VISION: DANGEROUS AND RADICALOUS

VISION: DANGEROUS AND RADICALOUS
29TH JUNE 2007

Last night, in prayer, I saw this vision.

I saw two groups of people. To the left were those who had swords in their hands. To the right were those who looked like they ran a brothel.

At the far distance, was a witch. By her wicked power, those on the right, who once lived in a decent home, but suddenly found the maintenance of the home too costly, were lured by her into turning it into a brothel. There were those there who wanted to leave but were trapped.

The group on the left had been told that they must be radical, and ‘put to death’ the powers of the witch, and rescue those, who under the witch’s spell lived in the brothel.

At first, the radical group with sword in hand, did a fine job of rescuing those who were trapped in brothels.

The witch was angry that so many were fearlessly walking away from her clutches, because of the expert swordsmanship of the radicals.

So, she now changed her tactics.



She examined the radical group closely and saw that whilst the sword was the strength of this group it was also their weakness. Seeing a chink in their armor, she whispered to the weak in the group, “you must get more radical, and to get more radical, you must get better and sharper swords”.
She would soon change the radicals. She would make them dangerous and radicalous!

Of course, influenced by the weak members in the group, the radicals founded more foundries, and became more radical!
The sword the Lord had given them suddenly seemed too weak to accomplish their new agendas.
They forged new swords in their foundries.
Now, the heat and fire of the foundries, affected their eyes. They did not know that their eyesight was weakening, and hearing being made dull.

In the meanwhile, many residing in the brothel were falling to the ground, because of an epidemic, that was spreading like wildfire, in this abode of ill-repute. Virtue, the antidote to this sickness had been long sold.

Fallen, the sick whispered faintly ‘Dear Lord, help, help, help’. Some tried to walk, others to crawl, they moved hither and thither seeking help, seeking medication. The sickness had made them blind and deaf.

The radicals, in the meanwhile, emerged out of their foundries with their newly forged swords and weakened eyesight, and dulled hearing. They were now bloodthirsty. They heard not the pitiful cry for help or medication by the fallen and killed to their right and killed to their left everything that moved.

At night, by the bonfire, they’d boast, “I killed one, and frightened ten thousand”, another would say, “Ten died at my sword, five seriously.”

The radicals were now killing all that moved past their path, indiscriminately.

One radical not satisfied with knocking down a person, put his foot on the fallen man’s chest, and pierced it repeatedly with his sword.
The fallen man, pointing to the brothel whispered feebly, “help me, and help them to come out of there, we are very sick.”

Deaf to the fallen man’s plea, the radical continued hitting him. “You guys from the brothel, you deserve to die, die, die!”
“Take that and that and that”, said the radical, plunging his sword into the fallen man’s heart.

Horrified, a young man passing by stopped and asked the radical, “How dead do you want this fallen man to be?”
“Who are you? Do I know you anymore?” asked the pained young man of the radical.

This young man, a member of the radical group, had been away fighting with the original sword, when he returned to the camp he saw the new weapons, and the ground all around him, on which lay those slain by the newly forged swords. He was horrified, these were the people, they had been sent to save from the witch’s clutches!

This so disturbed the young man, he ran to warn his team members who were fighting night and day elsewhere, rescuing the poor and the needy, with the original swords. Immediately, they held on tightly to their God Given sword and separated themselves from the radicalous. These would continue to do all that God Had Called them to do, with astounding success.

Next:
I saw the White Dove above in the sky, surveying the death toll of those who had died by the newly forged swords.

The White Dove Breathed down upon those slain, and they immediately rose to their feet, cured and reformed, just as they’d prayed they would be. The swords that the radicals had put away, were now placed in the hands of these and the mandate they had been given was taken away and given to these upon whom, the White Dove had breathed.

When the radicalous repented and saw the error of their ways, and put away their newly forged swords, they would be restored.

Bombay-India
Swarna Jha