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Sananda Esu 'Jesus' Immanuel

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MARCH 29, 2017







SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1989  10:30 A.M.   YEAR 3, DAY 088



Sananda present to continue.  Let us consider what is, most unfor­tunately, a rather typical case of entrapment into Satanic under­ground activities without the willingness of the partici­pant.  More than you can imagine, children are abused from birth and sold into the pornographic activities which are pre-associa­tion with Satanism or are actually an offspring directly from Satanism.


Here is where you have the involvement of your child-care cen­ters for there—take a deep breath—is a worldwide computer net­work where international ar­rangements can be made for the ser­vices of children.  Either sex can be rented, or both, any age of preference and, for a few cents more, death of the child while engaged in ac­tivities are willingly arranged — by tele­phone.  I will, however, allow one woman by the name of Lauren Stratford, to tell her own story in very brief format herein.  I ask that you get her book called SA­TAN’S UNDERGROUND for it is most extraordinary—mostly, in the fact that she escaped.  It can be located either in your book­stores or through Har­vest House Publishers, Eugene, Oregon 97402.






This is a story which is exactly that which the Satanists love.  It is so vile that no-one will believe the horrors and tortures from infancy on into the years of adulthood.  Further, who would believe a child who is telling such horren­dous tales about “good” people that it defies being truth.  Well, that is exactly what the Sa­tanists count on—disbelief and discounting.


I urge you not to follow your instincts and simply discard this in­formation for the circumstances are spreading like a dread conta­gious disease to all parts of your world.  They no longer involve just the small minority of crazy peo­ple—it is happening all around you.


Victims across your country are telling stories very much like Lau­ren’s.  In virtually every city and town ones are coming forth in weeping, frightened whispers of rituals, abuse and hu­man sacrifice.  Hundreds upon hundreds of children in preschools and kindergartens across your country are talking about grown-ups, teachers and baby tenders in robes and using funny pretend names, chanting in a strange guttural language while they per­form dark cer­emonies that include sexual abuse.  They tell about watching animals and lit­tle babies being tortured and killed with knives called funny names.


The stories these children tell are so inconceivably horrifying that few indi­viduals in the court system believe them.  But then again, it was only a few short years ago that you had a problem in believing that incest was rampant in your family society.


Well, you have parents, teachers, doctors, lawyers, ministers and other “pillars of the community” who are involved in Satan worship and ritual abuse of children.  Law-enforcement officers and detec­tives are often involved but those who are not, and witness these events, are stunned by the brutality and the total inability of proving anything.


Satan’s cults cover their evil tracks in perfection.  In dealing with children it is even more easily covered for the child can be told anything and made to believe it.  The child is therefore dis­counted before even an examination of the child is performed.  The truth is finally coming forth to you in the public by ones who have managed to break away and live in terror every day of their lives.  Give honor to these brave few.


At less than four years of age Lauren first stumbled into her par­ent’s base­ment for a basket of laundry only to be apprehended by the newly hired “handy-man”.  He threw her to the bed and raped her.  She cried out for her mother and no-one came to help.


This continued through ensuing years of torment—her parents gave her to these men in exchange for their services.


Lauren was birthed into evil, conceived illegitimately and given away at birth.  She was never allowed to forget it.  She was called a bastard, a no-good, an unwanted and a product of a bad-seed.  She was forced to repeat these words while standing naked in front of a mirror until she totally believed them.  The mother had plans for this little child.


This child, through her young years, tried every possible way to get help—her school counselor and even her church minister.  Al­ways she was disbelieved for her mother was a devout and prac­ticing church member in a Christian church.  When returned to the home following an attempt to tell, she was more brutally tortured than the time before.  Boiling water from a douche sy­ringe into the rec­tum was a most befitting reward given by her mother.


She was finally so terrified that even at school she dared not com­municate and became all but a total recluse and yet no-one helped.


She was then sold into the practice of going with “men” to places where she had to do their calling from relationships with dogs to all manner of debasing things with both men, women and other chil­dren.  All these things were done while being pho­tographed.  All these things she wanted to believe her mother could not know—un­til she found magazines under her mother’s bed which featured her on the front covers in oral relationship with men.


She finally ran away, but with no-one to go to and no-where to go she was forced to go to the police department of a nearby town where she convinced the officers that she dared not go home.  She was then turned over to the cus­tody of her father who had separated from her mother some few years prior.


Things were fairly good for her for a year or so and she began col­lege.  Then, her mother located her and it became obvious the fa­ther had been privy to the activities all along.


Men again began to pick her up, now at her father’s house, and take her various places to be photographed.  She had become zom­bie-like in appear­ance but the afront went on and on.  She was decorated with makeup and the scenes worsened.


She then was made a part of a “group” which “belonged” to a crea­ture she re­ferred to as Victor.  He offered services to all types of porno movies, child pornography and catered to the ex­pensive se­lect city politicians, police de­partment officers and notable town’s men.  Every deviant manner of sexual perversion was utilized and handsomely paid for—but the child received nothing.


She finally ended up becoming Victor’s favorite slave and the situ­ation finally became an even worse nightmare.  Victor was often completely bored with his perversion or witnessing perversion and hit upon Satanism.


The only thing Lauren had to hold to as her truth was her belief that some­how Jesus would finally rescue her.  To participate in such horrendous anti-Jesus activities was beyond her acceptance.  This infuriated Victor and there followed a hell in the years ahead.  He forced her to participate and finally to the most heinous act of all—the sacrificing of a baby by her own hand.  I will let her tell you about it and let us see if you have the stomach left to con­tinue.


“The night came when Victor said he was giving me to Satan.  He pulled me up to the altar, and two coven members lifted me onto the slab of stone.  My clothes were removed and I was positioned and held down so that my private parts were on top of ‘the cir­cle with the upside down star’.


“I screamed and begged the men to let me go.  But the more I screamed, the more excited they seemed. ‘Louder.  Louder.  Satan is pleased,’ they chanted.  Then the abuse began.  One after an­other, members of the coven brutally abused me sexually on the altar.  Af­ter each one was through, he drank from the bowl of urine and blood mixed with wine and announced, ‘Satan is pleased.’  With each vul­gar act, my will to resist lessened.  I felt myself weak­ening phys­ically, as though I would pass out.  As each man climbed on me, I felt truly as if Satan himself, were assaulting.


“Finally, after the last man had taken his turn, the high priest picked up the bowl, took a drink from it, then flung the remain­der of it over my body.  With that he threw his head back and laugh­ingly mocked, ‘Satan has had you!’


“The entire coven picked up the chant.  ‘Satan has had you.  Sa­tan has had you.  Satan has had you.’  My spirit was crushed, I was too weak to even move, too bruised and ashamed to desire to live—I was more humiliated and degraded than in all of my pre­vious vile life.


“Victor had to literally carry me from the place and in an in­sane voice he mocked me: ‘Now we both belong to Satan.’


“Silently my heart spoke for me that I would never belong to Sa­tan no matter what they would do to me.  Little could I imagine it could become so much worse that my mind would not even com­prehend the horror.”






“Nudity and sexual lewdness and perversion are commonplace at ritu­als.  It does not matter if the female is willing or unwill­ing.  In fact, it is believed to bring more pleasure to Satan if she is un­willing.  Most certainly it brings more power and plea­sure to the men involved.


“The female ‘sacrifice’ is put on the altar, which is commonly draped with a red velvet cloth (red being the satanic color for anything of a sexual nature).  She is raped, often-times bru­tally, by any of the male members who wish to have her.  They are so often drugged by heroin, coke, or some other drug, or so bombed-out on alcohol, that the rape becomes pure sexual torture that can go on for hours.  To satisfy their own perverse crav­ings and do what they think will bestow upon them stronger sa­tanic powers, the male mem­bers per­form crude sexual acts, often of a bestial-like nature.  Sometimes the female is seriously in­jured physically.  Sometimes she is even slain during the act for it is deemed more powerful if the woman is killed at the same time as the male reaches his cli­max.  This type of ritual is usually photographed and later sold as “snuff” material.  The ones who are simply abused are next made the victims of summon­ing upon demonic spirits to do something of such a dia­bolical nature that she will be frightened into silence.  She might well be frightened for this is not only an evil threat—the spirits are real.  The victims are not allowed to ever reach the police to reveal the story.






“I witnessed the ultimate sacrifice of a baby—skinned while still alive.  I heard its screams which must have reached to the heavens.  But even God seemed to turn a deaf ear.  I often won­dered why He allowed the hideous torture of a helpless, innocent little child.


“Victor told me that the purest sacrifice, the sacrifice that pleases Satan most, is none other than an infant or young child.  Because children represent pu­rity and innocence, they belong to God.  Animals are offered to Satan.  Adults, willingly or unwill­ingly, are offered to Satan.  But Satan revels in the most macabre, inhuman, and bestial evil he can conceive in the dia­bolical machi­nations of his mind.  There is no evil more per­verse than the mur­der of a little one whose life has been robbed from God and sacri­ficed to Satan.


“Where do they get the children?  That is a most valid question.  I’m sure it is difficult for people to believe that children can be used for sacrifices, espe­cially in this country.  If I had not wit­nessed this atrocity, I would ask the same question.  Be­lieve me, I would like to deny it, or at least doubt it.  But I cannot—I learned the answer in an even harder and more personal way.


“Let me simply tell you of one incident so that you can under­stand where some of these babies come from.  Victor had a preg­nant girl being cared for in the pretense that he was finding a home for the baby.  He and his friend, Tom, decided to get a teenage boy and girl off the street and bring them to the coven meeting.  They would then take the pregnant girl and deliver the baby.  Then they would require the boy and girl to sanctify their marriage union by having sex­ual relations with each other on the altar.  Then the teenagers and the baby would be sexually abused by the coven mem­bers.


“The grand finale would be the sacrifice of the baby.  The other children would be held or released depending on the whim of the grand high priest—who was now Victor.


“I pray people hear this next for it is truth.  Tom and Victor, and occasionally some coven members, discussed where and how they would get babies.  I learned that there are fraudulent peo­ple who repre­sent themselves as case­workers of adoption agencies or heads of placement homes.  They carried so-called ‘legitimate’ identifica­tion papers, but they were either sa­tanists or were acting as go-betweens.  Their purpose was to get the unsuspecting and well-in­tentioned unwed mother to sign her baby away and give it over for as­sumed adoption.  Ads were even run in the paper and responses would sim­ply flow in.  The sa­tanic cult can arrange for babies at specific intervals through­out the year.


“On other occasions some coven members would sit around and talk about their breeders.  The word ‘breeder’ was new to me.  One of the members ex­plained that breeders were women who were born, marked, and raised for the sole purpose of having babies that would be used by satanists—either to be raised in satanism or used in ritualistic sacrifices.  Since there was never any pub­lished record of their births, they were never missed when they were abused or killed.


“I finally thought I had heard it all until a high priestess ap­proached Victor after a ritual as he and I were about to leave.  She informed him that she had completed the assignment given her: ‘I convinced Judy (a new female coven member who was eight months pregnant) to assume the highest honor.  She agreed to give her baby by C-section while lying on a purified altar.’


“A licensed doctor was brought in from another coven, since Vic­tor’s was at the time without a physician.  I thought that what took place in that basement of death was as bad as anything could ever be—but I was wrong for little did I know that the next ritual I would be forced to attend would take me into the pit of hell it­self.






“A few weekends later, Victor was boasting to me that he had re­ceived it all from Satan—power—real power, everything.  Then he continued by telling me it was time for me to take an active part.  So far I had only been forced to at­tend the meetings—now he was determined to have total control and power over me.  He had always known of my Christian belief and I screamed that I would never par­ticipate in any of their evil upon another.  Vic­tor simply shouted, ‘You will do it.  You will!’


“How could this man have gained such control over me?  From the four year old and the dirty men, the cameras, the degradation—fi­nally I had nothing left—I had become nothing.  But I still some­how felt I could hold on to my allegiance to Jesus Christ, not Sa­tan, no matter what they made me witness.  Victor was equally de­termined to break my will and destroy me and then he would be fin­ished with me for I would no longer be of any value to him as a toy.


“He came into the room where I was kept waiting and said to me, ‘The father has chosen you to present your purest offering to him.  Not only will you pre­sent that offering, but you will lay that of­fering on the altar and sacrifice it to the father, who will be pleased to accept it.’


“Horror seized my mind.  Terror froze my heart.  The purest sacri­fice, the most pleasing sacrifice—the one sacrifice I could never make unless my mind and will were completely broken—was the sacri­fice of a child to Satan.


“It was murder.  I would not do it—they could not make me do it.  But they were not through with me.  I even reasoned with myself that God would never hear me.  I finally started to pray to Satan as I had witnessed the others do.  At some point in my terror I felt a warmth surround me and a soft voice speak to me,’My child, I am with you.  I have never left you, nor have I for­saken you.  Your darkest hour is upon you, but I will be with you in it, and I will bring you out from it.’  My God had fi­nally heard and answered me.  I felt I could now stand against the evil which had pervaded my ex­istence.


“My joy abruptly ended when Victor jerked open the door and yelled, ‘You will make a sacrifice to Satan—you will do so now!’”






“I refused and the next few weeks were uncommonly quiet and I lived and waited in terror.  Life seemed totally hopeless.  I couldn’t think of anything to do except to somehow endure until I couldn’t endure any longer.  Then what?  Would I simply go completely crazy?


“It was four weeks when hell began.  Victor had a particularly hor­rible man who always did his bidding, by the name of John—I was turned into the hands of John.


“John stripped me naked and pushed me into a large box.  There I sat in a cramped position, naked and in total darkness.  After what seemed an eter­nity I felt something slithering over my body.  And another.  There were snakes in the box with me.  I froze, afraid to move or even breathe.


“After another eternity, the box was opened.  As soon as John re­leased me from the box, he asked, ‘Will you willingly make a sacri­fice to Satan?’


“Instantly I thought of the words, ‘Your darkest hour is upon you, but I will be with you in it and I will bring you out.’  With the reassurance I felt courage and said, ‘No! I will not make a sacri­fice to Satan.’


“Time ceased to exist as this went on for days, perhaps weeks in that dark basement within that box.  All basic essentials of life were taken away and then I became so weakened that I could hardly sit but I was kept awake hour after hour and required to sit straight and silently.  There would be intermit­tent times in the total darkness and then hours with a spotlight in my face.  I lost all contact with life itself.  Then suddenly I was simply left alone in the box.  Then the horror of the words—’For every week you refuse to make a sacrifice to Satan, we will sacrifice a ______baby for you in your name.  You had better understand me for this is what we will do!’


“This was repeated to me over and over.  I continued to sit in the box day af­ter long day.


“The next Saturday night I was abruptly awakened by the horrible screams of a baby being sacrificed.  The sounds were coming from a tape recorder that John had put beside me.  He shot at me—’number one and next week number two’.


“I held on for I thought they were just trying to trick me and still the days passed into the inability to count.






“It had again come to a Saturday night.  Sometime around mid­night, I was awakened.  Before me was a large barrel, like an oil drum.  I was lifted from the box and up and dropped into the barrel.  A lid was closed over my head.  It didn’t seem to mat­ter for without lighting the basement was totally void of light.  The darkness was total and so was the silence.


“A few minutes later, the lid was opened and something was dropped on top of me.  As it slid down my skin, another some­thing was dropped on me . . . and another . . . maybe three or four.  The last object was positioned directly in front of me, on top of my stomach.  Then the lid was slammed shut.  Again, there was only darkness . . . and silence.


“There was a smell.  A horrible smell.  What could it be?  With so little room in my small prison, I slowly maneuvered my arms and hands above my knees so I could grasp the last object that was put in.


“There is no right way to tell this.  There are no right words to choose.  How­ever, this experience is so crucial to your understand­ing of my decision—the impossible choice between the yes and no—that I must include it.


“Slowly, fearfully, I touched the object that was pressing against my stomach.  It took only a few seconds to realize it was a small body.  A baby’s body.  It was lifeless, but not stiff.  It had probably been sacrificed just that evening, just a short time be­fore.


“Something within me wanted to cradle the baby in my arms.  But fear gripped me.  I knew what they did to babies in their sacrifi­cial rituals.  Muti­lation.  Skinned alive.  I could not bear to ex­plore any further.


“I thought I had known fear.  I thought I had known rage.  I thought I had ex­perienced every emotion possible.  But at that mo­ment I felt emotions that I could not put into words.  For I real­ized that the objects Victor and John had dropped into the barrel were bodies of sacrificed babies.  Three or four weeks had gone by since I had first said ‘No’.  There were three or four ob­jects in that barrel with me.


“I tried to scrunch myself into a tiny ball so the bodies wouldn’t touch me.  It was useless.  Even in the darkness with my eyes closed as tight as possible, vivid images of the bodies of these babies flooded my mind.  I could not take it anymore.  I began to scream in torment and anguish.  No words—just screams.


“Suddenly the darkness turned to light.  The lid of the barrel was taken off.  One by one the bodies were removed.  I shut my eyes.  I refused to see.  Ever so slowly I heard Victor say ‘number one’ and John, ‘number two’.  They took turns counting the bodies as they re­moved them.  With each number I felt another sentence of guilt de­scend on me.  I began to scream again in a vain effort to block out their pronouncements of ‘Guilty!’


“They made me sit on a chair facing the babies and forced me to look at them—it was over.  I was broken . . .


“It was Halloween night, one of the most important dates on the sa­tanic cal­endar—THE CELEBRATION OF DEATH!  I was dragged into a waiting car and driven somewhere—to a church.  Victor laughed at me and said, ‘Yes a church.  A church is just the right place for someone who worships God, don’t you think?’


“The car rolled to a stop in a dark corner of a parking lot be­hind the church where it could not be seen from the roadway.  Victor knew he could destroy me further by the mere knowing that the leader of the church, himself, was of the group.  The dark­ness was suffocating as we entered the building and moved to the room pre­pared for the ritual.


“Candles were lit, all the trappings of a satanic ritual slowly came into view: the goat’s head, the upside-down cross, the vel­vet cloth on a table, the cru­cible.  Hooded robes were donned by the handful of members in attendance while I was seated in a corner.  Victor occasionally glanced at me as he whis­pered com­ments to some­one I couldn’t recognize.  It was obvious that I was the center of attraction for that evening.  I wanted to dis­appear.  I wanted to wake up and find that this was just a dream.  I almost felt that if I held my breath, the whole scene would vanish.  I closed my eyes and let my mind drift.


“Victor’s voice aroused me from my desperate thoughts.  ‘Come forth.  Sa­tan’s time is upon you.’  I had been totally unaware of the proceedings of the ritual up to this point, though it ob­viously had been going on for some period of time.  I slowly, agonizingly, was pulled to an opening in the circle that the members had made around the altar.  My gaze was directed toward an object on the table, impossible to distinguish in the flick­ering candlelight.


“Was this my sacrifice?  I gasped and froze in my tracks.  ‘Come forth!’ Victor commanded.


“My feet would not move.  I felt the arms of the hooded members on either side of me push me forward toward the altar.  My feet began to move, taking me closer to the inevitable moment.  There it was.  The sacrifice.  My sacri­fice.  Hidden under a piece of cloth.  What it was? I didn’t know.  I did not want to know.


“‘Pick up the knife!’ a voice commanded from the head of the al­tar.  ‘Offer your sacrifice to Satan as you have promised!’


“Again, I could not move.  It seemed as if my arms weighed a thou­sand pounds.  My mind could not force them to move.  I could not even look at the knife lying on the altar.  My eyes were riveted on the object, the sacrifice now immediately in front of me under the covering.


“I heard Victor whisper, ‘We’ll have to put the knife in her hand.  She’s in too much of a daze to act on her own.’  He had given me more drugs than usual to keep me from resisting fur­ther.  He was wrong.  It was surely not due to drugs that I was incapable of fol­lowing his commands.  I was simply para­lyzed with horror.


“As I stood there unable to move—unable to even take a breath—I felt some­one grab my right hand and pry open the tightly clenched fingers.  The knife was placed in the palm of my hand and my fin­gers closed around it.  I wanted to release the knife but my fin­gers were cramped shut.


“Then as the hand pulled mine up, something snapped within me.  The numbness left.  The fear fled.  In their place, I saw the faces of all the people who had ever used me, abused me, and tortured me.  I saw that each face was laughing cruelly at me.  Then I began to hear the laughter.  Louder and louder it swelled, like the roar of an ocean.


“I felt as if my body was going to burst with an overpowering and uncontrol­lable rage.  The fury grew as the laughter of my tor­menters pounded in my ears.  I felt my arms being raised, or rais­ing themselves, the knife was now firmly in both hands.  I began to scream, a scream that reached beyond the present and echoed back through all the years of my tortured life.  To my mother.  To every bum who had assaulted me in the basement of my home.  To every sin­gle coven member.  And to Victor himself.  I was screaming at them.  They had destroyed my life and now they would destroy my spirit as well.  But they were wrong.  They could never have my spirit.  Never!


Down came the knife with all the force of my strength.  Up, down.  Up, down.  Up, down.  Until the faces no longer laughed at me.  They were gone, every one.  In my mind, the knife had impaled each one of them.


“It was over.  They thought they would finish me.  But I fooled them.  I had finished them.  I had won!  The knife slipped out of my hands.  I crumpled to the floor in total physical and men­tal ex­haustion.






“How long I was unconscious, I do not know.  The next thing I re­member was my being led through a wire gate into a cemetery.  Stum­bling over the rough hillside, two of the members took hold of my arms and led me to the bottom of a ravine.  We stopped at the base of a tree.


“A deep, oppressive stillness hung in the air.  The cries of the little ones were silent that night.  The sobs of teenage and adult victims were silent that night.  Even the overpowering grief that was exploding within me could not shatter the still­ness of that night.  I understood why.  It was the stillness of death.


“The ending of a ritualistic sacrifice was usually an occasion of jubilee, of making merriment and indulgence in every conceiv­able lust of sexual perver­sion.  But tonight was different.  The mood was a total antithesis to the usual reveling.  There was no jubila­tion and no merriment—no sexual orgies.


“The small group of coven members who had followed the high priest into the cemetery silently formed a circle around a small plot of ground near the tree.  Even as they began their usual humming and chanting, they did so in such hushed voices that I could barely hear them.  I couldn’t put my finger on the reason why, but some­thing was different. 


“My body, still supported by two others, stood in the circle.  But my mind had mercifully turned itself off.  I was in a con­fused state of mental and emo­tional shock.  Mental comprehension was im­possible.  I could only obey or­ders mechanically, not men­tally.


“Victor, the high priest, raised his arm.  The chanting ended in obedience to this signal.  Not a sound was to be heard.  I began to tremble uncontrollably.  Even though I felt very cold, beads of perspiration rolled down my face.


“At that moment, light from the candles revealed the outline of a shovel that a coven member was holding in his hands.  Victor mo­tioned for two of the men to do something with the shovel.  Care­fully they placed their lighted candles upright in the dirt where they had been standing.  It was crucial to the burial rit­ual the circle remain unbroken.


“As they dug, the chanting started.  ‘Dust to dust.  Earth to earth.  Back to Sa­tan whence it came.  Dust to dust.  Earth to earth.  Back to Satan whence it came.’


“Though the words were chanted in hushed voices, the words seemed to re­verberate throughout the ravine and grow, as though they would surround every hillside, mountaintop, valley, and city across the country.  Nausea swept over me, and those on ei­ther side strength­ened their grip, bearing more of my weight for I could no longer stand alone.


“Just as suddenly as the chant of death began, it ended.  Once again a shroud of deadly silence settled on the group of evildo­ers like a cloak of dense fog.  The two coven members had fin­ished dig­ging a shallow hole.  They returned to their places in the circle, being careful to pick up their candles without putting out the flame.  The flame must not go out just as the circle must not be broken.


“Then I saw the object.  It was covered with a cloth, lying in the center of a pentagram that had been drawn on the ground with chalk.


“I heard Victor call and I saw the evil in his eyes.  He raised his right arm, the two gems in his ring focused my attention.  Those gems represented the eyes of Satan.  I was ordered to step from the support of the ones on either side of me and as I stepped forward the chanting began again.


“Suddenly I thought, ‘Oh my God, they’re going to bury me alive!’  I can’t say that I became more terrified, for I was al­ready as ter­rified as one could get.  But I felt a sudden panic to run as fast as I could.  I realized however, that I would never be able to break through the coven’s circle.  I stumbled as my foot touched something, freeing my eyes from the spell of Victor’s ring.  I looked down to see what my foot had touched.


“There it was again—at my feet.


“Instantly my thoughts returned to the church altar.  Bits and pieces of the ritual flashed across my mind.  The altar . . . the faces of my tormenters . . . the knife . . . the rage . . . scream­ing . . .  Round and round the memories flashed in a fren­zied whirl.  Waves of nausea swept over me but there was nothing left within to vomit forth.  I felt myself beginning to faint.


“Victor’s strong and stern voice jolted my thoughts back to the graveyard.  ‘Your sacrifice.’  He was pointing at the object on the ground in front of me.  ‘Dust to dust.  Earth to earth . . .’


“Obviously, I was expected to pick up the sacrifice.  I let out a scream that should have wakened the very dead.  ‘NO!’


“I’m certain that my involuntary scream spared me from having to touch the object.  Victor must have realized that I was beyond my limit of endurance and that I was in danger of risking their safety.  Victor bent down and laid the object in the shallow hole.  He hurriedly ushered the coven members away from the graveside.  I looked back only one time—to get a glimpse of a coven member who remained behind to disguise the grave or move the object to another place which would never be found again—or probably to utilize the object in some future manner.  I was never given to know what be­came of the object.


Satanists rarely leave a sacrifice buried.  It is too danger­ous.  But also, the parts of the sacrifice, especially if it is human, are too sacred to abandon.  The few parts that are not used for an­other ritualistic purpose are cremated to destroy all remaining ev­idence of the sacrifice.


“I had seen enough.  I looked away from the grave site, unable to think any more about what had just taken place.  A heavy grief con­sumed me.  I wasn’t certain what had taken place.  I knew only one thing . . . it was over.  It was finally over!  It was the last time I ever participated in a satanic ritual.


* * *


This could not be?  You refuse to believe?  Oh, my precious chil­dren, heed well these lessons lest you be forced to learn through the pain of harder lessons.  It is true, beloved ones, it is true and mine own heart weeps for you who must face the truth of it.  Nay, I am not yet finished for ye must know the scope of it.  Ye must know that evil is real and Satan beats the drum.  Ye must be in the knowing of it.


Dharma, we must have a break, chela.  I grant unto you objectiv­ity as ye print the words for ye cannot carry of the load.  Peace be unto you beloved ones who carry this burden of truth unto your brothers.