Francisco of orgonita.eu in Spain and I went to Belize in December to set up offshore trusts and bank accounts to protect us from the escalating threat to both of our livelihoods and physical freedom by the Old Parasite. Along the way and while in Belize we tossed a lot of orgonite towerbusters to kick the Old Parasite in the pants some more. Why wouldn’t we? The good news is that we seem to be the only orgonite makers whom the Old Paraasite is now intent on destroying. ‘Trouble’ is just another word for ‘fun’ in this context.
We intended to get this done in Costa Rica but traveling on the sea in a small, open motorboat was so punishing that I was just too exhausted to continue past Belize, which is the closest country where this bank/lawyer stuff can be done the right way. Doing it online wasn’t an intelligent option because it’s nearly impossible to know who one is dealing with, that way. We’re quite comfortable with the people we did business with in Belize City. We chose women because we believe that women in business generally work harder and better than men do and seem to feel more personally accountable. There are notable exceptions but we’ll probably never meet any of them.
I invited Francisco along for three main reasons: a trip like that is just too risky for me to feel confident by myself; this is very timely for him as well as for Carol and I; he’s got experience on the sea in a similar boat. It turned out that having him along provided many unforeseen benefits, not least of which was close companionship with a fellow etheric warrior. I had a lot more fun in the little Mexican ports along the way than I would if if I were alone because he’s fluent in Spanish and has an engaging personality. I think he also got plenty of useful confirmations about his gift for seeing and sensing subtle energy.
The road trip across the continent in mid-winter from Northern Idaho to Florida’s Atlantic coast was eventful and for me it was more stressful than being on a rough sea. While I was driving in Southeastern Montana we got caught in a blizzard. I lost control of the car and trailer and we slid sideways down the highway at one point. No damage was done, fortunately, and we had to duck into a motel for a few hours to wait for the storm to pass.
When we left I was penniless and my credit card had very little money available because for several weeks before our departure the Old Parasite had been slamming us by stealing money from me in the mail and from Western Union payments. During our month-long absence they continued to assault our business so that Carol was unable to both pay the bills, keep our meager savings intact, and keep putting money on my credit card. The savings got even more depleted. Carol and I experienced more federal sewer rat boilerplating in that period than all the rest of our time together combined but I’m not sure, yet, whether they hate us more for getting the trusts and tank accounts or for gifting the big blue hole. It all seems to have stopped now that we’re back in Idaho but we’ll see.
For most 65-year-old guys this enforced relative poverty might be a big issue but most 65-year-old Americans are already paying for suicide on the installment plan with their MDs and have piled up a good retirement nest egg that will likely be used to pay off the successful MDs and associated institutions during the untimely dying process. I don’t mind being broke and when the Old Parasite thrashes me it kind of tickles because I know I’m hurting them worse than they’re hurting me. The only thing that bothers me about my relative poverty at the moment is that I’m unable to help the East Africans capitalize their operation for now. Christine in South Sudan was given $1800 (a fortune, there) by the very grateful Nubians for a motorboat to fish and gift with on the Nile, for instance, and that only covers half her cost. I think she’s sacrificed and suffered more than any of the (surviving) others on account of this work and it really hurts not to be able to help her in a timely way. Gifting the Nile River probably produces profoundly powerful effects on the Old Parasite since so much of the bloody, old corporate Europoid sorcery foundation is in Egypt along its course. I’m eager to see the effects of that on the moronic masons who enable genocide abroad and the exploitation and murder of millions of Western children, for instance.
The day after Francisco and I got back home in Idaho we participated in one of Dooney’s chat sessions and the psychics found that the Old Parasite had gotten a lot weaker in terms of being able to keep our businesses outside of general public awareness. They had let up on our other close business associates (including Dooney and her mate, Dr Stevo) many months before. That was particularly encouraging to us because as far as I know Francisco and we are the last orgonite sellers to be hammered around the clock by these pasty old secret-handshake pedophiles in their ‘high’ rituals. The non-human ‘out of towners’ that regularly (according to what reputable psychics have witnessed) help them also appear to be much weaker.
Every day, until we finally put the boat in the water, we met new challenges for departing in a timely way and I won’t bore you with the details but when I finally stepped in that boat and we pushed off from the dock I felt tremendous relief, in spite of the fact that I hadn’t made a 400 mile crossing in that boat, before. The longest distance we travelled between landfall in it was the 80 miles between Palm Beach and the Little Bahama Bank in the summer of 2006 to bust up that huge, perhaps ancient underground weather weaponry complex that had been fueling this terrorist Washington regime’s hurricane agenda against the population. That was the last stage of our successful hurricane-elimination campaign. We bought this boat in 2005 for that project, soon after the Parasite threw their very last American hurricane at us.
I prefer to sail but my little 19-foot sailboat wasn’t ready for a sea crossing. Because Carol and I were forced to stop paying most of our people for their labor in 2010, due to the effective and increasing assault on our business over the past four I’ve had no time to work on the sailboat. I just couldn’t put the trip off any longer on account of the mounting threat to our freedom and this lined up well with Francisco’s similar situation. The Zodiac is extremely seaworthy and dry, other than wind-blown spray; otherwise it’s kind of crazy to do a sea crossing in an open motorboat. Before the trip, my nearby friend, Troy Weil, of classicrowboats.com, who had built my gorgeous, Ian Oughtred designed Caledonia Yawl sailboat years ago and is skilled with everything to do with boats, overhauled the Zodiac’s electrical system. I did everything to ensure that the motor would keep running and I brought along a 5HP Honda outboard on its own stern mount in case the big motor quit. We were almost always close enough to shore to reach safety with a 5HP motor.
We were both afraid, of course. I can’t get a US passport, though, and Francisco couldn’t afford to fly so we both had good incentive to travel by boat. My fresh world citizen passport needs to get a visa stamp in order for me to use it for departure in a US (Gestapo) airport so this was another incentive for me to travel abroud without a US passport.
We decided not to leave the car and trailer in Key West because I remembered that the marinas there were very busy and didn’t’ have much storage space so we put in 20 miles to the east at a marina on Cudjoe Key. I paid a month storage fee for the trailer and they also ended up kindly storing the car for me for a low fee. Before we left the marina’s channel the motor suddenly quit. We were exhausted from the road trip and I hadn’t slept the night before so our brains weren’t entirely engaged, yet. It finally occurred to us that we needed to prime the motor by squeezing the fuel bulb in the boat’s stern, then it started up and we began our voyage. At that point most of my stress just fell away, in spite of feeling a little apprehensive about the crossing to Mexico. It was mid afternoon by then.
The sea was quite rough but the winds were favorable and we maintained an average of 15 mph in those conditions. Carol had suggested that we start tossing towerbusters in the sea when we got close to Cuba so we did that a few miles east of Havana’s longitude. We saw the city lights on the horizon. That began a little after sunset. Francisco was seeing two walls of dark energy parallel with our course: one to our right and one to our left. He was quite disturbed by it, which was a good sign for me because I felt confident that we’d use all of our orgonite productively. I hadn’t realized that he was so sensitive to subtle energy. We later saw hat there are two cables on the seabed between the US and Mexico along that route and we were traveling right between them. Cables on the sea bottom are now typically incorporated in weather warfare infrastructure, like all the old TV and radio broadcast towers also are…
Both of us got seasick on that crossing but I had the foresight not to eat anything that day, so I only puked water and only once, right after refueling around the midway point. I’d brought along all of my aircraft fuel containers, which fit snugly on the Zodiac’s foredeck and looked tidy. Sitting in the pitching bow in the middle of moonless night and putting each of those eleven containers in my lap to transfer gas to the boat’s 60-gallon tank below the deck made me a little queazy.
When the sun came up we could both tell that the energy had improved. It felt pretty bad during the night but Sylphs were already showing up in the sky around us. We were treated to a good view of Cuba’s northwest coastline, then about 50 miles from Mexico we were mobbed by a dozen or so spinner dolphins, who kept even with our bow and crisscrossed under it in a water ballet. I stopped the boat after a few minutes in case there was an opportunity to swim with them but they then disappeared, sad to tell. They showed up a few minutes after we tossed the last towerbuster for that project.
I’d built a sturdy and lightweight bed for the rear bench seat and rigged a rain cover for it. When the wind-blown spray or rain prevented comfort on the bed it was easy and quick to roll out that cover. The conditions were usually so rough that the only other relatively comfortable position on the boat, at least for me, was to be supine in that rack, which I designed to hold me snugly. Francisco, who is smaller, rattled around a bit in it. The driver’s bench is too small to accommodate two sitting people for extended periods but when the navigation was tricky I always asked Francisco to sit with me and monitor the two GPS devices. We spent 25 hours getting to Isla Mujeres, just off Mexico’s Yucatan coast near the ‘corner’ where it turns south along the ‘Maya Riviera.’ Isla Mujeres is a short distance from Cancun.
Francisco got a comfortable hotel room in town and I slept soundly on the boat at the public dock. I toyed with the idea of trying to use my World Citizen passport there but using any passport required about a half day and visiting a round of five bureaucrats so we declined. We were happy to learn that traveling in a boat didn’t involve any unpleasantness or even interaction with authorities in Mexico. The Old Parasite’s US Coast Guard, on the other hand, turned out to be quite menacing toward us–more on that, later.
My initial plan was to do three equal crossings: one to Mexico; one to Honduras and then on to Costa Rica–around 1,200 miles total. We didn’t decide between the West Coast or the Caribbean coast routes until the day we left. I asked Carol which she preferred and she felt that the Caribbean route (half the distance of the other) was safer so we went that way.
The boat carried enough fuel for each of the three legs but I hadn’t counted on how exhausting that sort of travel is. I made a similar crossing in a small, half-open sailboat in 1995, even spending a couple of days in a hurricane, and it wasn’t as tiring as 25 hours of hard pounding in rough seas in a motorboat. That sailboat crossing pretty much canceled out my natural terror of being on the open sea in a small sailboat, at least. I prefer sailing. To cope with that in 10995 I sailed out to sea for half a day, then sailed back again. That worked well. I was a lot more terrified during my first solo flight in 2008. I think the key to sailing on the sea or flying is to determine whether the fun and the feeling of accomplishment outweighs the terror.
It was easy for us to agree to rather travel along the coast and to stop at the end of each day in a port. The Maya Riviera extends about sixty miles south along Mexico’s Caribbean coast and then the two suitable ports along the route to Belize are a hundred miles apart. The Belize boundary is about 200 mile from Isla Mujeres. Francisco was pleased to observe that someone had evidently flipped all of the death towers and weather weaponry in the heavily populated coastal areas we saw and in one small area in the middle of the ‘Riviera’ where there are no buildings there were scores of death towers and weather weapons, which he said also looked like they’d been flipped with orgonite. I love it when gifters are so thorough.
We stopped in a very swank port at the south end of the populated coastal stretch but couldn’t buy gasoline, there (only diesel for the rich folks’ mega-yachts) so we pushed on toward the first port we could find on the GPS, Punta Allen. It was getting dark, though, so we opted to just camp onshore a few miles before we reached Punta Allen. We navigated through a conveniently wide channel in the reef and after dropping Francisco off on the beach with a tent and bedroll I anchored nearby in the shallow lagoon and got ready for bed. The sun had set by then. I was about fifty yards from the beach and in the dusk I saw Francisco with a couple of guys who looked to me like they were holding fishing poles. I couldn’t hear them, so I waved and went to bed. In the morning when I picked him up, Francisco told me that those guys were soldiers with rifles, who told him that we were on a military reservation. Thanks to his personal charm they were convinced that we were just weary travelers, passing through and they allowed us to spend the night. I’m sure we wouldn’t have been teated as kindly on a US military alleged property. Maybe we’d have been sent to Guantanamo and tortured, now that the rule of law has completely broken down in the USA.
We had to go back out to sea to get to Punta Allen, just a few more miles farther. Getting through the reef to the port (a wooden pier) was tricky and each GPS had been remotely tampered with during the night so that our indicated position was about a quarter mile ‘off.’ There was enough daylight to clearly see the surf breaking on the reef, fortunately, and the GPS at least showed us the shape and direction of that slightly crooked, natural channel so we reached the pier safely. Francisco got a room in a little tourist hotel and the next morning we bought twenty gallons of gas and I asked a mechanic to check the motor. He instructed us to go around to the the other side of the narrow peninsula to his dock, which involved some tricky and picturesque navigation through very shallow water and mangroves and I’m glad I asked him because the fuel filter was already a mess and needed cleaning. He added some injection cleaner to the tank, too. We enjoyed that port so much that we visited there on our way back, too.
On those two nights I watched the sky for awhile before I went to sleep. It didn’t rain either night, fortunately, and the tropical breeze was quite comfortable. There were a few approaching rainclouds but the little orgonite cloudbuster o the boat dissolved them before they reached me. I saw a few UFOs which were probably beyond the atmosphere. These are typically seen as moving stars, as Reich described. They’re obviously not satellites because satellites don’t emit light and just a little while after the sun goes down they also can’t reflect sunlight. Try it. When they change direction it’s a little bonus for the observer and when one will aim a cloudbuster or Succor Punch at them (I think one has to also boost when aiming a SP) one will probably be rewarded by seeing the stars light turn dull, turn to colors, then eventually wink out. That evidently only works on the parasitic species’ craft; the ones who materially and immorally support the Old Parasite in our world.
Sylphs persisted long past sunset on that moonlit night but we noticed on other nights that Sylphs disappeared quite fast when the sun went down on a moonless night. Francisco wonders whether sunlight or reflected sunlight is needed to create and maintain these captivating sky sculptures. Let’s keep watching and sharing data about this. Channelers need not participate but data from reputable psychics is always welcome. On those two nights I noticed that the high clouds, including Sylphs, were moving from south to north but the lower clouds were moving from east to west. That apparently indicated a change in weather ahead.
Carol had dowsed the map and asked us to gift all of the little islands near the coast if possible and Francisco was fairly horrified by the energy he saw from those uninhabited islands along our route beyond Punta Allen. It felt pretty rotten to me, too, but the most stressful thing to me was motoring along with the reef in a downwind position. We made sure to keep at least a mile away from the reef so we would have time to deploy the spare motor in case of problems. I didn’t have enough anchor line to prevent us from landing on the reef because the ocean was quite deep right next to it. The Zodiac carries a plow anchor, 30 feet of chain and 200 feet of strong anchor line. To anchor securely in rough conditions one has to be sure that there’s several times more anchor line length than the depth of the water. The purpose of the chain, which attaches to the anchor, is to ensure that the anchor is pulled more or less horizontally in order to really dig into a soft seabed. I once (1972) anchored a boat in the Virgin Islands and the anchor got stuck on some rocks about sixty feet deep. I had to swim down to free it and I didn’t wear a mask so my vision was blurry. I wondered at one point why the white sand bottom suddenly got obscured on my way down and a companion on the boat said that a gigantic manta ray swam right beneath me.
There were only two convenient refueling ports between Isla Mujeres and Belize and the second one is Xcalac, a hundred miles beyond Punta Allen. The ‘X’ is pronounced as ‘Sh’ in the Mayan language. I love that name and we really enjoyed our time with the people we met in the ports. I secured the Zodiac to the town pier for the night and Francisco found a nice room and also met a fellow Catalan who lives in that town and is a realtor. Lots of locals were fishing on the pier well past dusk and there were several magnificent frigate birds, competing just overhead for thrown scraps, like seagulls normally do. A pelican, which epitomizes my vision of personal flight, was so tame that one of the fishermen was feeding him by hand. I think that pelican lives on the pier because I think he’s the one I also saw on the pier on our return trip.
That night, the little cloudbuster wasn’t inhibiting the rain clouds, which increased in frequency and most of my night was spent under cover.
In Francisco’s breakfast conversation with local fishermen the following morning he learned that there’s a smooth-water passage to Belize City that’s possible through a channel across the narrow coastal peninsula on which Xcalac sits. The channel is at the national east-west boundary between Mexico and Belize and on our way south that day we missed it and ended up on a coral head, bending the propeller blades. Some Belizian fellows in a nearby boat told us how to find that channel and then things got easier. A thick rope was strung across the channel, just below the surface, so we had to get up some speed, turn off the motor and raise the propeller to drift over and across it. We didn’t see anyone onshore at the facility.
The advice Francisco got from a local fisherman/guide was that in order not to constantly hit the shallow coral formations with the propeller along the first few miles of the route to Belize one had to lower the engine all the way. This made no sense to one of the fisherman’s American customers until the American learned that raising the propeller on his fishing yacht actually caused it to reach deeper into the water because this also raised the bow, so lowered the stern. Lowering the propeller also lowers the bow as much as possible, so it raises the stern. We tried both ways and can confirm it. The Zodiac’s propeller got a little more bent that day. even so. Because that long channel was so shallow I opted to return to Xcalac on the way back from Belize in deep water rather than to risk damaging the prop some more. The route also made some sense since we were returning to Mexico from Lighthouse Reef, where we gifted the giant blue hole–evidently a primary earth vortex.
I’ll end this report here, since the next report will deal with gifting in Belize. I always encourage some of my fellow-gifter correspondents to break their dense reports up into paragraphs as a kindness to our readers. It’s a kindness to me, too, and I often break it up for them in an email before I can read it without getting vertigo. I don’t think any of us are too old to learn this courtesy and a part of being an effective etheric warrior is to be able to express ourselves clearly.
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