Excerpt

1519

East Indies, Age of Discovery

Magellan, the world’s first circumnavigator of sorts, became an oceanic master during his Indian service. 

At age 25, the land lover enlisted in the Portuguese India viceroy’s fleet, who King Manuel engaged to understand Muslim sea power in the local area.

Ferdinand applied himself, along the African and Indian coasts to establish Portuguese presence and earn a deserving reputation as an astronavigation leader.

Then, celestial navigation or the practice of position fixing using stars and other geospatial bodies enabled a navigator to accurately determine their physical position.

By learning the trade routes and winds, and mastering dead reckoning, Magellan was an obvious choice to take command of a royal galleon, but not before he also mastered the ship and its people.

A galleon was a particular sailing vessel originally developed for war; the giant wooden square rig ketch was later adapted to sea life for international trade purposes.

Or, to support the fleeing of governments, businesses and families with all their worldly possessions, which often ended-up on the ocean floor for discovery centuries later, as hungry treasure hunters with well-funded dive expeditions sought rare gold and jewels.

In his mid years, Magellan moved from a military sea role, warning fellow commanders of impending attack to save lives, where he was also found warning the Portuguese establishment to avoid taking ships during certain seasons.

Certainly, the sailor knew his voice, and trusted his ability, which the King came to know too. 

When Magellan asked for the pension raise due to injury, the King accused him of selling out. 

The unfounded charge went to having sold a portion of recent war spoils back to the Siege of Azamor enemy, so Magellan as-good-as told the King to get nicked, and left for Spain.

After all, the crown ordered Magellan, his star recruit, to Morocco, having called him a double thief. 

Magellan’s Spanish bunk was a flagrant court finger, and a few sea Cats followed him including cosmographer Rui Faleiro and Rui’s bro Francisco.

Spain’s King Charles welcomed the crew and Magellan’s strategic-in, which supported the final piece de resistance.

Magellan had originally advised the Portuguese king against continued regional war, per best use of time, money and resources.

It was in their interests to explore the wealth-giving Moluccas, or Islands of Spice.

But King Manuel wanted blood over trade, which later proved a quality Spanish court-joining chip.

If Magellan could prove that the Spice Islands lay west of the 1494 Treaty of Tordesillas line of demarcation, then their wealth would belong to Spain, and not Portugal.

And so in the Year of Our Lord 1518, Magellan and The Falerio Brothers were given royal assent to gather practical proof.

The joint captain-generals were seeking an all-Spanish route to the Moluccas through the hypothetical passage Tierra Firma, and government of any lands discovered was to be vested in them and their heirs including a one-twentieth share the net venture profits.

In addition, the gents would achieve the Order of Santiago: the most prestigious Spanish military religion knighthood.

At which point, Spain lost their mind.

The Portuguese-Spanish expedition was hindered, causing delays that affected relations and meant weather windows for timely departure were missed.

From the other side of the ditch, Portuguese crown agents raged against Magellan’s perceived allegiance transfers, and attempted to wreck the purposed voyage.

Magellan, the walking embodiment of reciprocal smarts, wasn’t having the malarkey, and wisely married a local to calm Spanish gossips, also moving to oust his co-captain Falerio, who went slightly nuts during the armada issues management.

Magellan knew old mate would be rat shit at sea, if he didn’t keep his head, in port.

More than a year later, the newly furnished five ships including flagship Trinidad, San Antonio, Concepción, the Victoria, and the Santiago, departed for charting.

The ships of 270 men departed Spain to sail west via Canary Islands before reaching Rio de Janeiro and piloting down the South American coast. Where no-one had ever sailed before.

Times were largely desperate. One mutinous occasion, Magellan was forced to execute a Spanish captain and leave another to his fate, when the fleet left Saint Julian, Argentina.

When the flagship reached the Santa Cruz River where the fleet Santigo was sunk during her survey, Magellan began south again.

The Trinidad commander rounded the Cape of the Virgins, Argentina on October 21, 1520, which proved to be his mission strait.

The later Strait of Magellan across from the Tierra del Fuego, enabled the sailor to reach the Spice Islands west of Spain.

On reaching the ocean through the strait, the watery battle-willed captain and supreme navigator was reported to have sat down and cried with pure joy.

The pioneer had known it was possible and not myth, and subsequently, proved the assertion.

Shortly thereafter, Magellan was killed on a South Pacific island, whereby a Spanish fleet captain Cano completed the circumnavigation with a skeleton crew, managing to avoid Portuguese ships that patrolled seas to sink the Spanish expedition before it could reach home.

As such, Spain doesn’t largely recognise Magellan’s feat, which the Portuguese absolutely detest.

Arguably, Magellan’s dogged 16th century maritime journey deserves remembering, not by any writer, or the establishment, one way or another, or people who aim to measure one against the next.

Magellan was there for sailors, journeyors, who knew the seas or unforgiving scapes. And managed their highs and lows because that was how humans prospered. 

It mattered little if their accomplishments were large or small, seen or unseen. The point was weathered goals, and self-ceremonies to pat your own back with emotion.

For Mac, however, it was a little deeper. She remembered him from her dreams.

Because she’d once sailed that passage, astrally. Waking, reminded of the Land of Fire. 

Having walked out, to find a small raft, where Mac had joined the sea, again.

The dream was an oldie. But it was technicoloured. Most of her visions were like that. And so, she knew.

Mac was from Magellan’s strait: a way-back-in-the-gap connection. Had he sailed through, and spotted her fireplace? Maybe.

What was known, was Mac and Magellan shared the same energy. 

A pioneering spirit that refused to say die, when those with money and power came against, all their type held dear, per truth.

Their stories also proved another fact.

Magellan only did what his predecessors like Columbus and John Cabot had done, when lacking the opportunity to pursue goals under the sponsorship of their own country.

They, like Mac, looked for professional support elsewhere. And got it.

Because blind nationalism of men and women who pledge themselves to places, and not people also seeking to grow socially, politically, economically and environmentally, was redundant.

And Mac was far from dispensable. As the establishment was about to understand.

May 2025

Angel Class: Uriel

Mac saw Arch Angels.

But then she was an angel, sent by God and His Angel family to receive and pass the word.

Humans weren’t a fan. Sick people rarely like truth, which didn’t require a determiner. It’s not like she could help it. That was the job.

Do plumbers like being called to unclog shitty pipes? Fuck no. But they did because they were professionals.

You don’t hear many plumbers calling the Boss to explain, yeah, I took one look at the crap, which had exploded out of that cistern, and woah Nelly! Boss, I ran from the that bitch, like my life depended on it. In the future, I won’t be attending any shit-fights. By the way, I need an advance on my pay this week. Thanks Boss, you’re the best.

One of the reasons Mac was still alive, was Source hid her well during the final stages of her Ascension.

And when He assigned her more Guides. She had access to all the Ascended Masters now, and they vied to share their knowledge.

Mac was often wrapped with the little things in life. She could often be found no waying the Heaven out of, what she knew was pure magic.

A sunset. No two were the same.

Rainbows, all jazzed with light from a sunshower.

Toddlers who channelled God.

She’d travelled to a hot springs in Queensland, during the past year and someone’s young girlchild left her gaping.

Daddy, why is the Sun looking at me?

Moments before Mac had psychically connected with the 7-year-old about the kid’s ability, which she then proved to her father.

Spirit often referred to Mac as the Tarot Sun card, or the brightest Earth Star.

In fact her first reading, the American with black snake tattoo adorned arms had drawn the Sun, High Priestess and Death.

This child proved her telepathy skills, and it was on the tip of her tongue to advise the parent, his child was extraordinarily gifted. But she left it.

Her only parents had known she was, and tried to infect her with their pathology, Mac’s whole life.

Her own father had once written in her baby book, that she could achieve anything.

And it was true, to an extent. Uriel the Red Angel, had come yesterday. Mac was Uther Pendragon, born again.

He’d shown her, lent her, his flaming sword of truth, which she was to wield for a couple of reasons, including to guard the Garden of Eden from fake Adam and Eve attending.

Divine counterparts were under her protection as they were responsible for leadership in the Age of Aquarius.

The knights of the Round Table, per Pendragon had the same energy as Buddha, Jesus, Martin Luther King, Winston Churchill, Ghandi, Muhammad Ali, Marie Curie, Gorbachev. So on.

It was no surprise, she wielded Excalibur.

Leaders of the Free World bore a heavy burden, but such is the nature of true power.

Which was the definition of divine wisdom and knowledge, which God gave her without reservation. Such was their relationship. She stayed incredibly close to Him, and all sent to guide Mac on the path.

Man lied. But his energy didn’t. As she moved closer, their sickness was seen and felt.

She trusted the spiritual activity increases, in and around her, to push her away from the Devil, who sent whores to her door.

There was however, one unit’s presence outside, that was entirely welcome.

The global taskforce, or counter terrorism unit, were in full force.

And the Shallow State that aimed to kill and destroy her existence because the messages that Mac received from God about their evil practice and process, proved that she was guided by Source.

Nazi’s or Shallow State were obessed with the occult and Holy Grail since the dawn of time.

She as God’s favourite messenger to end their reign of terror via the CIA and their proxies, was enemy number one.

As the 3D taskforce that investigated Shallow State and their sharp claws per her work, reputation, values and movements, it became evident that they were working with the highest levels of global government corruption and their preferred bedmates per Cartels, Mobs, Mafia, Yakuza, and any other criminal outfit who could further their true intentions, with whatever means.

The truth was even more shocking.

The worlds richest paedophiles owned and operated the CIA via Shallow State, who were also deeply involved with the most evil terrorists on Earth.

It deeply disturbed Deep State, who could be considered the real CIA, that Shallow State, in their very midst, were working against their primary function.

If Deep State existed to rid the world of Bin Laden’s, the knowledge that internal Nazi-like factions had direct access to their ranks was mind-blowing.

It was one thing that they had pedo’s running intelligence operations via sub rosa projects against God’s gifted, like Mac.

It was another thing entirely, that those intelligence pedos were funded by ISIS, Al Quada, Proud Boys, KKK, and more.

Mac was a direct descendent of Jesus bloodline. How a bunch of CIA pedos and failed PMCs running a sub rosa operations against the Rose Line, was going to work, mystified her.

And drew her closer to God. If He had the answer, then the gig was to get closer to Him, and listen. Or study. Which was the same thing.

Her process was solidified in coming days, as she clearer her energy, left toxic places, people and things behind, called a spade just that, and let the professionals do their job.

She was a psychic investigator with high spirital rank. Mac had spent 6 years proving true intelligence, which had shown those in positions of power, that forces moved against them and their purpose.

They could do with the information and direction to actual enemy ranks, whatever they desired.

She had no dog in the fight, outside what they’d tried to do to her.

But Mac wasn’t interested in staying to fight for the money, time or resources that they stolen. Because Divine beings know the truth.

There was no price on peace, health, self-love, pure energy, wisdom, or any other spiritual gift that could be nutured in Mother Nature, working on her Ancestoral connection and continuing to heal.

In her professional life, as a transformation and project manager, Mac refused to waste time, money and resources on that which failed to protect life. Hers.

She was a walking, talking reprentative of the Book of Eli. Mac’s mission was now, to protect herself, until she had the necessary funds to build the global online school.

And she would. God had assured her, this mission was the goal.

So Mac sat down. And worked.

January 2026

Australian High Country, Day 5

Mac was an experienced HALO jumper. 

With decades of training and qualified missions that necessitate hiking behind enemy lines, Mac thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment. 

Especially as a autonomous asset, who was early insertion and largely, self extraction. Per God.

Mac might have pioneered her mission status but she did rely on her tools and training to ensure ongoing efficacy including lessons learnt, which were taken seriously.

Post combat, she fully engaged herself to determine agenda achievement, and on-deck risk and issue management that identified improved workarounds for ongoing success.

As such, Mac’s pressure suit for icy conditions became high density over time, so God and her Ancestors became increasingly confident in Their protege. 

Which meant Mac was required to move from student to master, and back.

Spiritually, it was the only recourse for a lead of great social, political, economic and environmental import. Which the enemy knew, otherwise, why come so hard.

And they did, causing Mac great mirth.

It was a little known fact, bullies and their spectrum entity attachment issue got her giggle goat. 

Australian are renowned for laughter. It’s national ethos. 

Mac could only explain the situation, by way of the legendary ANZACs.

During WWII, the Aussie contingent deep in French and Egyptian trenches highly confused the Germans and Italians with their enemy force derision.

Your leader’s got one ball? How that working out for you…

Later learning it wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination.

Australian and Kiwis per Art of War, had easily got inside the heads of opposing combatants, which was the gig. 

And why you never went to war with ours.

They don’t give up, they don’t give a fuck, what you think and they rely on humour, or Tom Foolery to hide their smarts.

Which often saw the enemy step into an unwitting trap, from which they’d never free themselves and thus, slowly die, if not wait for the authorities to haul them off.

Get a criminal to lose their shit, or play themselves out of position per ego, and you had them.

Mac had them, all day. Truly, beware the goat acting the goat.

Still, people have to make mistakes, and learn of their own volition. 

That was how life worked, and why Mac loved to work solo, personally and professionally until brains, and beauty presented. 

Which was brains in different packaging, because beauty was always an inside job. 

She didn’t think it was that rare, given 80 per cent of the world lived on less than a daily dollar, and in her experience, the people with the least, were often the kindest.

But the poorest weren’t winning headlines and community stories that withered as fake love jostled for a write-up, they got more often than not.

So Mac stopped reading the papers, she once consumed and wrote for, and looked to the streets for quality energy from people with a yarn, who Mac could engage to learn from.

Which was the only point to life.

Bullies were a dime a dozen.

Deep souls made of gold, who were willing to share their life’s work, for better or worse, were kin.

And they were there. All you had to do, was live the HALO jumps, and constantly pan in the river of life.

Because as Heraclitus said, that river is always changing.

You’ll never step into the same, twice. If you took the lesson, and shared the work.

January 1987

Mt Carmel High School, Yass NSW

The 3000 year holy war always begins individually, in small ways. For Mac, it was a raised hand. In religion class, when she was introduced to the concept of God, aged 12.

There’s a man in the sky, who created the world in 7 days.

<hand shoots up>

Ummm, I’m going to need the back story....

Her head teacher Sister Beruite, for the next four years, marked Mac well for inciting classroom debate regards God and all the Bible holds to be true, even if only fundamentally per right and wrong. Parables have that affect.

Always socially-minded, no-one ever explained that these thoughts and associated measures was Christ consciousness in action. 

Like the time, Mac told her English teacher Miss Roberts that the ivory necklace she wore was likely the result of an elephant’s straight murder.

Causing Miss Roberts to bring a portable barbecue to school, the next day, and conduct a small class ceremony to burn the ivory and release the wildlife’s spirit from its African killers. 

The whole event was wonderful, and everyone left feeling lighter. And it wasn’t just Mac, causing justice surprise when calling out problematic behaviour. 

Like NZ who agreed, his throwing a lit cigarette butt into the gutter as she walked by, was fucked. Ensuring ANZAC nation that the environment was to be cared for, at all times.

Mac had that effect. Unless you were causal her wrath. Which, being so close to God, was also His. Given it invariably related to injustice, or crime. 

Crime of people, places and things, entirely undeserving. Like Aboriginal people unnecessarily dying in police custody. Or stealing from the mouths of those, most needy, who were often the one’s to show the most love, even if by giving you, the shirt off their back.

But that was society. And governments. A fast proliferating world where the rich, got richer, at the poors expense, and no one could do damn thing about it. Mostly because they felt inadequate.

Well, not Mac. 

Rarely found, taking shit from anyone, Mac decided quite early in life, hers was a strong, capable pure voice that spoke truth with clarity that no one, especially thieving vultures could deny.

So, Mac joined the school debate squad, in year 8, and never looked back. 

Because one didn’t win arguments. 

Instead, they studied subject matter from all angles, stored the debate material in their giant brain, which they constantly revised to stay relevant, and invariably disposed themselves to people, places and things that enabled the debater to develop whip-smartedness for moment’s notice drop-a-step-to-verbally because that was the gig.

And Mac loved her gig. 

Prided herself on the work that went to becoming a master. Something about such and such hours. People who had time to consider banality like this, had no flow. And she was flow.

The snowy mountain rider took to language, like a Formula One wheelman, to timing. 

Right word, suitable audience, cogent message, that consistently aligned with the who, what, how, where, when and fucking why, was all Mac sort.

In the end, which was really the middle per life, Mac and God were one. She and God finished their holy war, of two.

Mac wasn’t here to debate God about His existence. That would be like, Mac debating herself regards her purpose.

She channelled Him. Not, seeking to be, like some Earth bound knob-job with over inflated ego wanting audiences, above their spiritual pay grade?

God, who was really just a ranked Spirit, like people on Earth, didn’t need anyone to do His job. 

Instead, He needed people to do theirs. And why Mac did hers. He asked. She listened. 

Humans didn’t have to like what He had to say, but that wasn’t her problem. 

She and God remained fascinated by people who refused to listen to the message, placed their value on what Mac looked like, ahead of truth.

These limited types ~ who placed value on money, or someone’s skin colour, or looks over information were self-deriding, where they sought the opposite effect. 

Because intelligent individuals saw the self-delusion and constantly moved anyway from media and those who aimed to hang themselves, in these ways.

It was 2026. Brains were in short supply. 

Mac’s mind, per debate, was only for those with a similar agenda. 

And as a Medium, she couldn’t be gas-lit into developing relations with those Hell-bent on dragging themselves and those they aligned with.

They could lug each other round, all day, everyday.

Life wasn’t for the weak. It was for her type. The progressive, who’d drop anything for health and education. 

The debater’s charter was incredibly simple. Protect life. Hers, youth and the environment. People of age, could do whatever the fuck they wanted. Over there.

Because her soul tribe stayed away from nihilists outside capitalism sans discipline that aimed to burn the world. And that shit was growing at a rapid rate.

January 1987

Mt Carmel Boarding School, Yass NSW

Schools. Mac had seen her share, to various ends.

Home boat schooling to develop land-based correspondence familiarity with a workshop saw bench that Senior converted into a tuck shop, featuring assorted treats, which he mostly consumed.

Then the maths and English seaborn government syllabus for 3 years, which was only possible during fair weather. 

Leaving Mac to read three to four books daily that she swapped onshore for newer tomes each time they sailed into port.

Trixie Belden and Famous Five were go-to characters, who early inspired Mac’s dedication to investigation.

During one stormy stop, Mac joined the Albany primary school. Which just so happened to coincide with the annual wildflower walk.

The school set-off their first 25 kilometre hike day, when the teachers advised the students to pitch their tents on an incline?

So naturally, when torrential rain caught them out in complete darkness, and water rushed down the hill and through the flimsy habitation, all the girls in Mac’s group began crying. 

Except for Mac. Walls of white wall, were her life. And she rallied the troops, the best way Mac knew how.

The teacher later recalling to the folks, Mac started singing, opposed bawling, and somehow the other girls followed suit. 

From age 8, the kid was an autodidact soprano from the sea, where mermaids and past lives came to bear, this incarnation.

Later when the family of four landed on firmly on high dry ground, with Honeychild permanently moored in Southern New South Wales, Mac enrolled at Wee Jasper Primary School. 

Given the choice, Mac opted to repeat year 6, when it transpired her home state of Queensland started their mob earlier than the rest of Australia.

However, her motivation to repeat was more paddock than classroom based.

A fortunate life, saw Mac ride her new-old brown pony Scrumptious to school daily, rain, hail or shine. 

Mac could be found, loving cleaning her tack and the shed of her own volition, and preparing Scrumpy for carriage in the deepest winter frosts, such was her passion.

It was unparalled. And remained so, forever. 

She came from the longest line of horse racers, drovers, military, breeders, showers including Egyptian. Simply, they were her blood.

So much so, Mac’s third business the Wee Jasper Pony Express was incepted to deliver mail between the general store, caravan park and ranger’s hut at Billy Grace Reserve. 

For 50 cents a piece, the gyspy kiddo also hired her mates to ensure the fun was shared and spoils, were equal measure. What would be the point, otherwise.

Sadly, Mac found her next school experience less than fitting, where she learnt the ill nature of toxic female bullying that enabled early adaptation with workarounds to ensure energetic prosperity. 

The ocean teaches a thick skin and Mac was a tough but happy cookie, from a young age.

Mt Carmel girl’s boarding school also allowed Mac to develop her voice in various ways. Annually, she was awarded the musical lead and taught herself to write. 

Poetry, journaling, passing notes in class and study, her autobiography at age 16, school assignments that required lateral thought; anything that went to language was Mac’s proclivity.

And of course, the associated teachers with the same motive. And character.

Especially the one’s who could see her. Mrs Camilleri came to Mt Carmel during year 9 to teach English, media and drama. 

Mac remembered Mrs C for defending her to Mr McGrath, whose problem was Mac’s class groundedness before roll call?

The drama teacher told the science teacher, with Mac present, that taking issue with where kids sat before attendance, was neither here nor there. Which immediately settled the matter.

It wasn’t Mac’s first science teach run in either. Literally. 

Travelling down from home economics to the lab via the smooth wooden bannister at high speed, caught both the 13 year old and Mr Trindell off guard.

Trindell stepped to open the lab door at the exact moment, Mac came off the bannister to land on top of the 80 year old teacher, forever banishing her to his bad books.

Of course, Mac redeemed herself with a funeral solo when Mr T dropped dead from a massive heart attack. She wasn’t responsible.

The truth was, Mac learnt just as much from cranky teachers, as those who inspired her to greatness. 

She was often found explaining, you can learn from anyone. 

Including reverse fools about where to go, what not to do, and how to apply yourself for best possible outcomes. By watching what they did, and refusing to follow suit.

In life, that was the gig. 

As such, Mac had much to thank her primary teachers. The folks. 

A counsellor she saw once, had advised Mac that her parents had let their girlchile down with early life adventure per changed schools and homes. The psychologist had a limited take.

Any person, place or thing that enables growth and the ability to develop adapation is an advantage. 

It provided a significant mental, emotional, physical and spiritual edge. No question. But the edge was predicated on understanding. 

Beacuse to see your existence from multiple angles, ahead development of an ongoing sound strategtic and tactical approach for constant quality movement with lesson to ensure improved methology, was how a true special operator came to pass in the school of life.

Which was the point. 

All those schools, all those teachers, good, bad, indifferent, taught Mac the most lasting truths about herself and the next.

Her types thrival was predicated mastering what she loved, because passion is a driver unto itself. It makes the classroom worth the high road planning and execution.

Sure, it was arduous. But the discipline and delayed gratification made the wins, sweeter. Just like Mac, her Ancestor’s own Honeychild.

December 1983

Galle Harbour, Sri Lanka

You couldn’t tell Mac differently. She’d roamed too far, and it had broadened her mind beyond the comprehension of those, who’d never walked a mile in her shoes. 

Which made her clogs too big, for the small minds seeking to steal them, concurrent to reducing Mac, behind her back.

As such, the Christmas lover was recently found relating her favourite seasonal memory to a gorgeous Sri Lankan mechanic, who’d migrated to Australia for work.

As the automotive rockstar jump-start her beast, Mac told of industrious Galle harbour kids who engineered rafts and cruise the visiting yachts for empty bottles on His b’day.

Except, one small chap had gone a step further with a foredeck Christmas tree feature. 

Look back, how the pint sized captain managed the incredible feat was a wondrous memory. Causing the McKinnon clan to race round the boat, looking for all the gifts the crafty-rafter could manage to haul away.

Much like the Indonesian Java archipelago navigation, where the Macs dropped the pick at a deserted island for a pristine dip. 

The tropical isle was most definitely occupied and the locals came out for a chat.

With no real ability to communicate, except for big smiles showing the native penchant for red beetle nut that they chewed until their choppers gave way, again the family of four gathered gifts including water bottles and extra swimming goggles.

One forward chap motioned to Senior Mac, he’d like tour below Honeychild’s decks? 

The request was agreed too, although on reaching the forward cabin, the lifting of Younger Mac’s large teddy bear to discover the sawn-off shot gun, demonstrate Senior’s dedication to risk management.

Which Senior Mac later display to Mac, per Russian pirate stand-off at the crossing of the Indian Ocean equator.

With the kids, downstairs completing daily correspondence studies in the doldrums, the satcomms completed its 14 hour running fix and began to beep.

At which point, Senior Mac raced-up the companion way, mostly nude, and grabbed the shot gun from the under a sailbag, fired it in the air, screaming pirates!

Unfortunately, the captain had failed to scan the horizon for actual pirates that he might unawares engage, which post Poseidon shout-out, proved true.

Yes, it transpired, both Mac and Senior Mac were both precogs.

The older version, again, raced down the companion way and grabbed the VHF mic, channel 16, this is Victor Lima 8-2-1-7 yacht Honeychild, please identify yourself, over?

A loud throaty Russian laugh came back, with a heavily accented, ahh yes, yacht Honeychild, we have been watching you.

Senior Mac explained the celebration, but none was necessary. 

All sailors who move with zero cares those parts, outside their next formidable breath of wind and how to fill their days ~ outside imagining what they’d be eating and drinking if they weren’t in the middle of the fucking ocean, drifting around wondering what the fuck they were doing there? 

Which bought Mac back to the time, she flew to Mexico for her solo motorcycle expedition. 

Riding through Baja, eating more sand and dirt that one thought was possible, Mac stopped for fuel, just when she thought her luck, had run out. Not so, one Cat to another...

Again, industry is everywhere and a gorgeous local was pumping gas from a 44 on the Pan Pacific Highway, which often dipped into non existence, who thought to asked Mac a question that remained seared in her young brain.

In broken English, Mexico asked Australia what she was doing out there? With all that cactus and sand and nothing for, it seemed, ever?

Mac answered matie quite honestly, which was her way.

I don’t fucking know?

Of course, years later, Mac realised all her travels went to two things.

The gypsy kiddo was a direct expression of epigenetics. 

That unavoidable soul calling that saw her type, a little further down-the-track for growth opportunity to better meet herself, and the next.

Because the next, were her passion. 

Not all of them, just the ones with a kindness and yarn, they were willing to share. Which mostly they did. 

Mac found all you had to do, was ask. And then return the favour.

Storytellers like Mac, were a heartsong. And if you knew that, then you’d never need to wonder why you were anywhere.

Because the answer was self-evident. Truth, beauty and connection were exactly like that.

Before Zero Day

Creation pre-planning

Centuries later, God was remembering a pre-creation planning day. Mental whiteboard, check; butchers paper, check; tea thermos, check; calendar notation, check; assortment of sugary snacks, check.

As such, He laughed when humans bullied their own, when they like God, found themselves working solo to accomplish wondrous feats of imagination that would eventually change the world. For the better.

And where Our Lord found himself, per conundrum.

Knowing it would take a good century or two, for dead family to really come through Spirit side as angelic support with quality messaging and overriding protection, God devised the Arch Angels in Heaven.

Because matie knew he’d be far too busy to lend that kind of helping hand. So like Santa Claus, God made his super charged elves.

Only they looked like gorgeous multicoloured floating light beings that sometimes appeared entirely fearsome because scary more often than not, got humans hip to Himself.

And that was the gig. Yo, up hear, motherfucker! Pun intended. 

Yeah, they would be feeling Him. And if not, bam. That human butt would come Home, for another take. 

Of the Arch Angels, God created their roles from which sub-roles and duties fell out. Hierarchy was important, if only to establish the celestial who’s who boo. 

If the principle was protection, then God created Michael first, because who is like God to wield the ultimate trusting power. His right hand, who could not and would not be bribed to go against the boss man.

Yes. The chief angel Michael was the most feared, and not because he commanded God’s legion. Simply, he had unassailable strength. You could try those closest to him on Earth, and learn.

After all, down the track, it was Michael who cast Satan out of Heaven for trying to purloin God’s gig, which still was causal high angel mirth.

Michael was the cleanest and strongest, sent to effect God’s wrath.

In the end, God decided to create seven Arch Angels and provide them with the power to create angelic underlings, with works that he would endorse. Project management 101. 

They were His subject matter experts. And He was no micromanager. What would be the point. Old mate was already omnipresent. 

After protection, the overarching principles from which God developed Arch Angel objectives and activities included:

• Comms
• Health 
• Education 
• Grace 
• Spiritual labour 
• Quick reaction force.

Gabriel was God’s most fit-for-purpose. Human linguists or those drawn to quality Earthly communication, with His power to hear, speak, sing, yell, rap, and so on, were channeling The Lord. 

And Gabe squarely on their pearly shoulder. Even if they didn’t know.

Especially if they supported children by listening to and protecting them. Kids were His most precious, and often found predicting the future like Gabe.

That’s why healed human with a child-like demeanour, also received God’s protection.

Thereafter Raph was a bit of a trip, for humans behind the eight-ball. Mostly because human’s wounds are largely unseen, and required much work with Gabe to practically effect.

That is, self-talk through pain to process trauma and heal. Oh boy, did humans fear that shit.

Yes, a doctor could perform surgery on an Earthing.

But unless they worked with Raphael and listened to Gabe to undertake healing activities, ongoingly, which mostly saw humans eschewing former unhealthy people, places and things, then the surgery was a moot point.

And humans, God noticed with Raph, were uncomfortable with being uncomfortable. 

How they’d managed to evolve to a place where the herd was set on pretending they were okay with mass profitable death, was whacko stuff. And not the original concept.

And why God encouraged his odd bods to crack-up, have a cry, then piss-off to heal and find a mob who got Him and R.

Next, Uriel or the Yellow Angel, was born of God’s wisdom. 

God is my fire, or illumination. Hallelujah, more or less. 

Those who got heavenly downloads were all ears with Uriel. He helped them to grow, often in the dark, because many of Uriel’s naturals had almost died for sharing his bag.

Uriel and those with his abilities, mostly prophets a la who is over the world, caused some humans to feel jealousy, to the point they would murder to prevent God’s word. Ouch.

Fortunately, Uriel’s peeps had access to Barakel, who came to share grace. Because prophets who outrun attempted murder have short and long term access to grace.

Because generally, wisdom begets itself, or becomes a power, in and of. Per grace. Bara’s gig. 

A blessing, the possessor understands comes from the Divine, which also allows them to see, they are required to show God’s mercy for those who try to cut Him down, through them.

Which is grace, in action.

Which bought God to Jegudiel, or Divine mercy. A superpower, for sure. Because love is the only true source of strength. And only the Devil was suggesting otherwise.

If humans covet and took from food chain arse-enders, then it was self-evident. The FCAEs ability to thrive and have compassion for stealie two-faced weaklings seeking to profit from their demise, quite naturally demonstrate where the power lay.

They knew how the world worked, and weren’t emotional about corrupt systems. After all Jeg encouraged humans to accept people for who they were, while protecting themselves to keep it pushing. Which they did. 

Often His Divine mercy kiddo’s were found to have low expectations of people to remain happy and contented. 

They never placed value in things, which could be taken at any time. Moreover, they invested the spiritual. Because it was possible to grow that personal energy with Jegudiel’s support.

Finally, God’s QRF was Selaphiel. Oh yeh, God had a one man Heaven squad for immediate roll-out. Incepted on the Seventh Day, at the last minute. Made sense.

Post making Adam and Eve, Our Lord decided on a garden sentry. They were, per God, to be rescued from Satan and bought the cave o treasures, lickety-split.

Which matie did, and got a duties upgrade to No. 1 pray warrior who humans would call on to prevent demon attachment or conduct exorcisms. 

Because human were creatures of prayer, whether they knew it or not. 

And not everyone they prayed too, effected the words to whatever end ~ and why God thought their shortsightedness was problematic.

If words and their associated thought forms had the power to create self-imposed programming, which supported own traps, wouldn’t they, through lessons learnt, grow out those man-made prisons?

Much later, God remembered one of his favourites who got Our Heavenly Father, implicitly.

Steve Biko, Earth angel extraordinaire, once told the mob that the most powerful tool the oppressor possessed, was the mind of the oppressed. 

It wasn’t so much what Steve had said, albeit true. 

The point was, Steve had unwittingly called all humans to lean heavily on His mob to reduce, if not straight prevent, the oppressor.

Because an Arch Angel wrap, had that effect.

January 1975

Cairns, Far North Queensland, Australia

Senior Mac only wrote his eldest twice. In his mind, forever, like all returned war vets. And in her baby book: the pink gingham, where he spoke magic over her life.

Amber will grow up, to be whatever she wants.

And Mac did. In large part, because despite the anger, his DNA combined with rich forebears, provided her with all she needed, this particular incarnation.

She never had daddy issues: thank you God.

Yes, Senior was a cranky prick with a belt his kids knew well. But Mac was the balm, her Father required to stand-down at just the right moments.

Whether it was pre-belt, being discovered for having stuffed the kids’ pants with newspaper.

Or catching her Kung Fu foot in the kitchen, mid-goolies kick.

Or providing Senior Mac with the definition of ‘tart’. Later, the virgin he’d tried to gift a franger, as Mac head out the door to her first house party ~ caused high mirth, when the girlchile handed it back and giggled kindly, that she was too young for sex.

All the emotion, good and bad, all the lessons, right or terrible, lent themselves to Mac’s ability to grow well. Because their house, growing-up, was actually underpinned by tough love.

Simply, they were aligned. Outside his desire for control, which is always an illusion for veterans of war.

As such, Mac was also a veteran of war. Gifted his post traumatic stress. Which it was. 

Fear always is. It’s a gift that keeps you sharp. Has you working overtime to ensure breath is drawn. But only if used wisely, so as not to become crippled.

And it wasn’t Mac’s lot to ever be crippled. Her grand fire trine made sure of that. 

The Aries Chiron healing placement, cross God of War Leo, next to her Sage archer North Node, meant Mac was as good as personally and professionally set to stay the action-oriented health and education course.

The course that helped to develop her investigation and transformation consultancy, which she’d undertaken for 30 years before global government corruption had come for Mac’s head, allowing her to enhance mediumship skills per lifelong spiritual practice.

Since being born to an early loving warzone, Mac was ready when Evil with badges and guns presented as faux law.

She hit the road, conducting an ongoing investigation as real authorities began to run the fake report numbers from those being paid to kill her. Until they reach the top. 

And the kill order, had come from there. Which was why, the secrecy order was in full place.

The global investigation team were isolating gleaned intelligence from those on the inside who knew they were tapped, watched and Divined on. Everyone was. 

People with no spiritual chops who thought they could steal her identity and work were also under investigation - even if they hadn’t committed a true crime against her that would be prosecuted. All parts of their lives were being dissected. There was no stone, unturned.

But the most interesting of investigation subsection, was Darren Murphy talking cousin Chloe Hennessy into stealing Mac’s identity to masquerade in a court as her. 

Which Mac’s former Mother thought was a wise move.

In fact, Mac’s brother Heath was also, now an accessory to the fraud. Including her step aunt and uncle Carol and Colin Webeck, and cousin Emma.

The entire family was being investigated for falsifying court documents to paint Mac as a crazy drug affected prostitute in Australia ~ all evidence to the contrary ~ and in New York, where Chloe worked with Darren to steal a US trust fund that was gifted by an oil baron.

Two inheritances and two houses, in total.

Which a friend of Darren’s Lieutenant Colonel Natalie Lamb, out of US Cyber Command, helped to launder, which she also effected for CIA and their cartel mates.

Mac had watched their criminal progress for some time. Amused. Sun Tzu had once suggested to never interrupt your enemy when they’re making a mistake.

So she didn’t. Money was never a motivating factor, for her type.

Now catching criminals, and paedophiles like Darren and his mob. That, that was a completely different story.

The truth was spiritual law is always in effect. What’s done in the dark, will always come to light.

And Mac was the lightest.

January 2026

Australian High Country Day 4

The secrecy act currently in effect, superseded Presidential knowledge. That’s how high, the operation reached.

And the CIA officer was digging into the operational annuls, when he was still in their employ, to inform the current shitstorm.

SEALs were under NCIS protection, civilians cogent to the government treachery were in witness protection ~ often unbeknown to them ~ and all because too many good people had died at the hands of those once-termed bastions of global defence and security. That Mac knew was the ultimate betrayal.

The group that originally came for her, where coached by military and government sex trafficking pedophile serial killers, both men and women, who knew, she would reveal who’s who, simply by standing in truth, to their lies o her.

Some of that mob were now waking to the fact, their former perceived brothers in arms, were exactly who Mac had years-profiled as a dedicated Medium. 

An industry .01 per center. No question. Liars can only manipulate information for so long, until facts emerge. 

The head snake Darren Murphy was someone who aimed to have you kill yourself. The warlock sort souls. 

Trap you in this life, effect your suicide and then, bam, he’d own your soul, on the other side. That’s how dangerous, Mac knew the fake dazzle was. And why he’d stolen her identity. 

They were both Australian, and operators. He just didn’t know, she was better than him. And supernaturally, as a white magician.

Further, as a High Priestess, whose spiritual ranking is over and above a reverse magi, she have her way. Not him, his. 

Darren was for the wood-chipper. Bet.

He was the spiritual equivalent of Osama Bin Laden. An animal whose job it was, to prevent the rise of Divine beings, by preventing soul contracts. Which, until Mac, he was most proficient.

Fortunately, God hides his most precious and when they cross paths in 2012, Murphy failed to see what was true. Before a beard witch well captured the warlock. As is often the way.

Mac was never concerned about contracts that terminated. 

That was life, and the gig was to keep pushing until the right tribe presented. It was about the work. Not about union. 

And Mac loved to work. All of it. She worked in her s