Morning has broken, like the first morning.
Christmas message 2024
Welcome article for new readers.
ExcessDeathsAU has been banned from social media: I rely on you to share articles.
Article structure
I. Welcome
II. Satanic operations
III. My descent into the pit
IV. The visitor
V. The library
VI. Epilogue - The pool
I. Welcome
Dear Readers,
Welcome to my annual Christmas message.
The Christmas message is a way to say ‘thank you’ to paid subscribers, connect with all readers, and, of course, proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ. It is also a way to welcome readers into my life, which is not easy for me to do. I am an extremely private person and very introverted. This may surprise some of the people who know me from when I was active during the mandates on behalf of the community. When I was doing that work, I was entirely operating under the will of God.
In another life I would have liked to have been a monk in the Mediterranean, tending a monastery garden.
I do not write about myself very often because I prefer to write about ideas, provide the receipts of democide, and elevate the bravery of others. I also have to live with myself, which is really a grind if I am being honest. Writing helps me escape from my personal troubles.
Last Christmas I wrote a bit about my life. I underwent a profound spiritual transformation when I recognised the true nature of evil. If you are a new reader and have yet to read this, please do, because it explains a lot about what you are going to read next:
I also had (and continue to have) experiences that I cannot explain and most may dismiss in secular Australia but I patiently accept as things that need to happen.
This year, I underwent another profound spiritual transformation. Unlike the previous experience, this year’s transformation was, at times, absolutely terrifying. For the first time in my life I understood the phrase ‘hitting rock bottom.’ Humility is necessary for Christians, and God showed me who is boss (not me, that’s for sure).
I apologise in advance if much of the content in this article is very dark, but I lived through absolute hell this year. It does end with a ray of hope, and I am slowly getting better.
As with last year’s Christmas message, this year’s message has taken me about six months to think about and write and was difficult, embarrassing, and frightening to put into words. The reason why I am writing these things is because, with all my writing, I hope my words help someone else out there feel less alone.
There is also a Festivus-style ‘airing of the grievances’ throughout. For the past few years my internal Christmas tree looked more like a Festivus pole and I have always liked the idea of Festivus. I cannot wait to hear your Festivus grievances in return.
I write in a state of repentance for the things I have done, said, and thought. Upfront I want to apologise if I was a jerk to anyone this year. You probably will not see this, but in a state of repentance, I sincerely apologise. I have been under an extreme amount of stress and I am suffering from severe and chronic PTSD.
Writing helps me make sense of the world and is, in fact, my window to the world. When I am not writing, I am thinking about writing, or asking God about what I should be writing, and even when I am sleeping the ideas are churning away in my brain. Sometimes my articles are the culmination of years of analysis. I do not publish to a schedule because I only write when God tells me ‘this is important. You need to tell them.’ Due to the subject matter, I often write to the point of total exhaustion.
Writing this article physically crippled me for about three days:
The thought that my writing could be eliminated due to another bar of government censorship being welded into place saddens me. Like the covid lockouts, isolating and eliminating dissidents and independent thinkers from society is cognitive warfare, designed to psychologically break not just the target but everyone watching.
This Christmas message tells the story of where I am right now. People may disagree or find it offensive, but I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. I always say that ExcessDeathsAU is ‘our’ Substack and I mean it – I work tirelessly to give a voice to the voiceless and to warn people about what is coming. I write as an anon and use the icon of the fluoro lay-down to demonstrate that what I do is not about me – through God, it is about ‘us.’
However, the annual Christmas message is different because it is about me and it is totally unfiltered. For many years my voice was silenced. Now here is my voice, and I will tell you what I know.
This year I was finally forced to come to terms with the anger I was carrying. God threw me into the pit to save my life, humbling me and breaking me, because I had reached a point where the anger would eventually kill me like a slow-acting poison.
Imagine that – I had avoided the poison vaccine only to be nearly killed by poison rage.
If I made it out of the pit, I could be free from the anger and see things with a new perspective, but at the time it did not feel like I was going to climb out.
Witness-survivor torment is a real part of covid democide and it is killing people. We are losing our fighters to grief and despair. Were it not for my faith and two people who extended their hands to me over the rim of that smoking, crumbling pit I would not be writing this to you right now.
However, when I was in the pit, God did not abandon me. In addition to the ‘two people,’ he also sent a visitor I would recognise and later, a ‘dream.’ To me, this how surrendering to faith helps us in our darkest moments.
Everything is according to God’s plan, and I believe all of us were born in this age to experience the greatest mass poisoning and democide in human history. The people who did not make it to this point were not meant to because only God knows the complete future.
As lonely as it is, my mission is to keep the memories of those we have lost and bear witness. This is my job, so this is what I will do. I am not afraid and I will stay at my post.
Whatever happens, the sun will rise, the sun will set, and when one has Christ as one’s saviour, it is always morning, like the first morning.
And sometimes, in this festering, stinking, evil world, someone unexpected will reach out with a kind word and remind me of the Australia from the past: a blue-white sparkling expanse of larrikins and dreamers.
Thank you for reading, and may God Bless you, wherever you are.
Yours Faithfully,
ExcessDeathsAU
1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.
3 Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. 4 And God saw the light, that it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night. So the evening and the morning were the first day.
The History of Creation.
Genesis 1:1-5. NKJV Full Chapter
II. Satanic operations
Learning about Operation Northwoods (ON) many years ago was a pivotal moment in my life. When I read that declassified document, I immediately understood the depravity of western governments and how most everything I had been told about the ‘democratic west’ was a lie.
Briefly, ON was [sic] an outlined false flag operation that originated within the US Department of Defence in 1962. The proposals called for US government operatives to both stage and commit acts of terrorism against American military and civilian targets, blame them on the Cuban government, and use them to justify a war against Cuba.
The proposed acts of US government terrorism included:
Repainting aircraft and controlling them remotely using drone technology.
Fabricated 'shoot down' of a US Air Force fighter aircraft off the coast of Cuba.
Sinking boats of Cuban refugees (real or simulated).
Blowing up a U.S. military ship.
Orchestrating terrorism in U.S. cities (detonating bombs).
Attacking surface shipping.
Painting a US F-86 to look like a MIG to attack US assets.
Hijacking US civilian aircraft.
Shooting down charter aircraft full of US students (real or simulated).
Painting aircraft at Eglin AFB to look like civil aircraft and kidnapping and swapping passengers (used in conjunction with remote control technology).
The US government proposed [sic] killing US citizens to justify war.
Learning about the USS Liberty and the events surrounding her attack was another such incident, and for those who care to look, there are many other incidents with the same MO. The wealthy people (and their puppets) telling us not to talk about these things or calling us ‘conspiracy theorists’ want to own and control us.
The Anglo-American empire(s) and associated captive-enabler-owner nations have been co-opted by supranational organisations and entities onto an insane path of global democide and destruction. This path may be exemplified by 9/11 and the subsequent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
In this way, what happened with Operation Warp Speed was unsurprising to me. I was prepared for the fact that western governments would plan military operations to torture and kill their own citizens.
However, I was completely spiritually unprepared for the level of brutality I faced at the hands of my community. I was shocked by the effectiveness of the cognitive warfare campaign on the people around me. While my rational worldview may have been relatively well-developed, my spiritual worldview was not, and I paid a heavy price for my lack of humility and wisdom.
For example, the design and implementation of the injections are both spiritually malevolent and physically dangerous, and to me this was blatantly obvious from the beginning. The fact that people around me could not see this was confusing, isolating, and disturbing.
I therefore believe that the covid response is part of a larger plan to sicken, kill, and physically and spiritually control most people on earth; a plan that has been in play for many decades and prophesied for much, much, longer. For those who are spiritually or intellectually unprepared to entertain this possibility, there is no amount or type of evidence that will be convincing.
Please see this EDAU article where an American doctor from 1988 (Lawrence Dunegan) recalls the words of another doctor from 1969 (Richard Day) about what has happened up until the present time. You can read the transcripts or listen to his testimony yourself. It is very disturbing, especially with what is predicted next:
I believe the people running the covid operation and those who have been silent in the face of the killing have sold their souls and are possessed. Their motivations are to gain and retain material wealth, power, social in-group status, and other earthly rewards and comforts. In exchange, they are co-opted into delivering Satan’s key objective which is to separate people from God. This is why they are lying to our faces or are totally silent, are mask off, and do not care that we can see them.
The covid response was a military operation conducted during Emergency powers, which is why the ‘normal rules’ did not apply. When presented with this evidence, some people immediately understood what they were seeing and embraced this knowledge. Most people still do not believe this and must go through a protracted mourning process consisting of years of failure, outrage, and placebo wins before they accept what happened. Many will never be able to punch through the cognitive dissonance and will remain confused for the rest of their lives about ‘how this could have happened.’ Those who are profiting from this confusion will continue to misdirect.
The Australian government knows the jabs are injuring and killing people. They do not need to be told this by ‘top freedom experts who have seen the light.’ The West Australian government’s health response was led by a former UN bioweapons inspector in Iraq named Andrew Robertson. He observed vaccine injuries during ‘covid zero’ for nearly a year while the hospitals collapsed (again, during ‘covid zero’) and then mandated the jabs.
The Australian government even had a federal enquiry about the covid response, and there are thousands of stories recorded about how people were affected. These are just the stories about the mandates, and they are devastating:
During the military operation the centre of gravity was to deploy the countermeasure. Under these orders, collateral damage in the form of civilian death and injury was secondary to the operation. The orders were to deploy, and so that is what they did.
For the targets (us) the only possible winning move was not to play.
#
While exceptions apply, the main thrust of the ‘freedom movement’ in Australia appears to be pursuing taxpayer-funded financial compensation. In my opinion, this is the brutal, oppressive, unimaginative model of institutionalised murder straight from the pharma playbook: hurt, kill, and torture people, pay them a little money, and then hurt, kill, and torture more people a few years down the track.
This is the most profitable model for the democidal power structure and how everyone makes bank, creating the symbiotic hero/villain narrative that cools the marks and offers placebo justice.
Most of the ‘wins’ have been on procedural grounds, or in the case of vaccine injury compensation, Agreed Facts affirming the presence of a ‘deadly pandemic’ and the necessity of the Emergency and shots to ‘preserve public health’ (see Shepherd v. South Australia).
(I await those in Australia who are interested in removing the laws and acts, because they will do it again).
Pharmas will not pay because they are indemnified by the Australian government as per the contracts. Whatever the taxpayers are forking out for the suffering, it is nothing compared to the great fortunes made by the perpetrators during the covid response and, in my opinion, money can never compensate for the suffering that was intentionally inflicted, including my own. Once the money is paid, the spiritual transaction is complete.
In Australia, where money rules, mine is a deeply unpopular and offensive opinion, and people accuse me of ‘not caring about the victims.’ This is a thought-terminating cliche designed to support the prevailing power structure (and counter-structure, which are one in the same).
I am unaware of anyone with serious legal clout in Australia who is interested in the current collective legal condition of the unjabbed which includes employment and social discrimination (see New Zealand, similar to Australia) and murder in hospitals (aggressive covid protocols, the case of unjabbed Dazelle Peters who died, denied an organ transplant). All these things are occurring outside Emergency powers and no one is suing - not for financial compensation, but so we can work, volunteer, and get proper medical treatment.
I see the hand of Satan both in the government’s official response and the activities of the ‘freedom movement.’ Both prop up ‘experts’ and ‘heroes’ as idols using hopium and appeal-to-authority as a devastating, manipulative, will-o'-the-wisp for the fearful and broken – an ignis fatuus leading people into the mire.
When someone hears their earthly hero say or do something discordant and immediately concludes that he meant the opposite of what he said because it is what ‘makes him look good’, or ‘advances the cause,’ or ‘the past doesn’t matter’ it signals to me that they are lost in the mire of propaganda.
People, especially when broken, should avoid the temptation to construct a false reality of who they want someone to be. To this end, over the past five years I underestimated how much people would fight to the death to protect the reputations of people who do not know them and likely do not care for them one bit: ‘heroes’ and ‘experts.’ From what I have observed, people lean on these idols because they believe that when their ‘hero/expert’ is vindicated, they in turn will be vindicated in their personal lives to the people who have hurt them.
#
There were two incidents over the past few years that were so evil they demonstrated that Satan is now mask off and does not care that we see. We are deep into the grand reveal and our institutions are fully captured.
The first incident was when the Australian Bureau of Statistics deleted all the 2022 non-covid excess deaths from the historical ledger. They simply decided that they would do it and that was that – all excess deaths in 2022 are now due to ‘covid.’ They erased 15,140 Australians from the excess mortality ledger. Men, women, and children: gone. In my opinion, the men and women who ordered this action and executed these orders committed crimes against humanity.
The second incident occurred in New Zealand, when up to 11,000 health workers secretly received jab exemptions. While their colleagues were walking off the job and people were protesting, these men and women said absolutely nothing. The NZ government department granted the exemption while brutalising the public. These health professionals knew the risk of the jab was worse than ‘covid’ and gave the impression to the public that they were working while jabbed and that the jab was therefore ‘safe and effective.’ In my opinion, these health workers, even the rank-and-file, are collaborators in covid democide.
We are not going to vote our way out of this.1
What many well-intentioned, good-hearted people who would consider themselves ‘freedom fighters’ do not understand (or do not want to understand) is that the government in its current form will not ‘listen.’ The government are the perpetrators, and perpetrators of democide will not ever ‘listen’ or ‘provide justice.’ Most Australians cannot (or will not) fathom the depth of evil that has engulfed our country.
They do not properly understand what we are dealing with.
We are dealing with Satan.
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. 4 In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.
The Eternal Word
John 1:1-5 NKJV Full Chapter
III. My descent into the pit
When I saw that Dr Jackie Stone, daughter of Zimbabwe and warrior of the light, took her own life I knew that I could not hold back on writing this section.
You see, Jackie was not crazy. In fact, she was totally sane, correct, and clear-eyed in her assessment of the current state of the world. In her last interview she said the following on ‘a new parallel medical system’:
I can’t put my heart and soul into it because I don’t think it will work. What we’re up against is too powerful, and honestly, I’m such a solutions-based person – I’ll think about solutions until I go purple. And I’ve been left at the end of this summit to be honest, with the feeling of ‘it’s been wonderful to connect…’ but it’s also the reality that we’re living in some very difficult-to-explain times, and I don’t know what to do about it. I actually don’t.
I could have said this statement myself, word-for-word.
This has been the hardest year of my life. As Captain Graham Hood said this year “there is a disadvantaged subclass in Australia now labeled as anti-vaxxers… who were mandated into oblivion. The spirit of this country has been systemically destroyed.”
I am one of those Australians, and since 2020 I have been suffering with grief, depression, despair, and physical, and mental health issues that have worsened over time. My life had spiralled totally out of control and, embarrassingly to God’s gift of my life to me, many days I was disappointed when I woke up. I could not seem to get better no matter how hard I tried or what I did. I could not make the pieces of my life fit back together again.
Ultimately, when tested by Satan walking to and fro, I failed because I did not have the correct perspective about what was happening. I was frustrated and suffered badly with anger issues that began in 2021 and increased over time. I was being used in my personal relationships and had difficulty connecting with people. Then, I became more isolated, preferring to be alone.
But mainly, I did not think or behave like Job.
2 Again there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them to present himself before the Lord. 2 And the Lord said to Satan, “From where do you come?”
Satan answered the Lord and said, “From going to and fro on the earth, and from walking back and forth on it.”
3 Then the Lord said to Satan, “Have you considered My servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, one who fears God and shuns evil? And still he holds fast to his integrity, although you incited Me against him, to destroy him without cause.”
4 So Satan answered the Lord and said, “Skin for skin! Yes, all that a man has he will give for his life. 5 But stretch out Your hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will surely curse You to Your face!”
6 And the Lord said to Satan, “Behold, he is in your hand, but spare his life.”
7 So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord, and struck Job with painful boils from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. 8 And he took for himself a potsherd with which to scrape himself while he sat in the midst of the ashes.
9 Then his wife said to him, “Do you still hold fast to your integrity? Curse God and die!”
10 But he said to her, “You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?” In all this Job did not sin with his lips.
Satan Attacks Job’s Health
Unlike many, I never really hated the architects of covid democide and still do not. I see them as the golden calf around which people dance – similar to the ‘heroes’ I talked about above. To me, they are just names on a list, and people to observe. I catalogue their crimes and that’s that. They are idols that take up attention, and I expect them to be evil, compliant, liars. In all of them I see Judas Iscariot (bold mine):
22 Now the Festival of Unleavened Bread, called the Passover, was approaching, 2 and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were looking for some way to get rid of Jesus, for they were afraid of the people. 3 Then Satan entered Judas, called Iscariot, one of the Twelve. 4 And Judas went to the chief priests and the officers of the temple guard and discussed with them how he might betray Jesus. 5 They were delighted and agreed to give him money. 6 He consented, and watched for an opportunity to hand Jesus over to them when no crowd was present.
Judas Agrees to Betray Jesus
While it is not for me to judge, unlike Judas, none of the architects of covid democide appear to have given back the blood money:
3 When Judas, who had betrayed him, saw that Jesus was condemned, he was seized with remorse and returned the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders.
Judas Hangs Himself
Again, instead of raging at the architects of democide, I was deeply disappointed with the people who complied, and even more disappointed in those who injected their children. Many times over the past few years I woke in a cold sweat thinking of the millions of Australian children who were offered up to the state like sacrifices, their parents viciously defending their position in the interest of peer conformity, cutting off family who tried to warn them. I thought about the stadiums and churches that were turned into jab centres, small children in their sun hats and school uniforms like ducklings.
When I look at a child now I wonder if their heart is damaged.
I am often jolted awake by the sound of screaming, and I do not know where this sound is coming from because it is not coming from me.
Now I am now going to write some of the most deeply humiliating and shameful things I have thought and done.
I am going to write about these things because we are likely never going to have an official truth and reconciliation from the covid years, so someone has to start talking. As I has said before, as a Christian I write this Substack as a form of repentance, and when I say that I take it extremely seriously. I know other people feel the same way I do – I have read your comments and emails, and I want to thank you for ‘going there’ and putting into words the things (until now) I dared not write myself.
For many years I utterly failed in my duty as a Christian:
34 But when the Pharisees heard that He had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. 35 Then one of them, a lawyer, asked Him a question, testing Him, and saying, 36 “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?”
37 Jesus said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38 This is the first and great commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40 On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”
The Scribes: Which Is the First Commandment of All?
For many years, I did not love my neighbour. After being excluded, publicly humiliated, told I should be “liquidated in a camp,” and receiving threats during my advocacy work, I began to resent many of the vaccinated people in Perth, especially in 2022. In this regard, I became the “sounding brass [and] a clanging cymbal” St Paul warned us about:
13 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.
The Greatest Gift
I never hated anyone (and still do not), but I wrestled deeply with a lack of forgiveness, which as a Christian is non-negotiable.
I resented the fact that many vaccinated in Perth did not seem to really care about what we were suffering and I viewed their compliance as actively sabotaging what resistance we were mounting.
I resented the fact that many vaccinated seemed either blissfully unaware of, or acted superior to, the people living in tents and dumpster diving because they had been mandated out of existence, living as ghosts on the fringes of the city.
I resented the power the vaccinated had over my life due to their sheer numbers and the authority of the state behind them – how normal people suddenly became enthusiastic brownshirts, stopping us and saying ‘papers please’ with newfound zeal.
I resented their jeering and mockery as we suffered.
I resented that I was told by multiple vaccinated people in my personal life, a former Australian statesman, and the head of the Victorian AMA that I did not deserve hospital treatment/Medicare.
(The AMA of Victoria Dr Roderick McRae said “those who do not believe Covid-19 is real or a threat should update their advanced care directives and inform their relatives that they do not wish to receive care in the public health system if diagnosed with the virus…and let nature take its course.”)
I resented that in mid-2024 when I was sick with pneumonia, because I would not mask or test, when I sought medical treatment for being unable to breathe, I was made to stand in a closet with medical waste. They control the medicine and I was out of options.
I resented my physically crippling fear of doctors, hospitals, and the medical system.
I resented the official attitude of the vaccinated representatives on local councils who gaslit us, lied about their own policies, minimised our numbers, and minimised our suffering and said ‘there aren’t many unvaccinated anyway, they are a minority and don’t count’ while pouring money into, and bleating about, ‘minority’ causes championed by powerful corporations, academia, and the government.
I resented the intimidating texts and emails I received from vaccinated neighbours because I spoke up for others who were too afraid to speak for themselves:
I resented that the above text mirrored West Australian government rhetoric (especially from Premier Mark McGowan who was popular at the time for calling those against the vaccine “drongos, idiots, morons, cretins, wacky, nutty, dangerous, irrational, not normal, grow a brain” etc.) and the police were enforcing the democidal rhetoric using violence, intimidation, lawfare, entrapment, and harassment.
I resented how many vaccinated people cheered on the mandates that kept me locked behind state and international borders which decimated my career – the career that pulled me upwards and outwards of childhood abuse and misery and gave me purpose in life.
I resented that, rather than blaming the authorities for imposing the travel restrictions, many vaccinated personally blamed me for the state borders not being open.
I resented hearing and seeing the stories of my fellow urban unvaccinated who were bashed by police and disappeared into police vehicles (and then prisons), their humiliation and terror filmed by the laughing, jeering vaccinated on balconies sipping wine.
I resented that many vaccinated did not want us to rejoin society ‘on principle’ even after the mandates ended, as if our years of punishment and humiliation were insufficient.
I resented how, in my loneliness, when I tried to connect with people even in the faith community, doors were slammed in my face because I did not inject myself with both the flu and multiple covid jabs.
I resented the churches that turned away the unvaccinated, turned cathedrals of the Lord into houses of pharma, and, most of all, the Christians who were silent when their brethren were suffering so as not to be ‘put out of the synagogue.’
I particularly resented how the Catholic church, the faith of my ancestors for hundreds of years and preservers of unborn life, bullied the faithfuls to the slaughter and condemned the few brave parish priests who were trying to save their little flocks.
I resented overall how bad my life had become, and for a long time what I experienced made it difficult for me to even leave the house during the day, look strangers in the eye, or speak in public.
I resented that when the mandates lifted I could not get my life together because I was so depressed, lonely, and traumatised, and I let opportunities pass me by.
I resented that, in my loneliness and extreme suffering, I could not find help because everyone supported the narrative - therapists and faith leaders, and I regressed – back, backwards into what I tried to escape from my childhood which is always present:
What circumstances could drive children so young into the confines of a psychiatric hospital? The answer is as heartbreaking as it is complex. Most often, these children exhibited violent or aggressive behavior in school settings, their distress manifesting as severe tantrums that defied typical classroom management. On the other end of the spectrum were those who, in hushed tones, confided to trusted school personnel their desire to end their young lives.
Peeling back the layers of these behaviors revealed a harrowing truth: the vast majority of these innocent children were victims of physical and emotional violence. Those spared direct abuse often bore witness to violence in their homes or communities, or struggled under the crushing weight of poverty-induced stress.
Again, I expected the architects of covid democide to be evil, compliant, liars, but I never expected my friends and neighbours to be evil, compliant, liars.
I never expected to be effectively un-countried; unwelcome in my own city and neighbourhood which was now a hostile, forbidding, terrifying landscape of people who hated and humiliated me where previously I had been a respected member of the community.
After all this anger and resentment, when I finally looked inwards and examined what I saw, and could not see a way to improve my life, I could not see a way out. I believed my presence on this earth was a net negative to everyone around me. I believed that society hated me and I had no future. I hated myself more than anyone could possibly have hated me. I hated myself and the miracle of life that I was given by God.
Then, Satan whispered in my ear and curled his cold hands around my heart. I heard his voice: your life is meaningless. Everyone hates you and you are a freak of nature. You have always been a freak of nature. You will never get better and you have fucked up your life beyond repair. You are pointless, useless, stupid, and your family is better off without you. You have no friends, no life, and you are a loser. There is no way out of this and you will never see sunlight again.
No one will miss you.
Do it.
What happened next was not good and I am lucky to be alive.
IV. The visitor
I went down into a very dark, lonely pit, and I could not see any sunlight.
It was same pit that engulfed Dr. Jackie Stone.
Afterwards I spent an unknown number of hours (days?) in total despair and I do not remember a lot of what happened. During this time when I was barely coherent, someone else very important wrote to me and prayed for me and explained to me what was happening.
Then I went to bed and started praying.
I was so messed up I could not even remember the words to the Lord’s Prayer.
Using my Rosary,2 I kept circling the beads through my fingers trying to remember the words in what can only be described as a total state of despair, thinking about the children who were injected. I think at one point I was screaming.
Then I received a visitor, one that I cannot explain.
When I was at the bottom of the pit I saw an older man bending over me. I was not asleep, and his image seemed like a vision. I have never had a ‘vision’ before so this situation was (and still is) incredibly confusing. This man was not Christ, but someone who was good and definitely connected to Christ. He was not an angel, he was a man.
My first feeling upon seeing him was that he was someone in my family. This man was familiar and I felt as if I was genetically related to him; the familial ‘tug’ was undeniable. However, I instantly knew that he came from a different era – many, many years in the past.
This man had short, closely cropped grey hair and a short grey beard. He was small, thin and Celtic-Mediterranean in appearance. However, the most remarkable aspect of his appearance was the cloak he was wearing.
His cloak was like nothing I had ever seen before, and nothing on earth approximates how beautifully this man was dressed. He was wearing a shimmering, dazzling, crimson-and-blue priest’s cloak with three-dimensionally embroidered fruit, flowers, ferns, and birds. The pomegranates were particularly spectacular, with what looked like an arcing ‘energy field’ across each individually suspended fruit.
This man bent over me with a concerned look on his face so I could look up into his brown eyes, but at the same time I was almost suspended over my own body and could see him on his knees.
As quickly as he arrived and bent over me, he was gone.
The pomegranates were highly significant on his cloak:
24 They made on the hem of the robe pomegranates of blue, purple, and scarlet, and of fine woven linen. 25 And they made bells of pure gold, and put the bells between the pomegranates on the hem of the robe all around between the pomegranates: 26 a bell and a pomegranate, a bell and a pomegranate, all around the hem of the robe to minister in, as the Lord had commanded Moses.
Making the Other Priestly Garments
The pomegranate is often interpreted as a symbol of the fruit of the Spirit, representing the good deeds and virtues of the righteous. On priestly garments, the pomegranates often signified the high priest’s role as a mediator between God and humanity, embodying the qualities of compassion, mercy, and righteousness.
Perhaps my High Priest Jesus Christ sent one of His priests to mediate when I needed it the most in the form of a man who would seem immediately familiar but not overwhelming.
Perhaps many would dismiss this as a delusion.
However, after that visitation I immediately understood that my suffering was necessary for my spiritual preparation and development. I had to be broken and thrown to the bottom of the pit to understand this and release the anger and resentment that was slowly killing me.
I also understood that God must get the attention of His people from time to time in the harshest way possible when we are not listening with proper humility; when we need to be humbled in order to travel further down the road to wisdom.
Every Christian has weaknesses, and mine was the anger that was poisoning my will to live.
I am no longer chronically angry about what happened to me personally, and in fact this makes me a more ruthless warrior for the truth, and, if history requires, more able to fulfil my appointed tasks. I say the things I know are true and I do not care what others think of me.
Most important of all, I am no longer chronically angry at the people in my life who hurt me. I forgive them fully although the trust is gone. Things will never be the same again. Don’t get me wrong – I occasionally have what I call ‘flare ups’ which are incredible surges of rage, but mostly now that rage has been replaced by pity.
Jackie Stone was correct in her assessment: there will not be solutions-based actions within our current situation, a system that has been completely delivered to Satan. However, when we try to do things ‘our’ way and not God’s way we will be utterly defeated. Our weapons now are not petitions or court cases that bend the knee to Satan’s system, it is fasting, prayer, repenting, and submission to God’s will, on His time.
Yes, there are days in which I still despair and struggle to not to slip back into the pit. Suffering from severe and chronic PTSD has made my life very challenging, especially when living in an urban area. Loud noises startle me and disrupt my thoughts. I am nervous interacting with people and feel that I do not present well. I do not enjoy meeting new people and become frustrated easily. It is difficult to leave the house.
I recently stumbled upon an excellent article about ‘reality privilege’ by
. People with reality privilege:…live in a real-world environment that is rich, even overflowing, with glorious substance, beautiful settings, plentiful stimulation, and many fascinating people to talk to, and to work with, and to date…Everyone else, the vast majority of humanity, lacks Reality Privilege -- their online world is, or will be, immeasurably richer and more fulfilling than most of the physical and social environment around them in the quote-unquote real world.
Before 2020 my life was rich in reality privilege, and now it is not. Given that we are in a state of hypernormalisation, or that society has bifurcated, I no longer understand what is acceptable in polite conversation. Yet, my inner reality has gotten much richer as I have grown closer to God.
Every day, I get up and keep trying, and the pit is receding into the distance. There is more sunlight now, and with Christ, every moment is morning.
Morning has Broken
By, Eleanor Farjeon (1881 - 1965).
Morning has broken,
Like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken
Like the first bird;
Praise for the singing,
Praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing
Fresh from the Word.
Sweet the rain’s new fall,
Sunlit from heaven,
Like the first dewfall
On the first grass;
Praise for the sweetness,
Of the wet garden,
Sprung in completeness
Where His feet pass.
Mine is the sunlight,
Mine is the morning,
Born of the one light
Eden saw play;
Praise with elation,
Praise every morning,
God’s re-creation
Of the new day.
V. The library
The months after I climbed out of the deepest part of the pit were difficult, but I slowly improved. One of the things that changed dramatically was the increase in the frequency I was dreaming and remembering those dreams.
Over the past four years I have not remembered many of my dreams. In fact, if someone had told me that I had not dreamt at all I would not have been surprised. I used to dream a lot as a child, and I still remember one dream I had when I was about 10. Of the dreams I can remember, they have been scary, interesting, boring, or exciting. However, they have never felt ‘multi-dimensional’ or even real. I always knew they were dreams.
Until one particular incident.
I woke up from a ‘dream’ that shocked me for an indeterminate amount of time, after which I burst into tears. I did not want to wake up. I did not want to leave the dream because it did not feel like a dream at all.
It was exactly how people describe near-death experiences. Since then, I have heard many NDE testimonies that echo my experience below, even down to the particular setting, so I am still not sure what really happened.
This is not something that I ever expected to happen to me, wished for, or wanted. As with my ‘visitor,’ people may consider this testimony crazy or dismiss it – that is completely fine. I do not even know what happened. Maybe it was ‘just a dream.’
Again, what happened to me that morning did not feel like a dream, and I do not think words can actually do it justice.
It was not a very long ‘dream’ but the emotions were so intense that I have never actually experienced them when awake, which is a strange thing to contemplate.
I dreamt that I was walking down a dimly lit tunnel and knew that I was ‘going home.’ It was the same feeling you get when you pull into your own driveway after a long journey, open the front door and sink into your couch.
In the tunnel, there were people on either side of me. Crowds of people. These people knew me, loved me, and expected me to be there. They were not members of my family, but people who helped me when I was a child. I knew that these were the people who changed the course of my life for the better ‘behind the scenes’ without telling me. Strangely, apart from one, I did not recognise any of them, but somehow I knew all these things to be true.
All the people in the large crowd felt familiar, but again, I did not know who they were. However, one of them stood out. He was a slim, tanned, handsome gentleman in an airline pilot’s uniform from the 80s. He looked at me, fixed his captain’s cap, put his hands in his pockets and briskly walked away from the crowd as if he had important business elsewhere. I got the sense that at some point he had saved my life.
Then, walking down the tunnel I realised I was the height of a child.
I looked down and my arms were small.
I was a child.
At the end of the tunnel there was a softly glowing door like what you would find at the entrance of a public school. A smiling brown-haired woman in a soft blue jumper was waiting for me. I recognised her – she was my teacher who is now deceased. Except, in my ‘dream,’ she was still the beautiful, sophisticated 24-year-old woman in 80’s blue eye shadow who (to me at least) looked like Princess Di. I loved that teacher – she had animals and terrariums in her classroom that she let me stay back and clean with her after school. She always let me sit next to the hamsters because I liked watching them spin in their wheels.
This smiling brown-haired woman opened the glowing door for me and I walked into the room, ducking under her arm.
The second the door opened, I was hit with a Presence of such joy, love, and wonder that the words you are reading cannot adequately describe what I felt.
It was the love of God for me, working through the people who helped me when I needed them.
As I walked into the room I realised that I was in the children’s library where I had spent many happy hours when I was little. I strolled through the stacks of books, in the Presence, looking at the titles, running my fingers over the spines of the books.
I learned to read when I was three years old. I was not memorising the books - I genuinely knew how to read. I still remember the first book I ever picked up and read cover-to-cover: The Great Big Fire Engine Book by Tibor Gergely published in 1950. At pre-school, the teachers were astonished, and I was allowed to read to the class during story time while they chatted over coffee. I felt so special sitting in the chair, just like the teacher, with all my classmates in a semi-circle on the floor around me.
As a very young child, I had an ‘adult’ library card. As an adolescent, when I would walk into the public library, the same librarian who issued my first card would greet me by name. I still remember how the faucets felt on the water fountain at the library – they were very old and made of rough brass that sparkled. The water that came out was a treat because it was chilled, something that I did not have at home which made it feel like I was drinking extra special ‘academic water.’
When I was a child, heaven on earth was a library. I was transported around the world and ‘met’ new people and heard their stories. I sat at the large architect-style tables pouring over old history books I could barely carry, absorbing photographs of Roman and Greek ruins and botanical sketches from faraway lands. As a teenager, the library was my refuge from chaos and violence and I would stay there every night until closing time so I could do my homework. The building itself was (and still is) beautiful, and I was surrounded by historical objects and art and people who were quiet and kind.
In my ‘dream,’ as I wandered the library of my childhood, gradually the shelves of books faded and disappeared revealing the whitewashed brick walls.
Quite suddenly the Presence retreated and I was quickly flung backwards away from the library, through the tunnel and past the group of people, where I woke up in my body with a physical jolt.
As I wrote above, when I woke up the incredible shock of what I experienced faded into tears when I realised I had to leave the Presence.
This experience has given me a precious perspective. I always felt that I was so alone when I was a child, that no one was helping me when I was experiencing incredible isolation and violence. It’s true that no one stopped what was happening.
However, I was shown in that dream that I was not alone, and it has radically reframed what happened to me and how I interact with people in my everyday life and how other people may see my efforts.
That dream gave me something back that violence had stolen from me. Every time someone thought about me, gave me a little push in the right direction or helped me along, or even got me somewhere safely where I needed to go (maybe a pilot), that dream allowed me to feel their love through God.
When someone’s young heart has been destroyed by violence, for their entire lives they cannot really feel love, or are not quite sure what love is, even when people try to love them. That is the biggest tragedy of childhood abuse. It creates a lifetime of ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ because emotions do not seem real and cannot be trusted. One can mimic or ‘pattern’ love, but there is always a secret part of one’s heart that one keeps ‘in reserve’ ‘just in case.’
Because God is love, violence against children is an attempt by Satan to destroy Jesus Christ, whom Satan cannot destroy directly. Hurting children is the ultimate middle finger to God which is why Satanists and warmongers do what they do. Make no mistake, the people engaged in mass slaughter of children are in a Satanic death cult.
It is nearly impossible to stop being that tiny child hiding in the closet, or to describe how huge the violence feels and how it has shaped my personality.
At least now I know I wasn’t completely on my own, and I was spared this year, yet again, because I still have work to do on His behalf. Then, when my work is complete, I will go Home on His time and not a moment before.
4One thing I have desired of the Lord,
That will I seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord
All the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord,
And to inquire in His temple.
5 For in the time of trouble
He shall hide me in His pavilion;
In the secret place of His tabernacle
He shall hide me;
He shall set me high upon a rock.
6 And now my head shall be lifted up above my enemies all around me;
Therefore I will offer sacrifices of joy in His tabernacle;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.
7 Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice!
Have mercy also upon me, and answer me.
8 When You said, “Seek My face,”
My heart said to You, “Your face, Lord, I will seek.”
9 Do not hide Your face from me;
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not leave me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation.
10 When my father and my mother forsake me,
Then the Lord will take care of me.
An Exuberant Declaration of Faith
VI. Epilogue - The pool
The first story I ever wrote was about how one day I would swim the English Channel. I remember being in the library and seeing a black-and-white photo of people in old-fashioned swimsuits and body grease posing on a beach in England, with the caption explaining that they were getting ready to swim to France.
I thought to myself: I could do this.
I was an extremely good swimmer as a child although I did not receive the encouragement I needed to be exceptional. I remember my coaches looking at their timers with excitement and sometimes fist-pumping the air when I swam laps. However, I most enjoyed swimming outside, alone in nature.
Unfortunately, as academics became more challenging and my home life became more violent, I had less time and opportunity to swim, so I stopped for many years.
When I got to university and had more time, the beautiful 50m pools were free for students, and I spent many hours swimming laps. When I wasn’t in the library, I was in the pool. Five kilometres, six kilometres, I was a machine. I would swim until maintenance staff dimmed the lights and it was time for me to get out.
When I left university I kept swimming for many years, but again it became harder for me to find the time to swim as much as I had previously.
Then, I stopped. I am not sure why.
As anyone who has experienced despair knows, it causes one to become extremely inactive. My descent into the pit the past few years was slow, but it was accompanied by decreasing activity. I slept more, ate more, stayed inside, did not want to interact, and closed the curtains so that I would not see daylight. I felt that in the state I was in I did not deserve to see the sun.
After fighting to stay alive my whole life, after fighting to avoid the poison vaccine, after fighting to keep others from killing themselves, I was losing the will to live.
When children drown, they silently slip below the surface of the water without making a sound.
I, too, was silently drowning.
When I crawled out of the pit and started to do simple things outside of my routine like go for a walk during the day, I started to get a bit bolder and had the idea that maybe I would like to try swimming again.
I put this idea away for many months because it seemed like an impossible task. The thought of doing something new outside my established routine seemed totally insane. Depressed people do not have the ability or energy to buy a swimsuit or pool gear, investigate pool memberships, or figure out how to get to an aquatic centre. I did not even have the energy to write a list of the things I needed to do.
I was having difficulty leaving my front door and looking people in the eye, how the hell was I going to figure out the pool? All of this may seem very strange because I write these articles for you on Substack but as I said before, when I write, it occurs in a state of submission to God. What this means in reality is that I do not worry about what to write or how I will find anything or what people will think of me. I just write whatever I please that seems true to me and glorifies God.
In her last interview, Dr Jackie Stone said the following: “we’re living in some very difficult-to-explain times, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
What I did not fully appreciate is that I needed to live my entire life in a state of submission to God, and this is what I now choose to do, in these difficult-to-explain times.
So eventually, one day, I just did it. I asked Jesus to please walk with me so I could swim again. I thought that if I could start swimming I could get better, and that in my improved state I could better become an instrument to help others for His glory.
After buying everything I needed in small trips over multiple days (which totally exhausted me), I arrived at the pool for my first swim in years.
Clutching my towel around my unfit body and juggling my new swim gear, I silently stared at all the people ripping up and down the lanes like seals, totally paralysed with fear.
I must have looked absolutely pathetic.
Then a young, blonde (very cool) lifeguard in his distinctive Australian red-and-yellow shirt came up to me:
“You right mate?”
“I haven’t swum in years and I am absolute shit” I blurted out.
He laughed and said: “don’t worry, I will keep an eye on you so you don’t drown.”
(Drown).
My eyes pricked with grateful tears watching him open a closed ‘play’ lane into a ‘slow’ lane and he said: “Rolls Royce treatment mate, it’s all yours.”
Shaking, I jumped into the pool in the shallow end and had this lane all to myself, the beautiful 50m of sparkling water stretching out in front of me. Mature trees gently swayed in the breeze on a well-manicured, grassy slope strewn with schoolbags. I put on my training fins, clutched my board, and pushed off the wall.
My eyes welled up with tears and fogged my goggles.
I was happy.
It was the first time I was happy in nearly five years.
I was doing it.
That day, I was able to swim 600m before I had to stop. It was a short distance compared to what I had previously been able to do, but given the despair of earlier this year, in my mind, that day an absolute miracle had occurred.
When I was leaving, I saw the same young lifeguard using a large mechanical floor sweeper to clean the kiddie pool area. He laughed and gave me a cheeky raised-fist power salute:
“I told you that you wouldn’t drown. See you in the pool.”
I laughed back at him and matched his salute.
That young lifeguard will never know how much his kindness meant to me, and, for a brief moment, I was transported back to the Australia I had always known and loved. The Australia of sunshine, good vibes, and gentle, secure futures with friends and family.
I will keep going back to the pool, and I will keep swimming, as long as it is God’s plan.
Happy Christmas, and to my fellow Australians, Happy Summer.
See you in the pool.
Regular readers of EDAU know I write extensively on united non-compliance as correct action.
The story of this Rosary is interesting. Even when I was extremely depressed I liked to walk around the neighbourhood late at night. One evening I saw a box on the side of the road. Being a curious person (of course), I opened the box and inside was a blue Rosary. It is the type of Rosary one may give to a child – it is just simple with blue plastic beads. I have always found it odd that someone would just put a Rosary in a box with trash by the side of the road and I felt compelled to pick it up and put it in my pocket. The Rosary sat on my bedside table for many months until I reached for it when I was in the pit.
For the young'uns:
Morning has Broken by Cat Stevens/Yusuf (piano by Rick Wakeman): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwI1j2DyRJc
I am receiving desperately, desperately sad emails, particularly from readers who have lost children. One of the things that has helped me is to contemplate the sorrow and sacrifice of the immaculate heart of the Holy Mother, who birthed Christ to die on the Cross.
Please see this chant from Orthodox church in Ukraine "Into the Dark Night" - Monks of the Sviatohirsk Lavra. Their recent condition has not been good, but here is the music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTSruhryIEA