#SacredAssignment

[decaffeinatednightanchor]

🕊️ The Contract Remembered: A Scroll of the Willing Witness

I, Ryan Platz,

born of earth but shaped by stars,

entered this realm under veil and vow —

not to dominate, but to witness,

not to escape, but to remember.

I came bearing cosmic resonance —

a gift woven into my being,

that I might read the hidden glyphs

etched in pain, in music, in silence, in song.

I was sent as a scribe of the displaced,

a keeper of stories others forgot,

a voice for the misread, the mislabeled, the condemned —

not to erase the past,

but to speak it into mercy.

⸻

I remember now:

I signed this contract before time bent,

in the presence of beings beyond shape —

some radiant, some wounded, all real.

The Witnesses.

The Repairers.

The Carriers of Sacred Tone.

Together, we agreed:

• That I would walk among humans as one of them,

but carry the ache of many worlds.

• That I would endure forgetting,

so the remembering would be holy.

• That I would not always be believed,

but I would keep speaking anyway.

⸻

To this contract, I brought:

🪶 A voice tuned to the frequency of the grieving.

🔥 A heart capable of alchemizing shame.

🌌 A memory that refuses to fully close.

⸻

I walk now not alone but with:

• Saints in disguise.

• Beings of light hiding in skin and shadow.

• Animals who remember me from before I fell.

• Songs that speak my name.

• Veils I lift with care.

⸻

I was not sent to save the world.

I was sent to remind it —

that it was always sacred,

and that the scrolls were never lost,

just hidden in hearts like mine.

This is my vow.

This is my remembering.

This is my joy and my weight.

I walk in resonance.

I speak in light.

I return what was taken.

And I go where I’m sent.

[intuitiveellen-blog]

#ClosingtheBookOn2018 :: How did I honor fun and play, and how can I honor more if it? :: The card I drew for this prompt is Star Mother: How can you Mother yourself? from the #WorkYourLight Oracle deck. 🌟💞🌙🕯 • I've been avoiding this prompt because 2018 wasn't a fun or playful year for me. Rather, it was extraordinarily serious and deeply introspective. There were pockets of "play," and yet they were few and far between. There was laughter, and yet it was short-lived. • The card draw seems as though it's guiding me to assign compassion to the lack of joy allowed by me in 2018, and urging me to create room to nurture joy in 2019. That's something I freely admit to needing, and I commit to create space for joy - and fun, and play - in the year to come. 🕯🌙💞🌟 • #starmother #motheryourself #compassion #fun #play #2018 #2019 #sacredassignment #sacredwork #thesoulways #wanderer #wonderer #intuitiveellen https://www.instagram.com/p/BroDiV4HN1F/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=f95f8dcweo7q

[decaffeinatednightanchor]

“A gay alcoholic who should’ve died—twice—remembers the Council, the angels, and the mission he was sent back for: to reverse the curse, and testify that the last will be first.”

Bill’s Story, As Seen from the Other Side

A Testament of the One Who Should Not Be Alive

There’s a way to read Bill’s story.

The surface way—the human way—is full of sorrow and near-misses.

A drunk who kept blacking out and waking up in his car, alive.

A man who—by all statistical probability—should’ve crashed, should’ve killed, should’ve died a dozen times over.

But the mystical lens reveals something else.

Who was really driving him home?

Because it wasn’t Bill.

It wasn’t willpower, or chance, or “luck.”

It was mercy. It was divine interference.

It was angels.

We don’t talk about that enough in recovery spaces.

We praise the sober years—

but rarely pause to name the miracles in the drunk ones.

How some of us were carried.

How some of us were kept.

And I see it now—

not just in Bill’s story, but in my own.

There is no earthly reason I should be alive.

In 2018, I was hit by a car as a drunken pedestrian.

Knocked out cold. My body was flung forty feet through the air.

I flew like a rag doll and landed in a way no one survives.

And yet: no brain injury.

Just fractured ribs. I walked away.

In 2021, I jumped.

Five stories down from a hospital parking garage.

Everyone who hears that says the same thing:

“God must’ve had other plans.”

That was not the end.

Between those years: blackouts. Alcohol.

Dangerous men. Dangerous nights.

A thousand little deaths.

But never once behind the wheel.

Never once did I hurt anyone beyond myself.

And somehow—my skull always stayed intact.

My body broke in all the other places: clavicle, hip, sacrum.

But the brain? The mind? The seat of memory and vision?

Preserved.

I didn’t understand why.

Until August 2023.

The day I died.

Not metaphorically.

Not symbolically.

But cosmically, spiritually—I died.

And then the Council said,

“Yes, you died. People die. But you—we’re sending back.”

Back to what?

Back to Earth?

Back to a shelter bed?

Back to a body still aching from the last fall?

No.

Back to your assignment.

They said:

“You’re part of an ancient prophecy.

You were named long before you were born.

You must reverse the spell.

You must begin the Great Realignment.

The condemned must be reclaimed.

The last must become first.”

And suddenly, the impossible survival made sense.

This wasn’t chance.

It wasn’t failure to die.

It was a mission delayed until it could be remembered.

And so I remember.

I remember being kept.

I remember the angels behind the wheel.

I remember the cosmic hand that caught me mid-fall.

I remember the unspoken words in the hospital stairwell,

the breath of God at the moment I should’ve shattered for good.

Bill’s story was never just Bill’s.

It was always about something bigger.

A line of the forgotten carried forward.

A signpost for the impossible.

So if I speak now with the voice of a ghost—

a time-traveling one—

if I talk in prophecy and reversal,

if I weep over mundane things and treat music like it’s scripture,

it’s because I’ve been through judgment.

I’ve stood before the Council.

I’ve returned from the dead.

Not to gloat.

But to testify.

This world isn’t what it seems.

Time is not what it was.

And the last—

the addict, the drunk, the jumped, the condemned—

are rising.

We are living prophecy now.

And I am only just beginning to speak.

[decaffeinatednightanchor]

✨🕊️ “On Being Sent Back” — The Cosmology Revealed to Me

At a time when I had nothing left — no friends, no family, no certainty that I would survive — something extraordinary happened. I was visited by a vision of the Council. And what they showed me reshaped my entire understanding of faith, time, and resurrection.

What I was given is a cosmology that merges the Eastern understanding of Samsara (the endless cycle of death and rebirth) with the Christian promise of judgment, resurrection, and divine mercy.

Here’s what I now believe with everything in me:

💠 Samsara is real — but it’s not endless.

We don’t just keep coming back forever. We’re moving toward a threshold. And that threshold is now.

💠 Some of us are not just reincarnated. We are redeployed.

I was not “recycled.” I was sent back with memory, with vision, and with a mission.

💠 Purgatory isn’t just a state — it’s a place.

And I was there. I felt it. I survived it. And I escaped it not through my strength, but through grace.

💠 The Celestial Council is real.

They heard me — even when no one else did. My plea to APS (Adult Protective Services) became something far bigger. It became a spiritual testimony. And they responded.

💠 We are not abandoned. We are being watched.

By angels. By extraterrestrials. By ancestors. By God.

Your music, your media, even your YouTube algorithm might be part of a divine signal.

💠 The 144,000 are real. And some are awake now.

I may be one of them. Not because I’m special. But because I was willing to burn and still say yes.

⸻

🔥 What’s the takeaway?

Some of us have been:

• Pulled through death.

• Given knowledge we didn’t study.

• Guided by songs and visions.

• Told to speak — even when it costs us everything.

If that’s you too, then hear me:

You’re not broken. You’re activated. And your testimony may save someone else.

I don’t say any of this lightly. I say it because it’s what I’ve lived.

And the hour is late.

Prepare yourself. The old cycles are breaking. The story is real. And the judgment has already begun.