Was plapperschleiern unsere sexy Politicians denn heute so als „Ihre Arbeit für unser Land“!?

11.07.2026

 

 

WENN DU, verdammtnochmal, DINGE, BETRAUUNGEN WIR RAUMWAHRUNG, des Landes, DEINES AUCH Landes… ODER SOGAR GOTTESBEZUG, nüchtern wahr und tatsächlich den kosmischen Strukturenatem UNSERE Geamtwesensraumströmungsgebildes, ALS ANGEBLICHE AUFGABE UND BETRAUUNG HAST, dann hast du nicht in von KINDERMORDEN UND ÄRGSTEM gepolsterten DAHERSCHLEICHPOSITIONEN dein Leben untätig und nichtsn. utzig, UND WOMÖGLICH DEN SATURNALIENSCHEISZ hinter verschlossenen TÜREN MITSÜCHTLND, zu machen.

EBENSOWENIG HABEN SIE DEPPERTE TUSSIS hinzusetzen und die den Speichel von den Lefzen zu lecken! DAS IST ICHT WOHLERZOPGEN, das ist schlicht THEMENVERFEHLUNG EINES, auch, FRAUENLEBENS! Das süße Wiener Mädel … ist zumeist…

 

tja… schaut doch einmal hin, ihr emanzipierten Mädels, hmmm?

ICH kennen meine Mammi inzwischen.

 

Da könnte es euch auch gelingen!

 

 

Herzlich,

 

der Wiener Plauderotter – Wien hat anders zu werden!

 

 

UND GAR UNSERE HEILIGE RÖMISCH  KATHLISCHE KLERUSSE!!

Wie greift Papst und Fransen IN UNSERE HEUTIGEN LEBEN WOHLTUEND MITEIN?

 

TAGESLESUNG

Lesung aus dem Buch der Sprichwörter
Spr 2, 1–9

Mein Sohn, wenn du meine Worte annimmst und meine Gebote beherzigst, der Weisheit Gehör schenkst, dein Herz der Einsicht zuneigst, wenn du nach Erkenntnis rufst, mit lauter Stimme um Einsicht bittest, wenn du sie suchst wie Silber, nach ihr forschst wie nach Schätzen, dann wirst du die Furcht des Herrn begreifen und Gotteserkenntnis finden.
Denn der Herr gibt Weisheit, aus seinem Mund kommen Erkenntnis und Einsicht.
Für die Redlichen hält er Hilfe bereit, den Rechtschaffenen ist er ein Schild.
Er hütet die Pfade des Rechts und bewacht den Weg seiner Frommen.
Dann wirst du Recht und Gerechtigkeit begreifen, Redlichkeit und jede gute Bahn.

EVANGELIUM VOM TAG

Aus dem heiligen Evangelium nach Matthäus
Mt 19, 27–29

In jener Zeit sagte Petrus zu Jesus: Wir haben alles verlassen und sind dir nachgefolgt. Was werden wir dafür bekommen?
Jesus erwiderte ihnen: Amen, ich sage euch: Wenn die Welt neu geschaffen wird und der Menschensohn sich auf den Thron der Herrlichkeit setzt, werdet auch ihr, die ihr mir nachgefolgt seid, auf zwölf Thronen sitzen und die zwölf Stämme Israels richten.
Und jeder, der um meines Namens willen Häuser oder Brüder oder Schwestern oder Vater oder Mutter oder Kinder oder Äcker verlassen hat, wird dafür das Hundertfache erhalten und das ewige Leben erben.

WORTE DER PÄPSTE

Ein Leben für Gott ist ein glückliches Leben, das sich jeden Tag im Gebet, in den Sakramenten und in der Begegnung mit den Brüdern und Schwestern erneuert, mit denen uns der Herr auf unserem Weg zusammenführt. In herzlicher Gemeinschaft und im fürsorglichen Handeln gegenüber den Bedürftigen erneuern sich die Wunder der Nächstenliebe. Wenn ihr also spürt, dass Christus euch ruft, ihm auf einem Weg besonderer Hingabe zu folgen – als Priester, Ordensfrauen, Ordensmänner, Katecheten –, dann fürchtet euch nicht, euch in seine Spuren zu begeben: Wie er selbst versichert hat – und auch ich möchte euch das hier heute mit Nachdruck sagen –, werdet ihr „das Hundertfache und […] das ewige Leben“ erhalten (Mt 19,29).
[…] Lassen wir uns von der Schönheit der Liebe begeistern, werden wir zu Zeugen der Liebe, die Jesus uns geschenkt und gelehrt hat! Bezeugen wir jeden Tag, dass es schön ist zu lieben, dass die größten Freuden in allen Bereichen daraus entstehen, dass wir im Stande sind zu geben und uns zu verschenken, insbesondere wenn wir uns denen zuwenden, die am bedürftigsten sind. Das Licht der Nächstenliebe, das in den Familien gepflegt und im Glauben gelebt wird, kann die Welt wirklich verwandeln, auch in ihren Strukturen und Institutionen, damit jeder Mensch Anerkennung findet und niemand vergessen wird. (Papst Leo XIV., Apostolische Reise nach Äquatorialguinea, Begegnung mit Jugendlichen und Familien im Stadion von Bata, 22. April 2026)

EIN BLÖDERES GESTAMMLE OHNE JEDEN ZUSAMMENHANG MIT ERDE WERDEN LEBEN MENSCHEN UND dem Alltragenden, das WIR gerne aus Dank das Göttliche nennen,

KRIEGE ICH IN KEINEM BEHINDERTENKINDERGARTEN! bp

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWdGVM7nj4A

LEUTE!! DER GESAMTE BIBELDRECK, der einen GOTT LÜGT, und aus Wesen besteht, die das Menschsein nicht begreifen, und damit EGAL WAS AUFFÜHREN, gehört endlich aus unserem Dom raus! SO EINFACH, anstatt diee Lachhaftwichserln da noch zu7 hofieren! REDEN SIE MIT IHREN GESCHIRR, um es abzuwaschen und wider serviertauglich zu machen!! UNSER GELUFTETES MEER, und unser GEBET darin. Denn UNS ist das Leben das Gebet… Christus, Sie erinnern sich, will nr zu seinem Vater in der Himmelsschüssel…. DAS KANN nicht der Experte sein… beziehungsweise ist genau das: ein Volldanaben.

Willst du gut sein, beginnt das damit, daß du dafür deine Werte zusammenschreibst. UND DER ERSTE KANN NUR SEIN, anderen WAHR BESTEHEN ZU LASSEN! Und schon diesen Allergrundlegendste erfüllt de gesamte Bibelmaulrotte null, UND WILL DAS AUCH NICHT, denn sie ist unfäghig SO „HOHE“ Willekräfte zu raumstellen. bp, und ich habemir die Brüderinnen und Schweterer weidlich „angeschaut.

Für mich werdet ihr langsam billige Schmierenmäderln, ich sag’s ehrlich. Dem Covizid die Lippenstiftglubscherln zu dienen, und und und endlos. WARUM haben so viele Frauen Mumm, Kraft, Reinheit und daraus Schönheit des Handelns für uns alle, Hirn!!!? Und… ihr: ja, bitte, was?

 

 

 

in anderen Worten: 

vibra la tu vida

 

 

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

ORIGINAL BITTE HIER: https://careavan.substack.com/p/excerpt-7-temporarily-evil-fault

Chapter 9: Fires of Hell (Age 17)

Recall 2021, Age 51

Location of Abuse: Deep Underground Stadium in Las Vegas, NV, beneath the then-Aladdin Hotel and Casino

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER DESCRIBES AN INTENSELY GRAPHIC MASS SATANIC RITUAL THAT TOOK PLACE IN AN UNDERGROUND STADIUM BELOW THE “STRIP” IN LAS VEGAS – I believe under the intersection of what is now the Bellagio, the Paris and the Planet Hollywood hotel.

I will start this chapter with a prayer sent to me by a dear friend after she read this testimony, adapted for anonymity. She was a German woman who energetically reminded me of little Pippi, the girl I was forced to kill while in the Yakima, WA-area DUMB. What a gift this friend was to me, this spirit-sister, while we were in touch. I met her in an online spiritual community, though she eventually left. I needed every prayer she – and everyone in that community – offered. I also left the community in 2023 due to dysfunctional leadership with cult dynamics. To this day, I deeply appreciate the kindness and spiritual support I received while a member there.

Beloved Holy Presence, In Cosmic Sovereign Law, I am your Compassionate Witness. In service to Anastasia Sprout, I pray with all of my heart to bless her and protect her in the eternal light of God, and in the blessings of the Holy Spirit and Spirits of Christ, to be fully freed from the spiritual burdens and shackles that have been placed upon her, by those Impostors and Deceivers of God’s eternal light. Through the light of God I am, through the power of love in my heart, I consecrate and bless Anastasia Sprout to be freed into her highest expression and true nature, that she may be fully protected and free, in the eternal light of God, now and always.

—S. 💖

At age 17 I didn’t want to go to a horrible mass satanic ritual event on Halloween, but “I” (front life) couldn’t know that. Because of my subconscious mind-controlled automation deeply installed by then, I had to go. Designed in the torture lab, later reinforced in the dungeon over and over, one part of me was programmed to wake up at night, sneak outside of my home, and silently wait at the corner curb in our suburban neighborhood. There I was picked up by a white van, driven to Paine Field by the Everett, WA Boeing Plant (my mom worked there by day), to an elevator, to a tunnel far, far belowground. Accompanied by two men, I boarded a maglev train to the Las Vegas, NV underground. This place was a massive Death-Cult nest that I believe remains in criminal use there to this day, most likely even more depraved than what I suffered 1987. The best description I’ve found to date on the Deep Underground is in this webinar by an organization called Journey to Truth, titled D.U.M.B.s – The Agartha Network – Hollow Earth (Part 1): https://rumble.com/playlists/T479eNnPKWY. I am working on an article about the Uncivilization Underworld, and would appreciate readers sharing any resources you might have on this topic in the comments of this blogpost.

The bulk of this memory scene took place in a subterranean cavity the size of a football stadium. I recalled it in October 2021, at age 51, while in bed with my then-partner, just after waking up. Not a dream, but a post-sleep lucid recall memory.

I read this and other chapters aloud, here:

 

I walk to the corridor, to the side door, ushered to the room with no star on the door but filled with all the finest BDSM props and baubles that money could buy.

I am gussied up, plucked up, fucked up (drugged again), and pushed out by the cake makeup-faced lady handler. Another soldier is waiting. I read his mind: “I want to fuck you” (because the veils are vanished now due to the psychic training and the drugs…not that he’s subtle). We board the open-topped jeep-ish, sheep-ish car, which traverses another tunnel road. Everything is tunnels here until you hit massive rooms like the hot one called Fires of Hell. To call it “vast” is inadequate to describe this cavernous stadium, crafted red and black, stalagmites and one side completely afire from pit to wall to ceiling – flames crawling and crying out, tearless and hungry. You never know who will be burning, but there are always enslaved children here. I’ve been here before, but tonight, I’m a key part of the main event.

On one side there is a long spit – Ah, there! I was grasping for recall of the smells and it comes, thankfully just a knowledge memory and not a somatic one. BBQ, sweet and cloying…and more senses come online – that explains some of the smoke – not really steam, dry smoke, but not crazy, there are some air vents somewhere, high end HVAC. No expenses spared at the Fires of Hell spectre-cal. [Like a rock concert for Dark Tetrad “fans.”]

Today I’m a dancer/conjurer/sexassin. There are platforms, cages and stages, one erected front and center, altars, not bed-beds. Like in the dungeon but on a large scale, there are levers, ropes and pullies for arranging live bodies soon to be dead.

Oh no, yes, another scent – decomposing flesh in many stages, past dead but still defile-able. There is almost nothing here that is not defile-able. It’s not a staged stage show, it’s all real.

Today the music, if you can call it that, grinds, and I’m in place for it to move me. Am I really here, or is this just a lucid night terror? I try for denial: I am not the teen body gyrating on stage in an outfit of thick black straps that show all. I am the 4–6-year-old girl on the MILAB (Military Lab, location of Torture-Based Mind Control) table, force floated to this place. In that ghostly state, a white wisp, I could see the devil in the fire, or devils – such multiplicity of faces and claws, forked tongues, hooked phallus and tails…I can’t close my eyes.

I remember, re-member. Blending in and out with an inner fourteen-year-old teen part, called B.L., Black Lilith or Blood Lilith…now sensing into the presence of another, seventeen(?)-year-old part called “Ydal Natas” (“Lady Satan” backwards), and I am re-minded this was a huge piece of what I was bred to become, if the torture-forming called by handlers “torturecrafting” didn’t kill me first. My electroshock in my mother’s womb (womb torture), my earlier training as a toddler, as a little girl struggling to survive through coerced killing in the MILAB/underground; in the pedo-kill porn dungeon, first trafficked, then trained to become a violent dominatrix sex weapon; my “success” at each level culminated in a bonus for my handlers (I never saw any payment) and my “graduation” into a black ops military/occult black magic project to cultivate, force-channel-embody and broadly project the female antichrist.

At late age 16 I finally “outgrew” my uncle Jerry, by becoming so numb to his sadism, he bored (that part of) me. Though I didn’t know it, this was seen as a crowning achievement in the Death-Cult, and proof I was ready to graduate from him as my handler.

I was sold yet again to become a more active subject of the ongoing psychopathic work of Jack Parsons, who did not in fact die in a big explosion of his own making, but relocated to the military-cult underground/DUMBs, where he then led the orchestration of his experiments on promising children.

In my recall, Jack Parsons became my new handler.

I have wondered if he was the same “Jack Baker” present at my bedside crib ritual abuse that I wrote about in Excerpt 2, Chapter 2, married to someone we knew as “Judy” – possibly Judy Vary Baker…or are there two “Jacks” – probably many, as I later learned they often used “J” names for their slave-programmed parts, and that “Jack” is also a nickname for Satan:

Jack Parsons was a known disciple of Aleister Crowley’s Ordo Templis Orientis (OTO), practicing Black Magic/Ops with and for the Tavistock-CIA-NASA-Death-Cult organization. These massive resources enabled him to advance his techniques started on adult women, by targeting still-forming, more malleable (and able to make mal) girls. He was obsessed with creating the female anti-Christ, aka Lady Satan or Ydal Natas, and I became one of his/their candidates.

If successful, I was to be paired with their highest performing malevolent male counterpart, their best channeler of Lord Lucifer, to incite chaos and “rule the world.” These truly mad and evil scientists believed if we could be forced to embody these deities as a couple, and they could control our black magic sexual conjuring, then they could control the entire planet. We could become their high devils on leashes to do their bidding. Or so they thought.

As this knowing coalesced in 2021, I watched my mind slide out of Anastasia-Staci and into the black-red sucking vortex of Ydal Natas, or her into me, and felt this massively traumatized, demon-posssessed teen team inside of me, filling my head with the desire to corrupt. Their concentrated rage deepened, blocking my ability to think or further remember, in a battle of evil and good at war in my head. Yet in a crack between the darkness, Anastasia/Staci-me pushed back and returned to executive control. I slipped in a quick Connect and Protect psychic shield prayer, cutting off “their” ability to conjure the dark deity any further. My blended bodymind was left flooded with overwhelming lust, but I didn’t act out with my partner despite intense cravings. But only because he wouldn’t, despite my fuzzy, dissociated, fumbled initiation.

Looking back, I feel profoundly grateful we didn’t bring this darkness deliberately into our lives then…I thank him, and all divine goodness, and the practice of sexual boundaries learned and practiced over twenty years in 12-Step sexual recovery that returned as I became more alert. Let the past be the past, and the present be about healing; not ignorant, compulsive reenactments. Later, more related memories emerged.

 

I remember being back in the stadium of fire…drugged again…with so many dark entities/demons present, it really did seem like hell, with the wall of fire.

It was hell.

I walk up a ramp, stepping onto a platform with a huge alter „bed“ atop it, where I begin gyrating. Black-hooded men are marched up the ramp and laid out on the bed, one after another. I crawl on top of them like a snake, channeling dark entities in and through me as I’d been taught. In my haze I can see black shapes flitting, flying everywhere. I rape the men, drawing in and consolidating more dark creatures and power. [Initiating sex with a man forced to be there, regardless of what his body is doing, is rape.]

I am a broadcaster…I can broad cast (cast a spell broadly) the dark ecstasy thirst and pleasure, and as I feel the men climax, I slice their neck arteries with a ceremonial knife, and am splattered with their blood. I know my role is to lick and drink. The lust-arousal is so high, I can energetically transmit it far and wide, and the tens of thousands of people in the auditorium seem to drink up the energy, amplifying their pleasure. There are close-up cameras, and this is also displayed on tall video screens above the stage. After the kills, I gouge and mutilate the bodies and cannibalize, vomiting or laughing depending on how overcome I am by “Ydal Natas.” Muscled Black male slaves remove each dead body, and then the next man is brought up the ramp.

So-called “elite” men and women (not cult „throwaways“ – that horrible insider term) begin to join me on the bed, and to them I am not a teen girl but their Lady Satan. I am not to hurt them, I know. Everything grows progressively degraded with fluids and solids, with me forced to consume disgusting things; with more rapes, of me, or me of them, but nothing hurt. We have inhuman stamina, manic on drugs, dominion, and the dark entity power.

Then progressively younger victims are brought to the stage: teens, boys and girls, toddlers. I have no memory of specifics or how many, other than that the pace of death increased. When victims were ready to be discarded now, their remains are no longer carried off, but rather thrown into the firepit gaping below. The music and crowd noise is loud and agonizing, and everything is blurry.

The Halloween grand finale – I think multiple nights of desecration led up to this day, but I was only brought in for this – the main event – involves a live birth…the rolling in a fresh white bed with a naked, hugely pregnant woman restrained and writhing upon it. Her wrists are shackled behind her head. The music has stopped; only a hushed silence and flame-flickers fill the auditorium now.

The grand de-sacrament.

The mother is surrounded by people in black with knives, and her skin is cut into as she screams. Red-lipped women also dressed in black kneel on either side of her, leaning as if whispering into each ear. We watch, our orgy paused, waiting on the other ghastly bed. The crowd is riveted to zoom shots on the enormous screens. Her agonized screams are amplified across the stadium, the white linens quickly stained garish red with blood; then her agonized wailing is finally joined by her baby’s screams. The infant is pulled out roughly, by a man dressed as a classic executioner with black hood. He passes it to another, who holds it up high. The crowd thunders in approval. The executioner then thrusts a large dildo on a stick between the mother’s legs…it seems familiar. He pulls it out, covered in blood, and also holds this up, to more frenzy of the crowd.

The music returns, louder than before. Then the mother is set upon by the hoard in black surrounding her, pounding her with weapons like large meat tenderizers, their knives inserted into her vacated belly; her face and head is smashed, her hair is pulled out in globby chunks as her screams shift to gurgles and grunts. I watch her be sawed and dismembered, her limbs eventually tossed upon her dead torso. The bed is lit on fire. Her remains and the ruined bed are burned, soon to become a smoking, smoldering shell. The scene is berserker rage, blood, lust and more, always more.

I typed this out in revulsion, translating the frenzied scribbles in my journal, and emailed it to some trusted friends in my then-spiritual community. I felt utterly insane, but I knew I had to get this out of me somehow, because the weight of it felt toxic and soul-crushing. I feared I might die instantly, or be murdered for remembering. My DO NOT TELL programming was tearing me up inside, and physically, my eyes had developed an unexplained red inflammation, creepily mirroring the Satanic teenager whose emerging horrifying experiences I was attempting to comprehend.

My friends replied and were merciful with me, recognizing my humiliation, sending me prayers, reminding me that childhood torture-based mind control is slavery, and that forced-participation-in-a-mass-Satanic ritual-or-die is not a choice for evil. The shame was almost unendurable for years, but it has helped to consider that I escaped for a reason, and to keep my focus on choosing goodness and service to others.

As mentioned above, I find that educating people about these depravities gives purpose to the tragedy and horror, but it’s still acutely painful to write and read this, almost forty years later. It’s heartbreaking, and only knowledge that this memory was from 1987, and that this terrible ritual has continued at least annually at multiple places across the world motivates me to use what I went through to awaken others, so we can unite and mobilize to stop it from ever happening again! We need to focus on rescuing children still trapped! I am certain that Las Vegas is NOT the only place like this in the world.

I fear that musical concerts held in auditoriums throughout the world often have dark mirror events like the one I describe here secretly proceeding below them. Many in the music industry are OEA slaves. Tricking oblivious concertgoers that “it’s just a spectacle” above adds superior excitement to the devil-worshiping criminals practicing their genuinely murderous orgy-rituals underneath.

Besides me, other SRA survivor-activists like Chantal Frei have testified about similar rituals involving the torture and murder of pregnant women, overseas.

Chantal’s book is bravely told, and she has helped many others find their courage to openly speak out, as she has in the 50 Voices of Ritual Abuse project:

===

Back to 2021…

Knowing sleep was now impossible, I nudged my then-partner, as was our custom when we each awakened in the middle of the night, so we could snuggle and share about our dreams. Mine were these memories, and he, also a survivor of Death-Cult abuse himself, understood the power of reclaiming our stories to bring root-cause healing from extreme trauma. He pulled my stiff body towards his and spooned me, asking expectantly,

“Dreams?”

I responded slowly at first, my voice muffled and faltering, describing the memory, beyond just dreams. I was in shock, shutting down, but he listened intently, slowly stroking my hair. I sighed into his strong arms, feeling his warmth radiating, thawing me. Eventually, his gentle curiosity helped me get it all out.

“What happened to the baby?” he asked.

“I don’t know…I don’t know.” I don’t want to know.

He then asked, more gently, “Ask inside…what does your body say?” So I did.

As I meditate on what happened on Halloween with the baby, I recall why that knife-on-a-stick seemed familiar. It was a phallus-wand thing that first showed up in memories from the Arlington-Darrington-Granite Falls area in my Washington state Satanic Ritual Abuse memories. I was often raped with this awful phallus-stick, by a group of men who called it “Dead Dick.” It was supposedly a petrified penis from someone dead, and they thought it was hilarious. Then I was trained to use a version of it myself to pleasure and/or harm people. There were strap-on versions, but mostly I recall wand ones. The Death-Cult is indeed obsessed with death and rape.

In the Las Vegas Deep Underground stadium, the one I saw was large, with a button on it to extend a blade in a 90-degree angle out from the shaft. It had a barb-hook on it. So after the baby was forcibly removed, (I’m sure she was validated in advance to be a girl), the executioner took her tiny body back and impaled her on the phallus. He lifted this wand and her up high over his head, and again the roar of the crowd was deafeningly horrid, drowning out her wail. The crescendo was him pushing the button on the stick, which thrust a knife out of her small stomach, and triggered an all-out frenzied orgy in the stands.

She died.

Continuing to meditate wrapped in safety of my partner’s arms, I recalled another step after that, the cutting out of the baby’s heart, and then being forced to eat part of it, in an unholy inversion of communion. I remembered that as I ate it, I was filled with a dark energy/power that was indescribable. This was all awful and profane, but then the baby was also dismembered – what was left of her – and they put a part of her inside my body, my vagina.

I am not sure what part it was, but at that point I could no longer see from my human eyes at all, but from a fully demonic etheric/energy view. Black, blurry shapes surrounded me, many non-human – I “saw” life-sized reptiles, mantids, wolf heads and human-sized cats with slitted, glowing eyes.

I came down from „on high“ on the dais, into the crowd, and I seemed to have magical powers – I could touch someone and they would faint, or they would seem to have incredible ecstasy…everyone wanted to touch me or more; it was not like a teen girl moving through a stadium, but a giant energy monster, again hard to describe – I know it wasn’t me personally at all. Somehow it must have ended (after going for hours/days?,) and I was cleaned up and sent back on the bullet train to Everett, Washington.

 

I recalled before Halloween in 1987 in my regular/”front” life, I had suffered a knee injury while playing flag football for my Mariner High School annual “Powderpuff” game, caused by being tackled by a very large senior girl. Was this deliberate? I was scheduled for an ACL knee surgery at a Seattle Catholic hospital called Providence Medical Center. My family chose the sports medicine surgeon for the Seattle Seahawks professional football team to operate on me, Dr. Pierce Scranton. There, I was drugged heavily and kept in bed for a week, with little recall.

What I now suspect is that this was the time they got me back into the mind control (hospital) to test/wipe my memory after the “Fires of Hell,” ritual, and realign me with their programs. I believe I did have my anterior cruciate ligament replaced, but fear that much more happened in secret.

Reflecting on the scenario, I can clearly see the hatred of the innocent, the feminine…the mother tortured and brutally destroyed, the baby born into pain and soon murdered…a teen female forced to perpetrate among a seething mass of “elites”…forced to ”consume” the baby in two orifices…the dark mother energy everywhere. Eating her young to become Lady Satan inverted, Ydal Natas.

Ultimately, all of this was buried under forced amnesia and self-hatred. Many days after reclaiming this memory, I wanted to go back to sleep and forget it all – as I was trained to do. But because I told my loving partner who believed me, and I had written and emailed my journal entry to trusted friends in a spiritual community that was supportive, I couldn’t. In hindsight I see how sharing such horrible memories is a key part of healing from them.

One thing that remains after this memory retrieval – followed by years of painstaking trauma-integration and spiritual searching – was the awareness that this kind of ritual involves worship of a feminine version of Satan that I rarely hear others talk about. Not androgynous or trans – but fully female. This was not a consort nor minion to a male God-figure. This was a feminine fully darkly empowered dark deity. It seemed to be a combination of demon and snake/reptile/dragon/devil/archon.

I’ve also come to consider that somehow “her” secret correlates to its opposite; the suppressed Sophia female deity consciousness that has also been kept from public awareness – the extent of the dark and light feminine power. This helps explain why so many in leadership in Death-Cult circles are female: The Dark Mothers/Goddesses/Witches. And how much they wish to crush the feminine innocence, represented here as a human mother and her little baby girl…and what she might grow up to become. I’m even more convicted: we need to protect the innocence and positive power of little girls! Of little boys! Of all children! Of everyone! We need to reunite, not divide, families.

To cope with this memory and the almost debilitating despair that accompanied it, I reached out to my spiritual community and asked for healing guidance. Receiving instruction, I went into deep meditation, where in my mind I went back in time to the Fires of Hell stadium-cavern to deliberately undo the terrors I experienced there.

In my imagination I freeze everything, and vaporize all the perpetrators on the stage (except me). I see a column of light appear through the cracking ceiling (sealing) that is quickly breeched, and soon the cavern is filled with bright and loving angelic protectors. They fly directly to the still-alive pregnant mother and release her, carrying her and her unborn babe to safety. I hold a staff in my free right hand and bring it down onto the floor between the beds with a hard strike, like Gandalf facing the Belroc in The Lord of the Rings. The floor cracks open all the way to the foundation, and a bubbling flow of clear, clean blue-green water emerges. It flows into the pit of fire, extinguishing the flames, creating a fresh steam that purifies the air.

The shaft of sunlight splits the darkness, cutting off all dark spell magic, and casts a sparkly white glow onto the crowds of people still gathered there, to illuminate the truth of what is actually happening. They shrink back, terrified.

I proclaim loudly, “You have a choice as all humans do, you can denounce the dark and leave, and begin your life anew, or you can continue this malevolent path, but this place is closed and you must never come back here.” Slowly the light shimmers into the forms of all gathered, and they vanish.

The angelic guards now stand sentry over the living water, and I know it will not be stifled again.

I wish that was all that was needed to end the reality of the Uncivilized Underworld beneath Las Vegas, other places in the United States, and other parts of the world, but it isn’t.