Conspiracy of 911 and Building 7, and other Ladders to Heaven.

Conspiracy of 911 and Building 7, and other Ladders to Heaven.  

Highway Dogs breathe a drone from the cement river below…the road that splits the city.

All is changing, not the same old impatient tangent, not the inner disquiet, but something new, like magnolia blossoms, spraying the scent of Love. I am that, and that I am. I bow to the force of creation: that light inside and behind this perplexing drama: this path to enlightenment: to bliss: to peace.

Back to the law of the One, back to happiness and love; all is one, is noble. Just words? Electricity is in the etheric mind all about us? Hey, is there anybody out there? Disclosure 2013. The de-cloaking of the ships: the return of the fairy kings, with their brilliant consorts: their dear hearts…women with thunderbolts tucked in their scarves; ladies born beyond the reaches of space, from those distant stars, that we can barely make out on a night, clouded with city light.

The commanders must have, must seek to have the permission from Heaven; who is this fleet admiral? Who lives in heaven?  All of us?  Our higher Selves?  The collective Human mind?  The hive?  All this, all this, all this…and, just not one single picture. I see the tiny dots of light, all right, but why not one snap, one at the console?  Your applets are shining. Your peace exuding, your intentions updated. We must guess, we must filter through all the smoke, from the false fairy kings. We must endure buildings falling, that engineers say, cannot fall in free fall without explosives: cannot come down without planted explosives; we must filter all the news from the streets that disappeared after that day…only a day and then gone. We must ask why the steel was whisked away, that the thermite residue was not to be seen, the droplets of melted steel never seen.  A mystery?  Building 7 came down at free fall, with no plane violating it. This is a mystery never asked about, the sounds of explosions, and the kind you might hear in a controlled demolition. But you say that’s crazy; well it is, but where is the man on news film that day, saying we decided to pull-it? It would have taken so long to plant those explosives, only they pulled it, said: to pull it, only hours after the twins fell. Who was he?  The owner?  Again, seen once, then never again.  (except on conspiracy films) Well. Why would so many engineers call this a hoax, a planned demolition? That means all was a lie, which means someone at the highest level knows more than they are saying. Then I say peace to you, love to you, you, who are part of the mind of god. So, then I say: Love those who trespass, love those who flew the planes, and I say to you, why did the witnesses on the ground see a big, black, or gray plane, unmarked with no commercial paint? Again, one day and gone from the news, that day… 911. I thought you said to Love, Yes, but not forgive.  So where’s the smoking gun?  The unmarked plane?  I say someone brave, who knows, will one day say the truth. Where are you now? Do we have to wait until you are dying and on your death bed? I say let’s get to the truth now. You are ready and I am listening.