Tag Archives: Intelligence Community

Getting shot by my “Shadow” at four years old, and other times I was shot at

just me 05

Far from four years old in this picture. But even at four years old I was still just a little kid. My “Shadow” was the same age. He wouldn’t become my “Shadow” for another fourteen or more years. But already the “fun” was beginning.

While getting shot at much less actually being shot is never a fun experience, it is surely formative in one’s life, especially if one is young. I recalled events in my own life the other day when I was at the ammo desk in our local Walmart (as there were especially low prices). As the clerk went to the back to the warehoused ammo in back of the store, a family of great grandfather, grandfather, and father with twin four year old daughters stopped to see about getting an extra small .22 rifle for the girls. It was clearly a military / law enforcement family and they wanted to familiarize the little ones early in life with that which they otherwise saw on a daily basis. Whatever one might think about that – and I myself think that four years old is too young to process what this kind of danger is all about – it served to trigger my own memories of being four years old.

I was out at Two Rivers Lake some miles from Saint Anna (of Lake Wobegon fame) with family and friends including the kids of my dad’s friends and associates. One kid my age had a C02 rifle and started shooting at me, utterly unprovoked, for target practice, no one having taught him gun safety. He was about 35 feet away and wasn’t a good shot, but I could hear the ammo flying next to my head. “What are you doing? Don’t you know those could hit me? Stop it!” Just more shots. There was a corn field just ten feet away from me, and it was late Summer, September 4, 1964, Labor Day, so the corn was already tall. I remember everything when I was a kid, provably, back to one year old, but I digress. I’ve written about that before. Anyway…

This was my first time being in full escape mode, my first time chasing through a corn-field. I fully remember learning on the spot in that very instance to strategize escape, running among the stalks with the rows until there was a space through which I could pop over sideways into another row without slowing down, making sure not to move the stalks of corn as that would give away my position, noting that my adversary could not keep up with me and was angry with himself that I had simply disappeared, he not having a clue about how to track his prey (even with my footprints in the soil). That I could play on this lack of his made me laugh, until I noticed that this particular gun was powerful enough to shoot ammo right through the corn. Run!

I can still hear the ammo ripping through the field all around me: shot shot shot shot shot shot shot. Some stopped short because of hitting the stalks. Some flew past me having only hit some leaves. “Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-” Finally: thud… smack in the middle of my forehead, where it stuck, and caused not only a welt and some bleeding, but a bump on my skull and a scar that has lasted to this day. It had to be dug out. “Stop shooting! You hit me!” I said that with a bit of force, enough to scare the kid. I don’t regret that. You gotta do what you gotta do to stop the threat, right? All this – a stategized escape, learning that I could think quickly and calmly under pressure, learning that gun violence can possibly come from emotions with which you can’t reason but which you can possibly control through use of one’s voice and smarts alone, learning to be situationally aware (especially with that kid anywhere near my vicinity), learning that I could be a victim of a crime, learning that I didn’t have to be a victim, learning that being smart is more effective than anything else, learning self-confidence, learning to size up others, and much more – all these were things that I learned at an impressionable age.

That’s the only time I was ever hit by any ammo, well, except by some BBs of a 12 gauge shot gun from some next door neighbors out in the woods from quite a distance, so it was more like getting hit by small pebbles. They had fired perhaps five times, shooting high in the trees but then lowering their aim. No harm done. Whatever. The escape was effected not by running, but simply by walking away quickly. It’s about mind control. Running might have had them shoot directly earlier. That wouldn’t have been good.

I had the same “shoot high” at first but then lower the range thing happen in a coup d’état in Fiji in the year 2000 at the Pacific Regional Seminary. Before the last of the faculty left, leaving me quite alone at the seminary, we had a meeting in a building closest to the parliament where the 21 hostages including the prime minister were being held. Gun fire commenced and one of the faculty members ran outside to see what was going on with the bullets flying through the trees. I ran out to get her to come back inside as she would not listen to reason from us who were remaining inside. I guess she thought she was being brave in seeing what was happening for us. I ran out and put my face in hers, commanding her rather forcefully to go back in. At that point she obeyed. By this time the bullets were no longer high in the trees but were lowering to just above my head, so, everyone else safe, back in I went as well. These were AK 47s. The shots were, I’m sure, just a warning to get out. In short order the rest of the teaching faculty left the country. The Admin and staff and students were long gone. My own bishop left me there. Fine. There were more incidents when I was there alone but there was nothing quite so directed as all that.

I again had the same “shoot high” at first but then lower the range thing happen just some months ago out at the hermitage, when I myself was doing some target practice. My adversary sent half a dozen rifle bullets smashing through branches and into trees just above me. Warning shots. Whatever. My response was not more target practice, but playing Handel’s Messiah on my phone.

Hey! It worked to get rid of the panther going after Laudie-dog a couple of years back at that same place, so why wouldn’t it work with some freaky human guy? Gun fire makes even the insects stop chirping and buzzing. He was close enough to hear the speakers of my little phone in that deathly quiet forest. It worked. Heh heh heh. I’m certain that Handel’s Messiah is not what was expected. Anyone who likes the Hallujah chorus that much can’t be all that bad, right? Or he must be harmlessly crazy, right? It was to laugh. Again, using your brain is always the best strategy. Had I reacted differently, not seeing him but him seeing me, things could have ended very differently very quickly. And he was there for a fight to the death. You don’t shoot at someone so many times in these mountains and not intend to fight to the death. Anyway, I’ve never given it a second thought. I’ve never had a problem since. I’ve probably made him mutter to himself until this very day: “It’s just that he played Handel’s Messiah on his phone… the Hallelujah chorus…” Heh heh heh.

sniper 2

Oh, I just remembered another time I’ve completely forgotten about until now. This was a sniper shot in the Autumn of 1999 over in Rome. I was up on the top floor of where I was staying, about 85 feet up from street level, a recreation room surrounded by picture windows. I was standing at this window with the exit door directly behind me. I loved to stand there and look out over the city of Rome while mulling over a doctoral thesis I was writing at the time on textual criticism of papyri manuscripts. I was getting creeped out by a window on the far side of a little valley in the city, enough to be distracting, and it was unrelenting. Wanting to think of things more academic, I simply turned to leave out the door onto the roof-patio on the far side of the building where I would pace back and forth to think in peace. But just as I turned out the door to the patio, that nano-second, I heard a sharp crash-crack sound and came back to investigate. I saw a small hole in the window where I had been and some bits of glass round about, but figured it was just someone who had thrown a rock up at the building just to do it, and that it was no big deal. Back I went to the patio and pacing oblivious to the world, thinking of manuscript symbols and dates and the “Reformation” and present day Church politics. But the next day and the next I would be back at that window, as was my custom while deep in thought. I let myself be distracted and noticed that a picture on the far wall from the window, just to the side of the door, has been broken by what I didn’t know, perhaps rough-housing while playing ping-pong. But then I looked at the window again. It was double-pane. It was then that I realized this had to have been a bullet. I followed the unmistakable trajectory (lining up the hole in the two panes), and it went directly to the hole in the picture inside the room. With that I followed the trajectory the other way, and that led me to a large-windowed room (one window always open) on a roof of a building (quite exactly the height of the one I was in) which, now using google-maps distance measuring tool, I find was 427 feet away.

sniper 1

I had always gotten a super-creepy feeling from that particular window. Now I knew why. Left-of-bang advice from those experienced in combat is that you should always take note of those super-creepy feelings. Your senses pick up on things that don’t register in your conscience brain except by way of such warnings as they are things so small you would never pay attention to them even if you did outright notice them. Anyway, no harm done. That didn’t stop me from hanging out at that window to check out the skyline of Rome before my usual pacing. I won’t be able to go back to that building if I’m ever in Rome to dig the bullet out of the brick wall since the building was sold some years ago. As I think of this, I have to wonder if this was a self-admitted terrorist from West-Africa whose confidence I had gained by befriending him by telling my always impossible stories. He couldn’t help himself. I’m so evil and bad that I know how to make friends with the most evil and bad people. I just have a knack for it. I’m sure he reflected on this later and knew he had said too much. He indicated the same to me when I had started to press him again for more info a week or so later, though I was being very clever, and he gave me even more info. I guess this was a way to take out a risk to his plans. I let the FBI know, as his plans involved these USA.

Anyway, there were plenty of other times I’ve had plenty of guns trained directly at me, rifles and AKs to pistols – not only in other places around the world but right here in Andrews – but nothing ever came of those incidents, so, whatever. I don’t care.

As long time readers know, I’ve only very recently thought of getting a concealed carry permit, since self-defense is a positive contribution to the virtue of justice and I actually had the possibility, now being Stateside, now having a place to practice, now knowing people who could give me some good advice.

But, just to say, my own personal history in all this has taught me that smarts are by far the best defense anyone can have. Learning to be a good shot is one thing, but learning how to escape or at least deescalate is by far the most important. Being disarming – charming, calm, smart, even using a rather commanding voice depending on circumstances – can actually work to disarm someone. That’s not always the case. But I’m happy to have been in some adverse circumstances, as close to being deadly as you can get, to know the difference, at least somewhat, as all circumstances are unrepeatable.

When all is said and done, the best thing to do is to be good friends with your guardian angel. He sees the face of God.

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Filed under Father Byers Autobiography, Guns, Intelligence Community, Terrorism

Main State and me: a development :¬)

dc-ticket

This is another one of those boring, kryptic, for-the-record posts only a couple of people understand. There’s a development since my last post of this kind the other day. For some reason late last night I felt an urgent need to try to find out a bit more about my “call this number if you need help” instruction given to me back in 1992 by Main State concerning the kind of help they would provide me into the future as occasioned back in the day by my ever present “Shadow” (who, by the way, is making overtures of friendliness to me all of a sudden).

In trying to find out more about the phone number the other week, there was nothing to be found even with brutal searches, not in the Department of State, not anywhere else. I decided to wait until more info was available before calling the number once again. I had called it when I had visited Main State some seven months ago at the end of 2016. A recording provided yet another name and number to call, which only provided yet another recording and this time an invitation to leave a message. I never got a call back. But the message wasn’t unnoticed.

During that visit to D.C., later that same day, I then continued my quest of visiting the national memorials, putting many miles on foot traipsing back and forth along the National Mall. It was impossible not to notice something out of place in the last 100 yards before finally arriving back to my car along the Potomac. There was another car parked behind mine with a nice, very professional, middle-aged Asian-looking couple inside, the unusual thing being their raucous laughter, the kind that’s a show, difficult to keep going, almost as if they were trying to be noticed. Indeed, they were making a spectacle of themselves as if oblivious to the world around them even while making it clear that they were noticing my arrival with interest. It was so odd that it was enough to put one into left-of-bang mode even though I was sure of their entirely good intentions, making me feel foolish.

As I wrote when it happened, it was then that I noticed, heart sinking, that I had a $250 parking ticket, it being that the handicapped spots in D.C. are not marked with either painted spaces or signs over the spaces as in North Carolina, but only with a sign down the street with a tiny arrow pointing in whatever direction tickets are to be distributed. In trying to pay the ticket online (possible only after about three weeks), I found that someone had arranged for that ticket to be cancelled. The Asian couple immediately came to mind, along with the State Department. But I couldn’t be sure. Until now.

Last night, when I searched again for more info on that phone number mentioned above, a “hit” came up, not only with an entirely different name and an office at the State Department corresponding precisely to my situation in view of my “Shadow,” but even the home address of this person in North West D.C. (a little dangerous for him, thought I, as he would possibly have plenty of disgruntled “clients”). In searching for that info a looked-at-by-almost-nobody in-house recruiting webinar came up. “That’s the guy who was laughing in the car behind mine along the Potomac seven months earlier; 100 percent,” thought I, with myself being the one who was now laughing out loud, “and he’s obviously the one who paid my parking ticket. Same guy. Exactly. Unmistakable. 100 percent.”

I’m guessing that his laughter was about my actually being a priest who has such a “Shadow.” They didn’t introduce themselves to me only because he was apparently fairly new to heading up his office in Main State at the time and it had been almost a 1/4 century since the last time I had contacted Main State, so that they needed to find out for sure who I was after all this time before speaking with me. Just to say, when the FBI had given me a false passport for my own protection without me asking for it twenty years previously, that agent had also laughed at my situation of being priest who has a “Shadow,” he knowing that this was all just too very perfect in favor of my “Shadow,” and he being amazed that I knew anything about the situation in the first place. Like my Asian guy (totally unflappable in the webinar), this FBI agent was otherwise utterly serious, he having been in charge of the investigation of the U.S. Embassy bombings back in the day. I’m amazed that the actual director of that office at Main State came out, and with his wife.

At any rate, this Asian guy seems to be a wonderfully friendly guy, and ultra-super-competent in what he does for international concerns. I’m tempted to make the request I’ve been wanting to make for a long time now. Indeed, at one point in the webinar, he almost seemed to refer to my situation in view of my “Shadow,” the idea being to keep such a “Shadow” illegal in appearance in a foreign country but entirely legal in our own, kind of, perhaps. It’s a kind of make-laws-around-an-existing-situation-to-make-something-else-possible thing. I remember the FBI wanting to keep the status quo of my having a “Shadow” going while merely giving me a false passport of appeasement instead of stopping my “Shadow” from using my identity. After all, he said that as far as they are concerned, my “Shadow” – precisely as a “Shadow” was now a good guy.

In fact, as I read over the 1992 letter of the State Department, it’s clear that they have zero interest in tracking my “Shadow,” but have all the interest in the world in tracking me, and that they have zero interest in helping me secure bank accounts out of reach of my “Shadow.” In fact, they simply assured me that the situation would continue into the future.

All of this explains an “incident” that happened on my return to the parish, after Vienna/Fairfax GMU on 66 West, and precisely at exit 296 of 81 South, the latter exit being a triumph of my little vehicle back in the day. Heh-heh-heh. Anyway, perhaps another trip to D.C. will soon be in order. I’m happy to know a bit more about who I’m dealing with at Main State. As I say, he seems very friendly.

P.S. As it works out, this guy also has pretty much all say about what goes on at the Hague. And that means that I could possibly ask him about a friend, a priest, who someone had attempted to trash there, though he came out shining.

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Filed under Drugs, Guns, Intelligence Community, Military, Terrorism

♬ring♬ His safety isn’t guaranteed. It’s your fault if he dies. Stop him. *click*

PIB Jerusalem

This is one of those unfathomable, boring, for-the-record cryptic posts that only a few people will understand, which is fine by me.

It’s taken six and a half years, but the penny finally dropped. The phone call which I imagine from an Admiral high up in the U.S. DoD, to my ecclesiastical superior at the time, at the very beginning of January 2011, went, I surmise, something like this: ♬ring♬ This is Admiral […] George’s safety isn’t guaranteed. It’s your fault if he dies. Stop him. *click*

This Admiral, a good friend (we taught and lived at the same place and had plenty of mentoring conversations) was actually the one who, in the first place, had arranged my mission in the Holy Land with Israeli intelligence services. In those years, this would be the only way to go about this since the Israeli diplomatic corps whom I would have gone through was on strike for some 18 months already. No one was getting a visa, which is a problem when foreigners (Catholic priests and nuns) are about the only ones to run schools and orphanages and medical clinics for remote populations; to stay they have to get their visas renewed on a continual basis. They are denied.

The Admiral had the idea to have me to help out at the Holy Sepulcher and to have me teach Sacred Scripture at the doctoral level (for the SSD) at the Studium Biblicum Franciscanum of the Custody of the Holy Land, both of which are in the Old City of Jerusalem. Then he had the idea of having the Custos of “The Custody” personally take me across the Jordan river to Jordan, so as to install me in one of the more sensitive areas in the Middle East. Great, thought I.

After speaking with my superior and getting permission for all this, and then speaking to the Custos himself, I then, as instructed by that Admiral, went to the Israeli Embassy in Washington, D.C. (impossible at any other embassy), and was surprised to see my Mossad friend, the same guy I had met up with over the years in Tel Aviv, Haifa, Jerusalem, wherever I happened to be. I was packed and all was ready with hours to the flight. And then my superior rushed up to me and breathlessly told me:

“Tell the Custos you’re cancelling your flight; you’re not going. You may well get killed and people will say it’s my fault.”

I was stunned by this sudden and last second reversal. “You tell him, since you’re the one reneging at the last second” I responded.

“It’s something to do with you, not me,” he said as he then quickly disappeared in the corridors of the monastery, flustered, but not before mentioning Egypt. That was when there was a bit of unrest in lower Egypt, you know, because of usage of Twitter accounts. Ooooo. Twitter unrest. As if there had never been unrest, Twittered or not, anywhere near the Near East, Middle East or any other East. What unrestful Twittering had to do with my going or not to the Holy Land I have no idea, but that was the excuse my superior had given me (coming up with that, it seems, on the spot) while he retreated into the shadows.”Just, wow,” thought I. So, I had to call the Custos.

The Custos – because of Saint Francis before him – is revered a thousand times more in the Holy Land than any Pope of Rome (and that’s the honest truth of it). He was really very upset with me, but understood and supported me in my predicament of religious obedience and appreciated that I agreed with him that the reason given by my superior about Twittered unrest seemed more than just a little strange. That couldn’t be the reason. Period. Indeed. For all these years since then I’ve remained flummoxed as to why my superior did this.

There was no reasoning with my superior. Telling him that this sudden change in plans would traumatically disrupt the lives of priests in France, Germany and Austria (as the Custos told me), not to mention in the Holy Land (Yikes!), did not phase him one bit, but only appeared to put him under unbearable pressure. My insisting that a disrupted schedule (they had already changed this in my favor) could result in catastrophic changes to the status quo left him unmoved (though that could have brought far reaching ecumenical and civil-political disturbances with no good result). My superior, obviously fearful of something, appeared to want to tell me something but would not or could not. I reckon the phone call to him that I’m imagining — ♬ring♬ This is Admiral […] George’s safety isn’t guaranteed. It’s your fault if he dies. Stop him. *click* — was still ringing in his ears.

Finally, just recently, the penny dropped. I think I now understand what really happened. As time drew very near to get on the plane, the flight manifest was finally being given a very thorough going over as happens with flights, especially into Israel, particularly flying with ElאלALעל. They now noticed the code attached to my SSN/Passport. That code was promised to be there in perpetuity as a “hit” from the State Department. A phone number was given to me at the time to call in case I ever needed help. That phone number goes to the director of the Political/Military Foreign Security Assistance Non-Defensive[!] Ops directorate at Main State of the Department of State. [I like that: “non-defensive” = black ops.] Background as to why a perpetual protection order had been put in place for me decades ago might well be unknown today except perhaps to all but the director of the CIA with one or two others, also, perhaps, at Main State (as I’m told by many who would know how this perpetual protection order works as this is what they do). Yet, the connection of names I have with the one I call my “Shadow” (who took over my identity as if I were as good as dead way back in the 1970s unbenounced to me for some 14 years) is quite possibly shareable information via unmasking when there is a security request from the IC of friendly countries. I’m guessing that the Israelis saw a logistical conflict, called up our mutual close friend, the Admiral, and asked him to stop me, since, after all, this was the Admiral’s project. The Admiral, regretting the circumstance, called my superior and that was the end of that.

As it is, “Grey”[!] as he may be, my “Shadow”, in fact, likes to mess around in all things political and violent in the Near and Middle East. If, say, he was in Jerusalem at the time or if he was dealing with anyone that knew anything about Jerusalem at the time, even from a distance, it just wouldn’t do to have his “identity” (me) in Jerusalem and Jordan in a couple of highly scrutinized offices just happening to look like him and the same age as him with the same name and everything else as him, even talking directly with the terrorist crowd (those on “the list”) for recreation as I was wont to do, and I must say, had a talent for so doing.

That isn’t to protect me as if I were someone important. No, no. The point is that I’m so incredibly unimportant and expendable that basically I’ve already been killed off by my “Shadow” anyway inasmuch as he’s taken over my identity. If there were to be any logistical conflict, I would be the one to bite the dust. I’m just nothing, of no consequence, to be ignored, Styrofoam, or perhaps “Grey”[!]. No, not “Grey”[!]. My shadow, conversely, has become so important while being entrenched under my identity (the perfect “Grey”[!] experience), that, while my remaining alive helps him in his effort to be “Grey”[!] and for him to be protected at all costs as “Grey”[!], it would be better if I just weren’t in the same place at the same time as him.

What got me thinking about this is a number of recent phone calls and text messages my “Shadow” and I have had in the last week or so. Some points:

  • He was stunned when I put him off from sending me money ($100 monthly). I told him it was to no purpose, looking as it did like extortion against him or him bribing me. I simply don’t need his money. He was speechless. Didn’t say a word. Nothing.
  • He put new pressure on me to have his property signed over to me, but not that I could sell it and keep the money. Nor was this any kind of trust. No. He wanted to continue to use the property, just under my name, further giving the appearance to all and sundry that he and I are the same person.
  • I told him that I didn’t know what he was up to and that I felt myself to be in danger either from his disgruntled “clients” on the one hand or from low level LEOs trying to be heroes on the other hand, the latter thinking they are capturing him even while they are cuffing me. As he told me once, with quite a bit of impatience, going to jail or prison is just part of the work and that I should just get over it. Feds bait people, a lot, and they can look like pretty bad criminals. I asked him to provide me with some jacked up Main State docs so that I could have the guarantee of being free of that harassment (immunity and inviolability). His response was that he wasn’t that sophisticated, which could either mean that of all the IDs he does manufacture[!], one from the State Department was presently beyond his abilities, or that he simply wasn’t far enough up the food chain to ask for such a thing (or conversely, so far up the food chain that he simply couldn’t be known as such even from within). Nothing is as it seems.
  • When I responded to his refusal by saying that I would just contact the Security Assistance director myself so as to put in such a request… well… oh my… the reaction from him was… well… oh my…

Anyway, I have the director of that office at Main State on speed dial…

The last time I went to Main State and accessed the bio of the director of the Security office, his bio was immediately removed from the internet. When I mentioned that on this blog, a note went up on the DoS that his bio was removed because they were, you know, renovating their web site. Well, they’ve done that, for a long time now. It’s the only bio that has not gone up. Here it is in full:

[He] is a career member of the Senior Executive Service and serves as Acting Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Plans, Programs, and Operations in the Bureau of Political-Military Affairs. He is responsible for managing approximately $6 billion in U.S. security assistance annually; providing State Department input for Department of Defense planning and posture; managing a Presidential initiative to expand worldwide peacekeeping capacity; overseeing conventional weapons destruction efforts; handling State-DoD coordination on significant military exercises and operational issues; and managing State-Defense personnel exchange matters.

Before joining the Department of State in September 2006, [he] worked as a relationship manager for […] Homeland Security, where he planned and coordinated the development of technology solutions for several U.S. government clients utilizing a wide spectrum of scientific and technical capabilities resident in […].

Prior to joining […], [he] served 26 years as an officer in the U.S. Marine Corps where he commanded infantry units ranging in size from a 40-man rifle platoon to a 1,200-man Battalion Landing Team. He was also designated a China Foreign Area Officer. In his final assignment on active duty, […] served in the Pentagon for four years as Head of the International Issues Branch at Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, the senior uniformed foreign policy advisor to the Commandant of the Marine Corps and the Marine Corps staff, with principal responsibility for formulating and coordinating policy dealing with all political-military / international issues for the Marine Corps.

 

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Filed under Father Byers Autobiography, Intelligence Community, Military

My priesthood distracted by Shadows

main-state-department-of-state

Just another boring for-the-record post only a couple of people understand. Sorry.

A few weeks ago I had an unexpected day off at the hermitage. In between reading the Scriptures, praying, taking pictures of the incredibly varied eco-system in that doubled-over rain forest, resting a bit, I put out more than just a few rounds from my Glock, just to relax, just to get sharpened up a bit, although adrenaline is exhausting. I had a rather extreme target made up of coffee jug lids, overlapping as you might have with a perp behind and a human-shield in front. As I say, it’s the shot that cannot be taken and a shot the police are pretty much forbidden to take. But it’s the more difficult practice which makes lesser situations easier. Here they are:

target hostage 1

But I was out at nine yards, 27 feet, gun holstered, turned away from the target. All double taps, because, hey, if you miss off to your left looking at this (you don’t want to hit anything on the right, right?) you then take an immediate second shot if the first doesn’t remove the threat. For me, the second shot is always more accurate than the first, perhaps because I’m still not used to the odd Glock trigger). You can see the target in the upper-center of the picture if you’re not distracted by the shadows:

target hostage 2

Unless the perp is wildly shooting at anyone and everyone, there is usually abundant time to say ever so calmly something like, “Just let the (wo)man go.” He thinks you’re going to negotiate, ignoring your predictable brandishing and aiming at his eye that is farthest from the hostage. *tap*tap* I had the whole day, with broken up sessions. Altogether about 350 rounds went out, two by two, with none hitting the “hostage.” But I say, let yourself get sloppy. See if you miss. If you do, hitting the “hostage” (a good practice experience), look to see if your first reaction is to be upset with your bad aim or sorry that you hit the “hostage.” If the former, well, you better pray about that. That’s messed up. Anyway, this surely cleared my mind, a nice break. Anyway…

I’m sure you remember my “Shadow,” who took over my identity in the mid-late 1970s, I only finding out about this some 14 to 16 years later (1992) from those individuals at Main State (primary building of the Dept of State) in Foggy Bottom who, giving themselves totally innocuous titles for my situation, like CA/FPP and OCS/CCS/ARA, instead, in their real life-long jobs for Main State and embassies around the world, actually set up and run foreign non-defensive[!] special “security” ops also involving arms transfers and drug ops, coordinating the best of the best from the Dept of Defense (Seals, Delta, Green Berets…), the Pentagon, and various three letter groups (not your usual office workers for simple identity theft that happens to about 18 million people a year in the USA alone). In 1996 the FBI said that my Shadow was no longer a bad guy, though he was and is still using my identity, so, instead of stopping him[!], they gave me a false passport without me asking for it for my own protection (not that they cared about me other than that my being alive assisted my Shadow). The guy from the FBI (a low-level cover for the CIA in this case, as “The Guy” told me) insisted that the instructions I received about this from Main State were true, that this would be something I would deal with in perpetuity. In other words, there’s no way they are going to interfere with my Shadow doing what he needs to do just because little old me is ever inconvenienced. It now seems to me that my Shadow has been working for them even from the beginning, with them telling him to get a clean identity and I being at hand with a clean identity, all my ID documents likes ducks in a row, and I having his looks and his age (No, I do not have a twin brother). I’m guessing now that they got him when he was still in University, taking international affairs and political science courses. My naive, unwitting availability is the absolute ideal situation for a “Grey” guy, whose otherwise would-be fall-guy (me…) has an absolutely clean record. Well…

Not long after my rather successful target practice session mentioned above my “Shadow” started a texting/phoning campaign with me, attempting to get me to be the owner of a property of his. This wasn’t to give me the property, but to get him out of possible trouble, which may itself be illegal on my part considering his circumstances. While he skips the country for a while, that would put me in prison, which may well be the point. As he said to me once: “Going to prison is just part of it; you just do it; no big deal; get over it.” He once tried to get me to pay someone to do his prison time for him in Mexico. No thanks, and no thanks. Why should I do any of that? I don’t know what he’s up to, even if it is with Main State. He’s intent on this property thing (and not just now as this is something he’s been trying to get me to do for years), using me, playing me all the more. It’s not that the proper authorities don’t know this. He is himself one of the programs of Political-Military Affairs at Main State. Did I say he lives not inordinately far from USSOCOM?

I don’t mean to unmask him – and I haven’t done that so far – but this is getting annoying. I did unmask one CIA guy before, and there was no argument because, really, he shouldn’t have been doing what he was doing. Some of these programs my Shadow has been involved with may well have gotten a lot of people killed (using my name to entrench under). And my Shadow can stop me, at will, from doing what I would otherwise do as a priest. For instance, if it wasn’t for my Shadow, I think I would now have been in the near and middle East for the past 6 1/2 years (another story). I just don’t think that it’s right for Political-Military Affairs to have any influence on the assignments of priests.

What to do?

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This is why KRYPTOS should be easy

brennan gowdy

“I don’t do evidence,” Brennan replied, speaking instead of “intelligence.” Gowdy gets the distinction perfectly. Brennan replied with perfect clarity. Great. Now, if we could only get all the field crowd of the Company to deeply understand that, we would have something. I always fall back on the perfectly logical statement of Donald Rumsfeld:

Reports that say that something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns – the ones we don’t know we don’t know. And if one looks throughout the history of our country and other free countries, it is the latter category that tend to be the difficult ones.

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Casting light on my Shadow’s Shadow

This is just one of those boring, cryptic, unintelligible “for-the-record” posts which, this time, is about my Shadow’s Shadow, a really nice lady. I’ve been terribly baiting her to see who she could possibly be, saying outrageous things, knowing I could be terribly wrong. But, hey, mysteries are mysteries, and this method of madness has always worked for me. She’s just a couple years older than myself, the same age as my own Shadow. She did extraordinarily well at “tough” and “technical” universities and institutes. She is incredibly good with guns, is a super devout Catholic, is a medical doctor while at the same time being a world-class bio researcher who has an eye to international implications of her discoveries. And, besides all that, she’s really, really smart, has almost perfect recall, and is a computer genius. I’m guessing she got picked up by the CIA way back in the day through Main State’s bureau for political/military affairs recruiters (the bureau that’s connected with yours truly), and has worked her way into the “Administration” with high clearances which she already had another way. At this point in her career, I’m guessing she’s a consultor for the really tough cases. My own Shadow is a really tough case. Hey, maybe I am too. And another mutual friend as well. It’s actually not true, but, there’s no convincing some people. Anyway, she definitely has two lives going on, one cover for the other and most of her time spent at her day job is spent on what that’s a cover for. I’m guessing she’s a Patriot of extraordinary measures, who is on the cutting edge, as it were, of information collection, using her talents on subjects who are willing and those who have lost their right to say whether they are willing. There’s a lot of dead times. Anyway, she seems to have liked my comment on irony so much in my last related post that she flew away 2,565.19 miles (to be exact) from where she was near my own Shadow. Maybe there’s a replacement. Time to go see my Shadow, maybe, perhaps. Anyway, I recommend KRYPTOS. ;-)

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Depoliticizing FBI: Field Agents relieved

twa flight 800

Depoliticizing TWA Flight 800 by the FBI would also be a good idea. I tried to make that clear to a handful of FBI agents who took special interest in me very close to the time of the event. That interrogation lasted, if I remember correctly, about twenty minutes. I guess they thought that I was somehow the guy who somehow, in some way was responsible for the missile. 

Anyway, I’ve always held that proof of depoliticization comes about when admission of past failures is made with corrections to procedures made with effective congressional oversight.

Regarding Hillary Clinton’s emails, Trey Gowdy tried his best, but Mr. Comey was, in my opinion, entrenched in “reasoning” lacking any syllogism known to man. Mr. Comey, inaccurate as the day is long, got fired. There was no love lost between him and any of the rank and file in the Bureau. They didn’t know what to do any more, what with Hillary seeming to escape justice not according to the Department of Justice or any judge, but in the opinion (who cares?) of Mr. Jimmy Comey himself.  Trey Gowdy would be a good fit to replace him, as he wouldn’t pull any punches in doing investigations. That’s an FBI I would tend to trust.

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Belarmine’s six rules for critica textus. “Palimpsests of Kryptos!” she yelped. “Ain’t a hooker,” whispered my Shadow.

analyst

[[[ This is just one of those boring for-the-record posts that make no sense except to one or two readers within electronic range of the bird’s eye above. The rules presented below are a favor to “the hooker” who’s “not a hooker,” but rather an analyst, a recruiter, a watcher, a baiter, a betrayer, analogously “a hooker”, and a very close associate of my “Shadow.” If I were to be terribly cynical, I would just say, “It’s all too easy” and then just leave it go. But that doesn’t do anyone any good. Maybe these rules will help her figure herself out in the proper way, with the Holy Spirit. Right now she’s reading herself into what she’s doing. But that only brings her to herself, and not even that. ]]]

Bellarmine

These are the six rules of Saint Robert Cardinal Bellarmine, S.J., regarding textual critical redaction of the ancient manuscripts of Sacred Scripture many decades after the fourth session of the Council of Trent. The rules are utterly unscientific and self-serving: check out the words in red. Nota bene: the “regia” is the ancient Greek manuscript he and the commission of Cardinals used as a working document for this project, all at the behest of the Supreme Pontiff. The manuscripts he used from the Vatican’s Apostolic Library are duly noted in the registers. Yet, he had more manuscripts available to him than this. Research has become difficult for reasons I cannot share… yet… The politics are… heart-stopping…

•••—•••—•••

1. Quando plura manuscripta antiqua convenient cum vulgata latina: mutetur regia.

1. When many ancient manuscripts agree with the Latin Vulgate: the ‘regia’ is to be changed.

•••—•••—•••

2. Quando omnia manuscripta contra vulgata et contra regia inter se conveniunt: mutetur regia, sed in notationibus ratio reddatur.

2. When all manuscripts against the Vulgate and the ‘regia’ themselves agree: the ‘regia’ is to be changed, but the reason is given in the notations.

•••—•••—•••

3. Quando vulgata non refragatur, et maior pars manusciptorum contraria est regiae; mutetur regia, et reddatur ratio in notationibus.

3. When the Vulgate does not oppose, and a major part of the manuscripts are against the ‘regia’, the ‘regia’ is to be changed, and the reason is given in the notations.

•••—•••—•••

4. Quando manuscriptum unum vel plura concordant cum vulgata, id annotetur in variis lectionibus.

4. When one manuscript or many agree with the Vulgate, it is to be noted with the variant readings.

•••—•••—•••

5. Annotationes fiant ad finem uniuscuiusque capitis.

5. Annotations may be made at the end of each of the chapters.

•••—•••—•••

6. Quando clare apparet, aliqua verba esse addita ex alio evangelista, eorum non habetur ratio: ut v. g. Marci 8, Saturati sunt omnes, illud omnes translatum est ex Matth. 15 in graeco.

6. When it appears clear that other words have been added from another Evangelist, they will not be reckoned: so, e.g., Mark 8, Saturati sunt omnes, that omnes was transferred from Matthew 15 in Greek.

/// These were first published in the most bloody days of World War II in an obscure though official journal and within days of Divino afflante Spiritu, perhaps in mockery of Father Andreas, Bellarmine’s secretary. But such arrogance was without understanding. At any rate, these rules could just as easily have been written by Erasmus or Luther, and were written by them in their spirit. Meanwhile, I had sent in a request to my close friend, the Cardinal Prefect of the Apostolic Library and Archivist of the Holy Roman Church, describing the resulting work. He sent the logistical prefect of the Library at the time on a wild goose chase that would result in a letter describing the results of the search. The ambiguity of that letter was masterful. The search was called off for incredibly specious reasons. I didn’t bring it up for some six months, but then, up in Saint John’s Tower of the Secretariat of State, I did ask his Eminence about this with a rather leading question which provoked a response that, all that time later, was instantly filled with anger yet perfected pleasantness, bitterness yet perfected cold-as-death intense calm. He had been waiting on edge all this time. His answer, given after a hesitation of, say, five full seconds (and that’s not easy) with every word calculated as in an impossible chess game (just nine words), was ferociously ambiguous, using multiple negatives and the passive voice, making the intent unmistakably clear. The tone was that of a challenge, as in “You’ll not succeed (though you just might)” [those not being the words he used]. I have to bide my time on this one. Pretty much everyone is dead who would stop the project. And… and… I know where to look.

At any rate, Bellarmine rejected this relativism of his “rules” at the end of his life and was beatified also because of this rejection of the error of his ways. He had been prostituting himself for decades as a man of consensus with the new Protestants, a kind of self-appointed embodiment of anti-Counter-Reformation. But then, thankfully, he went into full Counter-Reformation mode. It seems that his doing that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m not sure of the exact day, but it seems that the day of Bellarmine’s recanting is the day the genocidal thirty years war was to begin raging throughout Europe doing in thirty to fifty percent of the population of Europe. Bellarmine’s influence on the Church and on politics cannot possibly be underestimated.

“That’s stupid, Father Byers: religion has nothing to do with the real world,” say the manipulators of our own day. I have to wonder if analysts today are so humble was Bellarmine as to figure out that they are not as clever as they think they are. I doubt it. They can make the same mistake as Bellarmine, wasting their time, even if they faithfully follow the Treasure Map. They forget the quasi part of quasi per manus, thus rejecting the One who could draw them into the truth (see: A Most Glorious Day), thus prostituting themselves to the praise of others, thinking they are clever by clicking mouse buttons day and night, continuously, scouring, creating an imaginative story line, scouring this web site and that, clicking on dozens and dozens (rarely even some hundreds) of posts morning, noon and night, clicking and clicking, searching and searching (clever searches though) not only my site, but those of my friends. It ain’t gonna help. Reality is more complex and simple, more profound and simple, than any scouring is going to realize. **.***.***.**9. It’s all too easy, too easy to bait, to send her on my own wild goose chases. Actually, the activity from that one computer is a bit creepy.

I shouldn’t be so cynical…     I’ll pray.

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Filed under Adulterous woman, Ecumenism, Father Byers Autobiography, Intelligence Community, Interreligious dialogue, Jewish-Catholic dialogue, Terrorism

My Shadow is buying himself or…

shadow money order

Sorry, this is just another of those annoying “for the record” posts. Long time readers will remember “my shadow” who stole my identity as early as the mid-late 1970s or early 1980s.

After a break, it’s happened again. Another installment of $100.00. It’s always the same. I declare these on the blog, put them into my checking account, and will include these in my taxes. I take pictures of them with all the numbers so that they can be tracked. It’s his hand-writing. Am I extorting him? Is he bribing me? Is it something more innocent? More nefarious? The only hint is that he said it’s all he can afford right now, meaning that he thinks it warrants a lot more than $100.00 a month on average. I don’t want this, but, hey, I’ll take it.

I did tell him that I wanted to make a deal with him without saying what that was, and without asking, he started sending me $100.00 money orders. But the deal I had to make with him had nothing to with money, but rather with Main State at the Department of State at Foggy Bottom just off the West end of the National Mall. Inasmuch as I don’t understand what’s going on it’s only going to get worse, because I’ll keep pushing until things are clarified. My Shadow is not one for clarifying anything. It might do us both in. But that might be better for the world.

Oh. And just a reminder, as of this writing…

terrorist attacks counter

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CIA FBI NSA subpoena non-compliance

benedict arnold

You can’t have a shadow-government. If they do show up to Congress oversight committees (and as often as not they thumb their noses at Congress), they simply speak their tender snowflake “fluff-speak” about being eager to hold discussions and conversations that will protract their intransigence into the unforeseeable future, and then throw tantrums about their honesty and integrity like entitled to arrogance teenagers. That kind of non-compliance to Congress becomes subversion and treason pretty quickly. And the penalty for treason is… You just can’t have a shadow-government.

Congress needs to do it’s job. It can’t if all that the best of our best Congressmen do is rant and rave about the non-compliance, sounding all patriotic, but are then simply laughed at, and then that’s the end of the story. I hope it’s not the end of the story.

But I’m afraid things are going to have to get a bit rougher. The penalty isn’t just a resignation or getting fired. At the first sign of non-compliance they are to be warned and immediately offered another opportunity to comply. With the least further non-compliance they are to be held in contempt and indefinitely imprisoned until compliant. If purposed treason can be proven, well, again, we know what the penalty is for that… You just can’t have a shadow-government.

By the way, treason can also be proven, can it not, when the military, intelligence services, or the Department of Justice or the State Department purposely destabilize the country by rejecting Congressional oversight so that these are all merely private endeavors sold to the highest bidder for whatever price, including prestige, influence, whatever, all the things already listed in RICO legislation.

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Forcing Vatican regime changes and…

assange

The rather well connected Thomas D Williams (son in law of an acquaintance of mine) wrote the other day about a conspiracy to force Benedict out and to replace him with someone a bit more malleable[!], hinting at this, among other things, by way of tidbits from Julian Paul Assange’s Wikileaks about John David Podesta, and from hints from Archbishop Luigi Negri, close friend of Pope Benedict XVI: HERE.

edward arsenault

But hey! What do I know? All I know is that the little tidbits that keep coming in are consonant with and answer the most questions about various developments, including the double-murder of Pope Francis’ pregnant “Front of House” “Receptionist” at the time of the gay-marriage referendum in Italy, when enormous pressure was put on the Catholic Hierarchy not to say anything about it, or else. I mean, really, the repeated tantrum like public protestations of the porporati that they didn’t say anything were apoplectic. Some pieces haven’t yet come into the spotlight, and need to be aired. The pressure isn’t just about moral topics and the manipulation of voters’ consciences.

I think I should go have a chat with Julian. I do, after all, have a number of ulterior motives to go to London. The Embassy of Ecuador is just a stroll away from where I would stay, which is just on the other side of Hyde Park (with some 40 volumes of materials to analyse there…), and a bit closer to the American Embassy [!], and a stone’s throw from Tony Blair’s back yard. I’ve been waiting to have a certain chat with Tony since early 2010 about a certain televised debate I would like to set up. He would be the moderator. It’s on a topic he’s spent his retirement facilitating one way or the other. A best friend of mine who is also a best friend of his would boil the billy for the encounter. I don’t think it’s illegal to speak to Assange, or slip a message to him, since he hasn’t been formally charged with anything as far as I know. If you know differently, let me know.

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CIA hacking: nothing is as it seems.

CIA

  • Rule number one: Don’t get caught.
  • Rule number two: Nothing is as it seems.

המוסד did this the other year, that is, looking vulnerable and going out of their way (too much, really) to bait hackers.

Now it’s the CIA’s turn to bait hackers: “Oooo! Look at us! We’re so vulnerable and confused! Oooo! Please be nice to us!” Yeah. Right.

  • Rule number one enhanced: If you get caught, make sure it’s because it’s a ploy: you want to get caught.
  • Rule number two enhanced: Nothing is as it seems, really.

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A day in the death at the Holy See. Chilling chat with a string puller.

It’s well over a year now that 34 year old Miriam Woldu of Eritrea, “Front of House” receptionist at the Pope’s residence of Santa Marta, was assassinated with her baby in her womb. Intense culpable homicide investigations began after the autopsy and examination of her medical supplies. After. The deaths were a shot over the bow. All never to be heard from again.

Hey! “The Vote” in Italy went as planned with highly publicized negligence on the part of the Holy See and Italian hierarchy to provide any direction. There were plenty of sycophantic exclamations like: “We never said anything and so we are nice and so be nice to us, please!” We pray for her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed.

I have to wonder if she’s the (at the time) young lady our intelligence community bragged to me about finding (to see if I knew her?), someone who could remember every face years later even though only glimpsed once, able to give accurate descriptions about associated times and places. You don’t get “Front of House” for the leader of 1.3 billion people without being a most extraordinary individual. And yet some of the media conjectured she was just a stupid girl from a third world country and couldn’t possibly know how to manage her medical supplies. One of our readers, whose comment I did not publish, but who has a (malicious?) penchant for mocking anything but extreme naivete cleverly agreed with that bit of racism if I recall correctly. Anyway…

This comes to mind again after a chat I had the other day with someone all too interested in everything to do with replacing the one I think facilitated, set up the assassination. The facilitator, who I knew very well, was there for years, under orders, and had personal motives, ample opportunity and all logistics clicking into place, and exactly the right time with the message all too clear. I mean, I knew who trained him, who assigned him, and all his daily activities. He’s now “dead” and entirely removed from Italy. The fellow I had a chat with the other day has the string-pulling ability to replace the now removed facilitator guy with another like minded fellow, regardless of who took his place some few years ago. It was a bit of a chilling conversation. The perception is that it’s just all too easy as so many of the people in place in the Holy See are so entirely able to be manipulated.

Some higher-ups in our DoD well understand that I am rightly concerned for the safety of the Holy Father even while they correctly acknowledge my patriotism regarding these USA and my support of the CIA and State Department generally speaking. Many of them, who have spent lifetimes in the Military at the Pentagon and loaned out to the CIA (high ranking guys) warn me about my interfering to the point of my outing an agent, speaking of the usual penalty for doing so, and yet at the same time again praise my loyalty to the Holy Father and my patriotism of these USA as being understandable.

So, O.K. I’ll run some interference already this morning.

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To המוסד the Institute: You have 5 months to stop upcoming terrorism on 50th anniversary of the 6 day war

star of david

We’re with you in solidarity on every level.

We’ll pray for you. You have our heart.

It’s always on anniversaries. Always. This is a big one. 5-10 June 1967 – 2017.

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*NOC*NOC* “Who’s there?” “Fear.” “Fear who?”

noc

N.O.C. – I pass by this sign all the time. It will soon be a frozen ghost town in the middle of nowhere in the mountains. In some rather arcane circles, the letters N.O.C. also stand for Non-Official Cover, the rather obnoxious title for “illegals,” who are neither illegal (at least for us), nor non-official (at least for us), and whose only cover (usually business and politics) might be playing the self-referential fool, kind of like the Holy Roman Empire which was not Holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire.

At any rate, being an illegal, a NOC, usually, is nothing Kryptos. But that’s the problem. It should be everything Kryptos. Can anyone figure out terrorist initiative without being Kryptos? No, not without being Kryptos, at least my version of it, you know, taking into consideration the geological and mathematical elements physically represented and begging to be brought into one’s heart of hearts. What’s an analyst without it? Just someone manipulated by others. Not being at the heart of Kryptos is all play. An analyst might get lucky once in a while without being at the heart of all, but once in a while isn’t good enough. In fact, it makes one vulnerable to being used, the most dangerous NOC of all. All NOCs should be Kryptos.

It’s kind of like the difference between being “spiritual” and religious, as if those who are religious are not at all spiritual. The “spiritual” but not religious person is a faker, the most dangerous person of all. They congratulate themselves for being, you know, nice, sharing some supposedly common value, say, of niceness, that one supposes some spiritual power somewhere out in outer-space might appreciate in a heartless, mindless, but, you know, nice way. As often as not, it’s psychologism replacing a truly spiritual life. And that’s a licence to murder: “The god of my creation is on my side.” That’s when right and wrong lose the integrity of black and white and become 50 shades of self-serving gray, lusting for the power that covers the innocent in the red blood if death. Is that still called integrity? Integrity demands excellence. It’s the harder option, but is always worth it.

Excellence demands smarts and guts. True religion frees one from fear of being smart and from fear of having guts. One can face reality head on. It’s exhilarating. NOCs should give it a try. Those who insist “Gray is good for integrity” are low-life scum, you know, the ultra sophisticated creepo guys who have gone all Gnostic about “gray”. Having been had, betrayed, almost killed however many times, having seen killings even by the hundreds, having killed many… none of that means facing reality head on. It just means one has had those experiences which, however much they may put an edge on someone, do not of themselves make anyone less fearful of the big picture, perhaps more. Only watching God take our place in tortured death so as to have the right in his own justice to demand forgiveness can be the occasion for for one not to run away from seeing the big picture: “Father, forgive them.”

Meanwhile, the truly religious person lives out the ultimate virtue of justice, namely, religion, namely, giving to God that which is God’s due: “Thank you, God, for having this otherwise useless heap of weakness live what is reasonable and just in service of you and others, even if it means I have to lay down my life that others might live for that which is reasonable and just, for you.” Doing the religious thing, say, going to Mass, the Last Supper united with Calvary (see Kryptos) – This is my body given for you in Sacrifice, my blood poured out for you in Sacrifice – giving to God that which is his due in all justice, he himself standing in our stead to take on the death we deserve for original sin and whatever personal sin so that he might have the right in his own justice to have mercy on us… yes, that is also spiritual and brings one without fear into the heart of all.

And that’s deadly important: no fear. The merely “spiritual” person is full of fear. They are on the run from themselves. Such an analyst might fill his waking hours and his nightmares with innumerable facts, all so intriguing with their interconnectedness or not, and the adrenaline rush had by someone who lives the fake-news cycle, thinking they are it, you know, special. Such a person doesn’t want to get to the heart of all. They are afraid. They paint themselves into the peripheries so that they can’t see the way things really are, however much violence and injustice they otherwise see.

But for the religious person who is truly spiritual there is no fear of finding the answer in oneself when looking for the terrorist, and one can find that terrorist, even in the early stages, well, pretty much every time as quick as quick can be. In Jerusalem I did this for recreation. Starting from scratch, one could get a stop-watch and see how many minutes it would take me to get the personal contact info of someone personally named on our terrorist list. My record on the street is, I think, eight minutes. That was in Jerusalem, but the head terrorist guy for whom I got the contact info was in Syria. Then you see who those guys know in Jerusalem, etc. I’m not tooting my own horn here, as my point is that anyone can do this if you’re not afraid to see what is right in front of you. Fakers not only waste everyone’s time, they bring everyone down with them: “We didn’t think it was important.” Compared to what is the question. What’s the standard of importance, of urgency, of whether something means something? When the importance of fake-religion (e.g. ISIS rubbish) is dismissed, successful terrorism ensues. One cannot see the importance of fake-religion unless one sees the importance of true religion. One cannot see the importance of true religion unless one lives it with integrity.

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