By Ray Wilson
My wife began to become ill in early November 2021. She experienced bouts of sickness and took to her bed. At first, it was not too concerning. It would pass, or so we thought.
This took us into a strange world that was like a science fiction movie. We were exhausted, as were a lot of people, by almost a couple of years of tyrannical government dictates, mandates, and illogical, not to mention plain stupid, directions, three word slogans, and propaganda. We had attended the London marches throughout the year. It was as if we could suddenly see, and now we could not remove the new knowledge.
So many new people, so many like-minded friends—a replacement family. We realised the importance of these marches and saw the potential they had to affect change. After a few days, my wife’s condition deteriorated, and she developed a respiratory condition. We knew from the start there was something off about the COVID narrative, but by this time in late 2021, we knew without a doubt it was a scam. At the time, there was mounting pressure on the unvaccinated. The coercion began in conjunction with medical apartheid, and the aim was to get it fully implemented. DARPA grade mind control was applied like an opiate to the masses to ensure submission to the government’s injection.
My wife was untrusting of the medical profession because so many in their ranks were just following orders and selectively forgetting their oaths. By this time, I had managed to get access to an oxygen concentrator to try to ease her breathing problems. In a last-ditch effort to get her the medical help she needed, I contacted the ambulance service. The triage nurse had a conversation with my wife and suggested that if the condition got worse, we call 999. She said that there was currently a 12-hour wait for an ambulance. I was perfectly fine health-wise, but my emotional health was taking a battering. I was not concerned about a virus; after all, I was by her side day and night. I lay down beside her every night, listening to her laboured breathing. But I knew that I had to keep my strength up to be able to help my wife. Our son’s partner came over every day with the new baby and sat beside the bed, encouraging my wife to take small sips of juice from a glass.
One evening, my wife turned to me. “Can you see them?” she asked. I suspected she was hallucinating. It wasn’t that. I couldn’t see what she saw, although I tried. Her encounters with blue light beings, which she described as tiny orbs of blue, led me to discover that blue light beings appearing during times of stress are a phenomenon reported by people all over the world. This experience is often described as a feeling of calmness and comfort that comes from a being of blue light, which appears in moments of intense stress, fear, or pain. This became a spiritual experience for me that fundamentally changed my understanding of the world. The blue light being is sometimes described as a comforting figure, such as an angel, that appears to provide comfort and support to the individual. It is also commonly described as having a soothing, calming presence that helps to reduce fear and anxiety. Some people report feeling as if the being of blue light is communicating with them, either through spoken words or telepathy, offering messages of hope, love, and encouragement.
A friend, one of us, whom we had only met a few weeks before, came over to assist us. Our family had fractured as the government’s nudge units had intended; the decimation of the family is part of the agenda. The primary objective is to cause disagreements about the virus and the efficacy of the vaccine. Despite the BBC’s 24-hour propaganda campaign, some of my close family and friends remain sceptical, while others swallow it hook, line, and sinker. My wife was adamant in her refusal to go to the hospital, and now, after four weeks, she was at death’s door. Unable to eat except for miniscule amounts, her intake of fluid was low. She was unable to get up to go to the bathroom. Something had to be done.
My son’s partner got hold of a wheelchair, and that morning I brought a portable inverter to keep the oxygen concentrator running on the way to the appointment with a private GP. My wife refused to wear a mask in the waiting room. “Can you see the blue light?” my wife said, “it’s under the door.” I still could not see it. Eventually, we were called in to the GP’s consulting room. The GP performed a battery of tests, including checking blood sugar levels for diabetic ketoacidosis, and she could tell my wife’s sats were very low because her breath smelled of acetone. What happened next saved my wife’s life. The GP immediately wrote a referral letter, requesting treatment and indicating which hospital she should be referred to. We quickly left the building. It was a dark, rainy late afternoon in early December. At this point, my wife had submitted to one lateral flow test, which was negative for COVID. The GP called the hospital in advance and informed them of our situation as we sped down the M23 to the hospital.
It was like standing at the gates of hell; I had never liked hospitals, and now we had no alternatives left. A surly nurse clipped a monitor to my wife’s finger, quickly removed it, and told me that I had to leave. My wife was decanted into a hospital issue wheelchair and was wheeled up a dimly lit corridor. I felt wasted, useless, irrelevant, and heartbroken. I drove home and walked the dog.
At this time, the full theatrical spectre of the COVID fraud was in full swing. It was sickening, and I prayed to God that the nurses and doctors who would be tasked with treating my wife would be good people, true to their oaths, and would first do no harm. At this time, there were large groups of protesters entering hospitals and demanding that family members be allowed to visit loved ones. A friend of ours said they could organise a protest outside the hospital if I wanted. I didn’t want to jeopardise my wife’s situation, as she was vulnerable and in an invidious position. After contacting the hospital the next day, I spoke to a doctor (I won’t name him, although I asked for and recorded all his details) who announced that my wife had been diagnosed with COVID. This was tantamount to a death sentence in my mind. I imagined ventilators, intensive care, and black triangle drugs. The next day I donned my high vis jacket and rode to the hospital to hand deliver a package to the COVID ward my wife was now in. She was having tests, so I handed the box to a friendly nurse, who promised to get it to my wife. I later realised they had no idea who I was and had assumed I was a motorcycle courier rider.
The box contained personal items but also a phone and charger. I was constantly contacted by the hospital. They wanted me to take a PCR test; they weren’t interested in telling me details of my wife’s condition. They mentioned a scan, which revealed an inconclusive shadow, possibly a clot, on the lungs. Luckily, we had the mobile phone, and luckily, my wife had found a nurse who was, let’s say, one of us. Maybe by the will of God, my beliefs have subtly changed, and I now believe that this is a war between good and evil, a spiritual battle.
Throughout my wife’s recovery, the COVID narrative was relentless; I had to white lie to work around all the constructs built to trip us up in this orchestrated global theatre. My wife was well enough to come home a week before Christmas. It was my best Christmas present ever.
Well, what a tale my wife had to tell on her return! She had been the only non vaccinated person in the COVID ward. My faith in humanity was restored by the kindness of hospital porters and nurses who assisted my wife and refused to accept medical tyranny, big pharma dogma, and outright lies.
Needless to say, on January 23, 2022, we were there, with our friends, NHS100K, to protest against the vaccine mandates outside the BBC’s Portland Place headquarters. We saw a BBC employee filming the hundreds of thousands of people from a high window. The BBC, on the other hand, did not film or broadcast events taking place outside their own building. Why? Are they an offshoot of the establishment? Perhaps it was ever thus.
“NO MEANS NO”; “Clap them first, then sack them.”
“There is no such thing as freedom of choice if there is not the freedom to say no.”
70,000 staff at that point faced being dismissed if they refused to have the jab.
Be strong; the mandates were defeated; as we all know, a battle was won, but the war still rages and must be fought by all. Let politicians and elites not divide us; together, we are unstoppable. United we win, divided we fall. They are aware of this, and they will wage fabricated wars, stage squabbles, construct lies, and do whatever it takes to achieve their ultimate goal of control and world dominance.
This war is not new; it did not start 100 or 1000 years ago; it raged when Jesus walked the earth. Our ancestors tried to warn us, but we refused to listen because we were too busy with our allotted tasks. We all need to listen now.
Looking back at the photos I took at that time, it was a late winter afternoon in December, and I was walking our dog. I remember it well because that day I got the news that I could pick up my wife from the hospital. I was elated, but looking at the photo again, far in the distance, through the trees, almost imperceptible, there is the tiniest blue orb.
