Posts Tagged ‘ufo’

If You Dont Believe in UFOs? Watch This! – Recent Mass UFO Sightings 2011


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ORIGINAL FOURTH UFO VIDEO – JERUSALEM -Temple Mount


What do you think?

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they say “are you filming?” “a ball of fire, do you see? what is this?” “what is this?” “say did we drink too much ?” “no no we all see this…” “YOOOO” ( the light ball goes up..) WHAT IS THIS? DID U SEE? MAMA.. did you see this ?(camera points to the dark sky where you see flashing red lights) “look there are many” “look look look there” “what is this ?mama..” “its judaism, symbols…”(one of the guys is mumbling) “this is not real…” “what is this? did you see it ? what is it ? oh mama..”

Count of St. Germain and Monsanto (work in progress)


Count of St. Germain and Monsanto (work in progress)

Those of you that have come across the name of Comte de Saint-Germain on the Internet may well wonder why anyone today would take an interest in him at all.  He was clearly deeply involved in every 18th Century conspiracy theory, but what would knowing about him add to the conspiracy theories of the 21st Century? What could he add to the Monsanto conspiracy in particular? My answer may surprise you.  He could be the key to all of today’s doomsday scenarios.  Everyone that has studied these things knows that it is all connected.  Just listen to any one of the talk show millennialists and you will find in short order good reason to be afraid of just about anything.

So you say what would a supposedly eighteenth century man have to do with Monsanto?  What could the Comte de Saint-Germain, a man known as a charlatan, inventor, alchemist, pianist, violinist, composer and threefold occultist, have to do with a shady corporation like Monsanto? Well, everyone knows that the Count is an immortal, a rogue, and an industrial chemist, and also has occult dealings with secret societies. If I were to look for some plan to take over the world by a secret society, then I would look for someone that has these qualifications. Consider the idea of materializing the spiritual hierarchy, for example. Now this would appear not only right up an alchemist’s alley, but right there with genetic manipulation of the C- body to allow the Reptilians to appear among us. So the idea that St. Germain may be alive and well and working for Monsanto, Du Pont, Dow, BASF and Bayer is not so wild. After all is he not, “C’est un homme qui ne meurt jamais et que sait tout” according to Voltaire? Even if Fredrick the Great was known to reply, “C’est un comte pour rire,” it was perhaps yet another government cover-up, for Fredrick is known to have had Rosicrucian connections.

Let us consider St. Germain’s paint manufacture in Schleswig-Holstein, his dye manufacture in Paris and the bleaching of flax in Vienna. These are the very items that kicked off many of these companies. What a toxic hydra headed beast we seek. To what it works in, like the dyers hand. Monsanto is clearly the Whore of Babylon riding in on the nine headed dragon, each head one of of the deadly pestilences she has visited upon humanity. Each one more deadly than the last.

Let us not forget the occult connection of the Nazi’s and how these companies profited from World War II. Yet another war that it appears St. Germain may have been on both sides to putatively lessen the inevitable horrible results, but from which he no doubt profited. You say correlation is not causation and association is not proof? The “unofficial” story is that the alien/occult connections during the war and after were all just cover stories to hide corporate greed and the government complicity in it.  Yeah, like anyone is going to buy that story. More likely people would believe the idea that the alien/occult connection was to cover black ops projects. It is clear that what the public believes has nothing to do with reality.

Everyone knows the connections between sex and power.  So who would doubt that a noted sex magikian like St. Germain who had the ability to teleport, levitate, walk through walls, and influence people telepathically, might also have turned to the dark side. After all, he is known to have held out very little hope for his fellows and often played both sides of a struggle, as if to say it was all a game.  This alone could have turned him, thinking that perhaps the Reptilians might have something valuable to offer mankind. Like Monsanto, he endeavored to improve our lot in life, but never forgot his own profit. This has led many a fellow spiritual traveler to fall along the wayside. Consider what an immortal like St. Germain could inject into the public debate carrying the gnostic thread across the history of all faith traditions infused by the mystery schools of each. He would be an advance man par excellence for such corporations as Monsanto, presaging all the current corruptions of humanity with oracular cures.

The question then becomes, when did he turn, and who did he bring with him? This is important because he is said to have aided our founding fathers in the framing of our fundamental principles of these United States. The Master Rákóczi, aka St. Germain, the master of the amethyst seventh ray of the new age, could have been an agent of the enemy long before the later occultists began to clean up his story. Perhaps he never turned, but was influenced by evil from the start, under the influence of Hermes; the god of trickery, the crossroads, and thieves, and the creator of the written word which carries us across all boundaries to the horizon the dense physical plane. There are hints that this adept may have influenced most secret societies with a vision of enlightenment across the span of all history, a vision where a spiritual radiation from the secret chiefs could transform humanity. This vision we know today is one that is corrupt to its core. But perhaps I overstate my case, what is evil for some, is no more than the Nietzschean Übermensch that is beyond good and evil.

A question on the Monsanto side of the equation is why would a rich John Francie Queeny start a chemical company after 30 years in the pharmaceutical business, naming the company after his wife, Monsanto, whose family owned sugar plantations in Puerto Rico, to only produce saccharin? Monsanto would later expand this sweet tooth to aspartame, but not neglecting many non-ingestible poisons along the way. Still later they would be instrumental in funding brain research into the limbic system, the emotional gateway to all things human. If St. Germain were involved, we might conjecture that he was looking for meaning in his life that was losing meaning and hope after such an eternity of living. More sinisterly, St. Germain could have been looking for ways to control the minds of humans to allow the Reptilians access. Perhaps the last piece of the puzzle will be in the genetically modified sugar beet? The heart of the matter has to involve sugar as poison, of course. The heart of the sugar connection is Morgellons. Is it is no small coincidence that it is named for a 17th century malady. Count St. Germain would have known of this disease.  This would explain why he never was seen eating in public. Not doubt, this all foreshadowed their secret breeding program, since everyone knows the effects of sugar on the human libido. Also, the sweetness connection has implications as to why the massive bee deaths are happening, especially given the quantum communication that have been found in the honey bee which may be the real threat to Monsanto’s inter-dimensional agenda.

So what connections do I see between St. Germain and Monsanto? After all, the fact that St. Germain was a chemist and herbalist does not make him a monster. Could the New Age spirituality be as much a sham as the old just because of the hidden agenda of the Count as one of its initiators? Don’t we value the message, not the messenger? Or have others reduced it all again to another ploy for power?  Could he be an agent of the Reptilians as he was for Louis XV? Where is the proof? I begin to think about St. Germain’s influence on Mesmer suggesting a hypnotic connection to all this. My eyes are getting heavy, very heavy. I begin to wonder about heading for the light, yet another trap binding me to Earth plane surely awaits me there. Is it all an exercise in thought control?

I suppose that Monsanto is headquartered in St. Louis may appear innocent enough to most. After all, Louis IX lived a sainted life, but look not at the name, but at the map. St. Louis has always been the historic crossroads of the continent and home to what was once the largest pyramid mound in the world built by the Mississippian people. Not much you say. Pyramids and crossroads are no more than words. The sacred circles of power centered  and surrounding St. Louis are just an illusion. Nothing in St. Louis suggests St. Germain, nor any final Solutia to the problem of humanity.

Perhaps an ancient Egyptian cult might add something to the mix? An uncapped pyramid topped with the Wedjat, the eye of Horus, comes to mind. Known for it’s five seen parts representing the five senses, it is enumerated by the beginning of an infinitely decreasing geometric progression that sums to unity if continued, thus suggesting an infinity of senses. A symbol worthy of our St. Germain, one who was always looking to further his extensions of consciousness in his quest for knowledge. I can almost hear St. Germain relating this to Louis XIV, the sun king, since the Egyptians often conflated Horus with Ra. Alas, the only Egyptian connections to St. Louis reside in her museum.  Notably the Ka-Nefer-Nefer burial mask, whose stolen twice beautiful soul may be more worthy symbolism, but no connection to Monsanto.

So more is needed.   To be continued….  [note: this is satire…for my real opinion of this evil click here. ]

The Map Is Not The Territory


The Map Is Not The Territory

Road Trips are not really vacations.  They are a lot of work.  This is especially true if you are out to find the unusual and off the beaten track sights.  The last road trip my daughter and I went on, we hit all the UFO hot spots in the country and we found ourselves in the middle of deserts or forests in the middle of the night wondering just where we might be.  This one was going to be different.  Armed with GPS, laptops and cell phones (along with some camping and emergency gear) we thought we were very well equipped.  We were wrong.  This year’s theme is sacred sites and power spots.

The last road trip we spent many days routing and rerouting the trip with detailed maps of where we going with alternative routes and definite places to stop and refresh ourselves.   My navigator daughter really hates reading road maps. The last time it really didn’t matter because we could always just pull off and review the paper work. The comparison between paper work and computers has actually become the overarching theme of this trip, starting with the fact that the New York State Department of Motor Vehicles has a computer glitch that says my paperwork in my glove compartment is invalid and that my registration has been cancelled due to an insurance lapse which never happened. So starting in Pennsylvania, and following us across the country, were troopers wanting to ticket us and impound the car.  We now have that almost corrected.  We still have to get the paper work printed off the computer to put in the glove box stating that this glitch is fixed and the original paperwork is correct the way it reads after all, but this is a story all by itself.  The main point here is that the GPS is not a map, or more generally, the map is not the territory.

We first encountered this problem of maps, or lack thereof, in Arizona near Sedona where we were headed for Jerome in the middle of the night to get some much needed sleep.  I had been driving continuously most of the time since New Orleans, and the hotel we had set the GPS to navigate us to was located on the top of a “hill.”  It was called Mile High Inn.  Now, given we are two moderately intelligent people, you would think we would understand that the Mile High Hill Inn was on more than a hill, but no, in the fog of war where it is just you against the road in multiple days of continuous driving battles where you are winning, you get cocky.  So when the GPS said to take the next left onto a blind dirt road, you don’t think twice.  A bit farther in you see the road narrows and starts an upward incline.  You say that this cannot go on much longer.  This is in the middle of a town after all.  As the incline gets narrower, steeper and potholes threaten to engulf the car, you find yourself saying that at least it is not raining or snowing and thinking the wire you put on the muffler is holding up well.  The edge which we thankfully could not see over just beyond the rider’s side wheels of the car was just an empty blackness as we hit the hairpin turn at a seventy percent incline, perhaps near the top.  This was supposed to be an Inn known for it’s ghosts we were headed to and the road was now covered on both sides with exotic tall plants which were reminiscent of a corn field at night.  If this was the only way to the haunted Inn, then this was a great set up.  Finally we reached the top of the road only to find it paved and the GPS had routed us up a local dirt road too steep to be paved.  We vowed not to take another dirt road and not to blindly follow the GPS again.

Now mind you, at each state I would attempt to get off at the welcome center and get a map.  My navigator wondered why I bothered.  She was beginning to stop wondering.  The Inn was closed and we found a wonderful lady across the street that had rooms too expensive for our budget.  She directed us down the road to a wonderful place called The View, and we went down the hill by way of the main road which we should have come up. We passed the road we came up on the way down.   Here it was well marked as a road for ‘local traffic only.’

So after another marathon drive we made it to California and embarked on a number of day trips.  The most ambitious one was to finish going up the Pacific Highway into Oregon and then cut over and come down Interstate 5 to revisit Mount Shasta.  The night before the expedition, I dutifully reviewed the Google Maps from many angles.  I also did maps for the trip back across the country, but for the next day  I was interested in, Gold Beach and  Gold Mill in Oregon on the way to Mount Shasta, California.  I briefly noted that the middle of Oregon and California had this collection of National Forests covered with mountains and thought no more about it.  The printer was dead, so I had no paperwork to confirm the route.  My navigator had tossed the maps I had dutifully collected in a folder, who knows where, for some future recollection of our trip. So off we went in the middle of the night to catch the first rays of the sun in Eureka, California.  We arrived right on time to see the ocean before departing California.  My daughter’s boyfriend reluctantly came with us this time, thinking we were just going on this long boring drive up the coast and down the other side of the mountains.

After a bit of sight sighting, we drove past Gold Coast wondering where we might turn off to go inland.  We set the GPS to an address in Mount Shasta and it dutifully spit out an answer, but in a few miles totally reversed its answer. Now we were in the vortex capital of the country and thought this might be what the pilots were talking about when they came in for a landing here, but we passed it off as another bit of moronic chatter from the GPS which says things like bear right and keep left (for the next hundred miles).  We got to the turn off and it was closed due to construction and we had to take a detour.  This was all fine.  It was well marked and paved road, but then off in the wilderness it tells us to turn off onto a gravel road.  We had noted that the paved road was oddly often covered on the edges with overgrowth from the forest, full of sink holes and repaved washouts, but this made it rather quaint.  The gravel road looked pretty grated.  So it did not look much worse than the paved road.   Forgetting our resolve and in the fog of war with the roads, we again took the gravel road, perhaps with a nudge from Robert Frost.  It was a beautiful forest with mountain views in every direction.  Taken with the sight seeing the gradual increase of incline in the road was barely noticed.  There were potholes here and there, but we were in no hurry.  We had all day.  The road had occasional rock slides, but that was also not much of an obstacle.  The GPS had us turn a few more times from gravel road to gravel road.   The signs ahead said to watch for logging. “Was this just a logging road?” I thought to myself.

Now the National Forest is a land of many uses.  It was quite one thing to allow cattle grazing, hunting and fishing, but quite another to allow mining and logging.  Some of these “hills” were clear cut.  We were quite outraged.  Then, as we saw the logging equipment, my daughter’s boyfriend said it was a matter of concern that the tires were starting to sink into the mud.  I speeded up in the hope that the forward motion would negate the downward motion, physics not be my best subject.  It worked anyway, despite my flawed science, and shortly we out of the mud and onto solid gravel on the side of a narrow mountain pass snaking up the mountain.  The rock slides and potholes began to increase again, but this time there was no where to go but down.   I began to consider my wired up muffler again and decided it was not going to make it without more care.

A brief respite was found when a paved road returned for all too short a time and then an actual campsite was found.  We walked down into the campsite and found it empty.  This was no great surprise.  Who in their right mind would be camping in the mountains in the middle of March?  It was pretty.  It had a little lake by it that would soon infest with mosquitoes later in the year.  We noted the outhouse door had been used as target practice from what looked like rifle fire and the park bench was covered with 12 gauge shotgun shell casings.  So much for allowing guns into the National Forest.

Returning to the road, the GPS directed us through a few more turns until we got to a road that started to show some snow.  What had I said the last time we went up a gravel road before our resolve?  “At least there was no snow.”  The snow gradually started to build as the incline increased. We briefly discussed turning around.  To where?  Back through the mountain passes and the logging roads?  Surely this must end soon.  The snow got too deep.  We were stuck.  We rocked it out and cursed that we did not bring the shovel my wife wanted us to take.  We actually turned the car around in the snow on the side of a mountain.  So much for a dull boring drive through the countryside.

Back on the road we looked for another route out of the National Forest.  Soon we found ourselves on another mountain with the snow getting deeper.  I decided to speed up to make it up the hill, forgetting that under that snow was rocks and potholes.  The left front tire went flat many yards before I knew it.  I thought the road was just rougher, but after the car would not make it up the last hill and I backed it down, I discovered the tire was flat.  We changed the tire in the snow, on the side of a mountain, in the middle of the road, unpacking all the stuff covering the wheel well and putting it out in the snow.  This was done amidst discussions of walking out of the mountains.

The tire change went well.  We had a real spare tire.  A doughnut would have been useless.  We were back in business.  On down the road we went.  We had a few more hours of daylight and had about all the sight seeing we could take for the day.  The incline increased again on the next turn off, the snow returned and we stopped.  When we attempted to move the car, it just slid sideways this time.  Now you have to understand that  my front wheel drive Honda Wagon has very poor pick up and we had been switching on and off getting out of the car and pushing it up the hills.  This time my daughter was out of the car watching it slide toward the edge and was not very happy at the thought of it going over the side.  I would back it up over and over toward the mountain, until it could be backed up no more.

As we pondered our fate my daughter was praying for an angel.  Now mind you, we had no human contact for many hours.  Yet, almost immediately, up the road came an angel in the form of two gentlemen in a pickup truck, Bill and Virgil.  They had no tow rope, but in the last minute decisions before we left declining the shovel, I had tossed a tow rope into the car repair box.  We hooked up the tow rope and were pulled to the top of the hill.  Unfortunately, the muffler now was wedged under the rear of the car.  After some tugging and wrestling in the snow, the pieces of the muffler came free.  It looked like it was toast before it came off ,so it was not much of a loss, save for the fact that we would now be attracting more attention and the trooper issue may not be resolved on the computer yet and it was clearly marked in Oregon that you could not drive without a muffler. I wondered how many mufflers these road ate.

We went down the road as directed by our angels and hoped to find the pavement soon.  We turned off the GPS and we were in luck as two ATVs passed us to clear the tracks in the road for us. The pavement did appear.  We turned the GPS back on and carefully ignored all unpaved roads it directed us down.  We had learned from the two angels in the truck that the flat tire was a blessing, since the road we were on was the one that made the national news.  This very road was the one that James Kim’s family got stuck on.  If we had made it over the hill and further into the forest we might have been beyond any help.

So to say we were blessed with a flat tire is an understatement.  It is true that we had plenty of emergency equipment and food.  We could have held out for quite a long time, but then we also had few people waiting for us to return and we may have waited a very long time indeed since no one even  knew we were in the forest.  As I said, a road trip is a lot of work.  It is not a vacation.  It is not for the faint of heart.  It helps when you can stay out of that fog of war with the roads.  My annual National Forest pass hasn’t even got much real use yet, but the first thing I bought when we got out of the forest was a shovel and a hatchet for the next time.

Three more weeks to go and we are looking for more positive energy from these power spots.

For the less prosaic version of these events you might want to consult my daughter’s blog of the adventure and soon some pictures and video here.

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