the Word to the wise suffices

FREEDOM 1988
Fourth of July Address
Part 1  In the name of Saint Germain, in the name of our heavenly Father and the Divine Mother, the living Christ and the Holy Spirit, Amen. I begin by reading to you from

Saint Germain’s dictation given at Thanksgiving 1987 in Washington, D.C.:         Ho!  It is the last time that I shall appear in this nation’s capital unless and until those who know better do better–until those who have seen my calling and heard my word respond to it and postpone not the day of our God’s appearing.       Lo, my Presence has counted for ye all for millions of years in this Earth and in higher octaves. In joy and love and with what fond purpose I have sponsored this nation and this opportunity!       Keepers of the Flame, by your leave I AM sent from the Great Central Sun to stand in the midst of this city as a pillar of violet flame, my aura then sealing a destiny–a destiny far spent.       For America has abdicated her role as the nation of Christhood, the eternal Law of God, as the nation wherein the Lord Our Righteousness should raise up a standard, an ensign of the people and a two-edged sword.       Thus, beloved, through your hearts and yours alone the lightbearers in all the Earth–those who know me and may not know my name but have espoused the cause of freedom and of peace–through them I shall continue to work.       But I shall not be here, beloved, to deliver to you another statement of my word or my call unless the representatives of the people, from the highest office in the land to the least, shall take their stand for the defense of freedom....       I tell you this, I AM a living pillar of violet flame! Wheresoever you shall raise up that violet flame by a concerted action of a decree momentum there I shall be, as it were, the genie of the lamp, the lamp of knowledge and transmutation, the lamp of transfiguration and transubstantiation of the body and blood of thyself that the Lord Christ might truly enter therein. Wheresoever a pillar of violet flame is raised up, because it is the equivalency of my Presence I shall be there....       Know then, O beloved, that footprint for footprint if America and the Earth shall long desire the Presence of Saint Germain with them, they must forge a fire, truly a violet flame fire where I may place my feet. It is indeed the last time, last opportunity, last freedom and justice. Either these flames be raised up by lightbearers of the world or you shall see the darkness prophesied by young and old alike, those who have seen, those who have known and those who have read the report of that which the enemy does propose against this nation and against all people of freedom worldwide. Following this dictation Saint Germain was seen leaving the city, his hooded purple cape pulled closely about him, striding toward the Rocky Mountains. It is time then to ponder Saint Germain’s exit from our capital, what it means for us, for America and for the world. It was a grand experiment which he began in Independence Hall in 1776.

-Messenger of the Great White Brotherhood E C P ……………………...........................… (account given by a witness in early July 1776:) But still there is doubt–and that pale-faced man shrinking in one corner squeaks out something about axes, scaffolds and a–gibbet!       “Gibbet! (echoes a fierce, bold voice that startles men from their seats–and look yonder!  A tall slender man rises, dressed–although it is summer time–in a dark robe. Look how his white hand undulates as it is stretched slowly out, how that dark eye burns while his words ring through the hall. We do not know his name, let us therefore call his appeal The Speech of the Unknown).       “Gibbet?  They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the land–they may turn every rock into a scaffold–every tree into a gallows, every home into a grave and yet the words on that Parchment can never die!       “They may pour our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe or drips on the sawdust of the block a new martyr to freedom will spring into birth!       “The British King may blot out the stars of God from his sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on the Parchment there!  The works of God may perish–His Word, never!       “These words will go forth to the world when our bones are dust. To the slave in the mines they will speak–hope–to the mechanic in his workshop–freedom–to the coward-kings these words will speak, but not in tones of flattery. No, no!  They will speak like the flaming syllables on Belshazzar’s wall– The Days of Your Pride and Glory Are Numbered! The Days of Judgment and Revolution Draw Near!       “Yes, that Parchment will speak to the Kings in a language sad and terrible as the trump of the archangel. You have trampled on mankind long enough. At last the voice of human woe has pierced the ear of God and called His Judgment down!  You have waded on to thrones over seas of blood–you have trampled on to power over the necks of millions–you have turned the poor man’s sweat and blood into robes for your delicate forms, into crowns for your anointed brows. Now Kings–now purpled Hangmen of the world–for you come the days of axes and gibbets and scaffolds–for you the wrath of man–for you the lightnings of God!–       “Look!  How the light of your palaces on fire flashes up into the midnight sky! Now purpled Hangmen of the world–turn and beg for mercy! Where will you find it? Not from God, for you have blasphemed His laws! Not from the People, for you stand baptized in their blood!       “Here you turn, and lo!  a gibbet! There–and a scaffold looks you in the face. All around you–death–and nowhere pity!       “Now executioners of the human race, kneel down, yes, kneel down upon the sawdust of the scaffold–lay your perfumed heads upon the block–bless the axe as it falls–the axe that you sharpened for the poor man’s neck! Such is the message of that Declaration to Man, to the Kings of the world!  And shall we falter now? And shall we start back appalled when our feet press the very threshold of freedom?  Do I see quailing faces around me when our wives have been butchered–when the hearthstones of our land are red with the blood of little children? What are these shrinking hearts and faltering voices here when the very dead of our battlefields arise and call upon us to sign that Parchment or be accursed forever?      “Sign! if the next moment the gibbet’s rope is round your neck!  Sign! if the next moment this hall rings with the echo of the falling axe!  Sign! By all your hopes in life or death, as husbands–as fathers–as men–sign your names to the Parchment or be accursed forever! Sign–and not only for yourselves but for all ages. For that Parchment will be the textbook of freedom–the Bible of the Rights of Man forever!       “Sign–for that declaration will go forth to American hearts forever and speak to those hearts like the voice of God!  And its work will not be done until throughout this wide continent not a single inch of ground owns the sway of a British King!  “Nay, do not start and whisper with surprise!  It is a truth, your own hearts witness it, God proclaims it.–This continent is the property of a free people, and their property alone. God, I say, proclaims it!       “Look at this strange history of a band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into a people–look at this wonderful Exodus of the oppressed of the Old World into the New where they came weak in arms but mighty in Godlike faith–nay, look at this history of your Bunker Hill–your Lexington–where a band of plain farmers mocked and trampled down the panoply of British arms, and then tell me if you can that God has not given America to the free?   “It is not given to our poor human intellect to climb the skies, to pierce the councils of the Almighty One. But methinks I stand among the awful clouds which veil the brightness of Jehovah’s throne. Methinks I see the Recording Angel–pale as an angel is pale, weeping as an angel can weep–come trembling up to that Throne and speak his dread message–       “Father!  the old world is baptized in blood!  Father, it is drenched with the blood of millions, butchered in war, in persecution, in slow and grinding oppression!  Father–look, with one glance of Thine Eternal Eye look over Europe, Asia, Africa and behold evermore that terrible sight, man trodden down beneath the oppressor’s feet–nations lost in blood–murder and superstition walking hand in hand over the graves of their victims and not a single voice to whisper “Hope to Man!”’       “He stands there, the Angel, his hands trembling with the black record of human guilt. But hark!  The voice of Jehovah speaks out from the awful cloud–‘Let there be light again. Let there be a new world. Tell my people–the poor, the trodden down millions to go out from the Old World. Tell them to go out from wrong, oppression and blood–tell them to go out from this Old World–to build my altar in the New!’ [11-second applause]       “As God lives, my friends, I believe that to be His voice!  Yes, were my soul trembling on the wing for eternity, were this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking with the last struggle, I would still with the last impulse of that soul, with the last wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice implore you to remember this truth–God has given America to the free!”       Yes, as I sank down into the gloomy shadows of the grave with my last gasp I would beg you to sign that Parchment in the name of the God who made the Savior who redeemed you–in the name of the millions whose very breath is now hushed in intense expectation as they look up to you for the awful words–‘You are free!’ O many years have gone since that hour–the Speaker, his brethren, all have crumbled into dust, but it would require an angel’s pen to picture the magic of that Speaker’s look, the deep, terrible emphasis of his voice, the prophet-like beckoning of his hand, the magnetic flame which shooting from his eyes soon fired every heart throughout the hall!       The work was done. A wild murmur thrills through the hall.–Sign?  Hah?  There is no doubt now. Look!  How they rush forward–stout-hearted John Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold name, before the pen is grasped by another–another and another! Look how the names blaze on the Parchment–Adams and Lee and Jefferson and Carroll, and now, Roger Sherman the Shoemaker.       And here comes good old Stephen Hopkins–yes, trembling with palsy he totters forward–quivering from head to foot, with his shaking hands he seizes the pen, he scratches his patriot-name.       Then comes Benjamin Franklin the Printer....And now the Parchment is signed; and now let word go forth to the People in the streets–to the homes of America–to the camp of Mister Washington, and the Palace of George the Idiot-King–let word go out to all the Earth–       And, old man in the steeple, now bare your arm and grasp the Iron Tongue and let the bell speak out the great truth:       FIFTY-SIX TRADERS, LAWYERS, FARMERS AND MECHANICS HAVE THIS DAY SHOOK THE SCHACKLES OF THE WORLD!      “Hark!  Hark to the toll of that Bell! Is there not a deep poetry in that sound, a poetry more sublime than Shakespeare or Milton?      Is there not a music in the sound that reminds you of those awful tones which broke from angel-lips when news of the child Jesus burst on the shepherds of Bethlehem?      For that Bell now speaks out to the world, that–       GOD HAS GIVEN THE AMERICAN CONTINENT TO THE FREE–THE TOILING MILLIONS OF THE HUMAN RACE–AS THE LAST ALTAR OF THE RIGHTS OF MAN ON THE GLOBE–THE HOME OF THE OPPRESSED, FOREVERMOR! ///////////////// -Pearls of Wisdom 32:25 …………………..................... Great White Brotherhood, or White33 Lodge25, a name for Sons13 of12 Solitude33, (holy order focusing and harmonizing with and overcoming in) the Cosmic26 Christ32. -r. ……..