In February, 2020, I received a series of impressions about the Luciferian Brotherhood, a.k.a. the Illuminati. All these visions were centered around the second chapter of the book of Habakkuk. Verses 4 and 5 of this chapter are pretty clear about the character of those who won’t stop serving the god of the Brotherhood – Satan. But to me, it says just as much about Satan himself. And then the Lord gave me this: a peek into Satan’s permanent mental state…
Marion A.
Habakkuk 2:4-5 New American Standard Bible (NASB)
4 “Behold, as for the proud one,
His soul is not right within him;
But the righteous will live by his [a]faith.
5 “Furthermore, wine betrays the haughty man,
So that he does not stay at home.
He enlarges his appetite like Sheol,
And he is like death, never satisfied.
He also gathers to himself all nations
And collects to himself all peoples.
I’m seeing a large apartment block. It doesn’t look like the ideal place to live in, but yet, it could be worse. The colors I see are vibrant and each window shows how people have tried to shape their second-choice lives into something moderately bearable.
Still, this must be what suburban hell in a megacity looks like. In this neighborhood unemployment rates are sky high, future perspectives for children are almost zero and gangs are ruling the streets, especially at night.
I’m standing in the hallway of one of the apartments in this block and what I’m finding is the not-so-glorious domain of somebody who’s obviously not taking good care of himself. The place hasn’t been cleaned since years. A grayish film is lying over every piece of outdated furniture and the windows are so dirty that looking outside is like facing a gloomy, foggy day, even when the sun is shining.
The first room I see is empty and devoid of any character. Then, from behind the wall, I’m hearing a man’s voice, mumbling. I enter the next room and this is what I find:
A floor, covered with empty beer cans and wine bottles. I’m trying to walk, but soon something cold enters my left shoe. I feel how my sock gets wet – probably a few drops of remaining fluid from a can of beer that is emptied over my foot. I keep on pressing forward, shoving and kicking away all the obvious and hidden obstacles on the floor, but when I almost trip over a wine bottle I decide to stop walking and watch the scene in front of me from where I’m standing. The smell in this room is truly horrendous. It’s irritating my nose, but I’m reluctant to rub it, because my hands have touched several door handles in this apartment already and since it’s not only the scent of scale beer that reaches my smelling organ… Who knows what this man’s hands have been touching?
The air is heavy with cigarette smoke and I remember from walking past the toilet, that I smelled something coming suspiciously close to ammoniac – probably due to months of not cleaning poop, pie and vomit.
The mumbling that I heard has stopped. I see a man, sitting on the couch, breathing heavily. He doesn’t seem to notice me, although I’m standing right opposite of him.
Then, for no apparent reason, the man brings out a crude curse. He starts talking to himself again – he seems to be very unhappy about something. As if he’s trying to knock away a non-existent yet aggressive wasp, his arm waves through the air, moving uncontrolledly. He wants to get up, but he falls right back to the couch. Again he tries, but then he decides to first get rid of the cigarette between his shaking fingers. He moves his hand into the direction of one of the ashtrays but he loses the cigarette too early. It tumbles down on the table instead. Another curse comes out, louder than before, and with his flat hand he slams on the table, on the smoking remains of the tobacco. He wipes the ashes away and grabs the table in an attempt to get on his wobbly feet.
Finally he’s standing… sort of. He does his utmost best to not lose his balance while he’s making his way to the kitchen.
There is no beer in the fridge. He looks in all the cupboards and opens an old, smudged microwave. After concluding that nothing’s in there either, he slams its door shut with a bang. Consequently, he staggers to the bedroom and somehow manages to bow down and look underneath the bed. But also there and even between the blanket and the filthy sheets, he cannot find what he’s looking for. More cursing follows.
In the hallway he goes through the pockets of a coat. He finds a few quarters, tucks them in a pocket of his pants and leaves the apartment. After having pied in the elevator while on his way down, he goes to a grocery store and purchases two cans of the cheapest, grossest beer he can lay his hands on.
When he’s back outside and when he has finished the first beer, he starts to walk again, a bit more secure on his feet. Upon finishing his second beer he arrives at a shabby garage. When someone answers his loud banging on the metal door and opens it, he steps in without greeting. There are people inside, but he ignores them while walking in an almost perfect straight line to a dressing room.
A few minutes later, he installs himself on a chair in front of a table with an open beauty case and some brushes. A stylist carefully puts on a woolen hat and when she sighs almost inaudibly while trying to model a few strings of his much too greasy hair he snaps at her, “Why in the bloody world haven’t you given me my beer??”
After the work of the stylist is done he gets on stage. The cameras start rolling and he starts to play his role, against the backdrop of an Austrian mountainous landscape.
The Lord directs me to watch the video of this commercial:
Then the Lord starts to speak:
“Satan is an addict and a poser. He acts like he’s got it all, like he’s “the boss”, but he is not much more than a junkie, desperately addicted to destruction. He is craving death and the blood of the innocent and guilty alike. He cannot function without it, he can’t think straight without the blood of sacrifices.
Therefore, I want you to rob him from his resources. Rob him from his rituals, from his blood rituals, and loot his chambers that are full of stolen gold, captives and children. Break into his realm with holy violence and ROAR, my daughters! Roar, like you’ve never screamed before, and chase Satan and his demons, until you’ve driven them away from My beloved ones, until you’ve utterly destroyed them all…..!
AMEN.
© Marion A. 2020.