Death of a Pope

Updated-Originally published 3/13/13

My story begins with the death of Pope Paul VI in August 1978.

The Pieta

Michaelangelo’s Pieta

I had been gone from New York for several years by then.  My father called me and offered to pay for my flight home for my birthday.  I promptly went to work planning a stop in upstate New York so that I could visit my friend Mary as well.  She and her husband had recently purchased their first home in Monroe.  I could stay with her a day or so, drive over to my aunt’s in a nearby town and then work my way down to Long Island to surprise my mother.

There was a war for my soul early on. My mother’s parents were Greek Orthodox and my father’s parents were Italian Catholics.  The tug of war over my baptism went on for years.  One week I would be taken to Greek Orthodox Sunday school and Catholic Sunday school the next.  I was eight years old when I rejected both religions and  the entire baptism concept.  It was the same year that I stopped going to my Brownie meetings.  Within myself, I had proclaimed it all to be nonsense.  Besides which, I had more important things to do such as care for stray cats.  Animals were constantly following me home.

I paid little attention to the death of Pope Paul VI on August 6th.  The Conclave of Cardinals was about to begin just as my departure date for New York approached.

Pope Paul VI 1978

Pope Paul VI

I landed at JFK and rented a car.  I drove to Monroe.  My first night in the guest room at Mary’s house, I fell into a very deep sleep.  Her house was surrounded by a large piece of property which was heavily wooded.  Houses were spaced quite far apart.  It was so dark and quiet.  I had a dream, one which I will never forget.  This was no ordinary dream.  I was in  possession of all five of my senses including touch and smell.

I found myself in a small jewelry store and it was closing time.  I stepped outside the store and realized that it had been raining.  There were shallow puddles in the parking lot and the air was heavy with humidity.   It struck me like a thunder clap that this wasn’t a dream, it was real.  I had started walking away from the store and I turned back to look.  It was part of a series of shops and as I walked across the parking lot I was suddenly confused because I could see that the row of stores was just a facade.  I was now at an angle to the structure and the structure was not three dimensional.  It was more like a paper cut out.  It was at this point that I was gripped by fear.  Where was I?  What was going on here?

I was now at the edge of some woods and I could hear my name being called.  I followed the sound and entered the woods.  I finally came to a lit billboard and craned my neck to see what was on it.  It was a young boy wearing short pants with suspenders.  I recognized this person immediately.  It was Edgar Cayce as a young child.  He hopped down off the billboard and motioned for me to follow him.  I did and he led me to a clearing in the forest.  My jaw dropped.

I was looking right at the Pieta, Michaelangelo’s iconic statue of Mary cradling the body of the crucified Christ, but she was alive.  She looked at me and caused a newspaper to materialize.  The headline jumped off the page and spun in front of my eyes.  When it stopped, I read the words.  The headline said “The Pope Is Dead!”  Tears began to flow from her eyes.  I could feel her sorrow and it was immense.  Her deep grief confused me.  I finally spoke to her.  “Blessed Mother, the Pope died two weeks ago.  He is with God now.  Why are you crying so?”  She did not answer.  She just shook her head slowly back and forth as if to say “you do not understand”.

Pope John Pail I

Pope John Paul

I woke in the morning and puzzled over the dream all day, in fact, I puzzled over the dream  for weeks.  Why was she crying?  Why was she sobbing? About a week after my birthday, the new Pope was elected.  It took four ballots and finally John Paul, a kind and loving man was elected to be the next Pope.   And not quite five weeks later, there came the dreadful headline “The Pope Is Dead!”  I was sick to my stomach as the meaning of the dream came clear.  Now I understood.  The new Pope, the good Pope, was to be murdered.  I had been given a prophecy that night.  Heaven knew what lay ahead.

Not surprisingly, the Vatican did not permit an autopsy.  And not surprisingly, the Vatican has been shown, in the ensuing years, to have been involved in pedophilia, money laundering and other sordid endeavors.

Father Malachi Martin, one of the few humans on the planet to have read the Third Secret of Fatima, spent much time in the Vatican.  He left in 1964 and gave many interviews in which he expressed his opinion that the Vatican was harboring an ever growing group of Satanic priests and Cardinals.

St. Malachy said this in 1139 AD about the last Pope, the one about to be elected:   “In the final persecution of the Holy Roman Church, there will sit [i.e., as bishop].  Peter the Roman, who will pasture his sheep in many tribulations, and when these things are finished, the city of seven hills [i.e.Rome] will be destroyed, and the dreadful judge will judge his people. The End”

Lightning Strikes Vatican

Pope Resigns-Lightning Strikes

To which I add,  “Amen”

UPDATE: 3/13/13

White smoke at the Vatican, the new Pope is elected, a man so humble that he rode the bus and cooked for himself.  Perhaps these are more survival skills than humility.  Somebody poisoned Pope John Paul I.   Here is an interesting look at Pope Francis’ past in Argentina.  The date of his election should tell you something…in fact, it says it all.