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Michael Jackson Justice: Taking His Hand and Taking the Tour

God: Reconnect to Him

The Conspiracy against God is about "The Word", and the profaning of His Holy Name within us. Adam fell in the garden, breaking the direct connection to God. Jesus, the "last Adam" was a quickening Spirit, the Word made Flesh, and the only one with whom we can re-establish our relationship with God. Michael's story is still unfolding. He is the one who is, is not. But Jesus is the only name given under heaven by which we must be saved. Many are trying to rewrite HIStory. We were given a help to instruct us. Learn more "here".

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Taking His Hand and Taking the Tour

The Conference Room

"23. And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom.

24. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame."

There was nothing to sit on in the room.  There were no chairs, no tables, no windows.  It could have been the interior room of an insane asylum, but it wasn’t.  She knew exactly where she was.

She did not know how long this would take. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to do this.  They had been working on her for months to arrange this meeting and now she was thinking this was the dumbest idea.  She could still hear those encouraging words in her mind –

“You are so close, and it’s not like you would be meeting with people you don’t know.  You’ve worked with them all before, they know you, you know them, you just never met.”

Yeah.  Sucker.  The old doubts crept back in.  What if they were lying to her?  What if this was just another ploy to take control of her facilities and resources?  She was here alone.  No representation, no friends, nothing.  Not even any furniture to sit on.

Of course, if she HAD representation with her would she trust them?  Did she even have any friends?

How can one woman with so many people around her every day feel so completely alone?  She felt panic start to creep in.  Where was she and why was she doing this?  Why did she agree to this?  This was wrong!  Wasn’t it?

She looked around the room.  Any NORMAL conference room would at least have a table set up in there with chairs.  What were they supposed to do?  Sit on the floor?

She smiled.  Screw it.  She sat down, Indian style, on the floor.  She began to rock on her folded legs.

No.  Don’t do that. They will think you are nervous when they walk in.  She stopped.  She tried to remember what she was supposed to do when she got nervous, but she didn’t want to follow the wrong instructions.  The wrong instructions could lead her astray and she wanted to be mentally alert when they began arriving.

She remembered the names of the people she had been working with for several months.  All of them just like her.  They had different jobs, but she was never aware of where she fit in, in the whole process.  And until the last year and a half, she didn’t really care.  But something crawled into her head that she wanted to know where she fit in the chain of command. 

It started during a dream she had two years ago.  She dreamed of standing in a hotel lobby with hallways that lead out from the lobby, like rays of a star that shoot out from the center.  She was standing in the lobby, fearful of something but not sure what it was.  She was stuck.  She knew she was supposed to go somewhere, but she didn’t want to go.

The dreams continued.  Same hotel but sometimes she would chose hallways to walk down.  These hallways had doors on either side, all of them closed.  She couldn’t open the doors because they were all locked.  Only one door in each hallway was ever unlocked and as soon as she would open it, she would wake up.

Hall of Doors

The dreams became more vivid.  She could soon open all the doors and walk into rooms without a key.  This is how she met the others.  She got to know their faces.  At first their eyes were filled with apprehension and distrust.  But Nancy saw pain in their faces, and fear, and abandonment and oppression.  For the first time that she could remember in all her life, she could feel for other people. 

She learned through her helper that these were her co-workers.  She originally thought they were all in some sort of a power struggle.  That they viewed her as a threat.   She thought they wanted her job.

Now she knew better.  Now she knew they were not out to get her, they were just fighting for survival as she was.  All of them living through the same nightmares and horrors.  She cried over them, prayed for them . . . THAT is what she was supposed to do when she got nervous!  Pray!

They had all traveled the same hallways in the same hotel many times and had been through the same rooms doing the job they were trained to do.  There were times when one job got handed off to the other, but they never actually sat down and had a conversation.  Sometimes they would run into each other, and that is when the conflicts started.  It took forever, but after many, many separate meetings, they all began to see that there was one common source of their problems and that the truth was, they all needed each other.

Nancy sat on the floor .  She stretched out her legs in front of her and leaned her head forward toward her chest to pray when her eyes caught those familiar dark spots on her shin.

Between her left knee and her left ankle, Nancy had three perfectly spaced dark freckles or moles.    They ran in a straight line down the center of her shin, right along her bone.  She had the same dark freckles on her left, upper arm, in a perfectly strait line, down the center of it along where her bone is.  All her life she never paid attention to them.  It was not until recently that she learned they were not normal, random freckles.

She knew some of the others knew more about those freckles then she did.

She closed her eyes quickly, squeezing them shut.  She needed to calm down.  No way should she be thinking about THAT.

As she began to pray she felt something.  The air in the room changed ever so slightly.  She opened her eyes and saw a man standing in the room with his hands folded in front of him.  He was her helper.  Nancy got to her feet and before she could ask who he was, he answered, “I’m acting as your mediator.  I was called to help you greet your co-hosts.”

Nancy wrinkled her brow.  Cohosts?  Is that what they were called now?

“None of them are here.” She told him.  “I was praying.  I was nervous”.

He smiled almost shyly.  “There is no need to be nervous.  You’re in charge and they know that.  Honestly?  I think they’re just relieved.  They know they are coming home to rest.”

Nancy smiled.  She had never been in charge of anything before.  Maybe that is why she was nervous.  She had only previously co-existed.

“Are you ready for this?” He asked.  Nancy began to fidget with her hands, so her helper came to her.

“This is necessary before we begin”, and he walked toward her slowly, leaned toward her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, giving her a hug.  She burst into tears.  This is the way it was going to be?

Her mediator held her tightly.  He didn’t pat her back, he didn’t speak or try to convince her to stop crying.  He just let her go.

The hug gave her strength.  It was like she was plugged into an energy source, infusing her with a sense of security and purpose.

She pulled back and looked into the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen.

“I didn’t know my mediator would be you.” She said to him.

“I guess I got promoted.” He smiled.

“What do I call you?” she asked.

“Matthew is good enough”, he replied.

Both of them heard the door open and they stepped back from each other.  Matthew walked over to a woman who looked very similar to Nancy, only she was a couple of years older.  Her facial expression was tight and pinched.  Her hair was pulled back severely away from her face.  She looked around the room distastefully, then down her nose at Nancy.  Nancy wanted to recoil.

“Where are the chairs and table?” the woman asked, “I thought this was supposed to be a conference?”

Matthew took the woman’s hand and led her within three feet of Nancy.  “Esther, this is Nancy.  I told you about her.  Nancy, you know Esther”.

Nancy looked into Esther’s eyes.  She saw herself looking right back at her with distaste.  Nancy remembered to keep looking her in the eye, don’t back down.  She knew this was going to be hard but she had to remember to keep love in her heart.  Esther was the same as her . . . wounded.

Esther did not back down but her eyes began to soften.  Finally she looked at Nancy’s right hand, reached over and took it.

“I don’t like the hallways”, Esther said to Nancy.  “This is the first time I have ever been to the conference room and I have been down these hallways millions of times.”

“Me too”, Nancy answered her.  “This is the last time.  We’re family.”

Nancy would not let Esther shake her hand.  Instead she pulled the woman to her and hugged her warmly.

Esther accepted the hug stiffly at first.  Nancy wasn’t sure she would break but finally she felt a yielding in her posture and surprisingly Esther hugged her back.  Nancy could feel Esther’s sharp intake of breath and out it came.  Everything.  Every bit of pain and anguish Esther had been keeping back from everyone.

Nancy said to her, “We are one, you know that right?”

Esther sobbed loudly and uncontrollably.  Nancy thought to herself, this is harder to handle then if Esther had given her a fight.  Nancy’s tears intermingled with Esther’s.  Nancy looked toward Matthew who was watching with a look of serenity on his face.

When Nancy opened her eyes, Esther was gone, but she could feel her inside.  Oddly it gave her strength.

It was Matthew who spoke first, “Nancy, Tabitha is here”.

Nancy said to herself, “Esther fought for her.”

Nancy was met with a look of compassion and empathy from the face of a twelve year old girl.  Matthew led the girl who tentatively followed him toward Nancy. 

Nancy and Tabitha had met before so both knew why they were here.  Tabitha smiled at Nancy.

Matthew’s smile broadened as Naomi, Phebe and Emma entered the room.

The Fractured Mind

Naomi was a gentle, softspoken girl who was super-focused at her task, Phebe was a seven year old girl who’s bright eyes could reflect a soul right back at them and Emma was the one who had convinced Nancy that it was time to bring them all together.

One by one, Nancy hugged the girls, crying out the memories of their pain, their distrust of one another, and the years they had been pitted against each other to keep them from uniting against their real enemy.

Matthew had guided this process of uniting them.  Each battle was the shadow of a larger battle. 

Foreshadowing to infinity

The Conspiracy set in motion, beginning from the infiltration of chemicals to set the cells of the same body against each other.  The same pattern played out in the battle between personalities in the same mind of one person, people against each other in the same family, families against each other in the same neighborhoods, churches and organizations.  Organizations against each other in the same cities, cities against each other in the same countries . . . all the way up to nations against each other on the same earth while the devil works at dividing what is God’s in his vain attempt to conquer.

Love had already won.  God defeated the devil with love.  And love will heal the divisions from the nations of the earth all the way down to the minds and the living cells of one human being. 

Nancy turned toward Matthew with the soft look of a child that finally found the answers.  She felt each of those girls unite within her.  She felt them dwelling, finally happy and secure, no longer enslaved within the hallways of a hotel that never met up until they found at the center, the conference room within the lobby, like the center of a star . . . Like spokes in a wheel flaring out from the hub.  They were now all one.

Spokes in a Wheel
Compartmentalized, never meeting

Nancy remembered it all.  She remembered the pain. She remembered the humiliation.  She remembered the cold water, the hot electricity.  She remembered the abuse, the cat-calls and torments.  Nancy saw hell.  She lived it. 

Matthew was the one who awakened her.  Matthew showed her love, where it came from, who created it and her.  He showed Nancy how everything was made with it.  He led Nancy to the book where the answers were.  He  opened the doors in her mind one by one, where Nancy finally learned of and helped free the others.

Nancy took a deep breath. She could feel her diaphragm tighten.  Her nose started to sting and her eyes were getting hot.  She looked toward Matthew and smiled.

“We are all one” she said to Matthew.  “They’ve been a part of me all the time.”

Each of their memories and feelings were no longer separate from her, no longer compartmentalized in their rooms, traveling hallways alone to take information from one room to another, to be dropped off for pickup.”  Now they were free.   

Nancy crumbled to the floor as the sound of the doors flying open and the walls disintegrating became deafening. 

A wind came and took the powder of what was left of the walls and the doors.  Nancy covered her eyes from the bright light.  She fell to her knees with her hands on her eyes.

When she opened her eyes she was on her hands and knees in the grass of a field.

She stood up in the field she saw in her dreams.  There were butterflies flying about and slight breeze blowing the grasses of the field.  It was very bright but no matter which direction she turned she could not find the source of the light.  It was all around her.

“What are you waiting for?” she heard a soft, male voice speak.

She turned and found herself in front of someone so beautiful she wasn’t sure he was human.  His face looked familiar but she couldn’t place it.

“Do I know you?”

He responded, “You will remember when its time.  But for now they need you back.”

She looked at him puzzled.  “Back?”

The man began counting, “seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . . three”, and as he counted backward, a white mist surrounded Nancy until he was completely concealed from her vision, “two . . . one . . . awake”

Nancy opened her eyes, completely disoriented at first.  She was laying in a chair slightly reclined with her feet up.

Slowly she remembered where she was and why she was there.

“How did it go?”  

“Don’t you remember?” Mike asked.

Nancy did remember.  She remembered all of them.  “They’re all in here, but they’re gone.”

“No, they’re not gone”, Mike said, “They are just part of you now.  Blended if you will.”

Michael In the Mirrors

“Blended”, she repeated.

“You’re lucky” Mike said to her, helping her up out of the chair, “Most people I work with have a lot more alters to negotiate with.  But the conference was a success and you are in control.”

“Forever?”  Nancy asked.

“Forever.  But I need your help. There are others.”

Nancy shook her head.  All this time, everything she suffered, she never believed it was not the norm with everyone.  “When will they be freed?”

Mike responded, “There will be a day, trust me.  For now, we just save as many children as we can.”

She began to walk toward the door.  “Next week?”

Mike shook his head no.  “Make it next month.  I want you on your own for a while.  See how you do.  If you need me, you know how to call me.”

Nancy smiled.  “The conference room is closed.”

Mike smiled back, “We have lots of doors to unlock.”

Nancy shook her head yes, “I can’t believe it”, she whispered

“What is that?” asked Mike.

Nancy smiled and rolled her eyes toward Heaven, “I can feel it.  I love them and I can feel that.”

He looked down at the floor, knowing that feeling.  He snuck a glance upward, smiling at her, “I told you . . .”

Michael As a child
Waiting for someone to unlock the doors

"Truly . . . I’m scared . . . I’m scared"
Can we help them?


  1. Hi Bonnie. Be calm. I know that I am not allowed to make comments on your blog anymore. And I respect that. I just want to end things in a positive way. That is why I am writing this message to you. And I want to do it in a MJ kind of way, with music.

    To God - ♪ "Bosson - "Efharisto" ♪

    To Bonnie - ♪ Bosson - "It's Not Over Yet" ♪

    To MJ - ♪ Bosson - "One In A Million" ♪

    To the world - ♪ Bosson - "Wake Up" ♪

    From MJ to all his fans, friends and family - ♪ Bosson "Guardian Angel" ♪
    (I don't think MJ will be mad if I dedicate this song from him to everybody he loves and everybody who loves him. IF he is in heaven I am sure he is watching over and protect all of us like a guardian angel.)

    I guess I just try to thank you Bonnie for opening my eyes. And I do it with a Bosson song. I hope you listen to those songs above. God bless you. (this is not a post so don't be mad and think I disrespect you. I just wanted to say thank you for everything. And I will continue to read your blog. I started this message in a MJ kind of way with music. I think I will end this message in a Linda kind of way. Peace

    1. Hi Susanne,

      That is a nice sentiment, thank you. I had to look up the song because I don't know it. I don't know what a "Bosson" song is so maybe you will tell me?

      God Bless you always - Bonnie

    2. Hi Bonnie. You said, - I don't know what a Bosson song is?
      Bosson is an artist/singer. His father's name is Bo. So he thought Bo's son, Bosson will be my name as an artist. He started his career imitating MJ if I remember it right. I think he's known in the U.S but I'm not sure. And I think he is signed at Capital Records. I could be wrong though. I never do research. Have no patience to do that.

  2. Paris was right . . .

    The Whole "Michael" is NOT MICHAEL!

    Monster and Breaking News is bullshit. The LYRICS are not even Michael's. Why would Michael regurgitate lyrics from previous songs like he had no imagination???

    Who they hell wrote these songs? Jason? Cascio? Teddy Riley? Tommy Mottola himself?

    None of you guys can write songs without borrowing ideas from Michael's previous songs as long as you have been in the business?

    Blake . . . THANK YOU!

    1. Keep your head up, Monster, Breaking news - VERY fake fakes.
      Like you, I'm lost as I have NO IDEA why Cascios made this
      (yeah, if it were them, they looked partially stoned
      on that interview, who and why told them to run around
      saying Michael was recording that in their basement? Riley
      now avoids talking about these 3 tracks)
      Any, any worthy explanation? Is it pure money love?
      Just that? I'm confused. $ony has all MJ material now,
      real material. I just can not explain these tracks,
      they are so annoyingly fake and wrong.

      Frustrated Anonymous.

      P.s. elsewhere, it's a lovely blog above :)

    2. Hi Anonymous,

      I remember back when the Michael album was coming out, almost ALL the songs copyrights were under someone elses name. I'd have to go into that folder to get the name (Steve somebody?) copyright with Michael's estate. Just on the two songs checked out above, Monster and Breaking news, they are pathetic copies of some of Michael's other songs and in no way Michael caliber.

      Cascio's said that Michael built a recording studio in their house . . . Yeah, maybe SONY built it with Michael's MONEY!

      Cascio friends . . . where were you on July 7, 2009? Where were you on September 3, 2009?

      I don't know if I have a WORTHY explanation, because I'm not on the "inside" (thank God), but I have a POSSIBLE explanation and I will be posting it shortly.

      I have just started reading the book by Karen Moriarty and I'm only into the first chapter. Already I see names of people that were NOT on Michael's side . . . but I'm going to TRY to read this with an open mind. Sometimes I can find pieces of information in amongst information that is false. Wish me luck :o)

      Sony does NOT have all MJ Material. Michael would have found a safe place for all that. Michael's smart. I believe the role they gave Michael he played to perfection . It's not like he didn't warn them.

      Thank you very much

  3. Bonnie, I knew what kind of "walk" we were about to take and I didn't know if I could handle this, but we can't stop now. What you wrote below shook me to the core and I felt a weight pulling on me:

    "You are so close, and it’s not like you would be meeting with people you don’t know. You’ve worked with them all before, they know you, you know them, you just never met."

    This sent a chill through me. Nancy, Esther, Tabitha, Emma, Naomi, Phebe...Michael. He knew them all! We have to keep going, not just for Michael, but for every child he tried to help. Alters are trauma based survival mechanisms. He was robbed, Bonnie - robbed of something so precious, and no one is paying for what they took from him!

    I am in love with your child drawing of Michael! When I first saw it, I was stunned by the accuracy of those big, sad and innocent eyes, and the way the tears appear to be "pooling" on his lids before they fall was a unique touch and made my eyes tear up. You even got his cute little nose exactly right. Hear that, Michael? Your LITTLE nose! So don't listen to anyone else but us, OK?

    "Scared of the Moon" - there is so much to reveal in those lyrics that I never realized before. The pain and fear - Michael knew what he was writing about. At first listen, you tend to get carried away by the lilting melody and Michael's sweet voice. But as you listen to the lyrics, the music becomes more ominous and less playful. A fairy tale it is not.

    Well, after throwing my mouse around and stubbing my toe kneeling under my desk half a dozen times tonight, I finally got my internet back! It was definitely the wireless router that was defective, so I'm back on my original connections. But Mom's laptop had to be disconnected, so I told her to lug it around outside and try to pick up a signal from someone else down the block. Come know I'm kidding! Gil will solve the problem for her, but I'm cruising again!

    By the way, Bonnie - I showed Mom your drawing and she was very impressed. She had no idea you could sketch and said you could make real money doing that. She really thought you got Michael's eyes perfect. Do you know how difficult it is to capture the essence of someone's eyes? I've seen other artists try to do Michael and it never quite makes it. The eyes are either too small, lacking expression, or one eye is crooked. But I keep looking at that picture above and I see Michael in there. It's one of the best drawings I've seen anywhere. Congratulations!

    1. Hi Micheline,

      I hope you can handle what is coming, I hate this! I have to put this shield on to go into this kind of research and pretend Michael is just some person I don't know. Then once I'm in I have to take the shield down because I need to FEEL to understand what he was going through. It's like throwing down your defense weapons AFTER running into the middle of the battle.

      That picture of Michael I drew in 20 minutes (all pencil. I have not had charcoal or pastels in the house since my children were old enough to grab stuff off the table and stick it in their mouths). The drawing is actually darker in person. The scanner doesn't show much of the shading I've done, but yes, I agree with you. His cute little nose is precious. After I drew the picture I put my own nose against his on the paper and his eyes are right there. Ed said I was too heavy on the eyes, but my eyes have always stood out on my pictures. I have to fix his upper lip but other than that I am happy with it for a pencil drawing.

      You had me laughing, I had this mental picture of your mom walking up and down the street, aiming her laptop at different windows of all the houses looking for a connection, LOL!

      The eyes are the windows to the soul . . . and as Jesus said, the eyes are our light.

  4. WOW! That is a beautiful picture you drew of Michael, Bonnie. And like someone said, those eyes are just like Michael's. The song, 'Scared Of The Moon' really touched me. It's like the song is speaking for the child who is abused, afraid and crying out for help. It seems like Michael is singing the song from his own experience.


    1. Hi Miss P!

      Awwww! Thank you for saying that. I don't draw as much as I used to. Michael has beautiful eyes. You would think they would be easy to draw but they're NOT! He always has a lot going on inside them and trying to bring that out on paper is hard. His eyes come out at you and pull you in, can you imagine how intense this would be in person?

      I'm going to go further into that song in a future blog. That song was actually the inspiration for the story above. You just close your eyes, listen to the lyrics and you know he is singing about personal experience.

  5. OMG Bonnie, is it your drawing?
    It's wonderful! You see Michael. Real Michael.
    People often look, but they don't see.

    1. Hi Anonymous,

      Wow. Your compliment really is humbling. I can feel him and like I told Miss P above, it's hard to bring FEELING out on paper. It's never perfect. I see all kinds of things I want to fix now, LOL! But thank you. Real Michael . . . :o( I wish I could heal him.

  6. مايكل جاكسون x 7


    Michael Jackson - 7 times. I have a picture he drew of a chair like that. Thank you anonymous.

    Are you familiar with Elijia/John the Baptist story?

  7. Bonnie, I also confirm : your feat was to paint little Michael's wounded soul in his eyes & that child remained inside Michael all along : yes, beautiful !

    Alike the surrealist painting pic above, your story could be transposed into such a painting : a scary spiritual journey ending on a quiet though uncertain shore, leaving (to me) a feeling of melancholy despite the bright light touching a spiritual parallel world one may only see through God's enlightment in one's heart : my perception but...probably I missed it all again.

  8. Bonnie, I forgot : you also mentioned in your story bright butterflies. Months ago, you described in a Post that Illuminati groups used the butterfly as occult tatoo for somber purposes. However this most gracious insect is first a creature of God & I see its symbolic rather as sign of resurrection & new birth for I experienced it long ago :

    U.S. Personal experiences with the butterfly symbolic :

    1. Hi Line,

      I had to read your first post, come back and read it again. Wow. You certainly are also no slouch in picturesque speech (or writing)!

      I used to draw pictures of my dreams when I was little. Sometimes the pictures weren't enough to express everything I saw or heard/smelled/touched etc... so I had to write it down and use pictures to describe what I couldn't in writing. To put that story into a picture, I maybe could. The dream I had about the hallway lined with doors was probably the most significant dream I ever had in relation to what is going on now, and this blog. And the fact that Christ was in the only door that was already opened, AND it was the room in which he led me out of the house (it was a house in my dream).

      There as another dream in which there were lots of hallways and doors, and I had these dreams long, long before there was even a Michael Jackson trial. (The first dream I had with the doors was when I was 19), but in that dream, no persons or personalities were in those rooms. Only a pack of women behind me, chasing me.

      Butterflies yes . . . were God's first (as is everything) and the symbolism of rebirth and ressurection is something else God shows us as proof that there is something better in store.


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