messenger

THE HERETIC’S VISION

I have been shown a vision, a horrific revelation, a vision of senseless pain and torture, of Man’s evil against Man, of an outcome among a myriad of possible realistic outcomes of one ritual of The Doctrine that has been left unexamined for far too long. It is a vision of what The Doctrine attempts to bring into the World and the suffering that promotes more suffering so that wicked men might rule over those who listen to Sacred Lies told about suffering:

In this vision, I am shown a dead man’s corpse, or rather its leathery ragged shell, in its coffin, gray and withered by the millennia, yet infused with Spirit as a dead man who has not received the peace of Death. This man’s body is only still recognizable as once being a man, for the head and torso, with legs and arms still attached, somewhat resemble those of a person. But this body writhes in its tomb and is distorted by invasion, twisting and convulsing with the wriggling of millions of worms and maggots weaving in and out of the rotting human flesh, covered in putrid blood. The actions of the worms is so strong that the corpse’s head bangs against the floor of its tomb, rhythmically pounding upon the wooden boards, as though begging to be released from its chamber of horror. The mouth is set in a frozen scream beneath sunken eye sockets, where living tear-filled eyes roll in agony. A perpetual tortured wail rents the air, escaping from the mummified throat which gurgles moistly with the action of the parasites that fill every available cavity. I am shown that this poor dead man has been beset upon by a curse. For he, who once was dead, has been raised by wicked rites to be only as alive as was deemed necessary by the curse’s authors to perpetually nourish the worms that so greedily consume him now. I see that he has been trapped in the box by this mighty curse, neither able to escape nor die, for thousands of years, forced to experience relentlessly, the perpetual agonizing, consumption of its magically regenerating flesh by an ever-growing mass of slimy worms and creeping maggots. I know that the living corpse can both feel and think and is completely aware of what is being done to it.

My attention is drawn to a dark spirit which hovers ominously over the corpse, and I am shown that it is an entity that serves as tormentor, keeping the dead man in a state of revived consciousness, pitiless to the living corpse’s screams of suffering. Next, I see wrapped about the living corpse’s torso, twelve slithering snakes, rapidly weaving themselves around and around in blurring patterns, continually casting the curse that will regenerate the dead flesh as it is consumed by the greedy worms so that more and more worms may feed. And I know from the watching that this wicked treatment of the poor ravaged revived dead man will go on until the end of Time if the living corpse is not saved from the curse that possesses it. I know I must try to help.

I am there with the tortured corpse and its terrified soul when the lid of the coffin is opened allowing light to pour in. Suddenly, the coffin is transformed, by means I cannot know, into a much smaller box and the sweet smell of incense begins to fill the air and a sound of beautiful chanting comes to my ears. The corpse suddenly is gone, the dark spirit and snakes and worms with it and I feel a rush of relief that rescue has been effected. Hopeful, I look out of the now-tiny box and into the lighted area beyond. Before me, a robed man stands with his back to me. His flowing garb is decked in golden brocade and symbols embroidered in silver and red. I see that he is standing before a great stone table and beyond the table and down some steps are hundreds of people, on their knees, gazing up at what the robed man is carrying. It is the tortured corpse. I clammer from the box, which I now see is golden and one-eighth the size of a coffin and set into a large carved stone edifice, and, unseen as a ghost, I proceed to the robed man’s side and stand next to him. I look up into his face. He seems kind and sincere. I look out at the attending crowd. Their faces are rapt, some seem distraught, some elated, some at peace. My heart leaps for joy. These people will surely help put the dead man’s soul to rest. The robed man reverently, gently, with great purpose, lowers the writhing corpse onto the table. He speaks words I do not understand but he seems to be saying words of love. My heart rejoices.

As the robed man speaks his foreign words, I cast my eyes about the place I have entered from the golden chest. It appears to be a the interior of a vast granite vault. The space is huge and everything in it overwhelms the tiny figures in the gallery before the raised area which supports the heavy stone table. There are intricately carved statues all about the place and ornate colored glass windows and massive pillars holding up a high ceiling, so high that I can barely make out its limit in the far-reaching gloom beyond the reaches of light.

My attention is drawn to the statue of a girl on her knees, hands together before her in the attitude of prayer, her beseeching eyes are cast to the gloomy reaches of the ceiling, her eyes filled with tears, her mouth poised as if in prayer. Her attitude reminds me of the people gathered now in the vault, as though they all share with her a need for aid from heaven. My vision adjusts to the dim candlelight that illuminates her and suddenly my sense of peace is shattered. There is more to this statue than I had perceived at first glance. The figure of the praying girl is bent slightly forward, her dress pushed up to her waist. Barely visible behind her, a naked winged figure clutches at her thighs, his pelvis pressed to her bare buttocks, obviously in the throes of committing rape. As I choke on my rising tears, I look upon the girl’s face again and what had a moment before seemed to be the beseeching eyes of a reverent servant of God, now became the features of a victim begging for their torment to end. I do not see devotion there now; the girl’s face is a mask of terror and shame. I am shown that this girl will become the mother of the living corpse now writhing upon the stone table and that she will be left pregnant by her rapist to face, alone, the crime of having sacrificed her maidenhood outside of sacred wedlock. Lies will have to be told to save her.