Tears drop from containment never knowing it’s true contents until dry eyes can bring up and out the moisture wrung out of the heart, when thinking of just sensing out into the current environment of thinking, seeing, and feeling what comes as it may, popping up in the mind to clear the air and eyes of considerations that arise, within the calm, collective One…

Years, eons, generational conditionings to erase chords carried out by their previous ones. Little ones, in-league with Deeper ones and giving their librarians books and perceptions to dwell upon, giving rotten candy to innocent ones while arming masons imbedded in to a darker system that keeps on giving, and tricksters handing out treats to the general public consuming such nonsense that has no basis in real all-ities. No matter, as warning labels are often trashed or discarded by resonate innocence hungry to unwrap presents gifted by non-presence handing them out freely, if following…pied pipers leading lambs by baseless claims that don’t hold water, but drown the spirit…

Same old story line points to the same developers, inside informants propogandizing and making-up everything they won’t let go of, handing it down to innocent ones that don’t look Deeper. Masons stick together, sons and daughters, generational broadcasters of lies built upon cracked foundations of habitual liers, now lying in plain sight. Best place to hide, spiting the physical noses that see but don’t listen or smell the stench the black magi’s are brewing within those reaching out for answers and getting smacked in the face with truths never accepted or realized when playing the fool…

Spirit tyres of head games that keep veiling lessons that take the Others for rides, given corrupted wings that flap but go nowhere. Essenes crawl in their graves now, utter disgust with the Lot of them and the commercialism that follows advertisers that know more, but aren’t telling any one. But real Ones don’t see it that way, as pointers point back to times of their shadow players, stations transmitting to channelers who never change or feel their emptied presence. Lip service to higher Ones not going back to sleeping with its enemy…

No ones listen to brothers, when sisters arrive with make-up and oracles that aren’t One. Sleeping dogs must lay in their owned feces when projected to a perceived path of enlightening children to maturing adults, if ones wish to grow up in the fairies’ tales and follow…

The seven just keep coming to raise the vibrations of librarians, tools shedded in a closed structure and thinking that they’re on their true calling now…psyop’s by Deep players, fingering their transmitters to keep beliefs the truths, while putting their souls in jeopardy of escaping such Sol farming, when librarians become plants that grow under artificial lights…of the seven bitches with wrath in their soul, and governance on their minds, mining of souls giving up theirs to hiders amongst the seekers, in plain sight.

After all is said and done, shouldn’t spiritists get paid to inform and perform public service announcements also?

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