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Dark Age Charter Written By: Scott Lewis
On a hot, humid summer Sunday afternoon in the small town of Southampton on Long Island, ceremonies were in full swing honoring its Founders. The townspeople performed family-friendly historical reenactments for vacationers, executed with the precision of a Broadway show, along with traditional exchanges of food and drink between tribes, when suddenly an ominous spirit shifted into this merriment. On the steps of First Presbyterian Church on Main St. – parishioners claimed it was the first Presbyterian Church in the Country – the orb took hold of a First Presbyterian Church Parishioner by the name of Scott.
Scott summoned his buddy Juan for help. Coincidentally, or rather by divine intervention, Juan was staying at Scott’s for the weekend. Scott had been praying for a Patriot like Juan to assist him with a geopolitical matter. When he arrived at the church steps, Scott looked pale and frightened. It was as though Scott’s spirit had been twisted by some entity present, but not.
“Something wrong?” asked Juan. Scott sat on a slate step in a sort of stupor. “You said you had something to tell me in connection with the founders of Southampton before we go down to Conscious Point for the festivities.”
Juan was Naval Intelligence. Strong as an ox with the heart of a lion, Juan was the kind of person that would give you his coat right off his back. In fact, Scott had once witnessed him do it. More importantly, Juan once worked for a maximum-security penitentiary, where he protected himself with scripture (aka. armor of God) from some of the darkest individuals walking on the face of the planet. He had peered directly into the souls of some of these beasts, which was the reason Juan took Scott’s faith seriously. He was devoted to protecting others by keeping up with the latest conspiracy theory by way of dialing into his favorite talk show host Alex Jones to put himself to sleep; sort of the way Scott’s parents had watched the 11 o’clock news to pass out.
“I do,” Scott answered.
Juan stared at Scott. “You look disturbed, like you’ve just seen a gallows ghost. Are you alright?”
“Well not really, physically I feel ok. Nevertheless, I cannot process something else. It is something that really troubles me about what I witnessed this morning.”
Scott said, “Well, they reenacted what it was like to be a Puritan at church 375 years ago.
It was initially very interesting. It felt like they had reincarnated the spirit of the times. Everyone dressed the part. They separated the men from the women. They appointed a ‘tithingman’ to police the pews by way of a long stick with a feather on it. The male elders of the church sat in front of the pulpit, facing the congregation as a sign of their spiritual leadership. They stood for all prayers.
After the service, they transformed the church into something else; for lack of a better word, I’ll call it a court. It was not like Judge Judy.”
“Ok. What was it like?” said Juan.
“The parishioners were confessing their sins before the elders. However, they were the sins committed by their neighbors. They went through a couple of scenarios such as a neighbor was caught working on Sunday, and was turned in by nosey neighbors for non-compliance and confessions.
By the way, the feather was used to wake the women and jar the fellows with the butt end of the stick that chose to skip out of the service with a nap.”
Scott said, “I laughed too, until it dawned on me that this was no laughing matter. In those days, they demanded your undivided attention. This was a business. I guess. In retrospect, I’d call it ‘contempt of court’. It’s no wonder why my Dutch ancestry wanted nothing to do with the church. My ancestors would rather run rum from Shelter Island where the Oak trees were bountiful for barrels to hold the rum.”
“But that’s not all, what really twisted my spirit was reading the handout that was included with the program. It was the charter of the church, inserted with the traditional program, typed out with a Microsoft font. The actual charter was displayed in the west center while the Pastor was in the east. I had to do a double-take since I could not believe what I had read. Talk about political incorrectness.”
“Ok, what do you mean by that?”
Scott said, “It said that we are to ‘bring up the community in the mind of Christ,’ which was fine but it went on and directed us to “dispose” of the plantation, and the residents. The Dutch was what they meant by ‘plantation’ and by the ‘residents’ that they meant the Shinnecock Natives. George Orwell used the same nomenclature in his writings on the British imperialization efforts in India.
Here let me show you. I made a copy of it on my iPad…”
“Wow. Yeah, this document appears to be a declaration of War to me.”
“I don’t believe it was meant to be on display in those days. Pastor Rick is from California. He was unconscious of its contents as was the rest of the Parish; either that or no one had the guts to raise a riot. It’s not the first time it has been circulated over the last 375 years.
Juan, I’m afraid the Parish’ll hate me if I raise this issue, especially if I can’t defend my claims. In fact, I know I don’t have a defense. I don’t know who founded the church.”
Scott was conscious of this faux pas for two reasons: Scott had sued the Governor of New York for permitting the sale of critical infrastructure (i.e. telephone, electric, and gas companies) to none other than the Queen of England, and during that trial Scott had located a placard in the Dune Church that said his Dutch ancestors had done the exact same thing 375 years ago as well. It documented the land grab by the British from the Dutch and Shinnecock.
“So what are you going to do with this finding?” asked Juan.
“I want to find out how such nice people could have produced such a wicked document 375 years ago; my intuition or spirit is telling me that they are not the authors of the charter; and the Founders are not who we think they are. I grew up in this culture, which is why I am having such a tough time processing it. My Dad was a theologian of sorts. He loved the Community Church. My mother did too. However, her Dutch heritage had ingrained in her doubts, which is why I suppose I noticed the ungodly charter in the first place, and filed lawsuit against the Governor for not protecting us from the British taking our utilities today.
Who are the Founders anyway? What were their qualifications?”
Juan replied, “Hold that thought. Let’s get going to Conscious Point. They are putting on other reenactments. Maybe we’ll learn something else that might help. Besides we’re going to be late for the 375th Rededication of the Monument to ibyo (you), as it was titled in old English in the program from the church.”
The two journeyed to Conscious Point where they watched the ancient tribal rituals. The most spectacular reenactment was the part performed by the Shinnecock Nation. They had the skills to survive, whaling and farming technology, whereas the colonies had the weapons. This was why they lost their freedom to the British.
Yes, our freedoms are continually under attack.
At that time, it wasn’t clear to Scott how important the discovery of the dark age charter was to his very being, a force greater than his was in control, and Scott needed to determine who it was that penned that document. He was being channeled to learn more. Everything in his mind was coming to a halt except for him to travel this stream of consciousness. Could it be Scott was here to warn the community of the impending economic recolonization of Long Island?
Scott, “Juan, are you ready to leave?”
Juan, “Yes, why you are you so compelled to write this chapter?”
Scott, “Why? I’ll tell you why. My ancestors kicked the British out of Port Washington to land at Conscious Point to prevent a land grab and taxation without representation. It is our turn to take back our utilities from the British, so everyone can know that we will live in a universe of abundant energy freely available to all. Thus, the people deserve free electricity from the creator like with solar power without the government taxing us for it by way meters. This is the goal. No other will do. Is that a synchronicity or what?”
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