I must confess… I wonder about the fascination with Anne Boleyn.

Sure, she led a rather remarkable life, and I’m sure we can all relate to a little romantic tragedy… but is there more to it?

Can we sense that there is something about her story that just doesn't quite make sense…

And I know what you’re thinking… the title of this story.. is bold. It got your attention, and now you just have to figure out if I’m a batshit crazy con artist or am in fact, the real deal, Queen B back from the dead to open another can.

And that’s fine with me, I chose the title because, well… as you will soon find out if you dare to read this entire confession… it really couldn’t be anything else.

And I’m not here to fuck spiders.

“History is always written by the winners. When two cultures clash, the loser is obliterated, and the winner writes the history books - books which glorify their own cause and disparage the conquered foe. As Napoleon once said, 'What is history, but a fable agreed upon?” ― Dan Brown

The more you dive into the rabbit hole of human history, the more you come to see that we know nothing, John Snow.

They say there are three things that cannot remain hidden for long: the sun, the moon.. and the truth.

And thanks to the Corona Virus scamdemic, many people are now hungry for truth like never before. Awakening to the brutal reality that we have been monumentally lied to our entire lives by spineless puppets and shameless psychopaths, by those we entrusted to lead and care for us.

A new flame has now been lit in the hearts of so many…. a burning desire for truth, justice, and real leadership. Which is beautiful, for what you seek, is always seeking you.

And from chaos and despair, New Earth is now rising from the ashes, as it always does.

Unfolding in the divine timing of cosmic clockwork, the best kept ancient secrets and mystery teachings that have been kept secret for the sake of preservation, during the age of forgetting that we are now awakening from, are now being revealed and remembered.

For where secrecy was once a necessity for preservation, transparency is now the name of the game, for the new Age of Aquarius that we are transiting into.

Hollywood, like many institutions, is a mix of people with all kinds of agendas: those who are driven by their worship of money and self-service, and those driven by their worship of a higher power and service to humanity.

Many films and shows are filled with clues, codes and cryptic messages that serve to support our awakening.

And this is nothing new: for centuries, stories have been used to share important truths. Often the ones “too true to tell”.

Believe it or not, not all elites are selfish blood sucking monsters.

Some of them were not only born with true hearts, they’ve also become enlightened through their study and devotion to the esoteric teachings that their privilege has granted them access to.

They understand the karmic balancing dance of reincarnation and the golden rule of do unto others as you would have done unto you. And for those who understand this basic principle, it’s only natural that they truly want the best for everyone on this planet because they understand that we are intricately connected, and that everything comes back to you.

Their world is a high stakes game: you grow up around people who can easily kill you and get away with it (some of which do it for fun), where one wrong move could have very deadly and expensive consequences. It’s a world where the circle of trust is everything. Where your word, your oath, is everything,

This is why secret societies exist: for thousands of years, specific elite families and bloodlines have been hunted, literally to the ends of the Earth.

They’ve had to go into hiding in order to preserve some of the world’s most precious treasures: artefacts that prove our true history. Especially the ones that the corrupt swamp freak establishment would do anything to get their hands on and destroy.

Which has been the true motive of many of our wars, by the way: destroying our true historical origins. Because those who have been in power (up until recently), know that the only way they could maintain their grip on humanity, is if we don’t know who we actually are.

And I agree with Maya Angelou when when she said “there is no greater agony than an untold story”. I can imagine the weight of responsibility of being privy to some of the rarest of sacred truths, and being sworn to absolute secrecy until it is safe to reveal, until the public are able to truly hear it.

And so whilst many of these true hearted elites are unable to just come out publicly and say it directly, what better a way to express these rare truths than through the most potent storytelling art on the planet: cinema.

Let’s honour them by paying attention.

I’ve heard that all clever elites teach their children how to act, for it is not only a powerful manifestation tool, it is a skill that can save your life, or your loved ones.

And let’s face it, this is what the political “elite”, Royals and Hollywood crew all have in common: they are actors on the public stage. Ok, some of the Royals are legit. But many are happy to remain behind the curtain, for obvious reasons.

Meanwhile, us muggles were sent to schools that completely dumbed us down.

This image of me at my primary school’s “Settlers Day” assembly really captures how I felt about my school experience.

I didn’t know much at seven, but I could feel deep in my disco balls that the system was either rigged or colossally shit. My greatest joy that day was wearing my rainbow sequin slip ons in protest to the historical dress code.

These days the woke-ists would froth over that but in the mid 90s that was revolutionary and cutting edge.

Some people assume our education system is simply outdated… but it is so far from that: it was designed to kill your spirit and prepare you for mindless slave life by training you to be an order follower who is incapable of questioning the status quo.

Diabolically, it completely wastes your time by teaching almost nothing truly of real value, and plenty of fake or distorted history and science propaganda.

Being forced to learn things that are meaningless to you kills your spirit and innate curiosity, and in many cases, puts you off learning altogether.

The ridiculous grading system harms your self esteem and confidence, teaches you to be afraid of “making mistakes” and compete with others for superficial and meaningless gold stars.

Like with universities, it makes you think you are educated when actually you are highly ignorant.

Meanwhile, forcing children to sit still in chairs all day long is an unnatural torture and crime against humanity, for it literally forces children to disassociate from their bodies in order to survive the day (“fidgeting” is a sign you need to move!), disconnecting them from their innate navigation system: the wisdom of their feelings.

In other words, robbing them of their ability to effectively navigate life’s choices.

This also plants seeds for disease (dis-ease), anxiety or depression (or any of the other limitless labels the medical establishment has created) later in their life, for restricting children’s movements is the same thing as restricting their life force energy (vitality), which results in emotional and physical blockages in the body.

The fact that their parents also think that sugary wheat flakes is a legitimate food (and breakfast) means our poor children are also sitting in their confined chairs pinging on sugar: talk about a rollercoaster ride from hell.

No wonder we live in a world full of sick, emotionally numb, dissociated and over-weight people who live almost entirely in their minds, and think of their bodies as just mere transport for their heads.

Ladies in Gentleman of the jury, the mainstream school system is a streamlined brainwashing and spirit-destroying program that transforms bright, brave, curious, self-motivated, enthusiastic, creative and effortlessly themselves six year olds into disconnected, sad, angry, insecure, existentially pessimistic, socially awkward order followers who are completely unequipped for real life, and you paid for it.

It’s the zombie apocalypse; a society of the walking dead, so disconnected from their hearts, bodies and spirits, operating on auto-pilot mode of their uninspired mind, surviving on a diet of distraction, denial and medication; lost in a false reality, a maze created for them, The Kingdom of Lies.

A society of traumatised inner children with lost dreams.

Don’t worry… you can get them back. They’re still right there in your heart, waiting to be heard.

I must confess, I have a very complicated and colourful mind, often lost in deep philosophical thought… and hence I’ve always tried my best to simplify things that seem complex.

And as someone who’s battled with mental health challenges my entire life, and absolutely loves a good makeover, I’ve come up with this simplified theory: all mental and physical health problems are simply symptoms of the same self-betrayal… of ignoring your heart’s deepest truths, dreams and desires.

If we want to come to back to life, we must return to our hearts, and light them up.

That healing is learning to love, reparent and reeducate our inner children.

To release that self-love isn’t just a feeling but your job.

That self-care is self-love in action.

And to heal the heart one must rediscover the genius and power of play.

To restore their sacred sense of wonder.

To wonder what’s beneath all the programming.

To choose, every day, to gift yourself unconditional love for all that you have been through.

And one day… you’ll be able to once again sing your heart’s song, un-fucking-apologetically.

And thats why… Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve dedicated the last seven years to creating Wonder Club and sharing stories like the one I am about to share with you, because this is my heart’s song.

And everything I do is to honour the lost spirit of my inner child, and teen. And I dream of a world where everyone does this for themselves.

My story is wildly controversial, but I I’d rather die for the truth than live in fear.

And I certainly don’t fear the opinions of others.

I just want to feel alive again.

I’m done hiding, and I believe there comes a time when we must all face the music and learn to dance in the storm.

And just a quick note to any haterz who may get triggered by me, remember this: I’m not sorry.

I dedicate my story to the curious and brave.

To those who dare to truly wonder.

Who ask good questions and listen with the heart.

Ladies and gentlemen, the truth is sexy: it’s the best medicine and greatest, most worthy, of all adventures.

And this is why we live in a war of information, where sinister characters invest fortunes into creating well packaged dis-information and counter-intelligence: because there are two types of people: those who embrace their truth, and those who run from it.

And those who hate the truth want to make sure you are drowning in false rabbit holes.

In today’s wonderland, if you want the truth, you have to be committed. Determined. Prepared to devote yourself to the art of Holy Curiosity.

You must develop your intuition, for it is only those who’ve cultivated a meaningful connection to their own spirit and its language, and allow it to guide them… that find the best treasures of truth.

My story begins in 2012.

After reading a few books by Jane Roberts about the nature of reality, I then read her only fiction series The Education Of Oversoul Seven, about a soul who is experiencing multiple lives simultaneously, for time is not linear, but actually happening all at once.

It’s a concept that is very hard to comprehend, but I like this analogy: the soul is like a spinning disco ball sending it’s light to all the possible angles of perception/time/space. Like a galaxy that never begins or ends, and just is, the only thing that changes is your perspective as your travel further up and further in.

This is why it makes sense to me that everything is written in the stars, for we are but mirrored reflections of each other: lights dancing with each other in diving timing.

I’ve always believed in reincarnation, but it wasn’t until I read The Education Of Oversoul Seven that I became curious about m yown “past” lives.

That December, about a week before Christmas, I was at work and confessed out loud to my boss Jennifer that I was “thinking about getting a past life regression”. It was the first time I’d voiced my idea since initially feeling inspired to write it on a ‘to do’ list months earlier.

A split second later the light directly above my head flashed about three times.

Jen and I looked at each other in awe at the curious timing of this rather supernatural sign and she said to me, highly amused, “ah, well yeah I think you should get one because I have never seen any of the lights do that in the 5 years I’ve had this store!”

She went out to the back of the store and returned moments later to hand me a piece of paper with the name and number of a great psychic she knew, recommending I go see her. Three weeks later, on the 13th of January 2013, I went for my past life regression.

I was told many fascinating things, including that I came to Earth millions of years ago and have had back-to-back lives pretty much ever since, was a co-creator of Atlantis and helped build crystal temples, had many lives in ancient Egypt, including three Pharaoh lives, and then had a lot of male warrior lives in ancient Rome, but that I abused my power.

Discovering this seemed to explain why I’ve always been fascinated by Atlantis, ancient Egypt and ancient Rome, and perhaps why the movie Gladiator evoked such a strong emotional reaction from me and I would watch it over and over again.

She said that her and I had even had lives together before and the last one was when we were both Buddhist Monks about a thousand years ago except back then I was her teacher. It seemed to explain why she was instantly familiar to me and felt like an old friend.

She said that all my recent lives, for many centuries, have been all female lives, and that I have been stuck in a cycle of disempowerment. She then paused and said “you were a part of British history…”, which sparked my curiosity greatly.

“Do you know Henry the Eighth?” she asked me, I nodded as I remembered that I’d been watching The Tudors TV series about six months earlier in winter, and how it had deeply affected me. She then said gently “you.. were Anne Boleyn”.

My body immediately lit up, like I’d just been electrocuted with the most intense full body goosebumps I’d ever had in my life (like ten times stronger than the strongest I’d ever had), as if every cell in my body agreed and remembered the truth, that on some deeper level, I’d known all along; it was as if my cells were shouting at me “we tried to tell you!”.

My mind was then flooded with memories that seemed to further confirm it, and suddenly it felt like the theme and events of my life now made so much more sense.

She continued… “there is a special link between Anne’s life and yours… lots of the energy from Anne’s life is in yours. But try not to get caught up in the story and focus on the lessons, for Anne’s lessons are your lessons… and you still haven’t learnt them.”

She continued the reading by answering the questions I’d brought with me and we didn’t talk anything more about Anne Boleyn, but as soon as I got back into my car, a deep sense of sadness came over me and I burst into tears and cried like a waterfall all the way home.

For weeks I could barely think of anything but Anne, and a new battle began within me as I seesawed between not letting my ego get carried away with itself (a new sense of arrogance arose in me), whilst also not feeling incredibly ashamed and embarrassed.

Although I didn’t doubt it’s truthfulness during the reading, and couldn’t deny the intense physical reaction and obvious similarities between Anne and I, as the days and weeks passed by, the doubt set in, and I concluded that I would need more proof if I was to believe something so wild.

I began going to the same psychic’s weekly meditation circle and was introduced to inner child healing and Mother Mary… and my life quickly transformed: with a new found sense of self-confidence and optimism for life, within months I had began dancing regularly again at a new dance school (something I loved doing as a kid and teen but lost confidence doing during high school), made lots of new more aligned friends and got into a passionate new romantic relationship.

Despite the fact I was happier than ever, adventure was calling me, and by June 2014 I left Australia and everything behind for a one one way travel adventure into the unknown, on my “quest for truth and beauty”.

Starting in Istanbul, I leisurely made my way to London, the destination I was most nostalgic about returning to.

I arrived in London in September, and on my first day out I went to Camden.

Whilst waiting for my friend Brad to meet me out the front of the tube, I noticed “DJ Grandad” playing some classic early 90s trance classics. Reminding me of when my Dad would bring home his treasured ministry of sound albums from London and he, my brother David and I would all dance around the lounge listening to them.

It was a big deal to me because he was the only adult in my life who would dance in ecstasy and it was one of my favourite things to do.

I then noticed some young guys with a camera, who were clearly up to something, so I walked up to investigate. They told me they were making a music video for a song one of them had just finished called “Make it rain”, and that they were giving one line to random people to mime to compile into the video.

They asked if I would like to be in it and have a line to say. I agreed and so they looked through their notes to pick a line to give me and asked me to look at the camera and say “And reminisce about the past”.

I did so and then went to have a dance and celebrate life with a random Romanian girl, on the designated “dance floor”. Sure enough, our dancing was causing a bit of a scene, and by the time my friend Brad arrived he was like “wtf is going on lol”, because the video makers were now filming us dance too.

The next day they emailed me a link to the video on Youtube. I was impressed they managed to film, edit and upload it within 24 hours. And I was flattered when they said “we both agree you made this video” and tagged me in this photo on Facebook saying something along the lines of “our Australian hero”.

When I watched the video on Youtube I was mostly embarrassed, for I looked like I was off chops. But to my defence I was hungover from ten days of solid partying in Amsterdam with Brad.

It would take me years to realise what a coincidence it was that I spontaneously ended up in a music video in Camden on my first day out in London to a song about making love while it rains, miming a line “reminisce about the past”, and doing spins to “maybe I’m crazy for loving you”.

When I visited my dad in London in 1995 with my mother and brother, we stayed opposite Seven Dials. I had fond memories of staying here and going to Neils Yard to get fresh juice.

Excited to see if I could still remember my way around the city, when I got off the tube at Leister Square I decided to try and find Seven dials just by memory and feeling. Sure enough I walked straight there without making one wrong turn. I was delighted and had my accomplice take this victory photo.

One day, Brad and I decided to do a road trip out to Glastonbury… and something rather interesting happened.

As I reached the top of the Tor, I had a sudden irresistible idea: I would walk straight into the middle of Michael’s Tower and then turn around to take in the view for the first time (I was careful not to look behind me as I climbed up the Tor because I wanted to save the view for the end).

When I reached the middle of the tower and turned around to do so, before I could see anything of the view, my attention was immediately caught by a very old, but very lively man who was walking straight towards me speed and with a sense of purpose.

His spirit was joyful and playful, and although he was at least eighty years old, he had the energy of a five year old that made me feel old and hardened. When he reached me he leaned in towards me ever so slightly with a cheeky look on his face and said gently, “Isn’t it terrible what Henry did to Anne?”.

My jaw nearly snapped off with shock, and I immediately felt rage erupt within me like a volcano as I reflected on his question, for it felt like more like a statement. But since he was clearly waiting for an answer, I managed to nod and say “ah… yeah!!”, giving him a look that said, ‘trust me, I know’.

He began merrily telling me all about the local area, but I literally couldn’t take in one word he said, for it was as if my brain had gone into sleep mode, like an overheated computer. All I could do was stand there lost in time and space, and question my sanity ‘did I really just hear him ask me that?’ I wondered.

Yes, I confirmed to myself, he DEFINITELY said what he said. I then looked behind me, wondering if perhaps there was a poster of Henry and Anne standing behind me, for that would be a logical explanation for his random comment…. but no, there was nothing behind me.

This delightful man continued telling me all about the area like he was my personal tour guide, and all I could think about was what an arsehole Henry the Eighth was.

When he realised that I was too shellshocked to do anything other than stare at him with suspicious amazement (whilst masking the rage and humiliation I felt because of the actions of my alleged ex-husband) he wished me a wonderful day and merrily went to seize the day.

When I visited the Tower of London, I was pleasantly surprised to see an art exhibition: the entire tower was surrounded by a sea of Poppies. What I didn’t know at the time was it’s significance.

When I walked into the chapel where “Anne is buried”, there were only three other people in there: two women up the front chatting with the security guard.

I quietly sat down without them noticing me and immediately overheard the guard telling them that every year, still to this day, on the anniversary of Anne’s execution, the 19th of May… someone still sends flowers anonymously from France.

My skin became covered in goosebumps and I almost shed a tear I was so touched.

And I thought ‘wow… who would do such a thing, and why?’

What story is yet to be told?

As I sat there and wondered, I remembered what an English psychic had said to me when I asked if he picked up anything about a past life of mine (he knew nothing about me or my Anne Boleyn story) and he said he had a vision of The Tower of London and ravens.

Years later I was inspired to rewatch the movie The DaVinci Code, about one of the best kept secrets on Earth: that there are living descendants of Jesus, ‘holy grail lineages’ that went into hiding to escape persecution.

Set in France, it reveals that Leonardo DaVinci was a leader of a secret order of wisdom keepers and revolutionaries, who also protect the grail bloodlines and build cathedrals and churches carved with clues and cryptic messages for those with the eyes to see, to decode.

I couldn’t help but remember that Anne Boleyn is believed by some to have met Leonardo DaVinci whilst she was being educated in France.

I confess… I’ve always had a strong resistance to religion and have never read one religious book in my life. And up until recently, I believed Jesus was a fictional character.

After all, how many people have lost their faith because of the church and the atrocities committed in the name of religion? For thousands of years, millions of people have been tortured, hunted, ravaged, burnt alive, quartered, crucified and “reeducated”, by sadistic predators masquerading themselves as holy.

I sensed that although all religious texts contain great and important truths, they also contain plenty of distorted bullshit too. And ultimately, how can you trust what a human being has written, for even those with the best intentions can unknowingly distort information through their unique lens of perception.

But after the incredible happenings I’ve experienced over the past decade, and especially since 2020, I must admit, I now have a new found curiosity and appreciation for Christianity and what Jesus Christ truly represents.

I see Christ Consciousness as the source/solar force of our heart, a unified field of unconditional love, wisdom, joy, faith, sovereignty and infinite creative expansion.

The force that births and breathes us. The rhythm that beats our hearts, and guides the planets (God is legit a DJ). The most powerful force in the cosmos. The deepest truth.

And since we live in a reality of polarity, there is also an opposite force, the anti-Christ impulse” the lack of Christ/love; fear, doubt, scarcity and condemnation. The ego trying to control rather than embracing that God is in control.

Both the Christ and anti-Christ impulse are natural impulses within us all and simply a characteristic of being a human being living in third dimensional duality.

That the darkness has a purpose and actually serves the light, for it is through the catalysing dance of polarity that we learn and evolve.

Knowing this helps us step out of fear by realising there is truly nothing to fear. That our mission is to learn to alchemise our pain into gold.

But hey, this is just my personal unprofessional opinion.

Anyway, ever since the 1st of May 2019, after another tear-invoking Anne Boleyn/ Henry The Eighth “coincidence”, the month of May has always makes me think of Anne.

By April 2020, with May approaching, while the world was in lockdown, I began to reflect deeply on my connection to Anne Boleyn: what was the “special link between us” and why did spirit clearly want me to know? What did I still need to learn in order to break the karmic cycle that was clearly still repeating in my life?

I assumed it was something along the lines of: don’t use your sexuality to manipulate men, and don’t get too big for your boots and think you can take on the deep state and get away with it (although back then it wasn’t so deep, but more in your face).

Luckily, I had no desire or plans to royally piss off any churches, but after being targeted and traumatised by an “elite” drug and sex trafficking ring (parasitic featherweights), I must admit, I was tempted to risk all to expose them.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there was a karmic connection between these men, and the men who killed Anne.

Consumed with anxiety, I began to wonder: what if spirit orchestrated these numerous synchronicities because they were attempting to warn and save me from meeting the same fate as Anne! What if, in the pursuit of my “justice”, I was walking straight into a trap. What if my lesson was to forgive and simply walk away?

Ever since 2015 I’d battled with post traumatic stress disorder, deep shame, humiliation, anger, nightmares, fear to leave the house and extreme distrust.

For years I felt as if I was sitting at a fork in the road of indecision: to blow the whistle or not to? To risk my safety in the name of justice, or play it safe by staying silent.

Both options felt heavy, for one was dangerous, and the other seemed cowardly.

But I knew one thing for sure: I was going to utilise the only weapon I had: the pen. I wouldn’t name names, but I was going to write one hell of a story about it, one that educates and empowers others.

But I’d still debate myself: ‘no Libby, this isn’t about justice and education, it’s about revenge: your ego wants revenge because they humiliated you and you can’t handle the fact that there’s nothing you can do about it. You made stupid choices, put yourself in dangerous situations, played with fire, and got burned. This is on you. There’s no denying they are cunts, but don’t you see the bigger picture: your reckless and rebellious nature is only ever going to end with pain. You can’t beat the elites. They are too powerful. Just keep your mouth shut or this won’t end well for you.’

The Braveheart in me had sunk into a well of despair and doom: either my life was going to be a brutal battle with a tragic end, or I’d have to live in cowardly defeated silence, secretly hoping that someone else will have the guts, or the right daddy, to do what I couldn’t.

And then I’d wonder about the bigger picture… the spiritual forces behind it all.

I’d always assumed I had a really bright, happyand easy life, but Iwas realising that actually, I’d been haunted by dark forces my whole life, I’d just chosen to ignore it.

It was as if I’d suddenly realised that there was much more to the dark dreams and nightmares I’d had since I was a young child.. that there was a much deeper reason why a little girl who’d never had any real truma (other than watching her parents divorce at age four) would often wake up spooked by dark dreams, like being kidnapped, drugged and raped, or hunted and attacked by wild beasts, fighting to the death with my bare hands, being hunted by sadistic sorcerers who could find me no matter where I ran to in the galaxy, or simply socially outcast and exiled.

I began to wonder about the spiritual energies and karmic consequences of Anne Boleyn’s life, and I could just imagine all the angry catholic demons after her in the spirit realm. After me. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

A voice in me said optimistically ‘yeah but look at all the good she accomplished! Maybe you can do that too!’.

The weary part of me responded ‘yeah but she was a Queen! She had powerful family and friends, and an epic education that brought out the best in her. I’ve had the opposite: I am a nobody with no protection, a highly dysfunctional family who would probably rejoice at my downfall, and a bullshit education that dumbed me down and set me up for failure. Not to mention the effects of excessive partying and drug abuse. The only thing Anne and I have in common, besides my personality, is that our love life has been a tragedy.’

My heart sank, ‘I must be the most pathetic person who ever lived: jealous of their own past life even though she was publicly humiliated and beheaded by her husband, and went down in history as The Great Whore. Or you are just a deluded wannabe whose been deceived by sophisticated trickster spirits that were congured up by your own sub-conscious self-loathing and are stuck in some kind of self-created realm of insanity.’

It all seemed so unfair: to reach such a high level (Queen) and then have you head lopped off to the glee of your enemies, be reincarnated into an even more pathetic life and then become aware of what a mega loser I was in the sixteenth century too.

‘No wonder Henry cut your head off', I thought… ‘you are pure trouble. A handful. A unloveable fraud and washed up whore.”

I felt an overwhelming heaviness and hopeless despair come over me… for it really felt that I would never be free of this humiliation.

Of the exhausting never-ending battle of good and evil.

That same week, a video of the Queen popped up on my Youtube news feed and I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘how on Earth are we going to get rid of these damn reptiles!?’.

The next time I skyped with my father, he filled me in on his perspective of the Corona Virus and what was happening below the surface of world events.

In his opinion, the biggest military coup in the world, an alliance of “White Hats” from all over the world working together to fight a common enemy: psychopathic human traffickers, and all that comes with it: mass rape, torture, pedophilia, organ harvesting and murder.

That after decades of strategising and working in the shadows, when the smart phone was launched, that was when the tables turned, for the NSA had everything: all the proof they needed (as far as Military Law is concerned) to show exactly who was doing what.

From that point on it was just a matter of time and strategy to ensure the domino’s fell in the most advantageous order, that they first take off the head of the snake and then work their way down draining the cesspit whilst awakening the masses.

The Corona Virus was a fast-tracked attempt by the deep state to carry out their depopulation agenda, which was foiled by the White Hats, but not without casualities.

And if you think my dad and I have been deceived by “debunked Qanon propaganda” that was created in Russian troll farms to “destroy democracy”, that’s totally fine, if you want to continue believing the lamestream is a credible news source, good luck to you.

Personally, I don’t find it hard to believe that rich corrupt men have been abusing their power on an unimaginable scale whilst most people are preoccupied with feeding their families and keeping track of the football scores.

Especially after my own life experiences and the research I did afterwards to try and understand what happened to me, and discovering I was far from alone and that there are thousands of testimonies out there, such as Fiona Barnett’s.

And I certainly don’t find it hard to believe there are honourable men are out there fighting against terror and injustice, and coordinating themselves like bosses. Who are far smarter and stronger than those who have fallen from Grace.

Although my father’s insight certainly helped to ease some of my confusion and give me some hope, the anxiety of my personal karmic turmoil remained.

Then… on the night of the 18th of May, 2020, after months in lockdown and isolation at my mother and step father’s house, I got a very random message from someone I barely knew, saying he was in town and asked if I wanted to catch up. Someone who knew nothing about my Anne Boleyn story (it’s a story I’d only shared with a handful of my closest friends).

I had this deep feeling that he would have some valuable knowledge for me, and made my way over to North Fremantle, after having not left the house in weeks.

We talked all night and at sometime around 12am-2am, he said to me, “there is a video you simply must watch… it’s going to bake your noodle”.

He sent me the link to a video called “Truth” by heart-centred Canadian red pilling artist Raven Moonstone. I played it and saw that she was using charts to explain the deep state power structure. Since it was information I had already heard before, and my attention span was low after talking all night, I fast forwarded the video to about a third the way through.

What she was saying was also something I already knew about, so I impatiently skipped it again to about two thirds the way through and sure enough, it was right to the perfect part: she suddenly paused and became emotional as she said “and guys…. I’ve found the white rabbit… the white rabbit lies in Anne Boleyn’s thumbprint bloodline”.

Just like at Glastonbury: my jaw nearly snapped off as I eagerly waited to hear what she would say next.

Raven then shared that Anne Boleyn allegedly faked her execution, went into hiding, and with her Queen title intact, bred a secret “holy grail lineage” by having another daughter Mary, and through her, has a living descendant who is claiming the truest right to the English throne.

I felt like I had just been hit by a train of revelation: I could but only sit there and attempt to collect and reassemble the shattered pieces of myself, as a fountain of emotions began to stir and simmer away within me.

I rambled my thoughts and awe until I passed out around 5am. When I woke up around 9am, I awoke to a new world. My friend was already up and about, but all I could do was lay there and stare out the window wide eyed and lost in wonder.

I so badly wanted to believe it and rejoice, but it seemed too good or wild to be true, and the logical proof-requiring part of me wondered who this Raven Moonstone was and if I could trust this information.

She certainly seemed to be awake, knowledgable and true hearted, and even the cover image of her video resonated deeply, for it was two Barbies holding up a sign that said TRUTH, and at the time I had literally been working on a presentation called The Beauty Truth.

After months of feeling bored, uninspired and stressed at my parents in lockdown, now here I was suddenly overlooking a glorious view of the North Fremantle boat harbour and hills, imagining the joy Anne must have felt as she escaped the Tudor court, and wondering where she went.

My friend asked if I would like a glass of juice and I managed to float back into my body to say robotically, “yes please”. As he passed me my juice, I thanked him and suddenly asked with wild curiosity “wait, what’s the date today!?”... for I suddenly remembered that it was mid May (I hadn’t been keeping track of the date for it had been like Groundhog Day for weeks).

“The 19th of May”, he replied. My body lit up with goosebumps. A part of me knew then and there that this was no coincidence. This was a divinely timed gift from god and probably the most poetic magical message I’d ever received: discovering that Anne Boleyn escaped her execution, on the anniversary of her execution, after I’d literally spent weeks worrying about my life. It was a miracle.

I felt this sense that spirit really wanted me to stop worrying that I’m doomed or unloved, and realise that perhaps I am far more protected than I realise. And perhaps that there is so much more to her story than I realise. For although I am very intuitive, I’ve never had any clear visions or memories of being Anne.

The logical part of me would need more proof before approving any official celebrations, but either way, I decided that from that day forward, the 19th of May would no longer be a day of mourning… but a day of freedom.

Although I was highly suspicious and confused, I also thought and felt that this alternate version of history actually made way more sense than the official version. After all, how can you be so powerful one minute and then nek minute, executed under such obviously false charges.

And why would such an outspoken woman make such an uncontroversial speech before she was about to have her royal head unjustly sliced off?

People put it down to protecting Elizabeth, and yes, although Anne loved Elizabeth dearly, I still think her speech would have been way more controversial had she thought she was actually going to die. She could easily have sassed it up a bit without directly putting Elizabeth in any more danger than she was already in.

Anne’s speech basically said “respect the law”, and I bet this is because those who helped her to fake her death and escape, did so knowing full well that they were acting within the law. That to have murdered her under false charges would have been highly unlawful. That it was Henry who had fallen from Grace.

Anne was saved because of the law, and the brave men who uphold it, and thats why she made the speech she made.

It would also explain why Queen Elizabeth, who was clearly her mothers’ daughter and despised what her father did, never spoke about her mother. Not even when she was old and powerful, after taking England into a golden era: because she knew Anne was alive.

Because she wanted to protect and honour her mother’s truest legacy: a secret royal lineage safe from Jesuit persecution.

Perhaps that’s why, in the movie Elizabeth, starring Cate Blanchett… the end scene is of Elizabeth holding Walter Raleigh’s baby in her arms. For I later found out that Walter Raleigh is Anne Boleyn’s grandson: her second daughter Mary’s son.

Those who don’t know the truth watch the movie and assume Elizabeth was in love with him and jealous he’d found happiness with another, but for those with the eyes to see, it’s obvious that her complicated love for him is because he was her nephew.

Perhaps this is why, after all the incredible things that happened in Elizabeth’s life, and of all the possible ways they could have portrayed her and ended the film, they chose to end it with her holding her mother’s true legacy in her arms…

Naturally, I became wildly curious about who Anne’s living descendant was: my possible great-great-great-great-great-great-(I don’t know how many greats)- grand son or daughter from another life! But nothing could have prepared me for the grandeur of what I found.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honour to present to you…. the most fascinating man alive…. his absolute Majesty and Royal Highness:

Joseph Gregory Hallett; King John (III) of England.

Discovering Greg was like being hit by lightening. I’d never be the same.

My curiosity was now well and truly captured.

In a flash, I became determined to solve this great mystery.

I went to his website and watched some of his videos, and I could see straight away that he was a brave truth speaker and fountain of forbidden knowledge.

And much like my story, Gregory’s is full of awe-inspiring “coincidences”.

A whistleblower from New Zealand, Greg now lives in England under specialist protection, for he is one of the most targeted and silenced men on the planet.

Despite his amazing life story and many fascinating books, you’ve probably never heard of him, for the media won’t even dare to ridicule him… for the last thing they want to do is give him any attention, for he fearlessly names names and does so with style and humourHis book publisher was murdered for publishing his original books and those who try to help him are either shamed in the media, threatened or near killed.

A survivor of over a dozen assassination attempts, for decades Greg has been exposing the crimes and frauds of the British royal family, their masters and their minions: our so called political “leaders” and their swamp of lies.

In particular, how they’ve manipulated our financial, political, legal, religious and educational institutions for their own gain, and to keep the masses ignorant and disempowered.

He’s also exposed their involvement with human and drug trafficking, and that it was The Rothschilds who put the “Windsors” on the throne because they had so much dirt on them (they’ve been human traffickers since way back) and are therefore easy to control via blackmail.

Greg has also shed light on how political correctness has been glorified, whilst patriotism has been villainized, and through the control of our media, schools, universities, research centres, and government agencies, they’ve managed to act as gatekeepers for what science and history is accepted as “facts” and what it not.

How they’ve ensured that only certain narratives are promoted, whilst significant discoveries and innovations are kept hidden to maintain control over the population, such as free energy and advanced healing techniques.

Gregory instantly felt like family to me.

I felt a sense of maternal love for him, like a proud grandmother, but also, he instantly reminded me of my dad: both named Joseph (like all the eldest sons in the Griffin family have been for many generations).

Born two years apart, both grew up on farms just outside of Auckland and clearly shared a similar patriotic spirit and proud political incorrectness. Of which I inherited from my father… if you hadn’t noticed.

I knew I had to get in contact with Greg. But a new battle within my mind began… being an already paranoid person with deep trust issues and tendency to suspect the worst, I couldn’t shake the suspicion and fear that I was being fucked with by sophisticated tricksters.

I also take my quest for truth seriously and know it can be a delicate tight rope walk between remaining open to new ideas whilst being highly discerning, and I didn’t want to let myself fall into the easy trap of believing something purely because I want to.

Had I been more connected to my intuition at the time, it would probably have been a way less stressful journey to get to the perspective I currently have, but at the time I was living in a constant state of fight or flight, and had forgotten what it felt like to have a calm nervous system.

It’s not easy to hear the whispers of your spirit when you’re in fear or stress… but somehow spirit managed to keep sending me the messages I needed to hear, for as time went on, more and more “coincidences” continued to unfold and leave me in awe, and cleared away all reasonable doubt until it was unreasonable to doubt.

The truth is, Greg’s story is nothing short of supermassive dynamite.

It’s almost certain to trigger you straight into denial and cognitive dissonance.

To the “normies” he appears to be a batshit crazy conspiracy theorist, and to the conspiracy theorists his content is also a hard pill to swallow… for he is out on the leading edge of thought; the holy grail of rabbit holes.

But for those who are very aware of the depth of lies we’ve been living in, and who have done their spiritual studies, or simply listen with their heart and sense the energetic essence underneath all of its complexity… it’s clear that something incredibly divine is at play… and his purpose is truth, freedom, justice and abundance for all.

In June 2020, a few weeks after discovering him, much to my delight, “truther” David Mahoney began creating a documentary about Greg to investigate his controversial claims, and began sharing updates on the Charlie Ward show, another “truther”.

Frothing with excitement and anticipation, one day I saw an update from them sharing that whilst they were on the road driving to location they saw a Falcon and Greg said it felt like the spirit of Anne Boleyn was acknowledging the important work they were doing. I shrieked with delight at my computer ‘yes!!! I am watching you right now!!!! Go son go!!’.

I was also left in wonder after seeing a behind-the-scenes update from Dave Mahoney and his colleague pointing out black rabbits on one of the couch sofas at their secret filming location: an interesting coincidence given that the only painting I’d ever done at the time, which was hanging on my bedroom wall, was a picture of rabbit hole entrance into a tree of life, with a black rabbit out the front.

Weeks earlier when I’d first discovered Greg and felt like I’d been scooped up by a tornado of wild thoughts and emotions, at some point I’d decided that if Greg was the white rabbit.. perhaps I was the black rabbit: harder to sport but twice as deadly.

It was one of those random thoughts that I’d never dared shared with anyone, for why would I: it was ridiculous and mainly just amused me, but now that I saw Dave pointing out small black rabbits hidden at the bottom of special sofa legs, I wondered if perhaps there was more to my madness than I realised.

As more of the documentary was released, I soon realised why Greg’s story is such a hard pill to swallow.. and perhaps the hardest: it discusses the topic of the real Jesus Christ and his prophesied return.

Greg is claiming to be the true and rightful heir to he English throne, not just because of his bloodline, but because he has been fulfilling bible prophesies.

Given I have never read the bible, and was completely unfamiliar with the concept of prophesy, I found myself at odds with myself: my heart was filled with excitement but my mind was incredibly skeptical.

I could tell Greg was definitely not insane or a con man, and given that most of what he was saying about the royals, history, law and power structure deeply resonated, I was open minded.

And I couldn’t help but think to myself: if you were Jesus Christ, an ascended master who’s incarnation had such a profound influence on humanity, with millions of people praising and praying to you for thousands of years, wouldn’t you make a comeback?

I would. Especially if you told people you’d return: there’s no cancelling those plans!

And I know what many people think: the return of Christ isn’t the return of an actual man, it’s the return of the Christ Consciousness within us all. That’s what I used to think too. Now I think it’s both, and go hand in hand.

The spirit and talent of Jesus was that he was a way shower and visionary so ahead of his time that he was met with mostly ridicule and opposition, just like most of the bravest revolutionaries and thought leaders are, at least at first.

For decades Greg has been disbelieved and socially crucified (not to mention nearly murdered) for sharing his radical revolutionary truths.

It is said that Jesus will return and restore justice. Given the current state of the world, what kind of person do you think could accomplish such a mission?

It would take a lot more than a nice guy in a white robe who preaches love and is good at hugging. It would take a real masculine man who possesses the skills required to lead us: strength, integrity, the ability to lead and inspire, an innate knowledge of the law, deep faith and confidence in their own truth, purpose, connection to spirit, so grounded to Earth and yet so tapped into the divine that he cannot be swayed by the doubts and fears of others.

Most importantly, a true Monarch has profound and undeniable spiritual wisdom and talent, for this is the ancient tradition of monarchs that has been lost in our false modern reality: Kings and Queens are meant to serve as a spiritual leaders and representatives on Earth, and they did for many thousands of years.

Since Lemuria and Atlantis, monarchs were not just seen as divinely appointed and chosen by God, they actually were. They possessed a special relationship with the divine, and their right to rule was proven through divine initiations and achieving gnosis.

This is a perfect description of Gregory. He is a living testament that the old ways are returning.

After all, what can we truly be confident in besides God? The only true confidence is confidence in God. And Gregory certainly has that in spades.

He makes his monumental claims so calmly and matter of factly, not just because he has titanium disco balls, but because he knows that he is walking with God, as his servant and messenger. And that’s ultimate all we ever can be.

And for those who don’t have this kind of faith in God, it’s highly irritating and triggering. And this is the shadow that such bright light casts on those who cannot see the light or refuse to even look.

Harry Potter is another truth filled story for our awakening: the muggles and the magical folk live side by side but in very different realities. The muggles desire to fit in with the mainstream to feel safe, and follow the commands of their news media and government without question.

The magicians are those who have stepped out of the matrix and tapped into esoteric wisdom. Some were luckily born into awakened families, and some were led there by their sense of Holy Curiosity.

I Greg as bridge from their world to ours: a pioneering leader who is introducing many of these long preserved secrets to the public, in plain talk. Opening new streams of understanding for those who are ready to hear it.

Unlike the fake British “royals”, the warrior who protect Greg, do so not just because they are paid to or under their web of blackmail, but because they believe in him.

Because they respect and value him. Because they look up to him.

Because Greg’s proven he has the attributes of a true leader and King: a brilliant mind, gentle heart, spiritually awakened, humble, incredibly strong and divinely initiated.

And as all Kings should, he has risked his life for the people.

As far as prophesy is concerned, I’d always liked to think the future is not set and is what we make it, and yet I’ve also always believed in destiny. So I think it’s probably somewhere in the middle: some things are meant to be, and some things are uncertain.

When I reflect on how time is not linear, and actually happening simultaneously, prophesy becomes easier to understand and accept: those who are able to open their third eye are able to view into other times and spaces, as if looking through a window.

And it makes that there is indeed a collective of ancient enlightened souls who keep track of and guide the transition of the ages.

Greg refers to these esoteric wisdom keepers as “the high orders”. For as above in the spiritual realms, so below on Earth.

According to Greg, “Christ” is a title given to a high priest for achieving gnosis. That Jesus Christ was a high priest from a priesthood that stemmed from the ancient Egyptian mysteries.

Living during the birth of the age of Pisces, one of his roles was to predict how the age of Pisces would go and end, and where to find him at the birth of the next age of Aquarius. The time we are now living in.

And the prophecies he’s been fulfilling are extremely specific and detailed.

And whilst some may think the concept of predicting events thousands of years into the future is wild and impossible, I’m starting to see it the way I see the movements of the planets: we can always count on the sun to rise every morning, just as we can count on the spirit of Christ to return during key planetary alignments, when there is enough light on the planet to hold his frequency.

For years I worried if there are secret groups who create fake prophesies and then go about manipulating events to “fulfil” them. Elaborate I know, but if life has taught me anything, it’s that you can never underestimate the sneakiness and deceptiveness of evil. And after all, for those hell bent on power, imagine the influence you could have on humanity if you are able to control people’s ideas about our future.

And let’s face it, once you’ve ever seen men like Darren Brown use hypnosis to influence and control people, you realise how easily programmable we are. How easy it can actually be to orchestrate almost anything you want. And I have no doubt there are plenty of black magicians out there behind the curtain pulling strings, and like the Men in Black, you won’t even know you met them.

I’ve even found myself suspiciously asking ChatGBT in the middle of the night how man made lightening is created. Literally suspicious of the fact I was struck by lightening last year at the Grand Canyon and have it recorded on video with two witnesses telling me they’d just watched me get struck.

For years I’ve felt like I’ve walked a torturous tightrope between a reality where spiritual forces of darkness are going out of their way to fuck with me, and a reality where benevolent forces are trying to send me a message so unimaginably beautiful that I can’t help but weep at the poetic majesty of it.

But eventually I realised that both options led me to the same place: the restoration of my faith in God. True heart-felt faith that I live and breathe each day.

For I also realised that there are some things that nobody can fake or orchestrate. There are some things that only God can do: and these majestic happenings are only happening more and more frequently now.

And I realised that underneath all my fears was simply the fact that I’d lost my faith in the fact that God really is that Amazing.

I remembered what my spiritual studies have taught me: that from the highest perspective, miracles are actually very ordinary; that when you come into your heart and awakened state, you realise that life itself is miraculous. That God is a creative genius and always looking for new ways to wow us and remind us of the infinite magical possibilities available to us.

And just as we humans live for a good true story… a love story… a story of great purpose and triumph… so does God, for he is the sources of our desire, hope and enthusiasm, of our grandest dreams, because he wants them too, and they are therefore blessed.

Deeper still, they are actually already ours, but we have to believe it’s possible. Because life is a game of belief. And if you can step out of fear for long enough, into the frequency of your heart (trust of timing and that God is bringing you all your desires), that’s when you sync up to become witness to them.

Which is why the forces of darkness try so hard to keep you in fear.

Why there is no righteousness in being pessimistically practical.

And why I’ve decided that it actually makes perfect sense that God would send Jesus back to shine the light on the darkness and kick some ass. Because who wouldn’t?

Deeper still, it’s not a matter of opinion or decision: it is simply science.

Science you can actually trust.

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the greatest story ever told… and the best part is it is still unfolding every day and you’ve got front row seats!

Anyway, back in mid 2020, everything seemed to be going well with the documentary, and then suddenly David Mahoney and Charlie Ward turned against Greg, saying he wasn’t the real deal, but wouldn’t give a clear reason why, and the whole thing was quickly swept under the rug.

One of the last things I remembered seeing was a scene from the documentary when Greg gets a call from a military contact to let him know he was not safe and needed to change location asap. Greg got up to leave and the interview was over.

He then disappeared from social media for two years.

Although Greg was always somewhere in the back of my mind, I soon found myself completely preoccupied with the dramas of the plandemic: there’s nothing like being kicked out of society to put all the “problems” of your past into perspective.

After decades of willingly poisoning myself with partying and self-medication, suddenly I found myself in a fight for survival and freedom in what appeared to be a mass depopulation and trans-humanism program disguised as a “deadly" virus”.

As far as I was concerned, the only person allow to poison me, is me.

Panicked at how oblivious most people were to the blatant scam, and longing for tribe, I’d attend Freedom Rallies in the city and then pack up my converted campervan, The Godmother, and head into the country in search of safety, sunlight, fresh air, and perhaps even a sense of belonging.

Feeling exhausted and traumatised, I could barely look people in the eye anymore. I’d never felt so alone and unsafe, and couldn’t shake the feeling that the state was coming for me.

And yet, at the best of other times I began to find a sense of connection in nature that I’d never experienced before. What I didn’t know at the time that what I was connecting to was God.

For the first time in my life, I was seeing the stars regularly. Like Neo freshly unplugged from his pod, I realised that I’d spent most of my life living like a sterilised animal in captivity, almost completely disconnected from the elements and cycles of mother nature.

Despite the fact I’d left everyone and everything behind, and was seemingly more alone than ever before, I began to realise that actually, I didn’t need anyone. I could feel a sense of romance as I watched the sunrise and sunset alone every day from my van and daily walks, for I could sense that spirit was with me, cheering me on.

On the open road I found the sense of adventure I’d been craving since I could remember: with a whole tank of fuel, Spotify playlists downloaded, and healthy snacks on standby, it didn’t even matter that I had no idea where I was going.

Like the journey of Santiago, the shepherd boy from Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, I began to really feel that as long as I followed the whispers of my heart and the signs of spirit, I would always be led to where I needed to go.

That I could trust the birds to guide me, and the winds to carry the wishes of my heart out to my long lost soul tribe.

Naturally, the discovery of Greg and much of his wisdom, whilst simultaneously noticing that our so called “authorities” were not acting lawfully by imposing despicable mandates on society, inspired in me a new found curiosity and appreciation for Common Law.

So I joined the International Common Law Courts community (UK based) and coincidently, the day my Common Law Identity Card arrived in the mail, was on my new favourite day, the 19th of May (2021).

Of course, I took this “coincidence” as confirmation of my new “Freedom Day”.

A few months later, in August 2021 during the week leading up to my 35th birthday, I felt so anxious, unsafe and confused about where I belonged and most wanted to be on my birthday, that after driving twelve hours up to Exmouth, I then turned around two days later, panicked, and drove another twelve hours back to Perth, almost straight.

During the drive I binged on the song “Take Me Home” by John Denver.

I arrived back in Perth exhausted and miserable, and the night before my birthday I cried myself to sleep. For the fifth year in a row I’d spontaneously cut my hair off during another anxiety attack brought about by the fact I was turning another year older and disappointed with myself.

When I awoke on the morning of my birthday and did what I usually did first thing each morning, and checked my Youtube subscriptions hoping to find something interesting, I was delighted to see that Raven Moonstone, the same lady who’s video had introduced me to Greg, had uploaded another video, and it was titled “Take Me Home… a short musical interlude”.

Sitting there with a guitar, she then sang my new favourite song, and given the fact that I’d never seen her sing before (she normally just chats), I was so moved that I was instantly brought to tears by this incredible birthday coincidence.

For months I had been feeling the desire to reach out to her and share my story with her, and I took this as confirmation that I really should asap. Weeks later I finally emailed her my story but never heard back.

When the 19th of May 2022 swung around I decided it was time to finally film a video of myself sharing my story.

I had no plans to share it, and still haven’t shown a soul, but I knew I finally had to express myself and get it off my chest, for it had been almost ten years since I’d first decided to get my past life regression, and as Maya Angelou said “there is no greater agony than an untold story”.

Sitting in my bedroom, I pressed the record button on my phone and as I sat there preparing to get the words out, the energy in my room felt electric. I felt extreme butterflies in my stomach and my throat began to ache. It took over an hour but I managed to tell my story.

When I watched it about six months later I noticed orbs appear three or four times, once when I mentioned my sudden inspired idea to walk straight into Michaels tower on Glastonbury Tor to have my special moment taking in the view, and another time when I said spirit has a good sense of humour.

A few months later on the 10th of July 2022, after I’d become spooked by some rather sinister experiences, I went to St George Cathedral, an Anglican architectural gem in the Perth CBD, in search of hope and connection to something holy.

For months I’d noticed it as I walked past it on my way to a “friends” music studio in a creepy old building across the road from Mount Doom, Mordor. Oh wait, I mean The Department of Injustice. Shit, hang on, I mean The Department of Justice.

Fearing that I was losing my mind and soul, I felt a deep need to show my spirit, and God, that despite the fact I was clearly a little lost, I really was serious about wanting to be in service of the light and take my spiritual journey seriously.

For the first time in my life, I was ready to humble myself in church by getting down on my knees in pray position. I was hoping for some kind message or clarity about the greater purpose of my current life situation and what to do about it.

As I entered the cathedral I was immediately captivated by it’s beauty (at least for Perth standards). Delighted to see that nobody else was in there as I slowly walked down the centre isle feeling a strong sense of nostalgia.

After walking around the cathedral to look at the stained glass windows and take a few pictures, I went and sat down near the front, got down on my knees, put my hands in prayer position and closed my eyes.

I could hear quiet chatter in the back of the church as I asked the spirit of Jesus and Mother Mary to connect with me. I wanted to feel their presence, and immediately I felt a sense of love all around me and nearly wept, for it felt like the first time I’d felt peace in a long time.

‘So this is why people come to church’ I thought, as if I’d just had some kind of profound revelation that churches aren’t completely useless.

I then asked ‘how can I be of service?’. Seconds later, I heard a crystal clear voice say “excuse me… do you know if there are any history books around here?”

I opened my eyes and there was a really old, sweet man (turns out he was 80 years old) standing in the Isle next to me.

‘How inappropriate of him to interrupt me while I’m praying!’ a part of me thought, a little outraged, but mostly amused. ‘I may be a beginner at this but I’m pretty sure it’s like an unwritten code not to interrupt people while they are in mid prayer!’

But I also knew straight away that this was no mistake or accident: here was my answer and sign! This man was looking for history books in a church! And for years I’d been feeling deeply that I need to write books about my story and how it led me to Greg, which are ultimately about uncovering our true history.

I smiled with gratitude, ‘wow…. God really is amazing’.

Once again, a mysterious old man was awaiting his answer, so I said to him, “actually, I’ve never been here before so I'm not quite sure…” I looked around the church and saw a little shop down the front selling a few items, “perhaps she may have some more information” I suggested politely.

I could tell that most of all, this old man was just looking for someone to talk to, but I could feel the irritated and impatient part of me protest the idea of inviting him to join me: ‘just ignore him, I’ve got things to do and I want to be alone. I am here for me! I’m the one who needs help!’

And then I thought ‘but what would Mother Mary do in this situation? Be like her. She would be compassionate and caring and patient’. So I half heartedly moved across to the next seat to make room for him to join me, and he didn’t delay in taking a seat with me.

For what felt like hours, I held space for him to express himself and be heard. I was genuinely intrigued by who this mysterious man with epic timing was, and it turned out that we were just two souls on a quest to collect the lost pieces of our past, on our search for meaning, family and truth.

A retired architect wanting to learn more about his heritage and family history, he knew his grandfather was brought over from England to Geraldton to help manage the cheeky Irish, and I was barely surprised when he mentioned he’d heard a rumour that he was a descendant of Henry the Eighth.

Somehow I managed to hold back the urge to say “oh I know that bastard… he lives a few blocks away actually”.

He even had all his architectural designs stored away in his shopping cart, which he showed me one by one (this really irritated the impatient part of me who was sulking the entire time) and actually, they were so beautiful.

In the end I was unable to make any helpful suggestions about how to discover anything new about his ancestry, for I’d never even gone looking into my own family history.

But I certainly took this event as yet another remarkable sign, and gift, from my spirit to trust my intuition, and perhaps hurry the fuck up and write my books.

A month later, with my 36th birthday only a week or so away, I began to prepare The Godmother for another adventure. Being winter, I wanted to spend my birthday alone in a warm, beautiful and sacred place I’d never been to before: Karijini.

A fifteen hour drive from Perth, I stopped on the way to spent a few nights in Coral Bay and then the actual day of my birthday in Exmouth, where I was taken jet skiing by a friendly stranger (I love jet skiing and hadn’t been in many years) and got to see some massive whales up close.

That evening, as I scrolled through my host’s Netflix options, I chose a Marilyn Monroe documentary to watch as I remembered that she, like Anne Boleyn, died at age thirty six. As did Princess Diana. I wondered what the significance was.

A few days later I reached Karijini Eco Retreat and soon found myself in a heavenly state of inner peace and sense of achievement, for after having very disappointing birthdays since I turned twenty seven, I realised that this was the first time I’d felt truly happy about who I was and where I was on my birthday.

Eating super healthy, going on hikes every day to somewhere new, whilst listening to my favourite meditations and latest Youtube downloads, and genuinely loving my own company, I felt a kind of bliss I hadn’t felt before, for unlike most trips in my van, this one didn’t feel like a daring escape, it felt like a real adventure and fresh start.

The gorges of Karijini are an ancient, sacred wonder of the world. On my first day there I climbed into Joffre Gorge and found a lovely rock to lay on after a swim in the fresh cold waters of the natural pool at the bottom.

As I laid there, it was as if I could finally breathe again: so far away from the troubles of the city, now it felt like I was laying the womb of the Earth, and I thought to myself ‘I bet this is a powerful place to manifest… to dream up a dream, and really feel it’.

I then wondered, what did my heart really want? What do I really want to experience during the rest of this crazy life?

Visions danced into my mind: I saw bold and colourful self-expression and entertainment, and at other times, calm but heartfelt storytelling. The sharing of controversial truths. Serious adventures.My own show.

Soul tribe. The souls who share my spirit, co-creating an incredible new way of life. A reformation of Earth. Most of all, I could feel it. And I sensed that by feeling it I was drawing it closer towards me.

I thought of Greg.. who had been missing from social media for two years. I hoped that he was ok. And I couldn’t help but imagine that he’d been having a rough time after what had happened to him: for not only did Dave Mahoney and Charlie Ward turn against him, even Greg’s only estranged mother and sisters spoke shit about him (it’s easy to see why he stopped talking to them a long time ago).

I felt the most intense desire to reach out and contact him. For months I’d been drafting a letter to him, and I knew that I had to get it finished asap and send it.

I still had my doubts, but then I remembered all the synchronicities: from Glastonbury to the 19th of May 2020, to the old man appearing whilst I prayed in church, asking for history books.

I decided that when I left Karijini and went back to Exmouth to camp on the beach, I would send it then: when I’m alone on the edge of the world and I can have space to process the wildness of my life.

When negative self-talk and egoic doubts arose I reminded myself of the bigger picture: Greg wanted to change the world for the better, and so did I. This wasn’t about ego, fame, fortune or crowns. This was about taking back our sovereignty from tyrants and diabolical swamp freaks. This was about co-creating a world people actually want to be in.

And I couldn’t help but think what a cool and poetic coincidence it was that when I finally contact him and “come out of hiding”, that I will be the same age Anne was when she went into hiding.

Normally my Make Australia Great Again hat was reserved freedom rallies, because I truly have no desire to spend my time debating politics with randoms, or even friends. Nor do I enjoy receiving dirty looks of judgement.

However, despite the fact I’m a very organised lady who owns plenty of hats, for some reason, this was the only hat I packed for my trip and was therefore I was forced to wear it every day (a hat is essential in the desert).

I couldn’t help but feel this was not an accident, and actually “the universe” giving me a gentle push to dare to be more controversial and perhaps get used to the feeling of being disliked lol.

One day, I was singing Disney songs barefoot by a river stream, totally enchanted by the moment, the birds, butterflies, bats, unique rocks and flowing waters, when I suddenly felt drawn to go investigate further downstream. There I met a young man who turned out to be a hitchhiking nature-loving videographer on a serious adventure.

Not really taking much notice of him at first, I was more excited by the breathtaking pool nearby since I was hot and ready for a swim, but I decided to have a quick snack first and sat down on a rock to eat a tin of tuna, feeling like a literal jungle Queen.

Staring into space with sheer contentment as I ate my tuna, probably the way a savage wouldn’t who’d just come out of a deep meditation, I couldn’t help but overhear this young man’s conversation with a nearby lady who was waiting for her husband and kids to finish their swim.

I hadn’t had a conversation with anyone in days, and was loving the serenity of silence, but now my bubble had been mildly burst: like a pesky fly, I found the lady’s fake twang highly irritating ‘why is she talking like that? Who is she trying to impress with that wannabe classy tone? We're just a bunch of strange creatures wandering around in the desert, get real!’

I noticed myself judging this well-meaning lady and laughed it off ‘oh leave her alone Libby, she is just trying to sound mature because she has a wounded inner child and unconsciously just wants to be approved of because she is impressed he is a videographer. If anything you should feel sorry for people like that.’

I realised the young man was just a sweet solo traveller like myself (although I wouldn’t describe myself as sweet), and I thought ‘good on him, but I hope they don’t try to talk to me, I just want to be left alone in my blissful bubble.’

After a few minutes I got impatient and thought ‘God, can’t they shut up already, this place is too magical to ruin with meaningless small talk!’.

But another part of me, who couldn’t help but overheard their conversation, said ‘yeah but did you hear what he said? He needs to find a way back to Exmouth in a week and has no idea how he will get there. And you are going back to Exmouth in a week and you have two spare seats!’.

‘No way’, I protested against my own idea, ‘don’t you dare offer this random a lift! You know how much you love your own space, and you’ve finally found your happy place, don’t fuck it up now!’.

‘Yeah but look at him’ I rebutted myself, ‘he seems harmless, and he’s just another fellow creative adventurer. Who knows, you might get some cool pictures out of it. And besides, it’s good karma to help people’.

The family then left and I made my move to have a swim. Sure enough, we exchanged pleasantries, and after a quick chat, I offered to drive him back to Exmouth. Shortly after he asked if he could take a picture of me as I sat there hugging my tree.

Early the next morning, as agreed, I picked him up in The Godmother blaring Ace of the Base and we made our way to new gorge to do another day of hiking, exploring, swimming and capturing the experience in our own way.

At some point he mentioned that a friend of his had just offered him money to make a music video for his new song, and asked if I would star in it.

We agreed that I would help him with it, and in exchange he would capture some scenes of me dancing somewhere cool, that I could use for my new show’s teaser. And despite the fact we are both particular when it comes to our creative pursuits, we worked really well together the days were fun and easy.

We decided to hike to the top of Mount Bruce on our final day in Karijini, and that is where I’d dance in the special costume I’d brought with me: my ancient Egyptian queen outfit.

When my trusty adventure partner asked if I had anything cool for him to wear, I checked my drawer for things suitable for a man, and found the perfect combination: a blue cape and V for Vendetta mask.

Sure enough, everything went to plan, and the sunset that evening on Mount Bruce was the best we had seen all week. It was pure magic and the drone footage was incredible.

When he shared the link of the song he was creating the music video for I could barely believe it: the song was called Nostalgia! Coincidently, the same title of my upcoming book series.

A few weeks later, back in Exmouth, I finished my letter to Greg.

Feeling unsure, I decided to let myself slept on it one more night, and went out to a beautiful campsite on the beach in Cape Range National Park near Exmouth with a French-German couple I’d met at Karijini (the one who took the waterfall picture).

The next morning, as I planned out my day of sun-gazing, swimming, breathing and sun tanning, one of my campmates informed me from her hammock that Queen Elizabeth had died. I checked my phone calendar and saw the date was the 9th of September, a Friday.

I had a mixture of thoughts and feelings: on the one hand I’d heard years ago that the real Queen Elizabeth died years ago, and they’d since been using body doubles to continue the public charade, and that when she is officially announced dead, it will be a big signal to those in the know that great things are happening behind the scenes.

I also felt that somehow I’d missed my opportunity to reach Greg before the noise, and it reminded me of a dream I’d had about him: in the dream I found myself sitting in his cottage’s large living room drinking tea with him and a bunch of mature women.

He hadn’t noticed me and I was righting right next to him. He was preoccupied with moments of chit chat, and then suddenly it went silent and he was just sitting there in silent reflection. I thought to myself ‘now’s your chance!' Start a conversation with him, he needs to know who you are!’.

But I was soo scared and shy, and then suddenly all this commotion broke out and his mild and civilised tea party suddenly became swarmed with gatecrashers. I could see outside that over the hill there was literally like a an army of people, an invasion, flooding his cottage and Greg was nowhere to be found.

I woke up feeling disappointed with myself: I was so close to him and because of my fear, I let the perfect opportunity slip right through my fingers. And now it suddenly felt like my dream had come true: now that Queen Elizabeth had died, I imagined that Greg was now probably swarmed with emails and things to do, and my email would most likely get lost in his inbox.

Goddammit, I thought.. I should have emailed him yesterday when I finished it! Irritated that the “Queen had died” on the most inconvenient day for me, I decided to wait a few days. After all, I knew I couldn’t email Greg my story the same day the Queen died: how weird, creepy and stalkery.

‘Sunday’ I suddenly thought.. ‘email him Sunday, it’s a holy day after all’. It seemed appropriate given I am a bit of an unofficial sun worshipper who chases the sun each winter and that Gregory is a bit of a Sun himself.

It then occurred to me how ironic is was that I’d be emailing Greg three days after the Queen died. ‘Yep, it’s the resurrection of the true Queen’, I thought.

‘OMG get over yourself Libby!!’, I was outraged by the nerve of my own thought. ‘It was a joke’, I rebutted. ‘Well, a half joke’. I agreed with myself: if I can’t find a way to laugh at the absurdity of my own life then I will go insane.

‘He probably will think you are a nutbag anyway. In fact, he probably won’t even get your email. He is not only preoccupied with actual important matters, even if he does get it, he will likely skim over it and quickly discard you as not only a ridiculous wannabe, but irrelevant: the past is in the past’.

‘And besides how can one prove past lives anyway?’ I wondered.

‘Well, Greg is apparently a bit of a prophet.. so maybe he will just know it’s true. Just as a part of you always knew he was the real deal.’

‘OMG don’t get your hopes up Libby’, I towed myself back in: ‘there’s no way you are ever going to be recognised as the reincarnation of Anne Boleyn. Most people don’t even believe in past lives. And do you know how many people think they were Anne too?’

‘Yeah but why does spirit keeping sending me signs and synchronicities to tell me I was her?’. I wondered.

‘Because you’re unhappy with your life and have lined up with this nonsense energetically because you are almost always daydreaming in Libby-Lala-Land. And you still haven’t learnt your karmic lessons: you’re trouble’.

‘Maybe there are collectives of psychics who can verify I am the real deal and are coming from a good place!’ the hopeful part of me wished.

‘Bro… don’t get your hopes up, after all, look what your life has taught you, over and over again: people will only ever disappoint you and you deserve it because you are very very hard to love… are have bad karma to repay. Dream on, if you wish, but it' won’t change a thing.’

I then noticed the date of the upcoming Sunday: September 11… and remembered how Greg had mentioned in a video that September 11 was meant to be a positive day for him and then the 911 false flag event happened and caused mass trauma to the human psyche and is therefore now associated as a negative date.

I thought to myself, ‘well, in the small chance that he will actually get my email and even possibly care, maybe it may create a positive new memory and significance.

Sunday morning I woke up hungover from a dark night at a beach party, and as I dropped off a besotted stranger back at their hostel they asked me what I had planned for the day and I said very casually, “I am sending a letter to the King of England” and ushered them to get out so I could get on with it.

I knew that as usual, I couldn’t tell anyone what was really going on in my life because they simply wouldn’t understand, but it amused me that I was telling them the truth so plainly.

I couldn’t blame anyone for not understanding: I couldn’t barely understand it myself. At best people would think I’d lost my mind, and at worst they think I was some ego-driven wannabe-Queen con-artist loser.

Feeling rather rough because of my not great choices the night before, I did my best to sooth and comfort my nerves: I went the IGA and bought Lindt chocolate, coconut water and original potato chips, and headed to the beach.

Sitting in he back of my van wrapped in my fluffy blanket, clumsily sipping on coconut water and having nearly eaten all the chocolate and the potato chips as my breakfast, I made a final edit to my letter to Greg.

My goal was to sending it at 11.11am, for good measure… but time flew by and as it passed 1.11pm, I hurried myself to get it done for 2.22pm. Sure enough, at around 2.20 I managed to force myself to stop obsessing over it and send it at 2.22pm.

When I saw the “email sent” notification, I felt a wild rush of excitement, with a touch of a terror. I knew that email could change my entire life. Most likely, it would change nothing except make me feel much lighter. Now, I knew my job was surrender, for it was in God’s hands.

Feeling extraordinarily inspired, I walked down to the beach and sat on the waters edge. Entranced by the way the water was sparkling like diamonds with the strong afternoon sun shining down upon it, I felt like I’d just crossed into a magical new reality: my wildest day dreams were now becoming all the more real.

When would he get my email and what would he think? Would he immediately feel a knowing that it was true or would he get a second opinion? And who would he ask? Who would care, and why?

As all the possibilities streamed through my mind, I observed myself and thought ‘what do you even care Libby? What are you trying to get out of this? Fame? Money? Power? Are you trying to seduce a King again? Given your history I’d like to think you’d think twice about even daring to do so. You little temptress you”

I felt my heart sink and throat ache as I said that to myself and rebutted ‘all I want is for him to know how much he means to me! I want him to know that I see him as the real deal, as rather amazing. As I bet Anne does. I want him to know that in some of my darkest moments, his story gave me hope for a better future and fairer world.’

‘Yeah, thats definitely true’ I agreed with myself. ‘But you can’t deny you’re hoping for a little more…’.

‘So what, I’m a big dreamer, and I can’t help it. But the bottom line is this: I could not live with myself or die fulfilled if I didn’t share my story with him. And, if there is any chance he has disappeared from social media for so long because he is feeling defeated, I want to inspire him!’

Despite being a natural dreamer and optimist, the truth is, I couldn’t dare to even entertain the thought of what it would be like if he actually did receive my email and believe me. It was too wild and outlandish an idea to even fathom. And the idea of him receiving it and not believing me, was too devastating a thought to even bare.

But given that none of that was in my control, I knew it wasn’t worth thinking about. I knew I may as well revel in the magic of the day, for this was by far the most exciting email I’d ever sent. Perhaps even the most exciting thing I’d ever done. And the day only got better, I was soon joined by a couple of girlfriends (an English and an Aussie chick) and we hung out at the beach all afternoon.

Although it’s common to see whales in Exmouth in September, that afternoon I saw more whales jumping out of the sea than I ever had before. Like a parade of whales, every time I happened to randomly look at the ocean, there was a massive whale high up in mid air and creating a huge splash as it crashed back into the sea.

There are some days you always just seem to miss them, but on this day, I had perfect timing all afternoon, as if my eyes were drawn right to the perfect part of the horizon at the perfect time, so I could witness the spectacular sight of these majestic sea giants showing off and celebrating life.

Coincidently, that same afternoon, as I was feeling the awe of the day, I noticed my English friend Charlie had a new book in her campervan: Moby Dick…which just so happened to be written by a distant ancestor of mine. So I couldn’t help but wonder what the significance with whales was.

The next day I awoke overwhelmed with anxiety and paranoia: what if contacting Greg had put me in serious danger? What if those who spy on him are now going to do the same to me? And what would they think of me? What if the whole thing was a con and they were laughing their heads off at me? What if they knew I really was Anne Boleyn? What if I’d never have privacy again?

As dozens of questions raced through my mind, I went back down to the beach to try and relax, but it seemed to be an unfortunate coincidence that there were significantly more people down there than normal. Which made me feel very suspicious.

And when I looked over at these people, they almost always were looking at me, with a smirk on their face. There was something unusual about them, something suspect.

Not sure if I was having a psychotic episode or if I’d legit stepped into some kind of hellish conspiracy, either way I felt devastated: either I was losing my mind (again, but next level), or I was being gangstalked. Or both.

I thought contacting him would give my heart and mind a sense of peace, but it seemed to have done the exact opposite. ‘It’s all well and good for Gregory, he has military protection! You’re a sitting duck!!’ I panicked on the inside as I did my best to maintain a cool, calm and hard exterior, for if they really were creepy spies, the last thing I was going to do was give them the satisfaction of knowing that I was freaking the fuck out.

Oh the irony: I’d contacted Gregory to tell him how discovering him had brought me a new found sense of hope, faith, and safety, but now that I’d done so and felt exposed and surrounded by predators, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t survive without him… ‘Save me!!’ a voice within me cried.

And even amongst my anguish and panic that there was nowhere to run to, I couldn’t help but think, ‘oh how history repeats itself”.

About a month later, in October 2022, I was in my mother and step father’s theatre room watching Mel Gibson’s The Patriot whilst chatting with my father on Whatsapp. I mentioned what movie I was watching and he said “you know you have patriot blood in your veins right?”.

I asked him to elaborate and he told me Ulysses Grant was a distant relative.

I had never heard of him before so I did a quick google search and discovered he was a Military General who helped the north defeat the south in the American Civil War and was then voted unanimously as the eighteenth president of the USA.

Abraham Lincoln was said to have jokingly asked what kind of whisky Ulysses drinks and to give that to the rest of his generals. It was seriously epic news to receive whilst watching the battle scenes of The Patriot!

And I couldn’t help but wonder if this is where my enthusiasm for freedom and battlefield strategies came from (I spent many hours as a teen addicted to computer games like Red Alert Command and Conquer, and Caesar).

I knew the Griffin family had a relatively interesting history and that we scattered all over the world, but had never done any proper research. Upon reflection, I put this mainly down to the fact that I never really felt loved or accepted by the Griffins, so I just tried to avoid the subject.

Despite being the first baby of my generation, honestly, none of the Griffins really gave a fuck, for my father’s parents had cut my father off for marrying my “low class” mother (the classic control mechanism of the rich: cut them off financially if they don’t follow orders). If anything, my existence was an irritating symbol of my dad’s rebelliousness and determination to love whoever he wants.

And for the record my mother has grace and class in spades, she just didn’t have a trust fund like them and instead came from a German/Prussian family who’d lost everything in the war because they lived on the wrong side of Berlin.

Anyway, my dad said he’d only recently learnt the news about our patriot connection after reading a book written by one of our distant cousins Daniel Melville, called “Lost Stitches: The Bostitch Legacy and My Crazy Jamaican Family”.

Danny is my grandad Joe Griffin’s first cousin. Joe’s mother, Alice Griffin, was born and raised in Jamaica, and was the sister of Danny’s father, John Melville.

My dad explained that Danny had become curious about his grandmother, Berenice Briggs, who had moved to Jamaica from Boston to marry ‘The Major’ Harold Melville, but died when his father was a child.

She was the daughter of Boston inventor Thomas Briggs, who’d invented the stapler in his garage, and he honoured her by putting a rare image he’d found of her on the cover.

I remembered that my dad had posted me a copy of Danny’s book many months ago after he had read it himself and enjoyed learning more about our “crazy” family.

Discovering that Danny and his three sons run an adventure tour company in the Caribbean and have Equestrian fields that host polo games for the privileged, seriously triggered all of my unhealed family wounds.

As always, my throat began to ache as it felt like I was choking on my own pain and I thought, ‘damn snobby selfish rich people’, quickly shut the book and no doubt found a way to quickly distract myself. Most likely with carbs and a Youtube clips.

I didn’t want to face the fact that Danny represented all that I missed out on: a family, a home, a community, a feeling of safety and belonging.

For whilst he’d spent his life riding horses on a tropical island, and had a loving family with an epic family business, I, on the other hand, came from highly dysfunctional family and had spent my entire adult life struggling with addiction, mental health challenges, PTSD of being a play thing for upper class criminals, had moved houses more times than I can count, and in my thirties, homelessness and suicidal behaviour.

I know money doesn’t solve all your problems, but it’s a fuck load easier to be happy when you can afford all the many therapies that exist. When you don’t have to stress about where you’re going to sleep. When you can afford to eat well and get a massage.

While Danny’s side of the family lived a blessed life thanks to his great grandfather Thomas Briggs putting his fortune into a trust fund to preserve it for future generations, meanwhile, my great grandmother Alice Griffin tried to do the same, but it all went horribly wrong.

When I was eighteen and right on the verge of moving to Switzerland to attend a boarding school on lake Montreaux), allegedly… I won’t say who it was, but someone in my family, after blowing all his inherited millions, then stole what was left from the family trust. My dad, who had just completed his law degree, accidentally discovered the evidence and was so deeply hurt and outraged by the betrayal that he took him to court.

The result was that the little money that was remaining was given to lawyers and liquidators, and I became the first Griffin to never inherit anything Switzerland was cancelled and I was told to never expect any help or support at all.

My dad and brother converted to Islam, which meant that in the space of about a year, I lost my father and my only sibling at the time, and all my future dreams. My new step-mother would also soon turn my two step-sisters against me because I’m a “stupid westerner” and “kafir” non-believer, since Islam is indeed, a suprematist religion.

Hence, I graduated high school angry, sad, uneducated, entitled, grieving the loss of my family and dreams, and utterly convinced that I was one of the most unlucky, unloved, unworthy people on the planet. Not a recipe for success.

I could tell from Danny’s pictures that he and his family looked like really lovely people, and of course I knew I couldn’t hold his better luck against him. Not that I even believe in luck: I believe we all get served up what is best for our unique soul lessons and growth.

Always longing for a sense of family, I couldn’t deny that I felt a strong urge to contact him, so I honoured my gut feeling and sent him a message to introduce myself and we became Instagram friends.

As luck would have it, three months later in January 2023, he just so happened to come to Western Australia with his wife to visit and stay with her daughter for a few months, at a country beach town I was staying nearby! Naturally, we all caught up.

Warm, kind, fun-loving, down-to-earth and sporting a seriously cool Jamaican accent, it was a pleasure to meet him, not to mention healing for my inner teenager. I became inspired to read his book before our next catch up, not just so I could get a better understanding of who this man was, but also to finally face my resolved family wounds.

To my surprise, I found myself touched by his book, for I was able to get a sense of what life may have been like for my great grandmother Alice as she grew up in Jamaica, and perhaps what made her the way she was, as well as the generations between us.

As I read through the book imaging about how Alice grew up in Jamaica, and how her mother Berenice grew up in high society Boston, I couldn’t help but feel emotional, as if their spirits were with me as I read about them. As if they were just as curious about their little great grand-daughter, as I was about them.

Tears rolled down my face as I remembered the last few times I saw Alice: in Airlie Beach whilst we were all visiting my grandad, and then again in the Bahamas when I was around eleven. I knew that I’d never really appreciated her at the time, and wished that I could go back and give her a hug.

Alice was always sweet and welcoming, but like all the grandmothers I’d ever known, had never taken any real interest in me. Of course, at the time I assumed it was because I was uninteresting, but now I can understand why each of them were absent from my life.

My dad’s mother Chantal didn’t like my mother so I was never really valued by her. My mother’s mum Barb had a daughter, Anne, a few years before I was born so Anne took what little time and affection my grandma had left to give.

I suddenly felt self-conscious: here I was in bed at my parents house, age 36, broke, single, never married, no children, and living in a van with nothing but a dream and dangerous ex-boyfriends. What would my great grandmother’s spirits think of me? Surely she would be disappointed if she saw what had become of the Griffins.

And yet I felt her love all around me and began to cry. I could sense that whilst she may have had so much more than I did, at least financially, perhaps I’d had a chance to experience things that only she could dream about. Suddenly I felt sorry for her instead.

And then it dawned on me: despite the fact we lived very different lives and had very different personalities, we shared the same sad heart. I could sense that our traumas were more connected than I realised, and perhaps even our healing was too.

A Griffin reunion usually consists of an awkward meal where everyone pretends they don’t hate each other and themselves, and then all get the hell out of there.

Ok I’m being dramatic, we’re not that bad, but you know what I mean: there’s nothing like a reunion with your estranged family to remind you how much you need therapy (or for the less evolved, how much of a victim you are).

The last reunion I attended was at Christmas 2019 in Canberra where my brother David and uncle John lived with their partners and children. My grandad flew down from Noosa, I flew over from Perth and my father, step mother and half brother flew over from Saudi.

The newest and youngest members of the family, such as my half brother Sulaiman, David’s children and John’s children are very sweet and are still more innocent (have way less chips on their shoulders) so of course it’s nice to see them. But for us older more original Griffins, it’s fucking awkward.

The family dinner was basically my brother and father debating flat Earth whilst I drank as many cocktails as I could.

I wasn’t invited to stay with anyone and was declined my request for help to stay with my father at his hotel (my step mother only does 5 star), but luckily I managed to find an old house in the suburbs to housesit with some cats to keep me company as I cried myself to sleep every night.

The house happened to be haunted as it was full of medieval collectables so I also literally had fucking crazy and dark shit happening (like lights doing weird things and very evil presences stalking me) as I contemplated what atrocious things I must have done in a past life to warrant getting reincarnated into the Griffin family.

Needless to say, it was the most brutal family reunion yet. On the flip side I had profound realisations that freed me from many unconscious patterns I’d been stuck in my whole life without knowing. Weeks before the reunion, my therapist had recommended me a book about the psychology of narcissists. I’d never even heard of the term before but the title was catchy, so I uploaded it onto my kindle and was reading it whilst I was there.

The insight I gained at this reunion meant that for the first time in my life, I realised that their rejection of me, and indeed all the significant relationships I’d ever had, were actually not a reflection of my worth. For once in my life, I realised that everything is not my fault.

As I read the pages of that book whilst seeing the earliest most significant members of my family that I hadn’t seen in many years, that had shaped my self-perception as a child, with my new eyes and wisdom I realised that actually I was not the problem.

What I’ve only recently realised, which has put everything into a much higher perspective, is that there is something about my energy that is deeply triggering for people. That I am like a walking tower moment for people. I will bring out the best, or the worst of you.

One of my gifts is that I can see what lies beneath the surface: I can see where you are stuck, and also your highest potential. And by interacting with me, you will start to see it too, for there is something about my energy that stirs it all up and brings it to the surface. Often without even saying a word.

Some label me as provocative, but I like to think I offer people an opportunity for growth. Just as some souls come to Earth to break the matrix and challenge the status quo, I have come here to shake you up and show you whats’ possible. To give you an opportunity to see something in yourself that you haven’t seen before. To face it and learn from it. To alchemise it and rise.

But most people will do anything to avoid facing their soul. Most are happy to let their inner child come out and play with me, and imagine their grandest potentials and dreams. But it’s rare that people are willing to face the darkness, wounds, insecurities, doubts and fears that stand in the way.

Naturally, unenlightened souls will blame the person who triggered them rather than seeing it as an opportunity to become more self-aware and unfuckwithable. They will often unconsciously find a reason to not like you and make you the bad guy, and bury their head back into the sand of the comfortable known.

All my life I’ve taken these rejections personally as a sign that I was unlovable or problematic, after all, many would decide they don’t like me before I’ve even said a word.

But now I see that it is a gift and that actually there are people out there who appreciate this about me, who realise my grand visions are not nonsense, who love to constantly evolve into the best version of themselves and challenge me to do the same.

I just needed to find enough self-worth to walk away from those who couldn’t see or appreciate me and know that there are others out there who will. Who are grateful for the things others would call annoying or insulting.

Who understand that I always mean well, and I’m not ungrateful or judgmental, but just that I can see the potential of things and passionately want it for everyone. That I’m a problem solver willing to ruffle a few feathers by speaking the ugly truth for the sake of growth and transmutation.

For I know that pain is a door. That sometimes you have to break a heart in order to open it. That sometimes the best way to show your love is not always with a soothing hug, but with the brutally honest truth.

I’ve never been popular for the fact that I do things differently.

That I don’t take the easy road and instead take the road less travelled. That I don’t play it safe by taking easy money settling for a cushy job, that I instead feel compelled to dare to follow my hearts deepest wishes, my belly’s greatest passions and minds most inspiring visions. To challenge myself to the core.

And what I’ve realised is that people like myself really irritates people who ignore their hearts deepest wishes. Because your existence reminds them of something they’d rather not look at or feel.

Every day I choose to honour my inner child and teenager doing what lights me up the most. By taking the painful lessons and trying to make something beautiful and valuable from it so that I leave this world better than I found it.

I’ve invested seven years into healing myself and building my dream business because I’d rather fail at what I want most than not try at all. Because I’d rather be “poor” than spend another day of my life doing something that destroys and suppresses my true spirit.

I’ve invested a huge amount of time into self-discovery and self-therapy so that my future children won’t have to grow up with the same sad heart that I inherited.

Whilst being called “lazy” by those who can’t actually see me. Who are determined to paint me in the worst possible way because their inner child is even more fucked up than mine.

Who conveniently forget that I began working when I was sixteen and at times worked two jobs because I love to be busy and productive. That I worked for the matrix up until my mid twenties when I realised the whole system wildly corrupt and not truly supporting me, or anyone, and therefore, I won’t support it. That I will invest in creating a new one.

I realised that there’s no shame in receiving government assistance whilst I rebuilt myself and my life given that the government has turned us into slaves, stolen our rightful inheritance, and spends BILLIONS on war and underground play lairs for pedophiles.

That the real reason people shame the most vulnerable people in society for being “dole bludgers”, more than they shame our corrupt swamp freak leaders, is because they resent the fact they work at jobs they dislike.

And in many cases, have a serious case of stockholm syndrome: defending their psychotic parasitic masters and hating on those who dare to feel worthy of breadcrumbs.

By the time I’d finished reading Danny’s book, I’d concluded that the very thing that was lacking in my family is the same thing that has been lacking in our society: the qualities of the loving divine feminine: unconditional, soft, nurturing, forgiving, graceful, love.

The kind of deep and unwavering love that, when bestowed upon oneself, sets you free to follow your heart no matter what.

Danny was certainly intrigued by his quirky new van dwelling cousin, and I felt proud when he signed my book “to my favourite new cousin”.

But I could tell there was something about me that puzzled him… like an elephant in the room, one day after lunch he addressed it cooly, but clearly perplexed, “how is it that an intelligent, independent and empowered woman like you could like a man like Donald Trump!!?”.

Having been a leftie since way back, I could also see that he is one of those people who is highly triggered by Trump but never really stops to wonder why and just prefers to believe everything the media says about him so he can feel justified in blaming the trigger rather than seeing it for what it truly is.

Danny had clearly been seeing my instagram posts (I love Donald Trump), and knowing I had 0.001% chance of selling my case to him, especially given we were about to part ways, I just made a joke that I’d get back to him one day with a report.

One night, during a lovely dinner in Yallingup, Danny and his wife became interested to know what my upcoming book was about. Choosing my words wisely, knowing that they socialise in royal circles, I gave them a nutshell version that included my past life regression, what happened at Glastonbury Tor and what I discovered on the 19th of May 2020.

They seemed quite open minded and were not shocked by the idea that perhaps the British royals aren’t as legitimate as they appear. And it turns out this was not the first time they’d heard of stories about living descendants of Anne Boleyn.

Around that same time, in February 2023, after over two years of silence, Greg Hallett finally re-emerged onto social media to reveal he had written thirteen new history books: the first one called “Queen Anne Boleyn’s Great Escape & Legacy”.

Once again, I began to froth with curiosity and excitement.

Greg shared that most of the “truthers” we see on the internet are shills: controlled opposition. And in his case, when it comes to Dave Mahoney and Charlie Ward, controlled via blackmail as a “Catch and Release”.

I immediately resisted the idea that most truthers are controlled opposition, but the more I’ve considered it, the more I’ve realised that it actually makes sense: the white hats are certainly not going to be telling anyone their most important plans or showing all their cards; it’s essential that your enemy never know what your next move is.

And look at the depth of lies and disinformation we are swimming in thanks to centuries of lies and counter-intelligence. In a world like this, anyone who thinks they know the truth is kidding themselves.

And I wouldn’t be surprised if it just gets worse.. if soon the only way you will know what is real and what is not, is by developing an impeccable intuition.

And it’s amazing how many people think they’ve figured out what is going on just because they watch a lot of Youtube or Rumble. I know because I used to be one of them.

I’m certainly not saying we may as well give up looking… we should always pursue the truth. I’m just saying, don’t get overly confident that you’ve figured it all out. Remain open to the possibility that you’re wrong, for as they say the fool believes himself to be wise and the wise man knows he’s a fool.

Gregory seemed to have a heaviness about him, and it’s easy to imagine why… for just one moment imagine what it’s like to live your life as a highly targeted individual… to be sabotaged, betrayed and near murdered, at every turn.

To continuously risk your life to share truths that are “too true to tell”, only to be met by the sad reality that most people are so deeply brainwashed by the fake lamestream media, and so lost in cognitive dissonance and stockholm syndrome, that they often defend their captors and attack you instead.

That they’d rather continue being oppressed and enslaved by parasitic frauds and psychopathic puppets, than literally do a little research or even listen.

That many people have become so disassociated and demoralised and that they’ve become complacent with fucking terrible, and resistant to alternative suggestions and solutions.

Most people couldn’t survive a day in Greg’s shoes.

Most people proved during the scamdemic that they can’t even speak up for their right to breath fresh oxygen.

And yet, despite the seeming insurmountable odds that Greg faces, he never gives up. And he does so with a jolly demeanour.

Despite the fact that he surely has one of the most intense high-pressure missions of all time, he manages to do so with humour and lightness, with his Virgo feet planted firmly on the ground.

As a fellow tower moment (the holy grail of tower moments), he understands that peoples ability to see him for who he truly is depends on how deeply they’ve first been able to see themselves. How deeply they’ve come to know the true spirit of Christ.

He lives in faith that all will see him for who he truly is, all in divine time.

I was once informed by a karmic soul brother of mine, a lawyer “you know that Common Law stuff is not real, right?”. Mocking me like I am the most gullible fool who ever walked the planet.

I didn’t argue with him, for as they say: silence is the best reply to a fool.

Given he is paid to uphold Maritime Law, and still thinks he’s educated because he paid a university to indoctrinate him, I can see why he is inclined to believe that.

I am no expert in law, but I know deep in my heart and soul that God has the final say.

That our reality is governed by fundamental principles, such as The Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have done unto you; what you send out, comes back; what you sow, you reap; as within, so without.

That the greatest, most beautiful truth to remember is that all in perfect divine timing, everyone gets exactly what they deserve, and need, for their highest evolution.

That nobody can escape their karma and everyone gets what’s rightfully theirs, in this life or the next. It might not be when or how you like, but God has an even greater plan than you could ever possibly imagine and implement.

That despite the appearance of chaos and injustice, the world is at its core, a fair place.

It’s important we remember this because when you see the world as lawless, you act from a space of fear and scarcity, and therefore only attract more chaos and lack into your life.

But when you have faith in God, and you allow yourself to relax a little, to not always be looking for the next problem to tackle, and let yourself sink back into the natural rhythm of your breath and heart beat, you’ll sync up with the harmonic flow of universal timing.

And then you can actually enjoy the ride… and experience the miracles.

Because life is like a video game: learn the rules and the game gets easier.

Pass the tests and receive your just rewards. Reach the next level of the game and be met with greater challenges and even greater rewards.

Like in The Matrix, once you learn how to decipher the codes and see beyond the illusions, you can then access more of your innate special powers.

And like in Star Wars, one Jedi of the force is more powerful than millions of drones.

Hence why they try so hard to silence Gregory.

Waking up is about remembering your god given rights: that we are all born free and sovereign under God, but that we must claim it.

For there are wicked forces in this world where you want to admit it or not, and they aim to take your freedom from you. Hence, freedom is something humanity has had to fight for. To defend.

And as Earth continues to evolve at an incomprehensibly exponential rate, so is the nature of warfare.

The great scamdemic really highlighted where we are all at along our unique journeys of consciousness: it showed us who believed the lies and who saw through them immediately, who risked all to stand up for their rights, and who stayed silent.

Meanwhile, the intelligence agencies of the world watched on, and with the utilisation of AI, recorded and catalogued everything: they know exactly what role each and every one of us played. And I think people forget that not all intelligence agencies are diabolical.

I’ve heard people say they don’t believe there are “white hats”: honourable men within intelligence fighting for freedom and justice on our behalf, because “if they exist, then why did they let this happen to us?”.

Sorry not sorry, but talk about ignorance, victimhood and a fucking dreary outlook.

You my friend, are in serious need of some faith. Please go read a spiritual book or something. I’m so sorry that you have lost faith that there is goodness in this world, at the highest levels. I’m sorry that somehow you’ve come to believe that the only people who possess great power in this world are wicked.

It must suck major disco balls to live in a reality like that. I know because I once did too.

Not only are there honourable and true heroes out there, coordinating themselves like bosses on our behalf, they are also destined to win, for the darkness is but a grain of sand in comparison with the light of the sun.

But I can also imagine what they must have been thinking as they watched the world descend into madness: ‘why should I risk my life for people who won’t even fight for theirs?’

Sure, it is the role of the divine masculine to protect the innocent, but where do you draw the line? Sometimes, people have to learn to save themselves.

And as explained by Australian living legend Riccardo Bosi, leader of Australia One Party “in the military you only ever have three options when it comes to war: bad, worse or fucking terrible”.

In other words, sometimes shit cunts do fucked up shit and the best option you’ve got is the least shit option. You can’t save everyone, and you must pick your battles.

What we often forget, ladies and gentlemen, is the ironic truth that freedom is not free… someone always pays the price.

So it’s time to stop complaining that nobody has come to save you when you can’t even be bothered cleaning your room.

The war we are in now is different to any other before it: the attack on our way of life is insidious; it’s not bombs dropping and tanks rolling in, it’s:

• rigged mental health care so people can’t get better and the biggest killer of young people is suicide

• tons of drugs hitting our streets and keeping at least a fifth of us off chops

• the sellout of our land and resources to overseas interests so that we have sky high energy costs when we could easily have cheap clean power

• endless psychological warfare and emotional terrorism disguised as “the news”

• rigged elections (why the fuck do we still use paper ballots when we could easily have instant banking-level secure voting systems) so we can’t create real change

• cancer causing and estrogen mimicking chemicals in our “body care” products (created from waste products of the oil industry) that has caused testosterone to plummet since the 80s

• children coming home crying from school because they' aren’t sure what gender they are anymore. It’s castrating our children and drag Queen story time.

• lack of real education and child abuse in schools

• poison marketed as “food” and “medicine”

• fluoride and other heavy metals in our water

• conditioning us at every turn to OBEY and continue business as usual

• lamestream news distracting us from our real issues, with fake threats and fake woke movements, such as “welcome to country” ceremonies that make you feel more confused than welcome, and basically tell you this is not your land

• insane immigration policies that put illegal immigrants in nice hotels whilst their own people and veterans are homeless, many of which who don’t share our values and respect our culture, who in some cases despise it.

• not being able to afford to live in the same countries our ancestors built (in others words, the end of our way of life and civilisation)

• feminizing men and masculinising women, promoting hook up culture and abortions, instead of having families, to lower the birth rate

• having the family courts, religious institutions and educational systems used to separate families to weaken our families, communities and national strength and make people forget about who they are and where they come from.

Have no doubt, this is all by design.

And whoever owns our leaders clearly fucking hate us.

Let’s not sugar coat the situation, go into denial or brush it under the rug: these people are full blown psychopaths, murders, thieves and pedophiles with no respect for life (you’d have to be to allow the torture and abuse of millions of animals each year, such as Live Animal Export).

And what they have chosen to do to their own people is nothing short of high treason.

Civil disobedience: refusing to go along with unjust and immortal laws, is the highest level of public service.

Which is again why I think so highly of his absolute Majestic-ness and Royal Highness, Joseph Gregory Hallett (and his team): for decades he has been exposing the corrupt, inhumane, untalented, spineless, parasites who quite literally parade themselves as royal when they are the opposite.

Like a true King, Gregory has continuously risked his life to speak the truth and serve the people.

And whilst it’s true that all humans share the same God given rights of sovereignty, it’s also true that we will always need leaders, true leaders; leaders who inspire us, who show us what’s possible, who remind us of the light we all carry… who bring out the best in us.

Especially when we are drowning in the lies and confusion of the Kingdom of Lies we’ve been living in.

We need leaders like Gregory, who have the skills, talent and divine spark to help us navigate back to sanity and sovereignty.

According to Greg, "Britain" and "England" are not synonymous and there are distinct legal and historical differences between the two: "Britain" was created by the Jesuits for expanding their political and economic control, whereas "England" refers to the country within the larger political entity of the United Kingdom, and is tied to the traditional and historical sovereignty that has been undermined and overshadowed by the use of "Britain".

He has also shared that US, UK and “The Commonwealth of Australia” are not sovereign nations but corporate entities operating under corporate law rather than constitutional law. That the government functions more like a business than a representative democracy, and the Commonwealth is actually a mechanism used by the British monarchy and other elite groups to maintain control over former British colonies, through the use of hidden clauses in treaties and constitutions.

That “United” actually means Jesuit overlay/takeover; the “United Nations”, “United Kingdom”, “United States of America” were actually a land grab by the Jesuit deep state, disguised as a gesture of unity.

Democracy was born from the fundamental Christian values and beliefs that freedom of speech and human rights are not endowed by the government, but by God. That all people were born with human rights, no matter their beliefs.

But I must admit, seeing what is currently happening in England, and many European countries: a literal islamic invasion, is actually making me wonder if Christians have actually become too tolerant.

For just as every sweet, open-hearted and unconditionally loving woman eventually needs to learn to set boundaries and say ‘no fucking thank you’ or she will be taken advantage of, I think perhaps Christians are also learning where to draw the line.

Because without boundaries (and borders), you stand for nothing.

And when the government is putting illegal immigrants (who often don’t even value Christianity and instead want to spread their radical ideas) into all expenses paid hotels at the cost of tax payers, when its own citizens are homeless, it’s obvious our leaders are not only trying to destroy our civilisation, but Christianity itself.

And as Greg has often said, the game plan of the Jesuits is to create a society of no values. And it shows.

The utterly class-less, art-less garbage that was mockery of The Last Supper at the Olympics recently is a great example of how over-tolerant Christians have become.

Imagine what would happen if you went to an Islamic country and made fun of their religion?

It is now clear to me that there is indeed an attack on Christianity.

Why? Because it’s actually so empowering!

I’ve also recently discovered (thanks to Greg, and the recent interview between Candace Owens and Tristan Tate) the true motive for many of the wars and bombings was actually to destroy historical Christian artefacts .

The history we get taught in schools is a joke, and designed by the same reptiles who put the “Windsors” on the throne, hence something you never hear about is the many centuries of attacks on Christians, including genocide of millions of Germans and other Christians during and after the second world war.

Luckily, the truth is only continuing to come out, and like a wave that is only gathering strength, the people are waking up from the slumber of the poison apple and prick of the needle, and remembering who they are, where they come from and what they stand for.

It’s messy and it’s ugly, but as they say, the darkest hour is just before dawn…

One must wonder, what kind of people could hate Christians?

They are so non-threatening: they just mind their own business, work hard, prioritise their families and pray for everyone including those who would do them harm.

You’d have to be possessed by satanic forces, either knowingly or unknowingly.

Like many people, for a long time I was in denial that evil even exists… and yes perhaps from the highest perspective of universal unconditional love, it doesn’t… but I think it’s important to face reality: we live in 3D duality (sun and moon, hot and cold, north and south, male and female, etc), and as such, we all wrestle with the same two polarising forces: the Christ impulse and the anti-Christ impulse; unconditional love and joy, and the lack of it: fear, doubt, scarcity and condemnation.

Truth, and faith in God’s supreme plan… vs ignorance, and the ego thinking it’s in control.

We all contain a concoction of light and darkness, and each serves it’s purpose, for it is through the catalysing dance of polarity that we learn and evolve.

But it’s our job to know the difference between the two, to be self-aware of the impulse we are feeding, or acting in… and to choose love and use our free will choice with responsibility.

As vessels for the divine, for God’s great plan, in a way, our only job is to purify our mind and body so that we can hear his guidance.

For life is a game of frequency: the higher we vibrate, the more easily we can receive him, for he is the highest. The lower we vibrate, the lower the energies we will channel without even realising… for that is what we are: channels and receivers of energy.

Russell Brand recently converted to Christianity, and I must say, it’s been really inspiring to hear his insights.

One of the things I learnt from him recently is that the bible actually says that it’s not the responsibility of the people to overthrow their corrupt government, because when Jesus Christ returns, he will be the one to set things straight.

I immediately felt a sense of peace come over me, for I’ve always felt this intense sense of responsibility to fix the problems I see in the world, but I see now that our only responsibility is to purify and honour ourselves. And God will orchestrate the rest. After all, he is the genius creator who created all of this.

And his number one representative is Jesus Christ: the Luke Skywalker of Star Wars, the Harry Potter of Hogwarts, the Lion King.

And if you were that powerful, unbeatable and lit, wouldn’t you come back to epically conquer evil and restore justice, right at the most crucial time? Wouldn’t you answer the call of millions of people’s prayers for an epic comeback story of love and triumph? Of course you would.

Well, God thinks the same way, for those thoughts you think you’re having… where do you think they came from? They aren’t just yours... they are shared by the cosmic mind.

Our heartfelt desires are more than just private wishful thinking… they are powerful previews of life’s coming attractions; desires shared by the cosmos, because it’s our love and joy that is the most real, that unites us.

Everyone loves a hero story.. but I think the world has been in asleep in a dark age for so long that many of us have lost hope that our hero stories are more than just fairytales, and actually, are reminders of the truths locked away in our hearts: that God really is that fucking amazing.

That hope is actually a memory of the future.

That life may be full of tragedy and challenge, but it can be equally just as beautiful. For without forgetting we wouldn’t know the joy of remembering, without tragedy we wouldn’t know the delight of victory, and without loneliness we wouldn’t know the bliss of reunion.

When I want to remind myself of how magical and grand life actually is, I look up at the stars and remember that as above so below. That we are unique concoctions of starlight, mirroring the dance of the stars at the beat of a universal rhythm that connects us all through ours heart.

And just as we can count on the sun to rise each day, so to can we count on the Son to rise, in divine timing. That there is an order of things. A clockwork of endless creative expansion and karmic balancing.

And when you trust in this you relax and breathe easy, you sync back up with the universal heart beat, the rhythm of love and joy; the bliss of surrender; true faith.

And you can start enjoying the ride and show.

I wonder if this is why the bible says ‘the meek shall inherit the Earth’: because when you surrender to Christ, you align with the power, wisdom and pleasure of the force that creates worlds and guides the stars. That birthed you. That breathes you.

That ironically, it is through surrender that you become an unfuckwithable force of nature.

I wonder if this is why the future belongs to those who align themselves with Christ Consciousness: not because anyone will punish or grade you, but because that’s how you come home to yourself, to your power and creativity; to the love that you are.

For in the temple of your sacred heart you remember the ultimate truth: that the light (love) always wins, that love conquers all. That there are no happy endings only because the chess game never ends.

And actually, happily ever after is the nature of the universe (uni-verse = one love sonnet)

To quote a channelling by the angelic Kelly Kollodney on creating miracles:

The mind is meant to serve the heart/collective consciousness. But it has become the controller of ones life force, hence the ability to create miracles has become obsolete. It is only when one is sitting in the purity of the innocent perception of the heart, that a miracle can come into fruition.

Miracles cannot be created from the mind, but from the impulse of the love that radiates from the heart.

It is by dropping the conception of the mind, and the thinking of the mind, and coming into the presence of the moment, with the presence of the love, that is you, that the miracle resides and presents itself to be true.

In order to do that, the feminine energy that is in relationship to the heart must come back into balance in the vesica piscis with the masculine so they are equal partners. They can then bring forth creation, and in that can return to the knowing that miracles should not be special (rare), but ordinary (common).

As we move into the heart, you perceive all things with a new way of seeing. An innocent perception of what it is, without conceptualising or labelling it as what the mind would say it is. For the mind generates ideas and perceives fear of what will happen in future.

It takes form past what has happened and brings the feelings and energies into the now. By coming into the stillness of where you are now, the ideas dissolve and healing takes place.

The heart is the commander. It commands something to be, because it already is. Because it sees what already is. It’s not creating something new, it’s seeing what already is. It recognises and sees the purity, the innocent perception of the wholeness. It does not allow itself to look to, acknowledge and give credence to that which is not whole or vibrating the frequency of love.

The beings of christ consciousness are available to all of us. We do not need to be a great master, but just complete accepting of who you are, right now.

That you are pure love, born of love, made of love, and will return to love. There is nothing to fear because you are infinite. And the mind is not there to control you, but to serve you.

I believe her explanation of heart vs mind sheds light on why every great master’s teachings have eventually become distorted over time: because people analysed the heart’s story/truth with the mind.

Because the only way to truly hear what Jesus was saying, is by attuning to your heart.

I recently had a realisation about my beautiful mother, Victoria. Raised by atheists, she has always rejected religion, but considers herself spiritual. I take after her in this way, and I think we’ve both always silently considered spirituality a more enlightened version of Christianity.

Every now and then she goes to cute little Christian Spiritualist church because she loves the flower readings they do there: you bring a flower with you and put it in a tray up the front of the church so that each flower has it’s own number, after a short prayer and meditation, a psychic picks up each flower one by one, not knowing who it belongs to, and gives each person a message from spirit by reading the energy of the flower.

I’ve been with her a handful of times and have had some lovely uplifting messages. I went with her recently for the first time in years, and after I took my seat I immediately noticed a beautiful picture of a colourful version of the last supper and felt my heart light up as I looked at Jesus. I asked the church host if it was new, as I’d never noticed it before and she said no, it had been there for many many years.

During my mothers message, they told her she was “rock solid” in her “Christian” values. I found that very interesting given that in all the readings I’ve ever heard there, that was the first time I’d heard a reference to Christianity.

As soon as my mother heard her reading she immediately disregarded the word “Christian” and replaced the word with “Spiritual”. And I would have done the same thing if I was her, but I knew spirit said '“Christian” for a reason, and so after we left church and began discussing our readings, I made a point to her to not disregard it and reflect on it.

Having been writing about Christianity for weeks prior, hearing spirit basically tell me that my mother is a rock solid Christian (and doesn’t even realise it), got me wondering… if you’re living as a Christian, why not convert to Christianity?

‘For what? It’s just a label’ I responded to the idea… ‘why do you need the label if you’re already living it? After all, they say religion requires blind faith and tells you want to see, whilst spirituality removes the blindfolds and dares you to see it for yourself’.

‘Yeah but is there really a difference between being religious and spiritual? Being religious is about intentionally engaging with the holy spirit every day, about opening and devoting yourself to God, to committing to a daily practice of humbly and joyfully being in service to God’s great plan, of inviting him to be a part of every step of the journey, of seeing that he already is… is that not the most spiritual thing you can do?

So many of your heroes are Christian: Russell Brand, Riccardo Bosi, Candace Owens, Tucker Carlson, and they all agree that cultivating a personal relationship with Jesus Christ is essential and profound.

Why are you so scared of a label? Don’t you want to belong to a collective of like-minded people for the most wonderful of reasons? Are you sure you’re not just being a stubborn non-committing fence sitter because of unresolved fears and resentments?

Adopting a label is a way to draw the line in the sand of what you stand for. Of what you claim.

It’s true that a label is just a word.. but like with all words, it’s the energy, power and meaning you attach to them. Think about the amount of power attached to the words “Christianity” and “Jesus Christ”: thanks to thousands of years of prayers and devotion, they have become supercharged into potent forces of nature… of miracles.

How could you not want to be a part of such a beautiful thing?

Especially when Jesus Christ is due to make his comeback any day now….

I have a feeling that he is going to blow everyones minds again.. and we shall be praising him for many thousands of years more. Evermore.

On the 19th of May 19th 2023 I decided it was time to finally go public with my story.

Filled with anxiety and alone in Airlie Beach after driving 6,000 from Perth, I thought I’d start by planting a small seed and announced my upcoming book series: Nostalgia.

My weapon of choice, Instagram. My favourite space for leaving clues.

Since then, so many wild things have happened that it would take me another six months to write it (it’s taken me over eight months just to write this confession for you).

But here’s the best part: on the 17th of February 2024, Greg announced the most exciting news…. that behind closed doors, the “Windsors” have been officially ordered to step down for their frauds and crimes against humanity… to make way for the true and rightful King.

In the weeks that followed it was announced that both Charles and Kate Middleton have “cancer”.

After disappearing from the public eye for many months, and rumours swirled about the authenticity of her posts, Kate eventually made her first public at Trouping The Colour, a military ceremony, wearing the same dress from the movie “My Fair Lady” where the main character recites a nursery rhyme "London Bridge is Falling Down".

In Gregory’s last video, he revealed some more bombshell clues about who William’s true biological father is, and the darker truth behind Kate’s “abdominal surgery”. And I have a feeling a lot more revelations are about to be revealed.

I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time we see Greg Hallett vindicated and sitting on the throne, where he belongs.

And I look forward to watching the Reformation of England 2.0

Well folks… That concludes part 1 of my confession. I need a holiday.

It’s taken incredible sacrifice to get this story to you so if you can, I pray you please share this story far and wide, and if you are in a position to support my work I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me.

And for those of you find that my story has left you highly triggered and shattered into a million pieces, don’t worry, that’s a very normal side effect of a red pill this strong. It’s happened to me many times along the way and unfortunately it’s all just part of the process. The bittersweet symphony.

My recommendation is just pick up whatever pieces you can find of yourself, with love, go take a bath and have a nap. All will make sense eventually. And ultimately, it’s all just an opportunity to trust in God’s glory and majestic-ness even more.

For those of you who can help to support my work, sign up for Elisabeth Wonders Exclusive, where you will be the first to access Part 2 of this story.

As a member of Elisabeth Wonders Exclusive, you will also be the first to access to my upcoming show Libby In Wonderland that includes exclusive diary footage of my crazy journey.

To give you a little teaser to part two… the following images are clues to some of the truths that will be revealed and discussed.

And most importantly, you simply must wonder over to Greg Hallett’s Youtube channel and website… for his channel is a fountain of wisdom, truth and humorous divinity.

Yours truly… for love, beauty and freedom.

Elisabeth Griffin xo