BLACK: The Tomb, Binding Words, and the Promised Land
BLACK. The table was metal and cold. The lights above burned white and hard. The monitors beeped until they did not. The line went flat. The black came down and held.
Still. Silent. No sound of machines, beeps, or buzzers. No voices from the room. Just the black that held everything and nothing. Lifelessness in the body. Awareness that remained. I knew the place without seeing it. A different slab. One of stone. The smell of earth. The destination was too large to name then.
The paddles hit. The body jumped. A white dot in the blackness grew, like an old analog TV coming to life. Breath tore back into the lungs with the taste of blood and the weight of tubes. A line ran from stem to stern. Ribs ached from the compression. They had cut my shirt. Shorts ripped off. I laid naked before a team of strangers. A pit crew of cutters. I wrestled with the immodesty of it all, too weak to put up a fight.
Hands and arms were a pin cushion. Lights went out again. I awoke again to wires everywhere. For the next two days a blood-pressure cuff squeezed my arm every five minutes, keeping the sleep away. Morphine and nitro glycerin ran through my veins.
Erin sat next to me and held my hand. Strength and beauty mingled with grief. Her focus was intense. Every movement monitored. Imagine watching the one you love suffer—knowing there is nothing you can do about it. She carried the greater pain. Erin asked where I had gone, what I had seen.
“Black….” I whispered.
Tears fell. Though my ribs hurt, the other pain was larger. The wanting. To see the face. To be held by the Carpenter. I was disappointed. A quiet word came inside my damaged heart.
“TOMB.”
My eyes closed at the word. I drifted off a third time.
Three days passed. September 11th. I was supposed to be in Vegas for a speech. The Storm Summit was packed to the gills with patriots. I had an unfinished video that would have encompassed much of my speech. I didn’t want to let the organizers down. So, in a drugged stupor, I edited what I could from my hospital bed. Before I flatlined, I invited my dear friend to the event, the Romanian prophet. Though he knew I could not be there, he still made the trip from across the ocean. He ensured the video was played, then abruptly got on a plane and came to my side.
The prophet examined me closely. “In your video, why did you settle on sixty days in your countdown to emancipation?” An unspoken question remained beneath the surface. The midterms were November 3rd. And my clock did not treat election day as the great deliverer of our national problems.
I responded, “the midterms are safe, but for very different reasons than people think. The Uni-party will leave election night confident they have weathered Trump’s storm. The black-pilled will despair further, and even the most ardent Trump supporter will scratch their heads in confusion. To some, it will appear as if all is lost.”
Still, for those paying attention, we are seeing a dry run of arrests for lower-level criminals. Trump feigns ignorance. Elaborate schemes, financial ties, foreign interests. The people wrap their heads around the real prospect of politicians being indicted, and FBI agents once thinking they were untouchable, get touched. Omar unravels, saying she did not marry her brother, at least not to her knowledge.
As for the grand finale, elections, three things are in place to safeguard the Republic.
(1) The President’s Order. 13848. Still standing from 2018. It said the Director of National Intelligence would assess foreign interference within forty-five days of a federal election.
(2) The President’s Notice to the World. On July 16th the reporting clause of 13848 was triggered.
(3) A Finding Providing Notice to Election Administrators.
Now, we will watch the narrative war erupt over the next two months to unprecedented levels. Election administrators’ noncompliance before, during, and after the election. Almost all have opted to ignore the 1 billion dollars in grants to secure the vote. This omission will hang like an albatross around their necks. Whether they know it or not, they are being monitored by the Department of War. The memo went out, calling for all-hands-on-deck in the cyber securing of our next election. U.S. Cyber Command, working with NSA, can conduct offensive cyber operations against foreign networks, servers, and infrastructure used to enable the attack.
This is the classic “defend forward” posture: identifying, disrupting, or degrading foreign command-and-control, malware staging, or influence platforms outside U.S. territory. USAID and the City of London have been bled. The money is gone. The communists are left with only one move remaining. Have their installed communist governors follow a one-size-fits-all script to delegitimize every action made by the commander-in-chief. That’s it.
But come hell or high water, 45 Days after the election, a report will be returned to the Commander in Chief. This time, undoctored. Finally, a pressure cooker has been created, with Trump offering a $1,000,000 dollar bounty for information leading to arrests and convictions. Snitches and whistleblowers will have every incentive to rat on corrupt vendors and corrupt clerks. All that awaits, is a decision for military enforcement.
From now until January, we stand in the gap of our Red Sea moment. The words in those orders, memos, findings, all had to have effect, and be given effect, or the nation is done. Binding words precede emancipation, always. Moses gave God’s words before chariots drowned. The Declaration of Independence signed before continental rifles gave it effect. Nothing new under the Sun. We declare our identity as Sons and Daughters of our Father, we proclaim our freedom to the slave masters, then the fight that brings emancipation follows. In that order.
I didn’t spell these things out to the prophet. But the prophet nodded, as if receiving an understanding from above. He was to return to the same Las Vegas event that very evening. He looked at me. “I will deliver a word from you.” Adding to my anxiety, he wanted me to record a short video message. I winced. I said, “Give me your phone. I’ll type it.” Having no idea what “it” would be. I continued, “You’ll give this message to the organizers. If they agree, the word can be given tomorrow.” I closed my eyes, emptied myself, and waited for a picture to emerge. I focused on a clock. Not mine. God’s, if such a thing could be imagined. One thing I know for certain is that the binding words offered in the spiritual realm always precede what we see in the natural.
The word read as follows:
60 days from today (September 13th).
Mark your calendars. November 11th.
The signing of the Mayflower Compact’s anniversary was 406 years ago.
Go to Plymouth and sign our new proclamation.
Fittingly, the 406th chapter of the Bible, is Ezekiel 3. There, the people of God were instructed to set watchmen for a new season. On September 13th, the word was read publicly to a packed room full of hundreds of patriots. Without the aid of the Holy Spirit, I’m sure the message was received as an encrypted puzzle.
The puzzle was deciphered by those appointed to hear, as the event held caretakers of historical properties located in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Historians and patriots that have safeguarded the historical remembrance of the Mayflower Compact. They spoke with the prophet until the late hours.
November 11th marked other anniversaries. Veterans Day, to honor our military. It also marked the 10-year anniversary of the intercessory prayer group that prayed every hour of every day without ceasing for the rebirth of our nation. It started with one prayer. A small thing that grew. 5,256,000 minutes later, golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints, were overflowing in Heaven.
The Mayflower Compact also started as a small thing. A promise to God and one another offered on a wooden ship in freezing cold, pilgrims fleeing the religious bondage of a corrupt Church and State. A promise aimed to secure blessing in a land that would become America. A template old as time emerged.
And that’s the topic for today.
Black: The Tomb, Binding Words, and the Promised Land
Saturday went by through ragged breaths. The old back injury locked from the lack of movement. Organs settled. Every time sleep came the body gasped awake. Not enough air produced from my heart. The cycle repeated. The vision of the tomb intensified. My thoughts went toward my Creator. The question returned. My near-death experience. I longed for answers. Black …. Just me laying on a slab bathed in black.
The why of it all escaped me.
But Sunday night, answers came. The Prince of Peace entered my room.
He spoke.
“You want to be with me?”
The question hung. I had wanted the sight. The face. The clasp of the hand like Peter rising from the water. Instead the black had come. The slab. The tomb.
The verses flooded then. They showed the place that is better than the place beside Him. Christ in me. I in Christ. The superior place. Galatians 2:20: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” John 15:4: “Abide in me, and I in you.”
The Rabbi then asked, “Who am I?”
I answered, “You are the Way, and the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through you.”
He nodded in agreement, then pressed.
“If I AM in you, is the Life in you?”
I replied, “Yes, Lord.”
He had me repeat that His Life was in me three times.
“When you are in me, Life is in me.”
“When you are in me, Life is in me.”
“When you are in me, Life is in me.”
He continued. “Is my heart perfect?”
“Yes, it is!”
He declared, “It’s yours.”
I cried at this. In that moment, I felt like my broken body was invincible. That my damaged heart was replaced with perfection.
He then answered an unasked question. “You wanted revelation from being in my dwelling place; the knowledge of things, and things to come. Why would I deny you this?”
Another vision flashed of a prayer I uttered years ago.
January 6, 2021. In the cool pines of Ruidoso as false flags ensnared our country men in D.C., I prayed: “Lord, please give me faith. Grant me more faith than anyone, to carry out your purpose without failing.” At the moment, I thought the prayer wise.
The Carpenter offered another flash of verses.
“Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (John 20:29)
“And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.” (Hebrews 11:6)
He finished with this.
“Pleasing the Father is good. But in order to answer your prayer of faith beyond others you must be tested with believing the impossible. Your prayer is why you were blessed with not seeing.”
And like that, the Carpenter’s presence left the room.
I immediately got up from my bed, hobbled with bent back, and spent the next few hours in my study, jotting down everything I could remember, every verse that flashed. I sat in awe and wonder. The wanting of Him did not leave. But His lesson changed my initial disappointment.
After the death on the table, and my lesson with the Teacher, more visions came. One of them was a speech I had given in 2014. I had stood once before eight hundred establishment men at the state convention as a candidate for U.S. Senate. I said God uses the foolish to shame the wise. I called myself God’s fool. The words were clever then.
A lifetime later the vision replayed the speech. Every word. God had not heard a clever speech. He had heard an oath. The words were weighed and measured. It became binding. A fool for Christ. Just like the prayer for faith greater than any man, I broke at the prospect of how God hold our words, and how frivolously I had used my speech, even with good intentions.
I would later learn the “fool for Christ” was an actual thing in the old Church. They took the appearance of madness. They concealed the gifts. They avoided praise. “We are fools for Christ’s sake… We have become, and are now, as the refuse of the world, the offscouring of all things.” (1 Corinthians 4:10, 13.)
Christ was the ultimate Fool, or “kenosis.” Philippians 2. He did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped. He emptied Himself. He was born in the likeness of men. He humbled Himself to the death of the cross. King to servant. Glory in Heaven given up. The world saw weakness. Dishonor. The Cross looked like defeat, yet that is where the slave became a son.
I did not set out to be a fool. “It was only a speech,” I muttered to my Maker. But now that I look back, I am a fool. Former law professor. Former prosecutor. My mockers would often say, “is there anything you aren’t a former in?” I drove a broke-down Buick across the country until it would drive no more, and couldn’t afford more than the two or three jackets I was always pictured in. A transformation I was wholly unaware of, stared back at me.
So, what bearing does my meditation on “binding words” have on the listener? I answer with this. My prayer for greater faith and proclamation of being God’s fool, were not only heard by God—the consequences of those words wrecked me. And my testimony is trivial compared to the power of binding words offered for a nation.
The human story, distilled, is the stuff of slavery, enduring the wilderness that follows deliverance, and the fight to enter the promised land. The cycle repeats. The story of how to proceed from slave to freeman cannot be told without identifying covenants made, compacts broken, and the conditions that must be met to be restored.
Genesis 3:15 foretold the earthly consequences of humanity’s first bout with treason. Adam’s treason. “I will put enmity between you (the Serpent) and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.”
The seed war and our slavery started there. And since then, every generation has been given the opportunity to choose which Kingdom they will serve. The clothes and weapons may change. But behind every red flag adorned with hammer and sickle is a callback to Esau, reddish appearance at birth; his descendants the Edomites. Edom means red. King Herod was the most famous Edomite. Recall his order to murder every child in the land to vanquish the seed of the woman. Some have speculated that before Satan’s first rebellion, the stars in our solar system were the fallen angels’ celestial abodes. It is surmised by some, that Mars, the red planet, was his. But after God shattered His enemies, the cosmos changed, the red planet died, and Satan fell to Earth like lightning.
Who knows if it’s true, I just know that every step of the way, God has delivered the line. When the waters covered the Earth after the bloodline of Adam was nearly replaced by the Watchers and their seed, the Ark had floated. Then after the parting of the Red Sea, a different Ark would aid God’s children in the wilderness. The Ark of the Covenant. It carried binding words—the law on tablets, while manna fell and the cloud sheltered. Later, Mary would become the new ark. The power of the Most High overshadowed her (Luke 1:35). She carried the Word made flesh, the Gensis prophecy fulfilled. Since then—we have waited for Word’s return—through trial and tribulation, we have sought to build a Shining City on a Hill.
That devotion carried an Ark of another kind across the water in 1620. On November 11, men signed the Mayflower compact in the bowels of a wooden ship in the presence of God and one another. Our American ancestors wanted the wilderness that lay outside their vessel to become a promised land for the Gospel. Decades later, William Penn sat in an English prison for nonconformity in the established church. His conscience enslaved. He too crossed the ocean seeking liberty. He made treaties and friendship with the Lenape. Their compact held for a time. Pennsylvania his namesake.
The quiet words these Pilgrims planted, birthed a nation. America became the promised land, that broke its promise to the captives. We backslid. Slavery stayed in the land until the Civil War. Lincoln knew the binding words for deliverance. He called for national repentance. He proclaimed emancipation. The military gave force to his words. Victory for a season.
In response, the Dragon deliberated anew. Revelation 12:17: “Then the dragon became furious with the woman and went off to make war on the rest of her offspring, on those who keep the commandments of God and hold to the testimony of Jesus.” The righteous fled when the time came. The ocean carried them to the shores of America. But today, there is nowhere left to flee. What binding words do we speak as we await the Kingdom?
More importantly, are we tasked with reclaiming the old Republic, or planting seeds for something better? I had died and come back with a vision in my bones. A hallway between two worlds opened. The end of presidents. The end of constitutional republics. The beginning of the Kingdom. I think of Anna and Simeon, who were tasked with preparing for the First Coming. The Spirit had told Simeon he would not die before he saw the Christ.
Later legend claimed he had been one of the seventy who translated the scriptures in Alexandria. When he doubted the word about the virgin, an angel stopped him and promised he would live to see it. So, the years passed, and he waited. Anna waited too. Mary and Joseph came with the child. Simeon took the boy in his arms. “Lord,” he said, “Now let your servant go. My eyes have seen it.” Anna came forward, gave thanks, and spoke of the child to those still waiting. They trusted old prophetic words that were binding. I believe those called to Plymouth to speak the old words are tasked with making preparations for the Second Coming.
Water judges the evil and emancipates the remnant. The flood took the mixed seed and the Nephilim. The Red Sea stood parted and then closed. Pharaoh’s army was destroyed. The demon pig herd ran down the steep bank into the sea and drowned. There are costs in taking on the slave masters. Lincoln fell because he severed the chains. Stephen fell by stones in Acts 7 because he proclaimed Christ as the deliverer of our spiritual chains. Paul did the same before the sword fell. Peter did the same before he hung upside down. On May 17th, 2026, the call to repent was answered as a nation. Again, on July 4th.
This November 3rd, the machines may still flip the votes and manipulate the images. But the memo went out from the Department of War. Defend the midterms from foreign interference and disruption. Secure the count. Our Emancipation Day in Plymouth takes place on the day that honors the only force capable of gutting the traitors. Our military and its veterans. The midterms are “We the People” walking through the Red Sea. Two walls of water. On the first writing can be seen. “The evidence of God’s deliverance to come.” On the second wall it says, “Yet you doubt, because you have not yet seen your deliverance.” This is where our nation stands. Can you take another few steps forward in faith? To believe alongside this fool for the impossible? Because those walls of water have another name. Emancipation. And like the walls of Jericho, they will fall down.
Plymouth waits. Four hundred and six years from the signing. The rock is still there. A Holy Convocation will stand on it. Remembrance of the compact. The people will gather. They will read the old words again. That’s not all. This fool heard something in the darkness. Though my breath is short, I have seen the tomb. A little resurrection for me, and I believe, a big resurrection for our Land. The door at the end of the hallway opens. All black is gone. Replaced by Light. The King of Kings is there. Standing upon the eternal promised land.
To attend the Holy Convocation in Plymouth register here: https://247nationalstrategicprayercall.com/registration-for-the-holy-convocation-in-plymouth-november-8-12-2026/
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