I still don’t really know what “Q” is. Or what QAnon is for sure.
The other day I responded to Burning Bright’s Substack where I mentioned that I had been introduced to Q in 2019. Someone wrote that I was a QAnon! And then congratulated me. Really? Me? an Anon? I never read the “drops” even, like most who would just rather this whole affair would disappear, so as to get back to the deck renno.
Still and all, my life changed for good after Q quietly distinguished itself from the alphabet and I learned the consequence of that.
It began four years ago, when I traveled to Brazil to see my son, his wife and my new grandson, the first in our family. What an occasion! I was dizzy with love. My days were filled with vibrant colors of the Toucan, fantastic frutas, and dancing makeshift mambas at the drop of a hat.
And then, one hot São Paulo day my son sat me down at an outdoor cafe and began my education in the beginning of the end of reality as I had known it. I remember hearing about “pizza gate,” and Epstein Island, JFK jr. sightings, blackmail and Hollywood accomplices. All so fantastically outrageous. I remember wondering if my son had allowed himself to go down a dark tunnel from which he could not come out of because of its strange allure.
For someone who had always questioned the mainstream, this path made some sort of sense for him. Here was the High School boy who saw straight through the indoctrination, and finally dropped out to begin his self-education when he was 16.
With my blessings. I saw it too.
Isn’t that the way it is for all of us? We can “see” or “hear” something is wrong, but we keep going. Going where? Back to the rat race, the “Well, ya gotta make a living” mantra.
By 2020 the stage had been set for the worldwide pandemic, and my curiosity (not paranoia!) spurred by the nagging questions about COVID, the lack of treatment, the push for vaccines, grew to such a degree that I could not make a move without looking under rocks and behind the tilted hat and shades for clues of either subterfuge or veracity.
Someone is lying! And someone is telling the truth. The “who is doing what” game has been going on for sometime now, and I am frankly so sick and tired of it. Some days, I’m just tired. If this is 5th Generational Warfare, I guess it’s battle fatique.
I am tired knowing what others don’t. I’m tired of trying not to be bothered by the fact that some see my curiosity as being brain addled. And, I’m tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Is it the new moon energy today? Also we are headed for the Lions Gate. So, things are popping. I feel like a popcorn popper inside myself.
I began this article with Q because of the Sound of Freedom hubbub. “QAnon adjacent.” The predictions, the foretelling, the immensity of the fact that this film portrayal of child trafficking might actually be a large part of “how the world works’’—It has finally broken ground, the secrets revealed in this much maligned letter of the alphabet are spilling into the village.
Which brings me to the Braver Angels National Convention in Gettysburg.
After attending the 5 day event with this group of 300 reds and 300 blues (approx.) I can identify with Kermit: “It isn’t easy being green.” In other words. I still did not find a like mind. No one was talking about the bigger issues of globalist agenda including depopulation through vaccination and other means. No one I met was going beyond the national borders to the world issues of AI, transhumanism, blackmail and child trafficking, and one world government.
It was mostly about fixing congress and civic renewal. Don’t get me wrong. This is all GOOD.
And maybe that IS the strategy. Get our broken system back on its feet to work for “we the people,” so that we have the protections in place to defend our liberties.
Despite this disappointment, I had more than my share of beautiful moments at the site of the bloodiest battle on American soil. I met a woman who was a blue journeying toward red, like me. We have a zoom call scheduled this evening. Maybe I will learn something about how to mix green into the pot.
While there, I took part in a songwriting for unity workshop. This collaboration seemed to transcend the red and blue lanyards with our name placards. We discussed common experiences dealing with health, disease, and the medical system. We wrote a song together—Take My Hand.
I think it is also speaks to the headache and heartache of lmnop__and all it represents about what we don’t know that may be lurking in the shadows.
Can I call for you?
Can I sit with you?
Tell me how.
Can you breathe again?
What’s your pain 1 to 10?
Let it out.
Can you pay for this?
Is it in your plan?
Take my hand.
I feel like something’s broken
Feel like I’m all alone.
I just need somebody to
take my hand,
make me whole,
lead me home.
I talk about my son in this article. You might want to check out: The Sean Morgan Report on Rumble.com for his take on things.
Here's a direct link to your son's rumble channel (I will watch this video later today):
https://rumble.com/v2ysgc2-the-psy-war-with-paul-furber-sean-morgan-report-ep.-4.html
Sounds like you had a good experience at Braver Angels without a “support group “. Glad you had fun.