1 Ottobre 2021 Pubblicato da Marco Tosatti

Marco Tosatti

Dearest readers of Stilum Curiae, our friend Benedetta De Vito offers us this dream. We do not think we need to add anything else. Enjoy your reading, you will see that you will be taken with it as I was. 

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I don’t know if it was a dream or a vision. I know that my eyes were open, and outside of the placid light of the Sardinian night, in the reflection of the lights of the boats around the bay. Up above there was a full, round moon of milk and cream. My husband was dozing by my side. I don’t know if I was awake or asleep, in that time that was not time, as the Greeks used to express with the aorist tense, inspired by the ancient Indo-European language, a time of true life, apart from the tumult of the world. This is what I saw: I was in Rome, in the Eternal City that is my home by birth and by love. I was there, in the light of day, the sunlight was brilliant gold, I was on the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, the great Piedmontese road that goes with a quick turn, changing its name, from Termini Station all the way to the Vatican, and there was the usual coming and going of cars and public buses between the traffic lights and the taxi stands. Suddenly, from behind me, from the direction of Saint Peter’s, I saw them coming walking towards me: men and women bent over staffs, crosses, and crosiers, holding Rosaries and the Holy Gospels in their hands. I took a breath in amazement and continued as you read here below.

They were all walking among the automobiles, climbing right over the metal frames or else squeezing through the openings between each one. They were passing by, sorrowful pilgrims, in full vestments, some of them very colorful, others wearing dull gray robes. “Who are you?” I asked, but I knew the answer, and none of them answered me.

They were all the Saints of the Roman Church who, disgusted by the visible Church, were leaving her behind to look for a new kathekon, one that, like them, is ready to give its life to defend the Ancient and Holy Law of the Lord that is written in the hearts of all men, and that the world places on the Cross, along with the Son of the Most Holy Trinity. They were walking, sorrowful, and no one saw them. Only a child who pulled at the skirts of his nanny and pointed, but no one paid attention to him. I alone along with him, I too a child, was dismayed.

Suddenly I was no longer there, but inside Saint Peter’s, which was frigid and empty. It was only an eggshell in which the yolk is no longer there, nor even the egg white that when beaten with sugar becomes sweet foam. I saw the Pope, in a white robe, without the red mozzetta of sacrifice, who wandered among the empty rooms, empty himself. A ghost. The invisible Church, made by Christ, the Man-God, the Church composed of the angels, the Communion of Saints and the faithful who live in the beatitude of Paradise or in the expectation of Purgatory, the Church that, like souls, cannot be seen, but still is there and is the lifeblood of the visible one that no longer lives inside the Vatican.

There is only him, the strange “pleaser Pope” with his thugs and prelates who, turning their backs on the Lord, have preferred the grim path that leads to the Gates of Hell, soon to open on the most Sacred Hill of Rome, the Quirinale, as they say in Rome: “The highest hill of all.” And I fear that one day, perhaps soon, even the Eucharistic Sacrifice, that is, the Holy Mass, will be “updated” in the name of that detestable inter-religious dialogue that denies the eternal maxim: “Extra Ecclesiam, nulla salus.” So as to instead erect the other Satanic sacrifice, that is, abortion in all of its dreadful tones, including the use of fetal cells in the creation of vaccines and drugs…

Empty is the Vatican that is no longer kathekon; empty is Rome, the Eternal City that waits, upset, for a new mayor; and then with a start I awoke, dismayed. I wept and tightly held the Rosary that sleeps with me and I began to pray, asking to feel in my heart the sweet consolation that the Lord gives me, along with the gift of Strength and Hope. A few moments passed, and suddenly it was morning, and it was time for me to make my coffee and follow the routines of being a good wife and mother. That night, however, I returned to the Mystery, and this time it was dear Blessed Elisabetta Canori Mora who woke me up, she who had led me along the whole path of my conversion (which lasted twelve years). I asked her: “Where are you all going? Where will you go? What will I do?” She said not a word. She held her hand out to me; I went up there [to heaven], and from above I saw the world, the whole world, in the grip of a huge dragon. The devils in pandemonium (which in devil language is said “pandemic”) were flying around happy and carefree, and their excrements were the food of men. All of the fatal lies that have led us along the cruel path that leads toward the hell that will come. Only prayer, in tears, saved me. I came back down here and I prayed. The Immaculate Heart of Mary will sweep everything away and, in joy, we will return to being children of God and finally, without any masks, we will be brothers and sisters.

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Tag: bdv, de vito, kathekon

Categoria: Generale