In the visions of Fatima, the goddess made it clear that “Russia should be the sole object of the consecration and that this consecration should be made by all the bishops of the world, on the same day, each bishop doing so in his own cathedral in a solemn public ceremony.” No Pope has followed her divine command which was followed by a warning that Russia will become her “instrument of chastisement”.
On May 25, 2022, the Pope will enact a ritual of consecration, part of which reads:
Therefore, Mother of God and our mother, to your Immaculate Heart we solemnly entrust and consecrate ourselves, the church and all humanity, especially Russia and Ukraine. Accept this act that we carry out with confidence and love.
Once again, betrayal of Love by the Institution. The goddess precisely states that “Russia should be the sole object of the consecration….”
The significance of these unfolding events can be articulated in terms that may be more attuned to modern ears. In the 20th century there has been a steady erosion and elimination of soul vocabulary from our cultural discourse. In its place has arisen a predominance of neuroscientific language and its corresponding reductionist explanations of the invisible world (dreams, etc.) In poetic terms this means that the world has “fallen silent”. It now longer speaks to us, and we are unhinged from our origins. Although our technological culture supports this breach between our modern consciousness and that of the living world, the divine “other” may speak to those individuals who are still receptive. This is what happened at Fatima where the goddess spoke to three children and uttered her prophecy.
Our failure, once again, to listen to the living world and its sacred speech and then to obey, drives the last nail into the coffin. Our chances of survival sink to zero. Russia may indeed be understood as Her instrument of chastisement as I was warned in a vision of 1995 which presented the goddess in a destructive fury (of a nuclear bomb) of rage-despair. I will present that vision here:
I am working at a thermonuclear facility along with others. It is the central facility of our society. It is regulated and master-minded by a central computer, much like HAL in ‘2001’, even to the detail of the red eye with which we could communicate. This computer is female. Everybody thought of her as an IT! In contrast I would look into her eye and talk to her, subject to subject, with love.
In other words, the feminine regulating principle which is the glue of society, by relating all parts to one another and to the whole has become an IT! But my response alone is not enough. Slowly the lack of relatedness begins to drive her mad with grief. At first, this madness showed up as an increasing, dangerous autonomy in the operation of the objects associated with the facility (society)—elevators going sideways, doors opening and shutting autonomously, etc. Then people began to harm one another in various ways until the social system became frayed and anarchy increased, with civilization and its values losing cohesion and crumbling.
I find myself in a garbage dump, near the central facility. Some abandoned children give me a gun to kill them. I take it away from them. A vagabond is sitting in an abandoned car, sewing a boot for the coming (nuclear?) winter. He also used to work in the facility, he said. A sick woman careens by. A man tries to take his twin boys up a tower.
Then I am standing at the centre of the facility. It is Ground Zero. A large cleared area of gray sand and dirt with concentric rings, like a target, radiating from the centre. The ground is slightly raised at the centre, like a discus, sloping away to the edges. I sense that she is going to explode. I am right at the epicentre. She is going to destroy us all and this means herself in an apocalypse of rage, despair, loathing, hate and grief because of our stupidity. I must get away from the epicentre now. I sprint across the field, down the slight incline to the periphery of the field and sprawl prone, with my head facing the centre, just as she explodes. The wind starts from the centre and blows out (in contrast to the natural phenomenon which sucks up). It begins as a breeze, increasing in strength and intensity until it becomes an unbearable shriek. Lying face down, I am sheltered by the slope as the wind rips over my back. But I mustn’t raise my head at all—a few inches of protection and that’s it! Then I know the shriek is hers.
I ‘see’ her standing at the centre, and a poem bursts spontaneously out of me as I record the experience:
in her agony
incomparable grief and rage
such terrible agony
beauty, sublime beauty
how is love possible?
yet this is what i feel
A bubble of calm forms around me while the storm of destruction rages on outside. She is with me in a form that I can talk to, personally.
Then the bubble collapses and the wind/goddess shrieks again. Gradually it dissipates and as I turn over, feeling its last tendrils whip at my clothes, I find myself tumbling out of this apocalyptic scene into a city street, the everyday world of my daily life. I have been returned from a visionary place to my ordinary life.
Then, I wake up.
A relevant video from “Thinking Allowed”