I’m finished with moving articles here from my old blogs for the time being.
What I have republished in full, or re-presented in articles made to post here has been very well received and I am surprised and pleased with the results. I’m grateful for the support, feedback and warm reception. Thank you all!
I was going to post this next set of articles behind the paywall, but decided not to.
The numbers of new subscribers has been increasing every week, so before I start publishing paywalled articles, I’ll see what the numbers will be at the beginning of next month.
Also, some of the material included in this set evolved from topics in previous articles I’ve just published, and it would feel a bit wrong to just stop here and demand cash before finishing the story.
Might as well just go to the finish and let the reader decide if it’s worth it to get a subscription for the next set.
***
The last trilogy of articles I posted, called What Dreams Do Speak Of Things To Come, was written as a kind of summary of several topics over multiple articles. Part 3 and also Zoí kai Thánatos (Life and Death) were especially well received, and I thank all of you that took the time to privately message and share your thoughts and ideas. The number of responses, and your enthusiasm were a welcome surprise.
I’m glad that I got all that posted last week, and it underscores for me that I shouldn’t take too long between posts because there’s a strong undercurrent of urgency in many of the comments and questions that were being asked.
There’s going to be at least something every week. More material will be for paid subscribers, obviously, but I will keep posting free articles each month.
***
In part 2 of What Dreams Do Speak Of Things To Come, we looked into the problems surrounding apparitions, private revelations and dreams in our times.
The story I told about my school trip to see Pope John Paul II took place while I lived in the small city of Chilliwack, British Columbia, back in the 1980’s.
My poorly educated and catechized schoolmates had grown up there at the only Catholic school in the Upper Fraser Valley, under the influence and direction of the notorious apostate Archbishop deRoo and his carefully selected followers and flunkies.
My own catechism at that time wasn’t up to the standards of any typical Traditional Catholic parish, but it was miles ahead of my peers and teachers. Sufficient education to know that what I was really looking at on that day of the papal visit was not Catholic, and not Christian.
Later, when I wrote down the detailed dream I spoke of some time after, I could recognize in it some answers in response to my questions and confusion. I wasn’t old enough to understand it all, but I knew enough about my faith to seek out a better understanding from Catholic books and literature first, and go from there.
The dream itself was intended as an illustration of how God can communicate with us, if we’re practicing the Faith properly and are in a proper state to receive it. Sometimes we can get it right away, and sometimes the message is only completely understandable after a period of time.
In the long history of Christianity there have been some very interesting and exceptional people whose lives, teachings, and good examples have stood out for the entire Body of Christ on the Earth. Many of them had dreams, private revelations, and even apparitions which we still read about today.
I have no problem with that at all. As long as people realize that what happened to these saintly people are not due to their being singled out for special powers and privileges, or that they were somehow born with a gift that others don’t have.
The reason why I am belabouring the point is because of a commonly held and utterly false belief about God that He is mostly disinterested in our lives here in the fallen world. It’s part of an old fraud from ancient gnosticism that has sufficiently saturated the Protestant sects so badly that they have been paralyzed by it almost entirely.
The human race is NOT divided into an elite, hereditary master class ruling over the unwashed and reprobate everyone else. Dreams, visions and other forms of communication from heaven and God are not just for special occasions or special people.
If you have the skills needed to pick up a phone and ask the caller for their name, then you should be able to get along fine.
The next important step is to be sufficiently informed, aware and knowledgeable about your faith to be practicing it every day, all day, asleep or awake.
You must also have supernatural grace in your soul. This is received and maintained with the regular usage of the Sacraments.
Then you will be prepared in case you get wrong numbers, or you receive a spammer call from the enemy.
You must be calm, humble and patient. Trying to assault heaven like a karen on the customer service line demanding to speak to a manager is a bad idea.
An attitude of expectation is also needed. What I’m talking about here is that it has to be a part of your constant prayer life to pray with the confidence that you’re prayers have been heard, and a humble expectation that you must patiently (and literally) listen for an answer.
If you do receive a vision or a dream, stop and think it through. Examine your conscience. Write down everything you can about it. Take your time and make every effort to think it over thoroughly. Consult with your priest.
Leaving it be a while and praying about it is not going to offend anyone in heaven. They know you and your circumstances better than you do. If the message was from heaven then they would expect you to be careful and take your time.
The best way to illustrate this is by telling a story.
***
Just before the lockdowns, my wife and I had been attending a Traditional Latin Mass every Sunday at a local diocesan parish. Both of us had been steady supporters of the Society of St Pius X for decades, but they only offered Mass in the local area twice a month.
I had served at the altar for a good and holy Hungarian priest in that church many years back, before my life as a career soldier began in earnest. I had returned with a new wife, plans for a future together, and hopeful prayers for a family.
But the old priest had long ago passed away. This was no longer the close knit community of traditional loving brothers and sisters in faith that I once knew. The parish community was divided and cliquish.
There was an oppressive darkness everywhere, and gathering strength.
The new priest, a Novus Ordo trained man from Poland had been signalling his growing hostility toward the TLM group, lashing out at them in meetings and even from the pulpit. My wife and I were already talking about whether we should be looking for another place to attend.
On the 16th of February 2020, (Sexagesima Sunday, the Feast of St. Benedict of Anian, Abbot) we went to Mass at that parish for the last time.
This is what I wrote in a blog post some time after:
‘All began as usual, unremarkably. My wife and I were awake, healthy, and not undergoing any stress-causing issues in our lives, or on that day. Everyone attending were the same, so far as we could know.
The procession to the altar from the doors by priest and attendants flowed into the prayers at the altar, and the Mass began to unfold as simply and beautifully as it ever had.
Just as the priest finished the collect, the lesson and the gospel at the altar, and was about to step from the altar to the ambo, but had not yet done so, something caught my attention by the church doors, and I turned my head sharply to the left to look. My wife and I were seated at the right side of the church, in the back row, nearest to the center aisle.
A tall black figure was standing at the closed entrance doors.
It was vaguely humanoid in shape, perhaps 11 feet tall with no discernable limbs or features. It was simply a shape of darkness, not appearing to be shrouded by cloth; and it wasn’t see-through.
I blinked, and the figure was still there. I looked back over the pews to the high altar.
The people in the pews had disappeared, to be replaced by candle flames. They were just gone, and neither were there any coats or bags. There were no candles in the places where they had been sitting in pews, only the flames, hovering in the air where they had been seated.
I saw at the altar what I thought was the parish priest, wearing the same vestments and of the same height, turn and walk down the three steps toward the ambo. But as he turned to face in my direction, the figure dressed as a priest that I now regarded had no eyes or face, and where his head should have been under his biretta was a darkness, devoid of the shape of a human head.
There was no one else in the sanctuary. The attendant altar boys were gone.
As the shadow-priest moved to stand at the ambo, I turned to look at the back of the church again. The tall figure was still there. I noticed that it seemed to be floating about six inches off the floor. The shadow-priest at the ambo began to speak and I turned once more to look that way.
As the shadow-priest began to speak things against Charity, the figure at the church doors suddenly moved very fast up the main aisle straight towards the Communion rail. As it passed the flames hovering over the pews, they went out. The figure of darkness moved without a sound.
The shadow-priest at the ambo spoke things against Hope, and the dark figure moved from the Communion rail to the foot of the altar, and all the votive candles in the Church went out.
And when the shadow-priest at the ambo spoke things against Faith, the figure of darkness went straight up to the altar. At the moment the figure of darkness touched the Tabernacle, all the candles on the altar went out. The only thing I could see in the last instant was the cross of Christ on top of the Tabernacle.
I literally blinked my eyes, and everything I was seeing vanished. The people were back in the pews, bags, coats and children; the parish priest was apparently himself, and had just arrived at the ambo. The candles everywhere were still lit, and everything (including altar boys), was as it should be. The figure of darkness, and the priest with a head of darkness were gone.’
‘ … Since that day, a spirit of darkness has moved over the places where the faithful have traditionally gathered, at the instigation of a certain man who holds dominion over the holy place of Christendom itself.
As he spoke words that offended Charity, the churches were shut. Cloisters were closed. Everything possible was to be denied or closed to most people, even cemeteries. Priests no longer even visited the elderly and the sick.
And in that time since, he spoke malevolently, incessantly, remorselessly against Hope. He harangued and demanded of all others that they turn instead to the world, and as a result, many were left bereft of the saving graces of the sacraments, deprived of Christian fellowship and even their own family, and countless souls suffered and died, frightened and alone, without even a visit from a priest in the final hours of their lives.
The world grew as cold and dark as a tomb when a great stone is rolled over its entrance to bar passage to the living.’
I waited for a long while before telling anyone else besides my wife about this strange thing.
I spoke about it privately to some people whose common sense and piety I knew I could trust.
As events globally worsened, the situation for the local Latin Mass society worsened too. Sometime after my wife and I decided not to return, they were all abruptly booted out of the parish church.
My thoughts at the time were that the mistreatment, scandalous misbehaviour and abuse towards them were a harbinger of what was to come for the faithful in the Church all over the globe.
By Easter of 2021 I was no longer in any doubt that the vision I saw in the parish church was a genuine communication from heaven and not a deception of the kingdom of darkness. When the rumours grew louder out of the Vatican that the pope was preparing to impose restrictions upon the Vetus Ordo, I had settled in my mind that it was time to make what I had seen known to the wider circle of my readers, friends and associates.
I published an article called The Riddle of The Dark on July 14th, 2021. After relating what I saw, I wrote:
‘Rumours say that very soon, he will order this Holy Mass, this ancient and most splendid gift of God to be banished from the world, and denied forever to any who seek it.’
‘You can mither yourself into a froth if you want to about whether this strange story is prophetic or revelatory of what has come to pass in the days since it happened. Maybe it will make some of you angry that I didn’t publish it sooner.
But if this strange event happens to explain the events as they have come to pass in the time since, and the instigator is about to finish it soon with what history will record as the greatest sin against the faith in 2000 years, this should not be coming as a big surprise to anyone.’
‘If this most idiotic stumble-bum, this most clownish of any Snake-oil peddling side-show actors wants to try to burn down Catholicism with his geriatric breath he will fail.
It will be pathetic. Like an insect roaring from a leaf over his brothers in the dust.‘
It was quite pathetic.
Some of my regular readers at the time had said that the pope would likely only impose restrictions to bring things back to Pope John Paul II’s days. Others in the traditional Catholic blogosphere said it would likely be largely ignored and just fade out from lack of interest and implementation.
They were quite wrong as it turned out. A global hierarchy that would completely comply with an order to close all the churches without any justification and offer almost no dissent or protest is not a friend to anybody who has faith and lives for the Truth.
Two days later, on the 16th of July, which was also the Vigil of the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av when the Holy Temple of Jerusalem was destroyed (twice), the Vatican released Traditiones Custodes. And through the shock and grief that followed, bit by bit, actually faithful Catholics have realized with a growing sense of horror that they have been robbed.
All day, a passage from Revelation stayed in my mind, repeating over and over:
“And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.” (Rev 18:4)
At the time I wrote:
‘it is dawning on more and more people that while they have been as Catholic as they could be, the Motu Proprio and the pope who wrote it are not. Even if their local bishop has decided not to change a thing, and Traditional Forms of the Liturgy continue, they are still homeless, and live as beggars in someone else’s property. The Motu Proprio is not a workable, implementable or even lawful document.
But it did achieve one, irrevocable thing.
From now on, post-covid, post-motu proprio, no Catholic man or woman can ever un-know the truth that the building they pray and worship in doesn’t belong to them. The whole physical bunch of stuff, some of it millennia old, is owned by someone else, and they don’t want to offer anyone a share. We were renters to them.
Now we are squatters, and they have admitted, albeit by accident, that they want us gone.
Including God.
It seems that we, the Living Third Temple, are not wanted by the same kind of people from 2000 years ago who did not want Jesus either.’
***
The local Latin Mass Society was without a place, a priest or the Sacraments for about a year.
Currently there is an FSSP priest in the diocese for them, and they are now able to attend Mass daily at a different local parish church again. There’s no word from the local bishop as to whether they will be able to take over a parish for their own, or whether they will be evicted from the current one they are tenuously renting space at. To my wife and I, the situation they’re in is untenable for the long term.
The Apostles, beaten, robbed and kicked out of the synagogues would not have gone back to them and offered to pay rent. Why would anyone pay the thieves who robbed us?
I don’t see this situation lasting very long.
We are no longer living at that city, having found a new place about an hour and a half further west.
Whatever else that can be said about what I saw that day, I don’t think it has finished.
For the moment, it seems that the only product that the hierarchy and the Vatican can produce is a scandal a day, every day. They won’t stop doing it, and nobody in this world is capable of stopping them … yet.
And I am not worried about that. I’m not worried very much about the diocesan latin mass society either because both are in God’s hands, and He knows what He’s doing.
***
The end of the Great Apostasy is also the end of Babylon, the kingdom of darkness, the anti-church and the world.
The people I talk to, both in person and online, have one question in common. It’s this: how do you get out of Babylon if the city of darkness spans the entire planet?
We are being shepherded and cared for, but nobody knows how long this is going to go on and where in the end we will be.
We all have the feeling to some extent that we must leave, somehow. But how?
There’s literally no place left where any Christian worthy of the name can go that the kingdom of darkness cannot reach.
***
Back in 2017, just around the time that my wife and I got engaged I had a short but very vivid dream.
‘Sarah and I are walking along a country road, following behind a cat that I didn’t recognize. We were laughing and joking — something about hunting for Bigfoot — and otherwise enjoying a nice walk.’
As we grew closer in our relationship, Sarah and I found that we had dreamt the same dream. We both had always shied away from such things because each of us thought it wandered too close into New Age woo-woo territory, but our Catholic friends and family that we spoke with reassured us that they had sometimes shared dreams too. It was kind of fun, and it was a bit mystifying too.
The dream we that we had shared was about living in a very pretty house, on some kind of farm. We had dreamed it about three times, and learned that we could remember a lot of details about the place except for where in the world it was.
So, when this dream’s scene shifted, and I found myself walking up to a house, I was thinking that this was going to be another dream about that house, and bemusedly was wondering if I would find out where it was.
It wasn’t that house. As soon as I opened the door and went inside I knew that I had never been there, awake or dreaming.
‘This was definitely not the same place. The kitchen was smaller, and the furniture was different. It was early afternoon on the country road with Sarah and the cat, but in here it was twilight.’
I went up three steps to go into the kitchen, and someone or something quickly dove out of sight where it had been watching me from behind the corner of the refrigerator.
I went quickly over across the kitchen, and coming around the refrigerator I could see a short corridor opening into a living room. Just as I got there, whatever or whoever it was sped across the room and hid behind the chesterfield. They moved fast, like a frightened mouse, but their footfalls sounded like a child’s.
It startled me so much that I woke up. The whole dream was so strange, I wrote it down and wondered what it was all about for quite a while. Eventually I forgot about it and life went on.
And then, because God often works that way in my life, Saturday, the 13th of May 2023 happened.
It was a busy day, and I had a lot of tasks to complete. Eventually, the day wound down and after the evening routine of family prayers, baby bath time, evening bottle and bedtime rituals were completed. I took the dog out for his last night time potty, and then made sure that everything was put away and locked up for the night.
Just at the end of last light, and the beginning of twilight, I went in the back door of the house and was struck by a strong feeling of deja vu.
I stood there for a long moment, wondering what was happening to give me such a strong sensation. I looked around and into the kitchen —
And then I knew.
The dream came back to me, all of a sudden. I went into the kitchen, walked over to the front hallway and looked into the living room.
It was identical. The floors, the furniture. Even the colour of the paint on the walls.
I had never seen the inside of this house in my life before August 2022. All the furnishings now in it were things that Sarah and I had bought after we got married.
But it was identical.
The mystery person who scurried away and hid behind the chesterfield was almost certainly my little daughter. I would know the sound of her footsteps blindfolded.
We’ve thanked God every day in our family rosary for a home of our own.
And I am grateful that we have because remembering that dream last Saturday at Twilight was important for many reasons and on many levels.
We’re going to talk some more about the current nature of things and the state of the world in the next few articles.
But I am not worried about the plans of the WEF or the other globalists as much as before.
I think that the Plan for us is that God will take care of that personally. And He’s got something in mind that is going to blow our minds… in a good way.