Wednesday, June 19, 2024
4898-4900: Stand Up from Lincoln County Watch
By Anna Von Reitz
It's
really simple. When we ask, "Are you an American-- meaning someone who
was born in this country or who has become naturalized to this
country?" -- you stand up.
Yes or no?
We
claim that the vast majority of the people in this country think of
themselves as and believe that they are Americans --- not British
Territorials, not foot soldiers of the Holy Roman Empire.
This
idea that we are Americans and nothing else derives from another
baseline definition, as we each think of ourselves in terms of our
nation-states, and consider ourselves to be Californians, Hawaiians,
Texans, Floridians, Wisconsinites, and so on.
Not
once do the vast majority of us have to stop and consider whether or
not we belong to the population of a British Territory.
Or a Roman Catholic Municipality.
Most of us know exactly who we are and where we are.
It's the rest of the world -- and a few self-interested public employees-- who are confused.
So let's make it crystal clear.
Stand up. Look around. Realize that you have been lied to and lied about for a long time.
Go to: www.TheAmericanStatesAssembly.org today.
And
don't be deterred because Google or some other search engine says the
site is not secure; it's not "secure" because it doesn't belong to
them.
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International Public Notice: To Ben Fulford--- and The Generals
By Anna Von Reitz
The
only thing in "interregnum" around here is a bunch of Federal
Government Subcontractors that are bankrupt and deservedly so. They are
in receivership to us, so we fail to see how any British Bunko Artists
are trying to take control and mandate how things are going to go from
here.
The
actual American Government is here and organized, so any presumption
otherwise needs to be examined with a brand new set of eyes.
The
U.S. Inc. and USA, Inc. debt is owed to the American people, just as
FRANCE, INC. debt is owed to the French people---- and we very handily
explained how this debt was accumulated in a Notice issued last week,
"International Public Notice: Joe's Hamburger Shop Worldwide".
This debt has to be repaid to the living people as prepaid credit earned.
We
have brought and we will continue to bring claims regarding the harm
that has been done to the living people of this country and every other
country impacted by the British Territorial corporatocracy.
There
will be no peace and no happy-happy without restitution directly to the
living people and no shilly-shally dance is going to "wash" any of it
away.
Lies and promises will not do. No imaginary Chinese Elders. No Bull Poopie at all.
If
the Odious Debt against non-existent Federal Citizens is to be washed
away, as it should be, then have the guts and glory to admit that it is
being written off the books as Odious Debt.
Don't
try to cover that up and say that someone else paid for it. Don't make
up any Chinese Elders who were notably missing during Mao's Cultural
Revolution.
The only people who paid for anything was Mom and Pop back home and their kids being used as cheap mercenaries.
Fess up and cease and desist the lying.
Be straight for once in all these years since 1863 when the U.S. Military was handed responsibility for this horror show.
The facts are in our faces, inescapable and obvious.
Where's the seigniorage owed on all those Federal Reserve Notes?
Where's the proper accounting for the goods and services received in exchange for Federal Reserve Notes?
How do the progeny of six generations of American, Brits, Aussies, and everyone else get paid back?
When
are you all going to stop trying to steal and control everything in
sight and admit that all those "Legacy Trusts" are bogus and actually
represent inheritances owed to living people?
We are calling you all out for what you've done and what you've failed to do.
We are ledgering the Avila Family Trust assets for starters and going forward from there.
You
don't want to talk to the lawful inheritor, you want to pretend he
doesn't exist or that he's "missing, presumed dead" --- fine. We will
ledger and spend the assets no matter whose bank vault the assets are
in, and leave you all with our demand to render an accounting which has
been owed since 2005.
Issued by:
Anna Maria Riezinger, Fiduciary
The United States of America
In care of: Box 520994
Big Lake, Alaska 99652
June 19th 2024
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War in the Air
By Anna Von Reitz
Warfare
in the Air Jurisdiction --- the realm where all the world leaders have
now retreated and where the current battles are being fought --- is not
physical, despite all the impacts that War in the Air can cause on
Earth.
War in the Air takes place in the realm of energy, thought, and emotion ---emotion is the generative form of organized energy.
Words and thoughts both encapsulate energy.
Words
are like little bricks of energy, each having their own shape, sound,
and character, while thought -- once it escapes the limitations of words
-- is much more free in form.
The encapsulated
energy of thought then gives rise to emotions, and these emotions give
thought motive force and form -- bringing these "thought-feelings" into
physical reality.
A thought has a life of its own as ordered energy and so do words.
My
Grandmother observed this to me when I was very small, so now I am
recommending that the rest of you follow along and give some thought to
the process of thinking and feeling, both.
Our
own thoughts are rather free-form and fluid, so that we can make of
them what we will; we don't have to "cast" them into words, if we don't
want to.
The
use of the word "cast" here is important, as it carries the meaning of
"casting bullets" or "making a plaster cast" or "casting a spell" --
which is something we all do with more or less intent, every time we
speak in words. Notice the word "spelling" and the word "dispel".
Words are unitized and solidified thoughts. They are conveyances of energy.
The
word "cat" may refer to a lion or a housecat or an angry woman, but the
idea of "cat" is a single meaningful thought, a definition within a
definition-- a brick in the Jurisdiction of the Air.
We can give thought sufficient form without words.
Ever observed
that you can simply look at the clouds in the sky and know them
directly without the need for a single word forming in your brain?
For
example, you don't have to describe a big white thunderhead to yourself
with words: you see that it's big and it's white and it's a
cumulonimbus cloud, but the words to describe it are not necessary.
This
is a direct experience of a formless pre-existing thought-image based
on other clouds that you have known and seen and thought about in the
past, so that when you see it again you don't have to analyze it and
internalize words describing it.
It's
the same with any common object. You don't have to think "pen" in
order to visually recognize a "pen" and its functions, or a "cup" and
its functions.
It takes an extra bit of energy to "put it into words" and we normally just skate along without doing so.
When
you do have to use words to describe and define a new or a specific
thing, it's like building a brick structure. The words are like bricks,
or blocks, that we put together and build around a new concept or
thing, until it is encapsulated, too.
The
words themselves are "encapsulated" and have a specific known meaning,
like "white", and "big", which we use to encapsulate each new concept or
object as part of our experience.
So
a thought may exist with or without words. Isn't that odd? And words
are more solid, but at the same time, more rigid and limiting.
What
we call a "direct thought" -- a thought apprehended without words, is
more perfect and more complete than a thought bounded by words, because
words only approximate reality, the way that rectangular bricks can only
approximate a circle.
Most
of us spend our whole lives and never think about this, nor do we think
about the way that our thoughts give rise to our emotions.
The
more perfect the underlying thought, the more perfect the resulting
emotion, so the most powerful emotions and creations in the Jurisdiction
of the Air exist without words.
You
could spend months trying to word-by-word describe and encapsulate
"love" and still have nothing but a miserable approximation, because
love is already an emotion.
It has already gone beyond the realm of thought and exists as pure energy.
That's why you can experience it, but never truly define it.
In
trying to describe "God" the Hebrews came up with 72 descriptions of
attributes of God, words like "courage" and "strength" and if you could
contemplate 72 words all at once (which you can't) you might have some
approximation of what the Hebrew sages were trying to capture and bring
into the realm of thought.
Like "love" God has already escaped the realm of thought.
All
this is a prelude understanding of the building blocks of the Air
Jurisdiction so that you can begin to conceptualize what I am describing
as "warfare" in the Jurisdiction of the Air.
It's not a battle of words, not a matter of diplomatic acumen.
It
is a matter of the energy encapsulated in the words and thoughts,
released and directed via emotions, manifesting in the physical world.
It's
not just about words, either, but also the perfect formless thoughts
that also inhabit the realm of the air, and the energy of these thoughts
beyond words.
Each word and each thought has its own vibration and each vibration has its own energy and order.
So now I will give you an example of what War in the Air involves.
Yesterday,
I received a large box in the mail, and to any observer, it would seem a
very odd collection of things inside the box: the clothes and sandals
of a woman who lived in the 1960's and 70's, some of her jewelry made of
amber, turquoise, and silver, a vial of "Georgio" perfume which was
popular back then, photos of a missing child, a faded candle scented
with Patchouli, a copper sculpture of a Huey Helicopter fitted with a
music box playing, "Happy Days Are Here Again", a painting of a voodoo
goddess feeding soul-eaters, beads and baubles from a long ago mardi
gras..... dozens of such objects.... and a single wing feather from a
Red-tailed Hawk.
All
the supplies for purification were included; the candle for lighting,
the incense for burning. All I had to contribute was water.
This was, in its own way, a gift, a challenge, and an attack, all at once.
The
gift is the message and essence of a life that was lived with passion
and courage and great love; the further message and challenge was the
pain and injustice and confusion she suffered, and so, how will I heal
this? How can I bring justice to this?
The
attack was in the form of, "Ah-ha! So, here it is! Deal with this, if
you can!" -- all of a sudden, out of the blue, the physical history of
an entire family that was harmed by the ugliness of this world.
A family whose members are still crying out for healing and justice.
Each
and every object in that box was precisely chosen and had meaning and
represents an "issue" that I have to deal with, personally.
So it was no big surprise to me that I woke up in the strange light of this Midnight Sun season
in Alaska, where there is no true darkness at night, and heard the
keening call of a Red-tailed Hawk and found myself sitting cross-legged
on the bed of Sir Paul McCartney, who was, at the time, a young man half
out of his head, blabbing to someone in another room about the horrible
ritual he had seen the night before and how these crazy people killed a
child in his "honor".
The missing child in the photo I received.
Paul
was flipped out, hyperventilating, weeping as if his heart would break,
not understanding that-- in the minds of his hosts-- the child had been
killed to ensure the success and rise of his music career, a sacrifice
to Lord Satan, the ruler of the world we live in.
Has that occurred to you yet, as nobody ever teaches it?
That the Earth has one creator, and the World has another?
That the Earth embodies truth and life, while the World embodies falsehood and death?
It's simple and obvious enough; what could Satan offer to Yehoshua that Satan did not own?
And how could Satan own the world, except by stealing it from men, through lies and self-delusions?
When something like this box comes to light, energy is smashed like broken glass, all the pieces flying in all directions.
Afterward,
it comes to rest, and becomes part of All That Is, and a strange peace
descends. We see the bits and pieces of our lives.
We
hear Paul McCartney as an old man, still weeping, still gasping. He
dimly knows that he was not at fault for this; he can't see the comfort
his music brought to millions. All he can feel is his own psyche, thin
and screaming like the Red-tailed Hawk, the Mother, echoing, so high in
the air above our heads.
I
returned home to contemplate the Huey Helicopter and I cranked up the
damaged (but still playable) music box, listening to the odd and wildly
contradictory song, "Happy Days Are Here Again" echoing back at me from
the midst of the Vietnam War, emanating from this symbol of death and
destruction, as I am imagining the "chop-chop-chop" of the actual
helicopter that bore him, the great love of this unknown woman, to his
death.
The Father of the child. He never came home again. There were no "happy days".
The
process of answering a challenge like this is like gathering all the
sparks from a fire, and coalescing them into a single flame again.
This is War in the Air.
Answer
me for the Vietnam War. Answer me for the lies and blighted promises.
Answer me for the insanity of it. Answer me for the pain, the
god-awful, endless pain and injustice. Answer me for the loss.
Answer me for what it cost me and cost us, my family, all of us. Answer me for my child and what could have been.
In
her search for answers, this woman consulted Native Shamans and Cajun
Voodoo practitioners, she even trekked up the slopes of Mount Shasta,
seeking the healers of Lemuria and Saint Germain.
All these years later, her sandals have come to me.
I hold them in my hands.
In another life, they could have belonged to me.
Heal me, heal my pain, she says, bring me justice. Cast out these demons and bring me peace.
A bejeweled butterfly perches on the edge of the box. Part of me is left behind. Here it is, she whispers, peeking out at me.
It's
but a moment, a step across the veil, a dream and then a dream again.
Yes, that whiff of Georgio, is what everyone was wearing back then. You
remember?
Our legs were firm and tan. Our waists were thin.
She breathes in, she breathes out, not knowing that her breath will stand forever, and that it will always be hers.
Every element of her life is here, all the pain, all the glory.
It's far more intimate than having a houseguest, because she is present in a far more immutable way.
If
I will overcome Satan, then, I must overcome her pain and give her
answers and deliver her peace. I must answer for the suffering of the
Native Americans and the Cajuns. I must answer for the soothsayers. I
must answer for the sufferings of Nature.
I must answer everything; I am the Fiduciary, after all. The Bearer of the Account Books.
She
flies at me like a Red-tailed Hawk diving on a mouse, while Lord Satan
stands a long way off, back turned, chewing something, feigning that he
is unconcerned.
The
box contained an unopened packet of Blue Delphinium seeds, Pacific
Giants, from 2005, the year she died. They were never planted. I
opened the packet and took the dead seeds outside and planted them among
my Delphiniums, Blue Pacific Giants.
The
healing process has begun, for one woman, one family, and her people.
Except for the man who sent the box, none of them know; they don't
expect any healing. Some don't even know how wounded they are.
Yet
from this day, they will be healed; I have declared it and sent forth
the emotion of healing in perfected thought beyond words. This love will
not return to me without having its effect and doing its work.
Satan
is worried, too worried to be bored, because he knows all the
foundations of his empire are crumbling. He is losing the War in the
Air. All his lies are coming to naught, revealed to be ridiculous
deceptions.
Satan says that men should work in exchange for his promises?
Why not eat a photo of an apple, instead of the fruit?
Deep
under the surface of things, a fire is engendered, a fire that does not
burn; in the depths of that fire all things are reborn, made new, and
perfected.
"I
shall bring to ruin those ruining the Earth; I shall comfort the
aggrieved; their tears shall be turned to laughter." And so it is.
I
lit the Patchouli-scented candle, formed so many years ago and never
burned; I lit the unburned cones of incense and let the sweet smoke
restore balance to the air.
What
healing we do for ourselves, we do for others, too. The young woman
who was, remains; the Delphiniums she intended are forming blossoms; the
song emanating from the Huey is different now. Fading, and not ironic.
I use the Hawk Feather to fan the smoke. My heart dwells a moment with
her and the Red-tailed Hawk.
It's
a clear blue sky now, pure in its endless depths; the gold threads of
sunset dance across the abyss. There is only this moment, only now,
which is both the sum of the beginning and the end. Lighter and
brighter, more free, ever upward, the spirit ascends.
Safe,
beyond time, no longer deluded by money, feet planted in the good
Earth, quietly singing a song that has no beginning or end, thinking of
the dry Sumac and Bay Leaves, their smoke curling into the wind, and the
wild bright stars burning in the dark blue firmament of October.
The sparks gather into a single flame. All that was ruined and scattered and blameless, all that was lost, is found again.
The lies are only lies. The truth endures forever.
This is what we must remember.
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