CHIVALRY & THE TEMPLAR RETURN - PART 4: The Pope, the Irish, and a Call from St. Germaine

June 18, 2020

 (Pope St. John Paul II)

 

(an excerpt from "From the Gold to the Goddess - The True Story of the Restoration of Chivalry and the Templar Return," copyright Michael Henry Dunn, 2018, all rights reserved)

 

One day as we were sitting in his hotel suite twenty-four floors above the noise and stench of Jakarta, Neil Keenan told me had once received a phone call in that suite from St. Germaine.

 

“The Comte St. Germaine?” I asked. “The legendary immortal wizard and alchemist from 18th century France?”

 

“Yeah – that one,” said Keenan laconically.

 

Keenan habitually made light of spiritual matters, and though raised a good Catholic (as I had been) also liked to make fun of the Pope…in person.  He had gotten to know John Paul II in 1992 while executive producer of “The 500th Anniversary of Christianity in the West” in the Dominican Republic. The sainted Polish Pontiff took such delight in Keenan’s irreverent humor that he would sometimes call him out of the blue at his family home in Rhode Island. “Hey Neil!” his mother would call, “there’s some joker pretending to be the Pope wants you on the phone.”

 

As Keenan told the story, he treated John Paul with the same joshing familiarity as he would the local parish priest, refusing to call him ‘your Holiness,’ but just the customary informal title of ‘Father.’ As in, “Hey, Father! Could you come here for a sec?”

 

John Paul would roll his eyes, but with a smile. “Yes, Mr. Keenan?”

 

“I know you’re gonna bless the huge crowd out this window here in a bit, right?”

 

The event was a massive one, and a crowd of some half a million had gathered from all over the Americas, assembled in the square beneath the Pope’s window. The Pope nodded.

 

“Well, would you mind, when you bless everybody, if you could just turn at an angle here so you’re also facing the beach?”

 

“And why should I do that?” asked the Vicar of Christ.

 

“Well, then you’d also be blessing all the water down by the beach, and afterward I can go down there with a few thousand little bottles, and sell them all as holy water blessed by the Pope!”

 

John Paul had to laugh at this Irish bad boy. “And how if I say ‘no’?”

 

“Well,” replied Keenan, “then I guess I’d just have to sell ‘Pope-on-a-Rope!”

 

“And that is?”

 

“Well, that’s gonna be little bars of soap shaped like your Holiness, only with a little rope attached, so everybody can wash themselves with the Pope without losing the soap!”

 

Like John Paul, I was both appalled and delighted with this aspect of Neil Keenan.

 

He had undergone a ceremony of testing and blessing by the elders of Indonesia in the middle of the night at a hotel room in Bali (the elders refused to show themselves to the public by day at that time). They invoked devas and fierce guardian spirits to see if Keenan could be trusted with the treasure in the bunkers and tunnels, and then invoked their protection for him afterward. The experience had left Keenan in awe – an emotion to which he was not accustomed.

 

“There were these white-faced ladies appeared out of nowhere, floating round the room. And then this real fierce-looking guy just kind of showed up from thin air, right in my face, and stared at me really hard, looking right through me. They said they’d been waiting for me, and needed to see if I could be trusted.” Keenan would then shudder, and shake his shoulders, as if he was still trying to shake off the uncanny experience.

 

So when he told me he’d gotten a phone call from St. Germaine, I was half inclined to believe him. The Comte St. Germaine was a documented historical figure, whom the great French philosopher Voltaire had summed up as “a man who knows everything, and who lives forever.” He was counselor to several kings, including Louis XVI of France, and George III of England, and prophesied the Revolution to the French nobility – who had, of course, ignored the warning. Rumor had it that St. Germaine had mastered the art of alchemy, this being the source of his mysterious wealth – enabling him to produce gold from ordinary metal.  Though he had supposedly died in 1794, he was reported to have visited those who knew him personally well into the 1800’s. Rumors flew in the alternative media that he had shown up in the Pentagon at crucial meetings to give advice – upon which he would walk out of the room through a solid wall.

 

 (The Comte St. Germaine)

 

One never knew what to believe in the alternative media – which was precisely what the Cabal intended: to so pollute the stream of reliable journalism with disinformation that the people no longer believed anything. (The tactic is listed in their handbook – more on that later).

 

As mentioned, rumor also had it that St. Germaine had created a vast fund to help humanity through the present crisis – a fund which might have found its way into the Global Collateral Accounts. So the idea that he might pick up a phone and call Neil Keenan in Jakarta made a certain kind of sense.

 

“So he tells you he’s St. Germaine? Then what did he say?” I asked.

 

“Not a whole lot,” said Neil. “He told me I was doing a good job, and that I should remember my heritage.”

 

Apparently, St. Germaine (if it was indeed the legendary immortal – assuming for a moment that such things can be) knew that it would take the strain of reckless rebellion flowing through Irish veins – plus a dash of Celtic mysticism – to successfully carry out the mission to free humanity from the corrupt elite.

 

I have an older brother about Neil’s age, and though our family were 3rd generation Irish immigrants where the Keenans were 2nd generation, our Irish heritage was a tangible element in the heavily Irish West Side of Chicago, even if it amounted mostly to going to hear The Clancy Brothers sing songs of rebellion at Irish pubs on St. Patrick’s Day. My younger brother had married a girl whose parents were Irish-born, and this strengthened our awareness of the long history of the oppression of the Irish and the madly gallant efforts to throw off English rule such as the “Year of the French” in 1798 and the Easter Rising of 1916.

 

I would later learn that my great-grandfather – born in Ireland in 1848 and emigrated to America during the Great Famine – fought for the Union in the Civil War, surviving the Battle of Gettysburg at the age of sixteen. After the war he joined a few thousand other Irish veterans of the Union Army who formed the “Fenian Raiders.” The intrepid and nearly insane ambition of these Irish patriots led them to believe they could free Ireland from British oppression by conquering Canada and negotiating a trade with the Crown for the liberation of Ireland - the perfect example of brazen foolhardy daring in an impossible cause.

 

On the other hand, they had just succeeded in invading and conquering the vast territory of the American South, so they can perhaps be forgiven their hubris. The invasions of Canada which they mounted are credited by historians with forcing Canada to move toward becoming a nation – if only to fend off these crazy Celts.

 

 (An Irish "Fenian Raider"of the post-Civil War era)

 

Thanks to Google, I found this marching song of the Fenians, which my great-grandfather, William Dunn, almost certainly sang as he headed north with his Irish compatriots:

 

            We are the Fenian Raiders, skilled in the arts of war.

            We’ve come to fight for Ireland, the land that we adore.

            Many a battle we have won, along with the boys in blue.

            Now we’ll go and conquer Canada, for we’ve nothing else to do!

 

William Dunn’s great-grandson was now engaged on a mission of the same quixotic scale and foolhardiness – and with the same Irish logic of “we’ve nothing else to do!”

 

Given the situation, the mad foolhardy mission seemed the only logical course – at least to an Irishman.

 

With Keenan, the idealism had a definite self-interest. His original agreement with the Dragon Family stipulated that he would receive 10% commission on any of the $134 billion in historic Federal Reserve bonds which he was able to successfully move into liquidity. Rather than retire as a billionaire to his island in the Caribbean, however, Neil’s plan was to take his $14 billion share and use it to implement a free-energy system in Japan, demonstrating to the world the future of humanity, and knocking the legs out from under the fossil fuel industry (which, of course, was controlled by the same elite factions who exercised a controlling interest in the military-industrial complex, the mainstream media, the Federal Reserve system – and who had defrauded the Global Collateral Accounts).

 

As I studied the strategic situation of Keenan’s campaign to free the GCA assets, I saw that it had that slim but irresistible chance of success which stirred my own out-sized idealistic ambitions. Boiled down to its essence, the campaign actually seemed to offer me no choice but to sign on, for the stakes appeared to be nothing less than the survival and freedom of most of humanity.

 

Neil Keenan and I were opposites in many ways: I am a mystic and storyteller by long practice and a devotee of God in the aspect of the Divine Feminine. My political origins had been classic Chicago Democrat, liberal on social issues, but advocating a conservative fiscal policy. Keenan had been raised Democratic but had joined that generation of blue-collar Democrats who abandoned the party to support Ronald Reagan and never looked back. 

 

Though he had been a star basketball player in college (just missing the cut for the 1972 Olympic team) and had scrimmaged with African-American legends like Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain, he still retained the ethnic prejudice of his upbringing, and was capable of gleefully sharing misogynistic and racist jokes at which I would cringe. He was an unreconstructed early 1960’s jock who had managed to entirely miss the Feminist Movement by moving to the Caribbean and making a small fortune arranging natural resources deals with various power-brokers and heads of state in Central and South America.

 

Along the way he had developed friends in the CIA, while his Rhode Island origins gave him contacts with Italian-American crime syndicate figures. Not a spy, Keenan had friends who were spies. Not Mafia, he had done favors for prominent “families” in his time. Given that he was fighting a battle against the world’s largest and most powerful crime syndicate (referred to in some quarters as the RKM, for Rothschild-Kazarian-Mafia), he would need all the allies he could get in these dubious networks. As this aspect of Keenan’s background became clear to me, I realized I would need to be vigilant about my own ethical boundaries and potential “red lines” not to be crossed.

 

But Keenan and I shared an essential resolve: once we knew the actual geopolitical agenda of the corrupt elite, we made the same determination as JFK – these people must be stopped. And as I traced the long history of that struggle while composing the preface to the Trillion Dollar Lawsuit, I realized that success would necessitate a restoration and revitalization of the founding document of human rights in the West: Magna Carta itself. For the Cabal was on the brink of complete control and corruption of the Rule of Law, the elimination of national sovereignty, and the effective weakening of international law to the point of impotence.

 

And Magna Carta – the first guarantee of protection for the people against the tyranny of the “divine right” of kings – would turn out to have been a “madly gallant” campaign by the original Knights Templar…which cost them their lives in a bloody state-sponsored persecution 700 years before I met Neil Keenan.

 

If I had indeed become a certified “freedom fighter,” it was an ancient concept of freedom for which I fought: the sovereignty of the soul in a direct relationship to Spirit, unmediated by priest or church; and the sovereign right of a free people to live unrestrained by the tyranny of a corrupt oligarchy – whether that oligarchy called itself “the divine right of kings,” the Illuminati, …or the Federal Reserve System.

 

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