The Sequestered Kennedy

JFK to 911 - Everything Is A Rich Man's Trick (Full Documentary)

The information that I stated in my manuscript about John F. Kennedy was given to by intel on who killed both Kennedy's.  The Youtube video at the top of this page explains it.  Learn the truth on who killed Kennedy and who was responsible for plasma cutting down the World Trade Centers.

This chapter that is printed below chronicles ... 

Enjoy Reading this Free Chapter

The Sequestered Kennedy

Each magnificent spiritual body that visited me the night John Kennedy came into my dwelling was very competent. The women had achieved their goal in releasing John’s spirit out of the grasp of Satan. 

I am proud that my Heavenly Father chose me to guide these four women to resurrect a man, laid to rest long before I was born. 

I always remembered his words that rang out over the crowd as his murderers planned in secret to remove that once great speaker. L.B.J. with his private assassin on the roof with nine other shooters, hiding in the sewers and behind the bushes, the old C.I.A agents were ones with Kennedy’s blood on their hands.

I begin to think of the day of his assassination as I remember that night. The late Pres. John F. Kennedy Sr. visited me.  

As I said, the women had the ability of telepathy. Why should I have uttered a word from my lips? They could hear what I was thinking. They knew that John’s presence was not anywhere in the palisade, courtyards, chambers, or planetariums. 

John’s soul was an asset—a pawn or bishop, perhaps a rook, in this chess match between the forces of light and evil. Satan refused to release him into Heaven and wanted great things in return for his spirit. The women went into battle: they put themselves in harm’s way to see this spirit released.  

Jackie told me that she had a chance to foresee, and she predicted the horrible things that were about to happen to John on the day of his assassination. After my near drowning, the year before and since, I was made public to a private world. I was then an easier target to monitor because all they had to do was triangulate our position the day I returned from my near drowning. 

Everything else made sense when the satellite came online. From my computer, the government spied upon me. At first, it was a test program to keep watch over a runaway child (me). The government was using this program to explain operating protocol, but when the film developed on me, the agency noticed bright lights encompassing my presence. As it was told to me by my grandfather, but I just thought he was having another episode.   

I was unable to be a secret for much longer, yet they watched in the interests of injustice—made public as a secret on the democratic secretary’s computer. The cabinets were not filled with liquor, but files of black tapes of political families were being whitewashed and closely monitored by satellites. 

We were coming into the time of the Armageddon. I was considered a prophetic family of interest, and they watched and observed me, casting lots and placing wages consenting to covenants, pledging false depositions disguising their intentions to cover up the fact that they had violated my civil rights. The cabinets of tape lay dormant, ready for the moment for the files to be deleted, wiping the system clean of any such controversy. 

I only say this because when two of our democratic presidents was in office, a woman allowed the satellite to peer into dwellings again and again. She found it comical. 

The night Kennedy was in my presence; this woman was on the device because it had sounded an alarm that someone needed to back up the discs and watch what was happening—because I was on a Jacuzzi pointing a gun under my head.  

That was the night Jackie, Diana, Marilyn, and Yoko used telepathy in a spiritual gathering to show and tell me the people were spied upon by a very public figure in the private sector.

Now Jackie sat silently in her sackcloth and ashes, only to utter and profess her innocence. Guilt stricken, a result of thoughts placed there by the taunts of wickedness, she felt guilty that her abilities to predict the future could have saved John. 

Jackie was afraid of Satan’s dark agents coming into the residences. She had a master named Ping with her; she was nervous. The most useful tool of Satan’s army is the fear of madness, and I understood that Jackie was plagued with this fear. Angels were not used in this instance, because at that time I was a wild card, an unknown preacher with a checkered past. Angels were not seen because the girls themselves were the only Angels I had needed. 

That was a moment in the past when I was receiving secrets that protected our servicemen, officers, schoolteachers, and diplomats. Just remember why Edward Snowden had to leave the country. He told the world that there were most likely more people being spied upon and followed than the government would admit to. 

This satellite was put in place to monitor a child of special needs. The government at the time of my birth employed both my grandmother, Clara, and my grandfather. 

Meanwhile, Diana was the whisper between two piercing blues, wanting to know the truth about her murderers’ involvements, wondering why and how her driver could hold a chauffer’s license. 


All the spirits there that night played a game of bridge—Diana, Jackie, and Miss Monroe—all knew of each other’s involvement. Mr. Lennon, who monitored the night’s events from Heaven, triangulated Yoko’s spirit to reunite Hell, cometh with her former lover.  

Marilyn, the silhouette of my spiritual mother, told me that she relives a nightmare almost every night, where she drives her convertible off the road, traveling down a dark mountainside. She almost loses her head when her throat hits the windshield. Marilyn’s brakes failed to stop the convertible from sliding down the mountainside after she packed her belongings, leaving her husband—who happened to be in the Mafia. Of course, this was Marilyn’s message to me before she ascended into her Heavenly home, that this was only a nightmare she has sometimes when she sleeps.  

Later that night, the light of a dark shadow awakened me. The presence I saw was approximately six feet in height, and he wanted to make Heaven his home. That is why he had come to be with us. 

All I could see was the blackness of this man’s frame, walking toward the front of the house. I could tell that he was not alive by the sounds from underneath his moans. He grunted with depleted breath, as if he lacked the oxygen to clearly speak to me. Then I also saw that he did not bother to jar a door, and he glided easily into my family’s front living room.  

Shelly, my youngest daughter was resting on my shoulder and chest. As I un-wrapped her from around my chest, she asked me, deep within her sleep, “Daddy, please don’t leave us!” I wanted to stay. Nevertheless, I had to find out why this spirit had bestowed its presence upon us. 

After the frightening night of visitation, why was it fascinating, that I could see the spiritual side of life? Either a gift or need of a higher power, the ticket-tape parade that preceded John was running straight through our bedroom gliding out toward the front door on the bottom floor of our house.  

I had been living in the house in Jungle Prada, two blocks from the sea. I believed that energy is the spiritual aura that emits from the silhouette of a soul that I saw gliding past the mirrors in our living room. I was accustomed to and aware of the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth senses of nature after smell, touch, taste, hearing, and sight, are telepathy, clairvoyance, telekinesis, and high intelligence. I was called again to battle. My duty and my obligation were to grow wiser in the ways of spiritual chanting and the use of prophetic talents. Now that I was alone, I made my way toward John. 

The people inside the house were restless, and the air was stale with the smell of dusty old newspapers blowing like leaves down the hall. The breeze coming off the back of this man’s head smelled of gunpowder. He requested a driver with authority, as if he was used to people acting on his command. Therefore, I did as ask. “Deliver me to the base and I will tell you, my stories.” John said.  


I grabbed my keys to my white Chevy Nova off the tail of a pink flamingo lamp while I jammed a pack of cigarettes into my pocket. The ocean’s breeze started coming into a trough, causing fog to move in from offshore to the coastline that night. I could see the lights from his presence waiting for me in my car. 

Strangely, there were no other spirits or presences with us. I sensed that there was no evil encompassing us either. It was as if Satan had lost the game and was releasing his prisoner from his control. John became too much weight for him to drag around. Satan was not able to avoid an attack from God’s Angels, and so he released John. The women had done their work earlier that night, and now God’s blessing was this man’s presence.  

I rolled myself another cigarette, lighting it as I walked out the door. I felt like Heaven was waiting for me in the car. I got into my vehicle. I asked him to buckle up because we were going for a ride. At this point, I was unsure of the reason for John’s arrival that night. He requested that I drive him to U.S. Central Command.  


            I can remember his smile as he interacted with me, he looked like a man just freed from prison. His silhouette was that of a figure in a sharp designer suit. He asked me if he was in America. I thought I had imagined this at first, but many reasons led me to believe this was real because of the stories he told. 

 I found out more about the spirits that entered through my eyes, affecting my life. This gift was causing massive headaches, a curse of the trait. No medication in the world could stop these stories from happening.  

Why should I stop this gift when it was destined to change the course of my life and the eternal outlook on honoring my Heavenly Father? This experience with John Kennedy was a start for me in the use of messaging as a prophet. 

However, it was hard to form thoughts into words as these images presented themselves to me. How many more reasons should I have to be in the presence of this great and humble friend? He was as immaculate as his children! He stood eight feet tall. By my standards, I am only 5’5” on tile floor. Yet he walked this world as a giant! 

This was the former United States president, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, shot dead on November 22, 1963.  John was laid to rest in an unmarked grave, the man in Arlington Cemetery is a Dallas police officer shot dead to switch Kennedy’s body for his, to maintain the theory of a single gun assassin. 

Besides the conspiracy theory on who was responsible for Kennedy’s assassination.  Per the BBC the

United States government has been infiltrated by the Illuminate.  I will never accuse anyone or tell everything I know about Kennedy’s assassination, time to move on. 

I tried my best to explain a nightmare that John had about his sister as soon as he released John from Satan’s grasp. This reflection was not going anywhere until I delivered that package to the base. Why? I guess it was for him to have a chance to tell me his history. He said his son’s soul was lost. Somewhere among all Johnnies’ literary findings leaves him sublime to this world.  

While John asked me to drive to the local air force base in Tampa, he was not able to leave the hallowed ground of my grandmother’s former residence or the confines of my car. Releasing John meant that I needed to gain excess to Mac Dill Air Force Base, U.S. Central Command no exceptions.  

This country founded on Christianity makes it almost impossible for evil to penetrate God’s fortresses. There is no Gestapo waiting for him here. We have many strong spiritual warriors from the world’s wars who are awaiting his arrival when God’s Angels can collect their packages.  

Without a question, I started my way to U.S. Central Command. I thought that it was a usual destination especially after the 9/11 attacks. I was fully aware that this Nova was no Coda, and I most definitely was not Albert Einstein.  

I could see the wound, the opening, the blast to the back of this president’s head, flashing off the back half of his missing skull, the oil-like darkness dripping down the freshly prim designer suit.  

(Caution: Wait for complete interpretation of this nightmare John told me about before passing judgment.) 

John Kennedy seemed distraught and exhausted. He told me about a recurring nightmare. He wanted me to interpret this dream and to convey it to others. This dream was about how he felt to be a big brother. The dream started something like this: 

Jack and Jill’s disheartening sermon 

Jack and Jill walked up the hill thirsting for glasses of cold water. Jack sat down, and Jill started to frown. Jack asked, “What’s the tall tale, little sis?” Jill shouted out, “Jack, your zipper is down. What an embarrassing moment this is.

What should I do?” All Jack could say was, “If you can plainly see, I have my hands full of drinking water!” 

Jill reached over in an instant she zipped Jack right back up. Then unexpectedly, their father came from around the corner and snatched Jack up, hitting him, explaining this sin was of alcohol and the effects of that crazy weed. 


 He then threw Jack’s sister, Jill, in the middle of a cornfield where she started to beg, kneeling at her father’s feet. He reached over and struck her across the face. She could not get away, and he grabbed some thread and a couple of bobby pins. As she failed to render a guilty verdict, he called her “a little hornet sleaze.” (It breaks my heart even now to I retell this message via dream.) 

He placed pins in her body and imprisoned her soul with them inside the pasture on Camp Kennedy for perverting his son’s picnic party. Jill was secured by thread and sewed into a canvas, and her body had turned into a Raggedy Ann doll. Jill was crucified because of her act of plain kindness. 

Jack was led away, whimpering, “That is not any old Raggedy Ann doll to me! That is my good-luck dragon! Papa, please! Hear me speak when I say this to you. I will be one of your finest presidents someday. Please, that is my sister, she deserves to be reprieved!” (The reality of this event is that John Kennedy’s sister, Rosemary Kennedy, was lobotomized by her father (Joe Kennedy) and confined to a wheelchair for most of her life). 

Then there was a flashback to the motorcade, as if talking to me was like conversing with an old wartime friend. John was in a state of hysterics as he told the personal story contained in his dreams. Who could blame him? It was an odd and horrible nightmare! 

He said, “My own wife Jackie, the mother of my children, knew the night before, yet did nothing. She knew there was more than the ninth gunman on the grassy null.

It was more like a group of sewer vermin that shot the final blow.” 

As John said, “It was like a bad drug deal that went bad. Jackie served her purpose by remaining a grateful pillar of strength as she realized that Bobby was shot dead. Marilyn was the next bountiful beauty that wound up with her medication glued to her fingertips. Jackie could not resist running away.” 

He said, “That unbelievable woman had a feeling I was going to be shot that morning and ultimately got inside the car! She kissed me as if she was kissing me off or saying good-bye. Like handing me a Dear John letter, within five sensational moments of that half-beaten horror of a church, my son called his mother and stood bravely in battle better than any soldier in Vietnam. God bless her for she knew not what she did. She knew it before it happened because she possessed a gift!” 

Was it the scorn of John’s repulsive rumored acts and behaviors, or was it some political ‘witch hunt’ that started back before the signing of the Declaration of Independence? This is what led John to his murderers.  


The Kennedy curse was the result of the evil that sailed over from Cuba. With only enough room between the planks of the ship to hide this witch’s skull, they could hear her many voices. 

One more nail placed in her coffin should have secured the spike through her heart, her skull placed face first in the sack of soiled oats, her torso thrown in with pigs, her hands and feet brought to us by way of stumps. 

The first evil sent to us was a witch, rushed to us by the wings of stinging bees and the cackle of fellows chanting her every song, causing the sailors’ fatigue to drift them into a deep sleep, throwing their corpses overboard.  

Since then, her spirit made it through, causing chaos, screaming while inciting anger inside the walls of the men, making agreements of peace while in a time of war, the wars in Heaven, the battle between rights and wrongs. 

More than this, the witch’s cackles were to render aggression between the opposing fathers. Sucking the life out of faithful servants all along the frontier until an Angel of Light came along, capturing this burden, casting her into hell for her tithing had not yet been paid and the constitution had not been signed.  

The mystery that fell upon that family, and why it was John who had to take a shot like that, who knows the truth since they seldom speak of it? Jackie stood near a window as John became a martyr. She knew the danger that awaited John Jr. around each corner. What could she do?  

When she replaced him, it was the time she was to be creative with another parcel. Christina Onassis was a gifted Angel who was admired by many for her courage and her braveries. God had blessed this world with such an audacious woman. What an intelligent pick. I find my visions of these young women surreal. She had the righteousness that can bring most men to their knees. 

Before these fears become our worst reality, a life about horrors, people being tortured by wicked people silenced from the fear of their opposition. Yet much of people wise enough to speak have gags placed upon their hearts. We need a voice stern enough to shake men to their feet. I will serve my purpose for her, or any other person, to take what was rightfully given to me, and give back to the world. 

Be wise, for in the days to come it may be impossible to distinguish the government’s true intentions from its dark ulterior motives. The Antichrist will be present in the world when the world is not working in unison, and on that day, he will relieve my sister’s descendants of her loot to control the planet by winning a world election. This powerful dictator will be an influential speaker who will capture millions of people’s attention, while disguising his true intentions to control the universe. 

The wound visible, the sight of this president’s spiritual presence was like looking at a soul magnified by ten times the father’s weight. To see John’s face, light up like 50,000 candle watts of power ascending throughout his soul. That made him appear with such clarity to me. He was brilliant and regretful for not maintaining righteousness at all times, because the chaos after his assassination gave Satan’s angels a chance to capture him.  

My eyes filtered out the pixels made out by the light, looking within a beam of colors fading into black and white. I guess the moon, or the tide must have played an effect on the ghostly arrival. This conversation seemed to have no timeline, as I was visioning the events from his perspective. We had not made it yet to U.S. Central Command. 

I have always been true to business. I am always ready to take a journey for God, even if it lands me in jail, and I am forever ready to call upon God’s Angels. I was to be a protector of the peace, a treasurer of memories, and a voracious refuge of the last siege. 

The wound lay open on the back of this president’s head, oil-like blood slicking down the back of his shirt, covering the rear of his trousers with more blood and confetti. John lived a noble life, but why did he have to die?  

I appreciate the Kennedy family’s service to their country and the true blood spilt defending freedom and the republic. How much more nobility do you need? Are there actions before death that make a man noble or is it what he says before he cries out? Heaven is calling for a witness.  

John Jr. will be that prince someday, as Tupac shall raise his cane and salute his king. A vice president to be, if the purpose is to elect a golden God, then those two will be twins, for our colors are waves upon our flags, colors that stand for more than black, white, red, yellow, or brown. 

Everyone represented and laid to rest side by side beneath our father’s breast is where our eagles keep their young. You shall not find racism within the hearts of my young ones, for we were born of lionesses, made to live like zebras, while our monarch protects us from the jackals of this world.  

After I had heard all I needed to hear, I turned off the road named in his honor and started our way to Mac Dill Air Force Base, known as U.S. Central Command. We arrived at the base and denied access twice. If on the third time we did not make it to the grounds of the military base, I don’t know what would have happened to put his spirit into position. It was God’s will for me to pull up to the property of the base long enough for me to release my cargo.  

John needed a military airlift command flight to Washington DC or Navarro, Texas. The adventure with John was something that occurs rarely. My years of spiritual chanting brought many spirits to my presence seeking salvation and deliverance. I was becoming a resource to the spirits that did not know all the rules granting them entrance into Heaven’s gate or a place in purgatory to avoid a sentence in hell. I followed Kennedy’s request to deliver him to the base and we did succeed. 

Facebook Youtube
Facebook Youtube cancel