Aaron Hughes ripped off Walter Krouse's mask, and, in doing so, he exposed the face of evil for the world to see! -- The Global Watcher [article excerpt]
Aaron Hughes shined the flashlight of truth on Walter Krouse. Is he madly scurrying like a cockroach? -- The Information Front [article excerpt]
Aaron Hughes broke the floodgates wide open! Now the whole world is "onto" Walter
Krouse and his pseudo profession! -- The Daily Standard [article excerpt]
The Liberators kept clapping for Ralph and Angel. Gayle Rosedale, too,
enjoyed the romantic scene -- not as a physically present spectator, but, rather, as a remote viewer via her trusted crystal ball, Siren. The interior doorbell jingled, causing Gayle to avert her gaze--and without eyes cast on the crystal sphere--the
images began to fade away. She went forth to greet her incoming customer, feeling quite proud of herself for putting such a potent love spell on Angel.
"Queen in the house!" she called out, referring
to Frances Prescott's regal middle name [and the last word of the fragmented sentence was a colloquial metaphor for "store"].
"Oh, hi, Gayle. You startled me."
"Don't blame me; just blame my loud mouth! Sometimes I can't seem to keep it under control."
"Where do you go after you finish working here," inquired Frances, out of sheer curiosity.
"Here," Gayle simply replied.
"You mean you live here?!" she said briskly, seeking absolute confirmation to the surprising response she'd just received.
"It's been my home for over thirty years. I wouldn't choose to live anywhere else. I adore this place. What about you? What do you call home?"
"I live in Raleigh."
"Yeah, I know. You told me that. I mean, do you live in an apartment, house, townhouse, cave... what?"
"Ha! Definitely not a cave! I have a two-story house. It's in the suburbs.
But I plan on eventually moving out to the country."
"Why," asked Gayle.
"Because I love nature and animals, and I want to be surrounded by both."
"Same here. You won't find many Gypsies that aren't spiritually and emotionally connected to ATWA."
"What's ATWA," Frances asked, intrigued by the unusual-sounding word.
"Oh, sorry. For a second I forgot that you aren't familiar with our jargon. 'ATWA' is an acronym. It stands for 'Air, Trees, Water, and Animals.' By the way, if you append an 'R' on the end, it converts to 'AT WAR.' "
"Whom are Gypsies at war against," Frances curiously inquired.
Mrs. Rosedale's face suddenly bore a Cheshire-cat-like smile, as a clandestine gaze sparked her wise eyes. Then she said in a tight-lipped,
conspiratorial tone, "We'll get into that at some other time, my dear." The sly expression quickly dissolved as she changed the subject. "For now, you just need to get started on the first book I picked out for you to read."
Frances followed her teacher's lead down the aisle like a loyal dog trailing his master. Arriving at the bookshelf, Gayle reached up and withdrew a book. Frances was initially intimidated upon seeing the immensely thick volume. And its pitch
black cover made it appear arcane and spooky. Gayle warned her to be careful holding it, for it was very fragile due to excessive handling by numerous gypsy scholars throughout the ages. Frances supported the weighty book with both hands under
it like a baby, and read the engraved title on the hardbound cover: The Divine Spark.
Hmm, she murmured. Then she gently turned the front cover back and perused the introduction on the first page. Gayle crossed her arms and observed the interest and concentration etched on her student's face as she commenced her first lesson.
After half a minute, Frances lifted up her head to look at Gayle. She commenced in summation of that which she'd just read: "So, the author is saying that human beings have a divine spark deep within.
This is interesting! Here it says: 'One may fan his symbolic spark into a blaze of illumination.' May I continue reading aloud, Gayle?"
"Go right on ahead! Read as much as you like," permitted
Gayle, smiling like a proud parent. Frances' keen interest pleased her greatly.
" 'The secret modus operandi is long and arduous, and not for the faint of heart. It was developed by the ancients
in their underground societies, and the training is reserved only for the dedicated, deserving initiate. In the tomb, his inner eye opened, he received his spiritual reward: born anew into a dimension free of borders and boundaries, space and time, rules
and restrictions. The Phoenix never before had any inclination that his golden nirvana existed. Unbeknownst to him, all his life he'd been languishing in the dark like a man born blind -- never having experienced true sight, spiritual
sight. Therefore, he never conceived of its magnificence. Eternal liberation [beyond the mental/emotional states] is invariably the ecstatic result of the dormant spark ignited and the closed eye opened.
'The intention of this literary work is not to bring the reader into the light, as mere words are incapable of guiding one to the culmination of this rigorous spiritual journey. Rather, one will obtain from this text a fundamental understanding of the
divine spark and the related "third eye." Furthermore, the culprits who have suppressed man's spiritual insight will be exposed, as well as their methods and purposes for doing so.' "
Frances halted her
reading, uplifted her head again, and said, "This stuff is far out!!" with excitement expressed in her voice and eyes. Gayle smiled and nodded in agreement. "Why isn't the author or the copyright indicated in the book," Frances asked,
after she scanned for both.
Gayle inhaled deeply, preparing to elucidate comprehensively and meticulously: "Us Gypsies consider any and all publications by our own to be the work of the aggregate Gypsy
family. In other words, let's say you're a Gypsy, too, and I produce something... You are equally responsible for its manifestation. The principle behind this idea is that Gypsies are parts of a whole and, therefore, we share the same mind -- because
we come from the same source. Remember that time I mentioned 'our Father?' " Frances nodded her head attentively. "Our father is the Original Gypsy -- 'O.G.', as we call him. But our forebearers just referred to him as 'G.' That's
what the 'G' means at the end of the introduction." Frances glanced down to find it. Gayle went on: "It stands for 'Gypsy.' The indidvidual author's message is that, although he's the physical writer, he gives all the credit [for the book]
to his Gypsy bloodline because without his ancestors' DNA [in him], it wouldn't have been possible. We simply lack egos that cry out for acknowledgement. We're different from humanity in that sense." Frances immediately picked up on 'humanity'
and she thought it an odd word choice. Could it be a Freudian slip -- a subconscious inference that Gypsies are not human beings, she wondered.
"As for the second half of your question: 'Why doesn't the
book have a copyright?' Gypsies don't live in time. I realize that that's hard for a Westerner like you to understand. We are opposed to the Gregorian calendar because it stifles consciousness. We consider time an illusion, manufactured
by man, not God. And we believe in a timeless mindset -- not being focused on linear time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days weeks, months, and years.
The sacred 'here and now'
is what it's all about to us. True life is not about obsessively recalling the past nor anticipating the future. How many people, especially in this day and age, spend over half of their mental lives in the here and now?" she rhetorically asked.
"Not many," supposed Frances.
"I know I always seem to be thinking about either the past or future," she added.
"So, are you satisfied with my answers?"
"Yes! Now I understand. You explained it all very well. You should've been a teacher!"
a teacher! But not in a school building. I taught children in my tribe. I was what we call a 'Learned Elder.' "
Gayle yawned, and Frances, seeing that she was tired, didn't want to overstay
her welcome. So she thanked her for letting her borrow the book, and pledged to try her best to comprehend it. Right before she reached the door and departed the store, Gayle called out to her: "Be sure to jot down any questions you have as you
read, and it'll be my pleasure to answer them next time you drop by."
All right, teacher," Frances cheerfully replied. She then smiled broadly, opened the door, and walked out.
Allen Thorne was doing better than his beleaguered ex-partner a few miles away. The previous day, Judge Phil Matterson pulled
a four month old legal monkey off his back. Specifically speaking, that pesky 'DWI/Manslaughter' charge was thrown out on a spurious technicality. At the outset of the trial, Phil promised Allen that he'd seek a loophole for a mistrial. "One
way or another, I'll take care of this thing for you, brother," he solemnly said, followed by a secret handshake.
Following his convoluted explanation of a trivial statute violation
by the prosecuting attorney, the corrupt judge abruptly declared: "Case dismissed!" and tapped the gavel. The late Farah Stratton's father immediately rose to his feet and roared, "This is bullshit, your Honor. Are you two buddies or something??!!"
Matterson banged the gavel this time, and fired back, "That was uncalled for! I'm charging you with Contempt of Court!" Then, he ordered the bailiff to arrest
the irate man. Nearly everyone in the courtroom was shocked that the cold-hearted judge didn't cut him some slack and emit a verbal warning, especially considering the fact that the poor man had recently lost his daughter.
The victim's father wasn't quite finished expressing his boiling sentiments. As he was being escorted out of the courtroom in handcuffs, he branded the judge a "low-life criminal in a black robe," and added that he'd like to spit in his face. As
for the individual responsible for his daughter's death, he had this to say to him: "You'll get what you deserve, Thorne! I can tell you're not remorseful! I'd like to wipe that smirk off your face, you son of a bitch! You'd better watch
your back because I'll be coming for you!"
Matterson tacked on an additional charge of 'Communicating a Threat,' and, to add insult to injury, labelled him "mentally ill." All
the while, Dr. Thorne sat on the front bench with widened lips. He found the uproar amusing and entertaining.
The indignant man's speculation was accurate -- the defendant and
the judge were, indeed, buddies. But little did he, or anyone else in the courtroom, suspect that the rabbit hole went far, far deeper! Aside from being country club cronies, Allen and Phil, along with Walter Krouse, belonged to an elitist, ritualistic
cult called Sons of the Sea Serpent.
Just as The Leader is in charge of the White Light Liberators, the Milifen [Hint:
Spell Backwards] rule and direct the Sons of the Sea Serpent. In fact, they formed the S.S.S. following their downfall from Heaven. The W.L.L. is all good, and the S.S.S. is at the extremity of evil. They're polar opposites,
and constantly war with each other. Of this so few mortals know!
The requisites for becoming an S.S.S. member are: a genius level IQ and the subtle, unapparent, serpentine DNA.
And, of course, initiation is mandatory. The initiation ritual is grueling! The S.S.S. is a highly secretive society. Violation of the confidentiality oath results in torturous death. Although the organization has thousands of members
worldwide, only a handful of outsiders are even aware that it exists. Amongst the privy few are gypsies and The Leader. The latter needs no crystal ball to detect them because he's been a meditative remote viewer since the age of four. The
Leader has informed only top echelon W.L.L. members about the S.S.S. Sometimes he calls them the "BSS": "Black Soul Suppressors" because they're in stark contrast to his own group, The WLL: White Light Liberators. But their official name is, and
always has been, the "Sons of the Sea Serpent."
The S.S.S. members practice black magic, and hoard knowledge for power, control, and reinforcement of the "hive mind." Organized
religion, public education, and international finance are their creations and tools of worldly domination. Therefore, pastors, teachers, and bureaucrats are their unwitting proxy! But the Milifen's masterpiece of wickedness is psychiatry!
Their arch adversaries, The White Light Liberators, are an equitable lot and believe in disseminating knowledge for the purpose of unleashing the volition quality inherent in pristine consciousness, as opposed to trapping thought waves inside an artificially
constructed prismatic structure. Thus, the warfare rages -- not on a battlefield composed of soldiers, but rather on a spiritual chessboard comprised of principles and principalities.
Gayle Rosedale's 9x12 cardboard cut-out square was, as always, propped up on the window sill inside her store building. Printed, and drawn, very neatly was "OPEN," followed by a
smiley face decorating one side, and "CLOSED" with a frowning mug on the other side. Currently, the former notification faced outward. But she was about to flip the sign over to reject new arrivals for the day, lock up, and take a nap upstairs
on her bed after a hard day's work. That plan of retirement was delayed when the bell jingled, which Gayle heard while she was folding clothes.
Gayle spotted her pupil after
only a three-day hiatus, smiled, and proclaimed, "I was ready to call it a day, but I'm glad you dropped by, honey. Hey, I see you're holding The Divine Spark. Did you finish it?"
"All 942 pages," Frances proudly and triupmphantly replied.
"That's great! What did you think of it," Gayle asked with a smile.
"I thought it was fascinating! Reading it cause me to feel enchanted and full of superhuman potential. I have a lot of questions about some of the things I read. Do you have the time, Mrs. Rosedale?"
"For my elect pupil, I'll make the time! Let's go to the back and talk about it," she suggested.
Frances trailed her spiritual teacher down the aisle, into her office.
Immediately upon entering the small room, she saw the glorious crystal ball on the writing desk.
"Excuse me while I lock Siren up in the trunk," said Gayle.
Then she perceived a solemn plea. Although Frances didn't verbally request permission to utilize the globular marvel, her eyes expressed a yearning that Gayle was strongly tempted to satiate.
"Honey, I know how much you want to gaze," she began explaining in a sympathetic tone. "But, as I've told you, you're not
one of us! You're not a Gypsy. You're genetically unqualified to partake of our treasures."
Frances nodded her head in dispirited acceptance and understanding.
She then looked down, dejectedly. However, Gayle wasn't quite finished. "But I see a lot of Gypsy in your soul, if not your blood. You read the whole book, and you have a lot of questions. So I know that you're very, very serious-minded
about learning and exploring hidden truths. Therefore, I'm going to break the rule!" Frances' head popped up and her pretty face lit up like ornamental lights on a Christmas tree. "I'll allow you to gaze with the provision that it's always
done under my supervision! Always remember that Siren is not a toy! What happened last time is NOT gonna happen again!!! That was VERY dangerous! Your mind could have slipped away and never returned to the here and now.
See, it takes years and years of training the will to be able to avoid getting sucked into the force. A Gypsy-made crystal ball acts like a psychic vacuum cleaner if one is not equipped to handle its enormous power. It's analogous to taking off
at full speed on a Harley Davidson motorcycle without ever taking riding lessons. So if I observe you beginning to drift-off I'll pick up Siren and remove her from your field of vision. Deal?"
"Of course it's a deal," Frances categorically confirmed. Then, to express her gratitude, she gave Gayle a bear hug. She was overjoyed by the mere thought of gazing into the supernatural sphere.
Aboard the Sea Gypsy, Angel was fiddling around in the cockpit while The Leader occupied the bridge. Ralph, as always, was on her mind.
She was turning some knobs on the controls to see what she could pick up. The Leader had previously specified what she could mess around with, and what was off-limits. Suddenly, a transmission seemed to be emanating from the SBB radio. Sitting
in the swivel chair, Angel slid over to the radio speaker and listened. A stern sounding man said: "Attention, Sea Gypsy! Attention Leader! This is the Coast Guard. We're ordering you to turn your vessel around immediately and sail
back to port! Federal authorities will be waiting there to arrest Ralph Oxner. I repeat, 'This is an order!' "
"Oh, my God!" gasped Angel. Then she dashed onto the
bridge to inform The Leader of what she'd just heard.
"The Coast Guard just relayed a message. They want us to give ourselves up," cried a concerned Angel.
"No way!!!" barked the defiant Leader. "I'm not turning this ship around," he stubbornly declared.
"But they're demanding that
we sail in and surrender Ralph at the port," she anxiously explained. "He sounded serious," she added.
"I don't give a damn!! The fun has only just begun! The freaking
Coast Guard ain't gonna spoil this party! I've never been known to let my Liberators down, and this is no exception! I'm treating ya'll to a first-class cruise, and it's nowhere near ready to end. I'll sail in when I'm good and ready, and
when my people have had their fill of fun and excitement! Case closed!!"
Angel was wholly impressed by The Leader's staunch courage and rock-solid character. It was strikingly
obvious to her that he cared about his disciples, and even authority figures couldn't intimidate him. Nobody can tell The Leader what to do! It's as simple as that! His inner strength was evident in this particular instance, and it's also
a glaring example of why he's esteemed so highly. Now, THAT'S a real man!" she thought. Many others thought the same thing! MANY others!