end of era. The richest and most powerful empire in the history of mankind is about to face a tsunami of unmistakable Truth both politically and organically. And as we've imparted before, Truth of this magnitude arrives as a massive blow. Boom! God explains that the severity of the blow is determined by the distance that Truth must travel before reaching the targeted individual or collective.  Those who find themselves farthest from Truth will endure the heaviest blow. God warns that such blows are often fatal and are almost always violent. Picture Hitler in his bunker or Mussolini hanging out on the town square. 

(Prophetic Note: One can therefore conclude that living one's life closer to Truth will lessen the severity of blows. However, avoiding blows altogether is impossible on this Earth.)

Megachurch Temptations

It's been a relative dry spell in prophet land. A dearth of Guidance from above for months on end, nothing definitive since the scary pre-plague, Words of a Prophet 2019 A.D. - where a local church placed a bank ATM in their parking lot - of which today's prophecy is a continuation of sorts. 

In the meantime, I may have missed a sign or two. Sometimes prophets totally whiff on signs from God. Example: One local megachurch pastor has whiffed so many times that God has more or less dismissed him, which is sad for any alleged man of God. Pastor's followers, however, may still have a chance. They need to leave him though, which seems easy from the outside. But we know about abusive relationships. Abusers almost never stop on command.

Pastor's Temptation & Spiritual Exile

On the heels of a horrible plague that left over one million dead in this country, God, for whatever divine purpose, put together a temptation for Pastor. This came in the form of a blatantly awful money changer scheme, run by a powerful group of international thieves. that provided Pastor and his family boatloads of ill-gotten plunder.

(Please note: God does not regularly tempt people, or I should say God does not tempt regular people. Regular people are almost always tempted by other people. God doesn't waste the effort. Rather, temptations from On High are reserved for egregious charlatans and self-righteous twits like Josh Hawley or Joel Osteen, who could probably switch places without anybody noticing, including their wives.)

We know that a virtuous man of God would certainly turn away from an offer of ill-gotten gains from a shamelessly criminal mob boss. Further, any prophet worth his salt would surely possess an inherent gift for sniffing out nefarious men and women who are profoundly cursed by God. There are signs everywhere! You don't have to be a prophet to conclude that people who extort, bribe, rape, commit genocide, and use the church to money change are bad people. Forget finding a Bible passage to verify it. You just know it. Pastor knew it, too.

And yet, Pastor not only loaded up on $2.14 million, he also committed disgusting political pornography with a brazen harlot!

(Note: A purported "man of God" seeking illicit means to supposedly help meet "church payroll" is not pleasing to the Lord. If Pastor praised God for providing 2.14 million pieces of gold, he was, in fact, declaring allegiance to a new god, or betraying the One he claims to follow. As an alleged man of God, Pastor is clearly a failure in denim.)

James River Church In Ruins

Prophesy: There will be a great gnashing of teeth in throwed roll country as Springfield's favorite megachurch slides inexorably into disrepair and spiritual chaos before finally settling in a swirl of christo-fascist muck as nothing more than Branson's northernmost entertainment venue. Soon after, with barely a whimper, the mega church with an anointed Starbucks in the lobby will quietly go bankrupt, settling like a poorly aimed throwed roll on a food stained carpet. 

In a few years, the Donald Trump Presidential Library will briefly be housed in the main building but will also go bankrupt, as it will be a total scam by one of his followers, leaving a dwindling number of delusional social security recipients clutching their autographed Bibles.
Mixing church and state has throughout history proven to be toxic and deadly, and it remains the main reason the world's greatest civilization has careened into an unholy hellscape of poverty, suffering and death.

The Big One

Today's prophesy arrived suddenly, unlike previous ones that required focused patience, paying attention and figuring things out. There were no dreams, no cryptic visions. I simply awoke earlier than usual, at sunrise, with a bright awareness that I most certainly had not possessed just 7.5 hours earlier, when I tucked myself into bed while listening to a philosophical discussion on consciousness, which I soon lost. Such an illumination has never visited me before, and I'm tempted to call it a revelation.

The event will happen quite suddenly, and even those who are forever braying about the decline of civilization will be taken aback and silenced, much like Republicans after a mass shooting. But this won't be a mass shooting. This disruption will be more organic than that, something internal like a fragmented, societal aneurysm.

The event will trigger wars and a massive social regrouping, with regular outbreaks of guerilla attacks emanating from some of the more disturbed indoctrinated individuals mentioned above. It should be noted that at no other time in human history have there been so many ignorant, lethally armed people living in one nation-state. So this bloody stage could last a while. We're already in the early days, as innocent people are being randomly slaughtered in bunches - was there another one today? - and those holding power insist this is absolutely normal. And now it is.

What can one do to survive the chaos that's about to rain down on all of us?

As stated above, pay attention. Organize locally. Even if it's a small group of neighbors, church-goers, bar patrons, family members, random strangers. Maybe you'll be declared dissidents by the state someday, or "the enemy within". Consider it an honor.

Prophecy #3 - Jesus, Mary Magdalene & Lifelong Learning

On Prophecy & Lifelong Learning

Prophets are pretty common, though most don't realize their status or potential. An advanced prophet, my term, is highly skilled at paying attention and learning. I'd say prophets are "lifelong" learners, but the term has been ruined by well-meaning public school officials, bless their hearts, always seeking new language to say the same things over and over again. (Meanwhile, kids learn.)

God says that once you stop being a lifelong learner, you're dead. Until then, you're at least learning about what dying feels like.

As if to prove me not dead yet, God recently revealed some amazing passages in the Gnostic Gospels. Fifty-two of these books, written on papyrus in Greek and bound in leather, were hidden in large clay pots found in remote caves somewhere in Upper Egypt. These books were written at about the same time that Mathew, Mark, Luke and John were circulating through a fragmented early church. The Gnostic Gospels of Nag Hammadi were discovered in 1945.

Of course, the ruling patriarchy accepted Christianity only after they figured out how to use it for control as they continued the eternal quest for wealth & power. It became dangerous for anyone to possess certain "heretical" gospels. One needn't be reminded what happens to heretics once a true religious hegemony comes to power. Thus, the books were stashed away in caves.

Prophetic Warning: Beware of religious hegemony. Starts with a minority and ends with minority rule.

Back to the Gnostic Gospels, which will forever be included in my own lifelong personal Bible.

Here's a poem from what sounds a lot like a female deity, unnamed - from Gnostic text, Thunder, Perfect Mind (0-200 AD)

For I am the first and the last.

I am the honored one and the scorned one.

I am the whore and the holy one.

I am the wife and the virgin . . .

I am the barren one,

  and many are her sons . . .

I am the silence that is incomprehensible . . .

I am the utterance of my name.

Mary Magdalene

Was the poem written by Magdalene? The Gospel of Philip tells us that Mary Magdalene, who is referred to as his companion, was clearly one of the disciples. The others become would become jealous when Jesus kissed her in front of them and would complain to Jesus that he loved her more. And lo, Jesus says, I'm paraphrasing, answered, "You want me to love you like I love her?" I hear an unspoken, "Really?", but that's open to interpretation.

Of course, this is my own interpretation. I'm no theologian. I can tell you that God has never condemned the Gnostic Gospels, nor has He questioned their relevance or authenticity. I find them strangely reassuring. A bunch of old church elders declared them heretical, not God.

I'll leave you with this gem from the Gospel of Thomas:

Jesus said, "Know what is before your face, and what is hidden from you will be revealed to you." 

Pandemic Journal #2

I set up this title, Pandemic Journal #2, weeks and weeks ago. I thought these uniquely dystopian times should be documented in some personal way. Then, weeks passed. Six months passed. I made up some songs, a couple of poems, cooked a lot, planted a garden, researched stuff, harvested a garden, walked in the woods, talked with people I love, kept my distance. Outside of my little world, the situation worsened.

In April 2019, a year before Covid-19 descended upon us, I said this in a post called Emergencies, Evangelicals & Saluting the Troops:

Imagine an asteroid or small planet hitting the earth, causing widespread tidal waves stories high. Would people be brought together? Would they compete? Care for each other? Would government be a help to people, or would leaders take advantage of the chaos to achieve maximum wealth accumulation and control?

A worldwide plague wasn't on my list of disaster scenarios. I probably had too much faith in modern medicine, having grown up in the days when diseases like polio and smallpox were defeated. Plagues were for Dark Ages, or at least pre smart phone. But then, there is still no cure for cancer, and it's fair to say cancer is an epidemic. Everybody has been touched by cancer in some way. Now, it seems certain, due to lack of leadership and a bewildering absence of community cohesion, Covid-19 will affect virtually everyone before it's contained, whenever that may be. We all will know someone who contracted Covid-19, just like cancer.

Since I do live in Springfield, Missouri, which I sometimes refer to as Pleasantville, the expected response from community leaders is . . . to dodge accountability. Follow the governor, CDC, County Health, all of which are, in turn, following their best instincts to avoid accountability? The only leader in the entire community, one who is at least attempting to fill the void, is a hospital CEO. The bodies are accumulating, folks. I'm sure he's being serreptitiously thanked by the aforementioned cowards, who eagerly sought leadership roles they weren't capable of filling. To them I can only offer a heartfelt Fuck You!, as they contort themselves to accommodate a non-existent balance between science and political/religious delusion. 

Thanks to the absolutely clueless moral & ethical black hole that is Donald Trump, the ornate facade covering American exceptionalism and the Republican Party has been unceremoniously ripped away like a bandage covering gangrenous flesh. Americans, still using a strange electoral system bent to favor former slave owners, somehow elected an international patsy, useful to international crime bosses for money laundering and fraud. He is now commander-in-chief of the greatest military power and largest economy on earth. This while being manipulated by these same crime bosses, who are much smarter and wealthier sociopaths than DT. They seek unchallenged world domination. It's very much like a bad James Bond movie, where we're all extras with no control over script edits.

I don't watch doomsday movies as a rule, but images from "Melancholia" (2011), where the Earth was threatened by a rogue planet, keep bubbling into my dreams and consciousness.

As Melancholia approaches Earth, no leaders rise to the occasion. Nobody rallies the people together. News reports casually deny any danger. Resume your normal life. It will disappear. Meanwhile, disaster capitalists plot their strategies, because that's what they do. Is it realistic how existentially vacant life had become for these characters? One still aggressively plans a clever ad campaign. Another, who knows the Earth is doomed, releases his stable of beautiful thoroughbreds to graze on a nearby golf course.

[Spoiler: Earth was blown to bits in a white hot moment of interplanetary impact. Everybody perishes. All life on Earth was erased within seconds, along with any human record that it had ever existed. The screen goes dark. After a pause, movie credits scroll.]

As a fractured society divided by greed, competing culture religions and almost comical misinformation campaigns, it seems we grapple with alternating currents of human frailty and resilience during the Great Coronavirus Pandemic of 2020. There is no script, no scrolling line of credits to assure us it's fiction. Because it's not. We witness, together and separately, the outrageous and relentless unraveling of the greatest civilization in human history. 

But there is hope. Right? Of course there is. There has to be.

It may sound absolutely heretical to say out loud, especially as a resident of Pleasantville, but Covid-19 may be this country's last best hope for systemic change. Covid-19 has exposed our collective wounds for all to see. An election may treat a few symptoms. At least it's a rallying point. At best, it may be the start of a new healing regimen. The rest is on us.

Street Light

Kit laid on her back on a picnic table in hopes of catching the media shower, as she had done so many times as a girl. A spot for deep thoughts. The table rested on a slab of patio just beyond a sliding glass door that separated her from Mom and Dad, who were glued to cable news in the dining room. There had been another bombing. Maybe a shooting. Kit hadn't listen for details.

She knew her parents were watching interviews with bewildered neighbors (can't believe it happened here), crime scene videos with flashing emergency vehicles, conflicting rumors. Tomorrow they'd watch heart wrenching victim profiles (she was the light of our lives) and, of course, the killer profile (angry, heavily armed white guy).

She could hear the excited voices of droning doom from her parents' network of choice - the one that stoked fear, patriotism, faith in Jesus, and was sponsored mainly by pharmaceutical companies suggesting a multitude ailments that lurk in their future. Fear brought to you by more fear.

Kit was straining to see meteors beyond the blue glare of the new streetlight in the far corner of the yard. Goddam streetlight, she muttered.

The streetlight had been installed, pole and all, over winter break soon after a string of house break-ins and shootings in the neighborhood. This was Dad's tireless explanation to neighbors or anyone who had the misfortune of stepping out onto the patio after dark. The fact that the break-ins and shootings occurred miles away on the west side of town was irrelevant. There were shootings in the news. Mom was scared. So, Dad put up a goddam street light in the alley.

Planes flew by but no meteors. There was a time when you could spot satellites moving across the sky, probably the same satellites that beamed the television signals that made Mom fearful, she thought. A vicious cycle. Not tonight. No satellites, no meteor shower. The more fearful we become, the less we are able to see in the natural world. File under Picnic Table Deep Thoughts, she smirked. Probably the last.

A distant flash of lightning briefly lit up the southern sky. Kit started counting. A thousand one, a thousand two all the way to ten. Nothing. No thunder, probably a summer thunderstorm a hundred miles away in north Arkansas, beyond the blinding lights of Branson.

Branson, Missouri. Christian Las Vegas with no gambling or showgirls, but similarly filled with poor hotel workers, underpaid musicians and washed up celebrities, so washed up you had never even heard of them in the first place. Her parents' favorite date night, Branson. Drawn to light like moths.

There would be no meteor shower tonight, maybe never again unless somebody shoots out that goddam light, she thought to herself. Mom would freak, would just make things worse. She knew finding her own place was the next big thing after school, somewhere where she could see the stars again.