Tyranny of the Global Government is Here Whether You See It or Not

After the Cold War was over, the political pundits declared that there is a new international game plan called the New World Order. Among the first supporters of such a New World Order was our 41^st President, George H. W. Bush.

Former Ambassador David B. Funderburk wrote in January 1991, “Bush emphasized the New World Order in a nationally television address and in his letter to Congress…” He called it “a defining moment in world history.”

Bush’s New World Order was the first step on the path to one world government. Bush declared that he wanted “to craft a new world order for the resolution of disputes.” Unfortunately, it has become so much more than the “resolution of disputes” between tribes and nations. (Betrayal of America, 1991, p. 112)

Political analysts have described the makeup of this New World Order as one major power, selected from 4-5 nations leading the world affairs, and dominating everything on earth with help from U.N., global corporatists, and individual billionaires.

The money changers/managers behind the scenes, from global corporations and power centers, were to direct everything. Sovereignty and nationality were slated to disappear in the massive rogue wave of the New World Order.

The U.N.’s power was to be imposed on all countries and people no longer had the right to choose anything, including their system of government. All were to be subjugated to the will of the U.N.’s control.

The original idea of a New World Order came from the League of Nations and was transferred to the United Nations, “to create a new global political and economic system to replace the existing one.”

George H. W. Bush, with its main ally in this New World Order, the Soviet Union, praised the United Nations publicly. “A hundred generations searched for an elusive path to peace, and we are now in sight of a United Nations that performs as envisioned by its founders.” Funderburk described the U.N. as “a hotbed of KGB spies and Third World anti-American radicals.” Today the U.N. is anything but a peace-keeping organization. (pp. 114-116)

Was Bush’s plan for this global government intended to help the average American taxpaying citizen? No, it was meant to help the U.N., the powerful insiders in the U.S., and the communists in Moscow.

Bush talked to Gorbachev about “shared goals,” but they were not discussing the preservation of the American way of life, belief in God, the traditional family, individual worth, dignity, private property, or the maintenance of our Constitutional Republic.

They discussed how to divide the world’s resources, the military policing of areas around the globe, not how to preserve American values, Christian beliefs, and family principles. They emphasized “democracy,” a communist propaganda term, as deceptive as people calling themselves the Democratic Party instead of the Democrat Party. There is nothing democratic about the Democrat Party.

Political pundits in the U.S. also tried to explain the New World Order as a necessity following the “revolutions of 1989” in Eastern Europe where the old political order was destroyed, and those countries needed a new order. They were not told, however, that such a transition would require the end of their national independence.

Samuel Francis wrote, “U.N. treaties demand that the United States alter its laws to suit the demands of a foreign political body.” Having communist tyrants and dictators in the U.N. who tell the rest of the free world what to do, it was assured that the scourge of communism would never disappear, and it would eventually be adopted by a large segment of the American population. And it has. There are many Democrat politicians who are declaring themselves supporters of socialism and communism. (p. 120)

U.N. demanded that their powers be massively expanded to “manage vast problems such as global warming, refugees, overpopulation, environmental damage and the eradication of hunger and disease,” … “the end of separate nations governing their own citizens.” (p. 120)

It is glaringly evident that the one world government tyranny is here, and its supporters have already infiltrated around the world. Can they be stopped? Is it too late to salvage our Constitutional Republic from the assault of foreign nationals and corrupt American politicians who are working overtime to dismantle it?

 

 

 

Succumbing to the Raging Hurricanes

Hurricanes Helene and Milton shattered so many lives in Florida, North Carolina, Appalachia, Georgia, and Tennessee that it is hard to imagine that hurricanes would stay so strong inland, so far from the ocean and become more powerful overland.

They destroyed large swaths of Floridian land and forested mountains, taking everything down with furious and fast swirling waters that disappeared entire communities and buried everything in its path under mudslides, sand, and deep water. The horror of humans, animals, and things, large things, adrift in fast moving massive bodies of water is often impossible to escape, not even in trees or on rooftops.

The thought of staying put in your home, barely protected by a foundation or by four pillars while rapid waters are entering through every crevice, door, opening, and window, ripping it apart to flood every space in its path, is hard to fathom.

Two of our close neighbors on Siesta Key had to endure such horror – a young man, paralyzed and left in his wheelchair, unable to escape fast enough on his own, found in water up to his neck, and the elderly gentleman who lived only because he floated on his refrigerator door.

Entire families drowned in NC, and many were never found. Help came too late, and it was inadequate. We have money and personnel to help others around the world, but we neglect our own. Thank God for churches, communities, and individuals who came to the rescue of those alive and in dire need of food, clean water, medicine, a shower, and clean clothes!

We were forced to evacuate from a hotel in Sarasota and we chose to go south to Miami to escape the wrath of the incoming hurricane Milton. We did not return because there was no house to return to, it had been flooded twice. We must make the painful and costly decision to demolish for lack of flood insurance. In 80 years of existence, no hurricane has flooded the area in the ancestral beach cottage.

How many times in history have there been two such powerful hurricanes, back-to-back, hitting the same areas on such a large swath of 600-800 miles, with catastrophic storm surges, wind damage, tornadoes, and such far inland flooding?

Most older people living in these homes will not return and will have to sell unless they can afford to rebuild to code, high off the ground. The real estate jackals out of Miami who had been hounding homeowners on the island to sell, will finally get their wish. The government or their rich corporate cronies will own the land in the most desirable place of real estate, transforming it into their paradise or the “paradise” the 15-minute cities, or re-wilding it per U.N. Agenda 2030.

The raging waters have reshaped the landscape and the mountain areas of North Carolina and Appalachia. People wonder what caused two hurricanes to follow the same path, two weeks apart, flooding with surgical precision the same areas in Florida – the land slated for 15-minute cities in Asheville, Tampa, and one specific county in Florida where most of the land is already owned by one individual.

Each home destroyed had a story. Our beach house has been in the family for 80 years. It never flooded even when it was built on the beach in 1945. At that time, there was nothing on the beach except sand, sea gulls, and seashells.

The beach cottage was brought to its current location in the 1950s. In the 1990s, the interior was modernized and enlarged by one more bedroom and another bath. It was not fancy, but it was a perfect beach house with a lot of memories of several generations of children’s laughter, playing in the sand, frolicking at water’s edge, and family members growing old in its protective walls, watched by the Cereus cactus still standing guard in the middle of the front yard, surrounded by flood debris and sand.

Four weeks before the flood, the cereus cactus had 47 blooms in one night – quite early and unusual in my 30 years of watching it every October, as if it knew that the house would be destroyed less than a month later and wanted to put on a show of beauty. It broke Ray’s heart as he mourned the loss of this cottage, a part of his identity, family’s history, and place on Earth.

Forced to evacuate from the Sarasota hotel, we chose to go south to Miami, a place we never wanted to visit, nor would we ever go back to, we found the teal blue ocean placid for one day, so unusual for the normally angry Atlantic waters.

We entered it with anxiety and dread as our legs were sinking in soft sand above our ankles. The pelagic zone at the water’s edge dropped precipitously 2-3 feet with every other step until we were at least ten feet or more underwater, yet so close to the edge of the breaking waves.

The water was a milky teal blue, so opaque that I could not see my hands 3-4 inches under the water. I imagined all sorts of marine life swimming around us in the balmy ocean, sharks, jellyfish, and sting rays. I could not see any little fish darting around us; by contrast, the Gulf waters in Sarasota were teeming with marine life. It was pointless to shuffle our feet on the bottom of these Atlantic waters as we lost contact with it quite quickly and suddenly. The opalescent ocean was warm, and I could feel the currents tugging at our bodies, trying to carry us far out to sea. We swam and treaded water with an incredible amount of energy to stay afloat and close to the water’s edge.

These brief dips in the Atlantic on Miami Beach made us forget temporarily our loss, the pain and the suffering people had to endure from the strange back-to-back hurricanes.

Some people wondered how much geoengineering and weather modification influenced such a disastrous and “rare” occurrence. 

In the grand scheme of life, we are just walnut shells floating on the vast oceans, disappearing to the bottom one by one.

 

Threats to Trump Voters in Pennsylvania

Several people who placed Trump signs in their yards reported receiving threatening letters by mail or just stuck in their mailboxes in Pa.

We can no longer deny that the country is utterly divided on purpose, ruled by neo-Marxists and that half of the U.S. population is doing their bidding. They are unwittingly supporting their own demise in the face of the Democrat Marxist agenda of expropriation, redistribution, central planning, and collectivism.

Former President Obama told Americans before his inauguration that we were “five days from the fundamental transformation of America.” And he made good on that promise.

We are now a country reduced/devolved to race, ethnicity, and sexual identity in which all children and adults alike are indoctrinated into radical ideologies leading to the “demise of the American ethos.”

We are now just two weeks from the official one-party police state. Constant corrupt media assault of daily propaganda has twisted half of the country’s minds to such a degree that they are welcoming the fundamental change of America with glee, hatred, and violence for the other half.

When the Marxist Democrats will have complete control, half of the country will be forced to live under the rules made by Democrats and RINOs who are now threatening the Republican dissenters with potential bodily harm if they vote for the “orange man.”

The letters received by Pennsylvania Trump voters, deceptively written under the Trump logo, stated that “there will be consequences” if people vote for Trump. If Americans do not support Marxist Democrats, they are declaring “public support and disregard of the law, civil discourse, and unity.”

Trump voters are thus indicating “hatred for minorities, immigrants, foreigners, women, education, the rights of your fellow citizens, the rights of women to make decisions over their own healthcare needs, and a hatred for Taylor Swift [is she a politician?], who has contributed nothing but joy to the world.”  The threat continues, “such visible support comes with a price and at a cost.”

The anonymous and threatening letter to Trump voters continues, “Should your candidate win, the consequences will be staggering. The country will continue to be divided, the economy will falter, and a recession will be accelerated, the deficit ballooned. The majority will live under the rule of the minority.”

The threats worsen, “But more importantly, we know where you live, you are in the data base.” The letter warns about the dangers to the voter’s family, cat, property, and more; “your cat may get shot.”

The letter, signed Neighbor, ends with, “You vote for the felon, rapist, desecrator, an immoral flawed man, you are treading on my rights.”

Who needs neighbors like this angry and twisted person who wrote and mailed such a frightening letter in a formerly free country where dissention has always been welcome in public discourse?

 

Paradise Lost and Two Hurricanes, Two Weeks Apart

We flew to Sarasota a week after hurricane Helene flooded Siesta Key to check on our family’s vacation home. We landed on a sunny day and, as we exited the airport, as always, the stifling humidity hit us like a tropical jungle. The beauty around us was undisturbed and we were hoping against all odds that our home somehow survived the 3-4 feet of water that flooded from the nearby canal. 

The windows were thrown open by friends and neighbors but the smell and the mold growing on the walls to the flood line caused our hearts to sink. Everything was soaked and damaged except things set high above that had not molded yet, including the TV sets. The electrical wiring was shot. We were told that it would cost upwards of $100,000 to rebuild this very modest beach house to its original state. There was no flood insurance; it is expensive in Florida and most people cannot afford it. They took their chances as this part of the island has not flooded in 80 years.

Patriot Pier in Siesta Key one week after Hurricane Helene

The island’s streets were lined on both sides by mountains of debris, furniture, mattresses, lamps, refrigerators, washers, dryers, splintered wood, doors, lamps, anything a person had in their household that was not completely waterlogged and smelly.

Stores in the village were boarded up and empty, others, built much higher, had survived and re-opened, waiting for the tourists that were not coming. We were just two of the few who dared to fly here.

The beach was flat as a pancake, as far as the eye could see and quite smelly from the sewer that rose up and mixed in with the ocean water. The lifeguard towers were placed back in their original locations, standing guard, lonely and shuttered.

We managed to get two hours of beach time with some of the workers taking a reprieve from the unpleasant task of ripping apart someone’s flooded home. The ocean water was a sickly greenish yellow, no doubt not fit to swim. Few dared to enter it.

We drove to St. Armand Key - the devastation there was just as bad. The Circle that used to house fashionable businesses and restaurants looked like a war zone. Longboat Key was flooded as well.

The Marina in Sarasota was flooded, and debris was piled high. Very few of the piles of debris had been removed anywhere – the county, the city government, and the local help were organized but overwhelmed by the massive amount, tons and tons of discarded stuff that had to be hauled away.

We spent three nights in a hotel at the foot of one of the bridges entering Siesta Key. By Monday morning, the order came to evacuate the area, so we decided to drive to Miami as advised by the hotel clerk.

When hurricane Milton finally made landfall, it was in the exact area where our Spark hotel was. Siesta Key was again flooded. The mountains of debris on each street were disturbed and items destroyed by hurricane Helene floated away; new ripped roofs, shanties, and other dangerous materials were added to the already gutted flotsam and jetsam suffocating streets and canals. If the first hurricane did not do a good enough job to destroy, Milton made sure that few things remained untouched. The beach was again washed flat and clean but infused with the perfume of overflowing sewers.

Elderly people who had saved their entire lives to retire in a modest old dwelling were suddenly homeless, having to fend for themselves, sometimes without families. Some had to make heartbreaking decisions to sell the property because they could not afford to rebuild with the new codes of safety. Real estate brokers from Miami were suddenly hit with a bonanza of new and cheap properties on the market which they had salivated for years to acquire.

We took the scenic tour to Miami, through modest neighborhoods and small towns, not the interstate where we knew, we would be overwhelmed by traffic of other absconders from the incoming hurricane Milton which promised to be, according to the media, a category 5 unlike any other hurricane.

We stopped on U.S. Hwy. 27 in Palmdale, Florida at Gatorama, which was closed for a few days. They had been in business since 1957. As we started to leave, a truck pulled up with a jovial driver named Allen. He turned out to be the owner and we had a fun and interesting thirty-minute conversation with him.

Allen closed the attraction for a few days because Hurricane Helene flooded everything and the resident crocs in the creek had escaped, and he was trying to wrangle them safely back in and secure his gators’ enclosures before he could reopen.

I watched his right hand as he was gesturing and noticed his missing middle finger and deep scars on the remaining ones. I asked him if a croc took his finger off and he answered yes. As he was spending time in the hospital healing from surgery, his son produced the motto of the attraction, “Fast hands, or no hands.” My favorite motto would have been, "too slow, lose a toe." Gators and crocodiles are fast runners for their shape and size and can easily outrun a human. They can also jump up seven feet out of the water. Scary scenarios! Thanks to prior hurricanes that released crocodiles and pythons from a zoo into the wild, we now have a sizable population of crocs and pythons in the Everglades.

We made it to Miami and took refuge in a hotel in Miami Beach filled with other people like us and the lucky ones who were going on cruises. By Tuesday, all the cruise ships docked in the Miami harbor disappeared at sea, away from the oncoming hurricane.

The Atlantic Ocean was serene and placid, the color of emerald green, a balmy temperature perfect for swimming and bathing. By Tuesday, the ocean became furious with large waves. But we managed to get two days of beach time before we left.

We did enter the water which dropped precipitously with every other step, two to three feet at a time while our legs were sinking to our ankles in the shifting sand. Within a few mere feet from the edge of the water, we were in 10 feet of water, unable to touch the bottom. To say that I was uneasy about it, it is an understatement – the water was opaque, and I could not see my fingers below three inches from the water’s surface. My mind was conjuring up sharks, jelly fish, and sting rays circling to bite. Fighting to stay afloat, swim, or tread water, the current was trying to pull us out to sea. I was glad that the lifeguard was watching us intently. The waves were more suited for surfing than ocean frolicking.

We enjoyed the Cuban cuisine, and, thanks to our friend Craig, we took an airboat ride on the Everglades, watched gators in their habitat, and even saw the captain of the boat feed one large gator who kept following the boat. A thirty-minute show of gators raised in the park completed our tour. They did not seem to mind their captivity as they were well fed and slept peacefully.

We were going to visit next the Big Cypress National Reserve which was established in 1974 to protect the fresh water’s natural flow from the Big Cypress Swamp into the Everglades and Ten Thousand Islands, but access was flooded by the two back-to-back hurricanes and the accompanying huge rainfall.

Next, we decided to visit Coral Castle, an unusual oolite limestone park located between Homestead and Leisure City, Florida. It was built by a Latvian American, Edward Leedskalnin (1887-1951). He had moved to America from Latvia at the age of 26 after having been rejected by his sixteen-year-old fiancé, Agnes Skuvst, one day before their wedding. The “castle” is built from large stones in difference shapes, each weighing several tons, stones with a specific significance to Ed - slab walls, tables, chairs, a crescent moon, a water fountain, a grill, and a sundial.

The claim is that the structures were built over 28 years by Ed alone, using reverse magnetism and move and carve the stones; another theory was that he used hydrogen balloons and Ed’s advanced tool called a ‘perpetual motion holder.’

It is alleged that Ed had tuberculosis when he arrived in the U.S. but was healed by magnets. How he passed the Ellis Island quarantine with active tuberculosis, is a mystery to me.

The Coral Castle remained in Florida City until 1936, but Ed decided to move it to 28655 South Dixie Highway, an unincorporated area of Miami-Dade County, where he would have more privacy on South Dixie Highway. He left when “discussion about developing land in the original area of the castle started.” It took him three years to move everything 10 miles north of Florida City to its current location outside Homestead, Florida.

The next drive was on the Star Island where a few rich Cuban Americans lived in their gated mansions, away from the masses. A guard house protected the entrance into the Star Island but allowed drivers to make the circle if they did not stop.

Photo by Craig Brand on a sunnier day

Ft. Lauderdale Beach and A1A Highway

Craig B. drove us another day to the Seminole Hard Rock Casino in Hollywood, Florida and to Ft. Lauderdale to admire the famous spring break beach which was now deserted. The blue beach chairs were stacked along the narrow strip. I wondered how much room there is during spring break when all the chairs and towels are deployed on the narrow sand patch between the ocean and the A1A highway. A few die-hard beach goers were fleeing from the imminent rain blowing from the ocean.

We took refuge from the rain at the infamous Elbow Room bar where we were entertained with live music to the delight of the sing-along regulars who were drinking margaritas and beer.

We dined with Craig and Alba on Cuban food at Havana 1957 on Lincoln Road and the next day at Versailles in Little Havana and drove through the neighborhood of old homes, all windows covered in metal bars, allegedly to protect the windows from hurricane projectiles, a cheaper alternative than boarding the windows each time, I was told.

The day before our flight back home, we were crossing the pedestrian crosswalk, we had the right of way, and an SUV turned and clipped my husband’s left side, arm, and leg. Luckily, it did not run over his foot but it caused a lot of bruising and pain. The car sped away, and although there were many witnesses, none of them stayed until the police came, they all disappeared.

I asked one of the two police officers to look at CCTV footage to identify the vehicle and he said, since there were not two cars involved with a crash, and my husband was not dead, there was nothing they could do. In addition to taking them half hour to get there, I was appalled at how little they cared about my husband’s injuries.

We will never return to Miami or Miami Beach that’s for sure. One of my irritating take-aways, and there were many, was that few locals spoke English, why would they, they do not need to because they have little meaningful or no contact with English-speaking Americans. “No English” were the two words I heard many times when we visited places. Ethnicity, diverse culture, good Cuban food and sandwiches set aside, it made us feel like we were in a foreign country.

 

Sleeper Waves

The waves that we witness on our beaches likely have formed hundreds or even thousands of miles away when a strong storm with strong winds transmitted its energy to the water, disrupting the sea surface. The higher the velocity of the wind and the greater the distance of the ocean surface that the wind covers, the further the waves can travel and the larger they can become.

Once they arrive at our beach, they break. While you are standing at the water's edge taking a picture or building a sandcastle, the wave can grab you and drag you out to sea, especially if the water's edge drops precipitously and the bottom and shore sand causes you to sink ankle deep while trying to stand up. Smaller waves are always followed by larger waves which will wash up further onto the beach, grabbing your chair, shoes, towels, umbrella, etc.

The water can be just two feet deep, but it can carry the young, the old, and the not-so-good swimmers out to sea. Drowning can become a possibility, especially on the Atlantic shore. Most people who do swim, can only swim about a pool's length and not in rough ocean water.

The sleeper wave surprised Mimi and me this summer on the Outer Banks in Kitty Hawk when we were both swept and knocked to the ground. Mimi lost her shoe, I gave chase to grab it, more waves followed, lost my footing, and we both got quite wet in the process by the subsequent waves. But I saved her shoe! We could have drowned but we were worried about losing plastic Oofos.