When people leave the little nightlight on and go to sleep, fear usually takes the chance to slip in through the devices, with an insect hum and a headline tongue, a river of images that tightens the throat and thickens the blood… sometimes a single chord on the radio is enough, or a word repeated, for the heart to grow used to beating in basements, and that is when I think of those stories, the ones that ask for attention, the ones that speak of beings with fine scales, masters of cold, who do not hunt with teeth but with weather, who do not bite flesh but emotion, because sorrow and rage, hatred and lust without tenderness, leave in the air a dark nourishment, a foam they drink without touching you, feeding their ancient stomachs.
They say what frightens them is something very simple, the instant a human remembers their origin, they fear the light that does not come from that little lamp, but from that ancient clarity that, when it wakes, sets the body in order from within and makes the lie transparent, a light that names them and strips away their mask. I have felt that memory in the smallest moments, when I turn off the screen and listen to my breathing, when I rest my palm over my breastbone and notice that beneath the bone there is a sun, silent, persistent, able to love, and in that center guilt loses its theatrics, time stops being a whip, technology recovers its condition as a simple tool and not an altar, the mind shakes off its glittering chains and the news returns to being only wind.
There, in that stillness, the reptilians reveal themselves as a metaphor for everything that lives off someone else’s weariness, for work turned into exile, for childhood treated as mere merchandise, for promises that demand fear in exchange and yet what truly disarms them is not strength or superiority, but unconditional love, a frequency that will not be herded by the alarms of modern life, that does not hand over its will, and when that vibration is sustained, their disguise begins to crack, the mirror’s reflection loses its mask, what seemed human falls away like shedding skin.
What are they afraid of. Of us, of the primal light, because we carry the primal codes of light, a reptile feeds on suffering, on low emotions or human density, it does so through manipulation by different means of emotional control such as television, radio, and music, anything that generates fear, violence, sadness, tears, hatred, superiority, lust.
There are things that live in space, that traveled to Earth centuries ago and founded their cities here, that from the beginning of time ate souls and prospered, but today they can no longer encourage human sacrifices freely as before to generate adrenochrome, that four dimensional emotional energy that nourished them and made them strong, drawing from the pineal gland all the energetic power they needed.
Our Masters and our Mistresses say that, through the organization, we will learn abilities that will prevent those beings from continuing to exert mental control over us, entering the permanent center of consciousness, entering the same frequency as the sun, becoming multidimensional, able to transform the body and materialize our thoughts on this plane, as Jesus did, the Master of Christic Consciousness. They say that is why he came, to tell us we can do that and more, to travel through time by moving in four dimensions.
They lied to us and limited us by altering our DNA but not anymore, we are free beings, before they put our gifts to sleep, because the reptilians knew what they would face if we evolved by becoming aware of what we truly are, the reptiles are in fact afraid of the human filled with consciousness.
I give thanks for that letter that, so many years ago, found its way into my father’s hands and invited him to become part of a family, because if that page had not crossed the distance, if that ink had not spoken his name, maybe my story would have taken another course… it was a simple gesture, a written invitation, and yet it changed the course of what I am today. To them I owe not only the welcome my father received, but the place I now occupy in that lineage I am part of.
In the end, what remains is not a war but only a choice, to light the first lamp within and walk with it, to join the heart to the heart of the Earth, to breathe until the light makes you a living vehicle, not to escape the world, but to make it habitable, and in the darkness, where you once trembled, you hear something like dawn, a door opening softly.
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