MAGA to the 3rd Power Over Corn


Operation Disclosure | By James O’Brien, Contributing Writer

Submitted on July 20, 2021

MAGA to the 3rd Power over Corn

Silvery Thread and Purim Dreams

It was like a silvery thread in my mind and I should tell you that this image of our country today, which was emblazoned in my memory during just a few short moments, didn’t come to me easily. But I want to give you the background on a late-night event that gripped me and hasn’t let go. It was before Covid-19 when I was traveling east and south off the coast of Iran, toward my next stop near India, having just left by boat from a long day of meetings. Though those talks were enjoyable, I’d had an exhausting day so I had gone to sleep in the vessel that was taking me to India. I was soundly out. 

Normally, I am not prone to memorable dreams. For my entire life, I can count on one hand, those that have had an impact on me. But this one was so vividly jarring, afterward I immediately felt like I needed to phone a friend, even though it was the middle of the night. I wanted to be able to play it back and try to understand because what I’m going to tell you was so stunning and shocking to me. 

In my sleep, I suddenly saw myself standing in the middle of an older church that was tall, long and narrow. I remember thinking at the time that it was a Protestant-style church with wooden pews to either side of me, as I stood in the aisle about three quarters of the way back. In the sanctuary area at the front of the church, I saw what seemed to be a pastor at a podium, but he wasn’t dressed in the usual robe. Instead, he wore more of a suit, as he stood centered at the top of some steps with an altar behind him.

As I glanced around to gather the situation, I noticed painted glass windows in the front and off to the left. Coming through them was what appeared to be afternoon light with just a shade of shadow. After a moment, I noticed people scattered somewhat evenly throughout the church; none were sitting together. In my recollection, it seems like something more than a dozen parishioners but nothing like the few hundred that church probably held.

As I looked around, the sound that caught my attention came from behind me. I realized I’d just heard the last note from a song. So, I looked over my left shoulder to see a choir loft behind and above me. In it, the choir was made up of both black and white singers, who were all wearing black robes with silver and blue collars. I noticed what looked like bright-red blood on the sleeves of a few and the hint of shaved ghoulish teeth on those singers. There was at least one person who looked like they had blood on the side of their face; like he had a cut on his lip. The group obviously didn’t seem like a normal church choir. There was a certain tension that gave me an uncomfortable feeling.

So, I started to turn away but something also in the loft caused me to look over my other shoulder toward the right side of that loft, beside the choir that was mostly to the left side, but taking up two thirds of the loft. A portion of the right side appeared to have an organ. I could see exceptionally-long, slightly-sagging ropes hanging down from the middle of that tall ceiling at the center of the church. The ropes were like those you’d see with a trapeze swing at a circus, where there is a wooden board that the person swinging would sit or stand on. There was a hand holding one rope of the swing and it was on the arm of a man in a suit with his back to me. Another man in front of him and with his face to me, wore the same darker-blue suit as the other man. In fact, the slacks and entire cut of the two suits looked like they had come from the same tailor. I could see that the man facing me had a white shirt and a lite-blue tie that stood out to me. I recognized him as the very public figure he is, but his face looked sort of blank like he was following instructions, seemingly as if he almost needed direction just to move.

There was about three feet of wall in front of the choir that kept anyone from a high fall to those heavy wooden pews below. Somehow that second man, who I had recognized, climbed up on top of the wall. He must have used some sort of steps on the other side. The other man with his back to me, was standing with his goat-like feet, on a little berm at the front of the wall and holding the swing in place for the man I recognized. The latter man grabbed those ropes and stepped onto the swing that was perched high up in the church. Just shocked at the precarious situation, I thought, ‘That’s so dangerous. What is he going to do?’

I’d been pleasantly relaxed when I went to bed, but this dream was vivid and intense. There had been a beautiful full moon out across the water that night, but now my mood changed with the all-consuming intensity of this focused dream. As I watched the balcony, I was afraid this person was going to do something that would really get him hurt. It seemed like such grandstanding and I didn’t see the point. As the man grabbed onto the ropes and stepped onto the swing, he seemed to be holding them tightly. I could tell he was fearful but also almost robotic in his facial expression, with nearly black eyes looking straight forward in a fixed-stare as though numbed or possibly drugged. 

The man holding the swing for the other seemed to need to jostle it to get his attention; sort of spurring him on. The two men locked eyes for only a moment. And even though the swing holder had his back to me, there appeared to be some sort of agreement as the man on the swing gripped the ropes tighter. Right then, the suited man let go of the swing and the other man, who was standing on it, started swinging down toward my right shoulder. He quickly got to my level where I thought he was going to hit the pews. Luckily, he stayed within the wide center aisle as he passed, skimming the floor before the swing started its arc back up toward the left side of the stage/altar platform area. 

And as the man on his swing got there, I could hear a gasp going through the now-standing people, who appeared to perceive that this surprise grandstanding event was cause for excitement; like they were watching a circus performer dropping in. I had a feeling that the agreed intent was for him to step off the swing and onto the sanctuary area at the top of the steps. It was like the man standing at the podium was ready to shake his hand as soon as he miraculously arrived.


But the swing had too much momentum. I remember thinking of the basic physics: With that start high up at the back of the church, like a pendulum swinging in a clock, he was going to arc much higher on the upswing than they had apparently anticipated. The top of the follow-through would nearly match the height he took off from in the back; which, of course, it did. He hadn’t gotten off at the altar area, most likely because it would have been a frightening leap. He would have had to throw himself from the swing and then try stopping quickly before his momentum slammed him into the top-left side of the altar area near the large and painted led-glass window.

So, he passed the other suited guy at the podium. And on his way up, the light from that window seemed to intensify to a more orange and darker color. Nearing the top of his upswing, the man had arced pretty hard to the point where his back was nearly flat to the stage-like sanctuary floor. He appeared somewhat suspended for a moment and looked over his right shoulder, back towards the podium now far below and to his right. I could see his face suddenly became fearful. But again, it was kind of a blank fearfulness, as opposed to the fear from someone that truly understood his situation. 

I don’t know quite how to describe it exactly because the look was one of knowing, but also questioning and not seeming to process events at the same speed things were happening. By now his hands were gripping the ropes of that swing so hard that they were almost white and he held a certain locked-in stance as he hovered there for just an instant at the top of that arc. The moment sort of froze in my mind because I realized this was not going to end well; it was going to turn into something horrible. I had a strong sense of foreboding. Like a deer in the headlights, I wanted to move because I thought the swing was probably going to come back at me, but I hesitated because I wasn’t sure which way to jump yet. 

When it did start back, the fact that he had been looking over his shoulder, twisted the swing just enough that it wasn’t quite following the same path back. It had an altered motion like it was now cutting a barely-noticeable figure eight in the air. But I could tell it wasn’t the exact reverse trajectory. As it came back and swept past the podium, it shot down the middle aisle and got very near to the ground again. At that point I remember thinking the best he could hope for is to jump off where he’s at; though he would probably still get hurt badly and maybe even slam the swing’s board into someone. But in his seemly slow-to-comprehend mental state, he didn’t take that opportunity. 

The swing kept coming back and started up with him still looking back over his shoulder, trying to see where he was; while also bending his knees a bit, probably bracing for impact. As he passed along the aisle toward me and started arcing back up between the pews, he missed them all except the last one in that mid-section, which he struck hard in a startling crash. For some reason, in that adrenaline-spiked instance, I momentarily locked eyes with a woman standing near where he hit. I recognized her too as a public figure with her dark hair and brown skin. The idea that she was Indian flashed through my mind, like she might be from near the place I was headed: Sri Lanka, which is off the southern coast of India. 

She was standing very near the corner of the pew that had just caught the man’s swing. When his board hit about a half dozen pews in front of me and to the right of the aisle, the man couldn’t hold on and there was nothing I could do but watch. He catapulted off the swing and into the air, flipping completely upside down as he flew toward me and abruptly stopped when the side of his head (just above his left eye) slammed hard into the top corner of the pew. It was an awful sound that really bothered me. And a gasp went out all through the crowd, including from the choir loft above.

Having hit the pew with his head down and faced toward me at the time, it was a vivid and shocking image. On impact, he crumpled and flipped again, as the collision ricocheted him into the middle of the aisle, landing at my feet. He was looking sideways and up at me but his eyes showed what was probably his last instance of consciousness. Above the eye, his skull was cracked horribly open and part of it was laying in the aisle on the ground behind him. The gruesomeness shocked me severely.

I remember seeing the Indian woman suddenly leap forward like she wanted to grab that piece of the skull to maybe somehow try fixing him…or something…I don’t know. But an instant later, the swing’s heavy board, that had chaotically flown upwards after the man was thrown off, arrived back down and clipped the side of her face, right at edge of her mouth. She screamed and a rush of adrenalized fear went through me and the entire church. I could see her teeth were a bit bloodied on that side. It was gripping.
Now feeling like the light in the room had darkened, I looked away from her, glancing forward and up to the windows at the front of the church. The color outside had changed again, darkening significantly like it was growing smoky, which it probably was because boiling-red and bright-orange flickers pierced the haze. I had no doubt a great fire was eating up the outside of that church as the painted glass turned black.

In that instant, one more time, I looked down at the pool of blood around the man’s broken head, and the horror of that scene was so disturbing, it caused me to wake there in bed and suddenly sit straight up. My jolt was like someone who’s had a horrible start during a tense slasher movie. At that point I could not stay in that very comfortable place I had been sleeping.

There at the end of that unforgettable dream, not only did I need to get up because of the frantic feeling, but it was also because the sweat-soaked bed felt like someone had thrown a bucket of water on me. I climbed out of the bed and stood beside it, trying to grasp what had just happened. I walked over to the window and saw what I hadn’t expected: the same calm night from earlier, including that full moon still out across water. While standing there drenched in sweat, I spent the next few moments staring out and contemplating my experience.

Because it had been so vivid and intense, it took me those moments to solidify in my mind that this had actually been a dream. I had to walk around for a minute to bring the adrenaline level down, after which I was calm enough to go over to the sink and get some cold water from an ice bucket. In fact, the bucket had some wine in it so I first chilled my forehead with the bottle, and then cracked the top open to have some. I don’t normally drink much alcohol, I’m mostly a teetotaler, but I was dehydrated, wanted some cold liquid, and needed something to calm my nerves.

Of course, when I regained some composure, each moment of the dream started pouring back into my mind; almost frame by frame. It had been so real that my playback of it clearly recalled exactly what happened and I even felt the emotions again. As I mentioned, even though it was the middle of the night for me, at that point I texted and contacted a friend back in the states where it was afternoon. Over the phone, I was able to rehash and analyze the dream.

While sitting on the rear deck of the boat, and as the result of much contemplation, I came to the realization that it fit this moment in history, which we are coming into, right now. You may have a different interpretation or understanding, as did many I’ve shared it with, but to me that church was a captured operation. God wasn’t there. It had all the trappings of a religious location but had been taken over by others; godliness is not what they were about. They weren’t worshiping God our Father in heaven. And the man in the choir loft with his back to me, the one who was sort of hiding his face from me, was the angel of death and destruction. He was pushing the other man into this grandstanding event. At some point I remembered that his hand protruding from that suit sleeve, had an almost claw-like look. Combining that image with his feet appearing hoofed, made me realize that thing was the Baphomet; the evil goat-man deity in occult worship.

The whole experience was extremely dramatic. I was unable to sleep and went to get coffee; then headed to the back of the vessel to collect my thoughts. I sat watching the moon set and, a little later, the sunrise. With this whole silver thread of thought appearing to me as if refracted through water and dancing like a river of time in my mind, something else struck me: This grandstanding event inside that building with fire erupting all around, was going to end with that place burned to the ground. Yet, those suited men inside, were only concerned about the show value of the event they were pulling off. 

One thing I didn’t mention was all the television-type cameras and operators stationed around the sanctuary, or stage. In fact, they potentially numbered as many or more than the scattered audience. And it was strange to me that, as all this chaos and tragedy happened, they just kept filming away. At no point did anyone try stopping that reckless stunt or attempting to help the man on the swing. They were just being sure to film it all. Maybe the camera people didn’t care and I don’t think the audience realized that what they were watching was going to become a tragedy.

I also came to the conclusion that what was inside that church could not be fixed. The entire building and everyone in it would soon be burnt to the ground and no one was going to stop it. God wasn’t there anyway. Instead, it was someone else or some other entity controlling that place. And now our opportunity was only to salvage the broader community around it, keeping more structures from being destroyed by the spreading fires. We would not be able to rebuild on that exact spot. Something wrong and twisted occupied that space; something evil. It would forever be an unredeemable burnt-down ruin, left as some kind of a monument to what had transpired; just as our statues and monuments today are not always to praise someone, or point back at only positive events in our history. Sometimes they are meant to stand as a spectacle that warns against repeated mistakes.

The people who originally constructed and occupied that building, were probably sincere and honest God-fearing folks. But now that specific site was not the right place anymore. The way forward would not be to rebuild some past system or structures that aren’t right for our time today. What needs to happen with our community is the reinforcement of what is already good, and then adding fresh, clear, and clean growth that allows for a new beginning to, again, turn the neighborhood toward a godly course. We must build in a new place, maybe over the hill from that burnt-out monument so that we don’t dwell on the evil of it, moment to moment. We won’t see it day to day but it will always be there for a reminder and warning.

Over the hours and days that followed, I had a personal revelation of sorts. I saw this entire event like an equation in my mind. I realized it was the coming election and the dramas surrounding it. I perceived it was a challenge presented by the people I commonly describe as the corn; people who are made up, concocted, created, and then placed in these mutually beneficial deep-state positions. We see these people as our business leaders, politicians, entertainers, musicians, scientists, professors, and religious figures, who are foisted upon us. They see themselves as our superiors and societal masters.

As this equation was coming together in my mind, I saw parts and pieces scattered amongst a sea of people, who picked these raw materials up. Working together, they began to build. The items each person brought, became tools in their hands for some, but for others became parts for structures or machinery, and in some cases, even art. They came forward and gathered above those corn rows, atop that great platform. And emblazoned across the front of that platform, I could see the word, ‘MAGA,’ glowing brightly like neon. 

The people on the platform were those who would Make America Great Again; the workers, inventors, builders, parents raising children, and teachers, all these with Scriptures in hand which were, for each of them, a word or directive from God. I could see the countenance and determination on their faces; that they were strong, willing, and ready for the harvest.

Therefore, Election 2020 will equal MAGA to the 3rd power over Corn:

To the left of the platform, looms this Election. And the outcome of the Election will be equal to the energy expressed by the MAGA over the Corn. But the amount of Corn and its vastness by rows is so deep and wide that the strength of the MAGA can’t only be squared like their two-dimensional flatland of sur-reality and propaganda. It must be real to match the world we actually live in. It must be cubed, adding height and making it three dimensional; as contrasting as our real world is against their two-dimensional cinematic illusions.”

KID by the SIDE of the ROAD – by Juan O Savin


Parting the Washington Sea: A Guide to the Great Awakening



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