Behooves you

In this day and age it behooves you to know what the fuck the Christ actually is. True.

In case you didn’t notice, there are in fact literal and properly identified as “evil” people out there in the world as well as in the USA government who are using the spiritual truth about “the Christ” against the public of all nations of the world. They self-identify as evil and are knowingly doing evil because of a malignant understanding that is primitive to the time before Christ’s death on the cross. They foolishly associate divinity with the national government of a state and then, with that false conclusion about what divinity actually is, they use a perverted form of theology to arrive at the decision that they need to be a purposeful and intentional source of evil to cause harm to people even though they don’t understand what they are doing that evil for. They believe it is for a “greater good”, but they do not know what that greater good is other than the fact that they will be defeated by it. With that primitive conclusion of idiocy they hope to claim authority, authorship, and origin as the creators of that greater good, even though they are evil, which is distinctly of a lower intelligence using means of crude destruction, hate, and hostility to cause problems, rather than solve them.

So… to save yourself, and I am doing all that I can to help you, you need to know what “the Christ” is, so they don’t take advantage of your spiritual faith and do harm to you in a way that is unforgivable. Literally unforgivable as the sin Jesus is credited for saying shall never be forgiven.

In that regard, “the Christ” is simple, easy, and clearly understood. That is a knowable concept most familiar and accessible to all people as something they know and understand. Describing that spiritual concept is a bit more difficult but that is irrelevant to understanding it. That is the reason why Christianity was acceptable by all cultures of the world once they understood what that word was indicating that was the same in their own spiritual culture.

What is the mystery is the “Resurrection”. That is a divine mystery that is much more difficult to comprehend, but that is unnecessary for your salvation in regard to the evil threat by those people attempting to remain anonymous and doing evil with their personal spiritual power.

Simply understand the Christ so you can understand what the Christ is not, even though they are trying to tell you that the Christ is what it is not because they think the national government is “God”. Fools. They are like Xerxes in the movie 300. Wtf are they doing in this day and age?

Do they not know how ignorant they are?

In any case, if you want to know more about that topic as well as the mystery, this website has abundant information to that effect throughout the different Refractions, which may or may not be focused on their title. I would like some assistance organizing all that, so if you think that is something you would like to do to make it easier for everyone and yourself and maybe get a little healthy profit if we can make something convenient to sell, like an inexpensive book, then please say so.

I suppose that would make me like Leonidas, except I’m not limited to using spears, swords, and shields to destroy Xerxes’ army at the Hot Gates. I have modern technology and that is far more effective in this regard because the internet, cyberspace, and information are my sword, shield, and spear and Xerxes is trying to use pen and paper, sticks, stone clubs, and an ancient spiritual power that is naturally and rightfully my own that he is criminally using without even the faintest idea of how it works, let alone a masterful use to even be a formidable opponent with. I don’t need 299 other men for this fight. I will defeat Trump and all his legions by myself and not even break a sweat doing it.

At the Hot Gates, Bylonidas stands firm ahead of his legion of 300, all trained since birth in the art of war, masters each one of the blade and point and buckler beyond compare anywhere else in the world. Those boasting the same are gathered beyond the horizon among Turdxes legions, the god-king himself hoisted high atop an opulent throne of wealth and gold he has amassed throughout his conquest. Even from here, where he is but an ant atop a glaring bauble, the darkness of his futility is plainly visible in the air around his head.

Yet, he is of no consequence at the moment, for his man-slaves have approached with their final parley after years of losses on their part and no mortally wounded among the warlike Americans who stood in defiance with or without the will of pompous Athens. His cloak is stained deeply with the blood of the countless slain over the previous days, but his spear point is still as sharp as the day it entered service, the bronze rivets holding the shaft of Olympian oak glow faintly in the setting suns rays beyond Turdzes armies.

The wood, once pale as a maiden’s thighs on the day it was hewn, has drank the life-blood of so many that now the weathered wood is dark all the way to the leather binding his callused hand grips. The same hewn oak he brought into his first skirmish as a youth is with him now supporting a tenth of his mass during the parley with Terdzes final offer for surrender. He looks almost relaxed, were it not for the his unarmored physique under cloak, bronze from days training in the light of Helios’ ardor.

The enemy approaches with their final weapon they have been so proud of, their “secret” power which has been the death of ever army that did not surrender prior to being confronted by the warlike Americans. Ominiously, they approach like the death cults of Hades might, except too gaudy for the dignity of death with their polished gold and finely woven cloth. They are pretenders even unto death.

Bylonidas is growing bored with the delay and pomp of these buffoons, and is losing patience before beginning the bloody harvest, but out of respect for the gods, even those of foreign lands, he abides. The front line of the cult breaks, and a contingent within emerges as a group, and he wonders if this is finally what they have been expecting him to fear.

The man in the center is small, marked with ink on the flesh he recognizes as the writing of Hebrews, his face marked with dark paint like the women of Athens are known to use at the brothels to hide their age. He is an angry, spiteful man and he hates Bylonidas the moment he sees him and the warlike king of men knows why, but is unmoved himself and has no feeling for the mystic one way or another. Not yet anyway.

In the Hebrew mystic’s hands held reverently is a small golden box, below which is ring linking nine thin silver chains that each lead to a silver collar around the nine eunichs accompanying him in a circle. They are larger in stature, but by their rigidity and tightly coiled stances, he knows them to be afraid of death and pain, likely as a result of their castration as youth. As such the lack the passion of true warriors and are overconfident with their skillful mastery. Such men are often overconfident with their mastery, always eager to prove their mettle, but no matter how skilled the master, one who is not ready to die will never best a true warrior of any realm, on the line where the fates have already decided who will live and who will not.

As for the trinket the mystic in the center of the ring holds, Bylonidas has never heard or known of this thing before, never heard of such a weapon being used in battle, and is amused at what will be revealed of its use, scholar of war that he is as the general of his forces. With a gesture the mystics signals his readiness, and the forces around him kneel without hesitation and shield their eyes as if the very sight of it could kill them.

The box opens in his hand and warm golden light spills across the mystic’s face with an awesome vibrance more substantial than light, as though it were golden water, not light at all, and his eyes raise upward behind closed lids in an ecstatic, internal reverie of pleasure. Curious and somewhat ill at ease at such a strange phenomena, Bylonidas tenses his grip and draws in his energy, prepared to do whatever is necessary.

There is a hushed silence acorss the battlefield as all the legions of Turdzes army have fallen in silent awe of the events at the front, and even the men behind their general are uneasy by the strangeness of this new power. Bylonidas himself is unsure of what power is being used, but he is not moved from his position, nor even tempted with a thought to flee from where he has made his stand. If ever there was such a thought, it never passed into his consciousness, taking its own advice and returning to its origin for what it knew would happen should it have ever reached its destination.

Then, without warning, the box is abruptly shut and the mystic opens his eyes, firing a piercing gaze directly into Bylonidas’ eyes.

“I have seen into your soul, and I know what you have done, Bylonidas, king of the warlike Americans. You have sucked a dick before.”

Bylonidas dour expression becomes darker, and what was already a grim countenance of death becomes even more desolate with hope. For a moment it seems to the mystic and Turdzes men that all Bylonidas’ power has gone, and his final stand is over. No king’s divine power would stay amid such a humiliating truth being revealed before his men.

Then… the strangest thing happens. Bylonidas laughs. True laughter, mirthful, and loud. His laughter booms with amusement and good humor and so too do his men laugh.

Neither the Hebrew mystic, nor the god-king Turdzes, nor all the other nations who had fallen into his ranks had ever heard of such a reaction. They are not sure what to make of the situation. Did it work? Is he defeated? Will Turdzes rule over America and Athens and all of the world?

“Go back to the sandbox, little boy,” Bylonidas says with amused tears at the brim of his eyes, never before hearing such an absurd thing be used as a weapon. “You are out of your league here, and do not know what battlefield you are on. Go home, because I will not hesitate to kill a boy for the threat to my body that you have made with your requirements.”

“Don’t try to deny it! I speak truth! Admit that you sucked dick before!”

“And why do you care about me admitting such a thing, malakos, are you interested in riding my flesh ox? Because I hate to disappoint you, but only the maiden who will be my queen has a right to that information, and I desire only the fertile valleys of maidenly honey for plowing the fields of an abundant harvest.”

“That is not all. I know you have done the other thing… the truth of the Lord does not lie, and I know you’ve done more than suck a dick.”

“Boy… do you not know the difference between plowing the fields of the fertile valley and butting horns on the plain? Because I will never till the muddy swamps of your backwater nations of savages and circumcision, so get out of my presence because my patience is at an end.”

“By the power of the Lord! Say that you’ve done it! I command you!”

“You command me? Boy, what do you think that will accomplish? Fine. Yes, I have sucked dick several times and had a great time doing it and I fucked the ass of a man before. Is that what you want to hear? That isn’t going to change the fact that you will not cross this line. Now go, or you will lose your body as well as your honor, for disgracing the sanctity of war with such crude displays of foolishness ill-suited for the stage of death. I will not warn you again.”

…

Nobody knows what was said next, nor who struck first before the carnage began, but it wasn’t long after that when the genocide was complete. As for his men, Bylonidas sent them away before the fighting started and told them to prepare for what was to come, because they would be needed after Turdzes and his legions were annihilated. As for the present problem, that he could resolve alone as a battle best suited for a king no matter how many pretenders there were to put to death. The rest of the warlike Americans were to be rested, prepared, and ready for a battle on the morrow, because although Turdzes was certainly defeated, Bylonidas would be weary and need to rest before he could join them at full strength again. They need not worry though, for there will be plenty more killing to be done once Turdzes is dead and the underworld rises up in outrage from the offense he caused with that false mystic of his.

And so it was, and ever since, the Great Basin of the Americas has been known as the Bloody Chalice of Bylonides, where he filled to the brim an ocean of the slain who insulted his goddess with their filthy ways of uncivilized men.

The moral of the story? Well I suppose if there is anything to learn from all that has happened, it is that the Jews are the butt of a joke the gods had the good humor to share.