Monday, September 23, 2024
5023-5026: The Long and Winding Road From Lincoln County Watch
By Anna Von Reitz
It
was more then a decade ago when I first talked to Bill Thornton. He
had just finished a stint in Federal Prison for no crime at all. He was
talking about 18 USC 241 and 242, the so-called Brother's Keeper Clause
in Federal Code and explaining to me what it implied. These British
Territorial and Admiralty Officers are supposed to stay in honor and
recognize Americans as Americans, even if we don't know what's going on
and can't adequately defend ourselves and can't claim our exemptions as a
result.
They
are supposed to protect us if and when we land in their foreign
jurisdiction, and assist us in any way they can, but that doesn't
happen. We are known to be "internationally protected persons" but
thousands of people also know that these courts and these officers show
no respect or care whatsoever for those they prosecute and indeed,
persecute.
Sad
to say, Bill's stay in the slammer was adequate proof that they failed
that trust, a fact that we both full-well knew before we ever began the
conversation. Still, Bill had the obligation in his hand, in black and
white. At the time, I was stymied as to what we could do with it. A
dishonored obligation is a contract that is ignored, as these courts so
often ignore all of us. We can talk, but they don't have to listen, or
so they think, based on the fact that these judges are told that they
can decide any case that comes before them based on their own
discretion.
It
must be nice to play God, stick two fingers in your ears, and start
humming. I shook my head. Something more was needed beyond just the
bare obligation, and that much was obvious. The obligation was like a
chink out of a prison wall, letting in a ray of light, but it would have
to be dug out and better understood, and additional research undertaken
to formulate a theory of enforcement --- and then, there's the arduous
business of test cases and processes. I felt exhausted just thinking
about it, having already undergone a dozen or so such research efforts
and I had the "ambiguous result" case files on my desk to prove it.
I
remember what I told Bill at the time --- sometimes we win and
sometimes we lose, but it's anyone's guess what turns the trick at any
given time. It appears to be exactly what they tell these judges --- a
matter of their own "discretion" --- which boils down to what they think
they can get away with. So, sadly, I admitted, I didn't know what to
do with the Brother's Keeper Clause or how to use it in a way that would
guarantee results. Imagine my delight, when Doug in California sent me
this brief run down and attached documents that he has been using to
hold their feet to the fire -- and bring the obligation to fulfillment?
Quote:
"Here is the (1) Criminal Information, Claim and Notice of Liability to be sent to States and US SoSs as an offer to contract, if any of their agents fail to recognize our status and standing.
Then we (2) Return Service with Finding of Facts by Operation of Law and True Bill. Oh, and by the way Treason.
Then we (3) give an opportunity to cure.
Then we (4) Default (them) and because there was no jurisdiction in this case, it is kidnapping and Treason."
Please
see the attached documents. In initial findings these manuevers are
stopping the rats in their tracks all across the board---- whether its
an eviction, a tax case, custody case, anything and everything, these
replies and this (relatively) simple process is bringing the reign of
judicial terror to a full stop---- which is better news than I have
heard in twenty years.
With
many, many thanks to Doug and Kristy and the team of Elephant Eaters in
California, I am passing on this information to our Assembly Litigation
Committees throughout the country and waiting for the training videos
with bated breath.
This
is, I believe, the enforcement needed to bring Bill Thornton's work
full circle and give the Brother's Keeper Clause real clout. From what I
have seen most of these judges have no stomach to risk anything
themselves, so when faced with this Due Process, their "discretion"
alarm bell goes off, and they scuttle away like cockroaches faced with a
bright light.
Enjoy! I certainly did!
A City of Men
By Anna Von Reitz
Please
listen. Cities are not our natural environment. Cities were conceived
and organized by others, of a common but diverse origin, brothers in
the same sense as half-brothers are brothers.
These are diverse expressions of what it is to be a man.
Yet,
in the end, we must agree to find one common fate and that can only be
with and through our Mother, because we have different Fathers.
In
our biology, our Mother expresses herself through our mitochondria,
tiny semi-independent organelles in each cell, that have their own
separate DNA and act as the power generation centers of the cells.
In
our psyches, our Mother expresses herself through our impulses of
compassion and nurturance, patience, unselfishness, and acceptance.
When
these two aspects of our nature, our heart (biology) and our mind
(psyche) come together as one, a third aspect comes into play -- the
third aspect is the immortal spirit, or Oversoul, which manifests
whatever the heart and mind have agreed upon.
The
City of Man is this "impossible" resolution -- otherwise known as the
New Jerusalem, in which all the diverse expressions of man can be
welcome and find peace, through their common love of their Mother.
The
Mother is represented in many ways -- as Durga the Mother Goddess in
India, as Mary the Mother of Jesus, as Hecate, as Hera, as Juno, as all
the Mother Goddesses that have ever existed.
What
we are subconsciously aware of is that we have a Mother in common who
loves all of us and wants to see all of us happy; we can only achieve
this by loving our Mother in return and by cultivating her expression in
ourselves.
It
is through the patience, acceptance, long-suffering, selfless-ness,
faith, nurturance, compassion, sacrifice, humility, generosity,
strength, and love of the Mother that we can give birth to the City of
Man, the New Jerusalem, and end the Kali Yuga Age of illusion, delusion,
and deceit.
This is the urgent task set before each one of us.
To find the Mother in ourselves.
To express the Mother in our lives.
To bring forth the union of mind and body, that allows the joinder
of spirit, to recreate the material world and make all things new again.
Remember
what you have all been told. Only Eve and Satan passed the test in the
Garden of Eden. Only her progeny and his progeny progressed.
There
is only one way for all of us to win, and that is by coming into
attunement with creation -- and the only way we can all come into
attunement with creation, is through our Mother --- by coming into
resonance with her unconditional love.
And then, finally, we can bid the Kali Yuga good-bye, and build our Beautiful City:
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The Night is Coming
By Anna Von Reitz
The
wind is still. A faint golden glow illuminates the Birch leaves still
clinging to the treetops, and shadows play among the white tree trunks.
A faint hint of woodsmoke lingers along with the overwhelming sense of
deja vu.
Certainly,
I have been here before; perhaps many times before, with a waning moon
rising above the clearing and fringe of trees behind me. Even the
migratory birds are suddenly gone. No trace of their honking and
chirps, clattering of beaks, and fluttering of wings. Nothing stirs in
the forest tonight.
The
Bear Berries have tempted me out of my hovel in the woods, wearing dark
boots and green pants and a poncho-like brown shawl wrapped around my
massive shoulders. It is cold enough to wear gloves tonight, and damp, but it wouldn't do for the delicate task at hand.
I've
wandered along the familiar paths picking the small, bright pinkish-red
berries that will make medicinal teas throughout the winter. I throw in
the few Highbush Cranberries I find. They will add Vitamin C and flavor
to the Uva Ursi brew to be sipped in front of winter fires. Both are
medicine for kidneys and bladders and all our delicate plumbing, death
to parasites, worms, fungi, and unwanted bacteria.
Now,
some people might find it a bit creepy to be out in the forest at the
edge of night and might feel the odd tingle of the Unseen looking over
their shoulders, but it doesn't bother me. I've known the Unseen all my
life, and those ghosts that follow me tonight are all old friends and family members, coming swiftly and poignantly to mind.
Even my ghost dogs are with me tonight, noses down, ranging silently in a broad uneven circle around me.
I
have become part of the silence, too, at peace in my mind, knowing that
I have done my best by all of you. My words have been forged into
arrows and formed shields, have found their way onto innumerable papers
and records of all kinds.
I
smile in the gathering gloom, wondering --- if the FBI had seven
million pages of data on me before this all began, how many pages do
they have now? How many rooms full of paper and external computer
drives filled to bursting have recorded my words and the pictures of my
life?
Perhaps, as I stand up and look around, one of their goons is tracking me tonight,
on the trail of an old woman entering the forest at the edge of night.
But no, it's only a black shadow moving along the distant road at the
forest boundary, swiftly, silently, a Harpie from the Ancient World,
sniffing for a scent of me and finding nothing.
As
for me, my white face and gold hair blend perfectly with the birch
forest in autumn shadows; my old brown marled shawl blends with the
fallen leaves and forest litter. I look at the berries in my basket.
Over a quart. They'll do, but not quite enough, so I keep picking,
stooped over in the darkening silence until I can pick no more.
Headed
back to the house alone, except for my ghost dogs jogging down the dim
gravel track in front of me. I wonder if they have noticed that they
are dead? Animals seldom do. If anything, they are somewhat confused
and wait to be invited into the house where they spent their lives
draped over the furniture or sprawled in front of the fire.
In
Wisconsin, where I grew up, many strange epiphytes like Bittersweet and
Old Man's Beard grow in the primordial forests; Bloodroot and Trillium
in the spring, mushrooms and cankers in the fall. The acorns fall like
raindrops driven by a storm and the spruce cones stay tight-wrapped in
their green shrouds, waiting for another season.
If I were there, I'd be picking wintergreen and cranberries and bouquets of maple leaves.
Tonight,
I am sure, the Canadian Geese that left Alaska a week ago are carving
through the moonlit sky in their V formations, with the pale light
reflecting off their wings and backs. The giant White Pines stand like
silent sentinels in their sweet-scented groves and the Cat-tails are
dark brown, not yet releasing their white fluff. The last of the Great
Blue Herons are making their annual visits to the corn fields of my
native state, and the Pick Your Own pumpkin patches are open for
business. The apple orchards, too, and the creameries selling cheese
curds and smoked meat, sometimes next door to an artisan brewery, and
sometimes a bakery. One never knows, in Wisconsin, which is an old and
haunted place, well-settled since the last Ice Age.
The
Mennonite and Amish farmers are bringing their cabbages and potatoes
and turnips to market; loads of winter firewood are appearing, too, and
the smell of fresh-sawn lumber and lake water drift over
back-country roads as the last of the hay comes home. Baskets of red
and green tomatoes snatched off the vines at the last moment before
frost seem to be poked into the odd corners of every house and garage
from Millston to Egg Harbor. The native grapes, which resemble the Poor
Cousins of Concord Grapes, are being boiled down to make their own
strong juice and jellies.
The
old Norwegians are sitting by their fires, whittling all manner of
things, door latches and whistles, wooden toy dogs on wheels, darning
eggs and spoons, or, are out in their workshops of an evening, building
cabinets and sea trunks, dish racks and rocking chairs. Their brethren
are stoking up the forges that were silent in the summer, and the clang
of their hammers will ring again. Their ladies are dusting up the houses
with fall cleaning, window washing during the last bright days,
shepherding the last crocks of pickles, canning up the fall harvest,
looking forward to the rest that winter brings.
How blissful to sit and read a book or knit a sweater or build a patchwork quilt after the hard work of the harvest?
Already
the pantries are loaded and the shelves are full. The venison and
smokehouse season is yet to come in the wild days of October and early
November. The butchering will last days and the smoking another two
weeks all told. It's hard and frantic work replete with meat saws and
cleavers, huge stainless steel bowls and sausage stuffers, rock salt and
pepper and dried herbs, and cast iron hooks in smokehouses blackened
with decades of winter hams and turkeys, bratwursts and sides of bacon.
I was there, and except for the hand of God, would never have left.
I'd
still be there, sharpening up the garden hoe on my Father's grindstone,
and oiling up the shovels and rakes and axes and saws, in between
sessions of planting tulips and daffodils and Siberian squills, bearded
German Iris, peonies, and crocuses.
What a good life, I would have said, and would have welcomed it.
But
then, I would have never seen the full grandeur of the Northern Lights
or seen the Northern Stars in a sky like blue-black velvet; I would have
never dressed out a moose or caught a halibut, drank water out of a
rock, as cold and pure as God ever made it, stood in a forest totally
covered in flowers, had the fun of dip-netting salmon, and I wouldn't
have lived in a landscape so vast and wild that even the towering white
peak of Mt. Denali appears to fit and be in place.
I
would never have met Jim Belcher and known the challenges of his life
and the needs of his family and the trials of their history going all
the way back to Virginia and Boston, Exeter and Glastonbury, Belle Garde
and Camelotte.
It has all been good; indeed, perfect. And love has been with me every step.
I
no longer fear the night or the autumn or the winter, nor things that
go bump in the night, the phantoms of lost loves, the regrets of roads
not taken; the debts I can't repay and names I can't remember, the ships
that sailed and never returned, and the places I have never seen no
longer haunt me with any sense of loss.
Yes, I've seen what I have seen, and loved whom I have loved, and that is far more than enough.
The night is coming, but the dawn is coming right behind it.
Keep the faith and like the American Bison, run straight into the storm.
Never falter, never wonder.
There is a Wisdom that guides our steps, and keeps our ways.
Ask
for the guidance and protection you need each and every day, and keep
grounded and centered on what you want your world to be.
And it will be, at your command.
Granna
----------------------------
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Necessary Knowledge
By Anna Von Reitz
At
the beginning of creation, light was organized into matter. This
marriage of light in wave form to light in particle form has given rise
to the Universe as we know it.
No
biological entity remembers this First Marriage of Light, but within
us, we each carry the memory of 13.8 billion years of history since
then, and that history for each one of us is unique.
As we stand here today, we each represent a single continuous life that has never died in 13.8 billion years.
It is the same life, garnering new experiences.
Against this backdrop, we must ask ourselves what right we have to foreclose the lives of future generations?
In our biological beginning, five humanoid races were formed using the brain stems of four reptiles and one amphibian.
We remember this each time we look at the fingers on our hands or see the five-pointed star which is the symbol of humankind.
The
feathers of birds are just modified scales, and to this day, if you
look closely at the skin on your hand, you can see the tiny, tiny scales
that overlap and make up your own skin.
Our blood has the same acidity and mineral content as seawater.
Do
you think this is an accident? Or are we all related? Not only to
each other, but to all living things and to our environment as well?
We are not separate parts of the Universe. We are the Universe discovering itself.
So we have come here today as conscious beings aware of the past and presuming the existence of a future.
We have only one choice on the table -- to live or to die.
Let us choose life.
So
long ago that nobody remembers, except that our DNA remembers,
Armorican sailors from what we now call Normandy in France, found their
way to the New World.
"North America" and "South America" are named after the Armoricans.
The
Armoricans formed Blood Treaties with all the tribal nations
they traded with. Their DNA markers show up coast to coast and from
Patagonia to Alaska.
When
the Holy Roman Empire formed in Europe in 800 AD, the Armoricans and
their Iroquois League Trading Partners had to negotiate with the Holy
Roman Empire regarding their own ancient fur trade in Europe. They did
so as The United Nations of Armorica.
"Nations"
referred to the five nations of the Iroquois League and "Armorica"
referred to the land area where the Armoricans had established Blood
Treaties. Together, these nation-states negotiated with Charlemagne at
least 1200 years ago.
How, then, has it been misrepresented that there was no government here?
After
the War of Independence, the new nation formed of many nations, used
the template of The United Nations of Armorica to build their government
and used Philadelphia, our traditional meeting ground, as the Capitol.
The
unincorporated union of nation-states known now as The United States
and the unincorporated federation of states known as The United States
of America remain the organic government of this country called
"America".
Anna
Maria Riezinger is the Fiduciary for the Government of Record; her
husband is the holder of the Great Seals and hereditary clan chief of
the Belle Chers, who include the Armoricans among their nations.
The
Blood Treaties of the Armoricans and First Nations and the first
government formed as The United Nations of Armorica, predate the
government formed in 1776 by hundreds of years; yet, The United Nations
of Armorica gave rise to The United States of America, in name, in
spirit, in structure, in custom, and in fact -- and the progeny of the
original clan and tribal chiefs remain steadfast in their claims and
faithful administration of the organic government they have inherited.
This world needs peace, healing, and the remembrance of our common origins and destinies, not more genocide and craziness.
We stand for life and love and common sense. We set aside any agenda saying otherwise.
----------------------------
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