Tag: vancouver

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Operating Thetan – Kabbalah Level 8

Operating Thetan – Kabbalah Level 8: Strength Tarot

In the sacred temple of Café Serra, the brothers Joe and Bruno Jukic sit beneath a neon-lit tapestry of the Strength card—a woman calmly taming a lion. Her infinity halo glows above her, radiating the subtle power of spirit over the beast, discipline over instinct. This is Level 8 of the Thetan-Kabbalah fusion: Strength.

After 3 years of COVID lockdowns, digital dependency, and soul fatigue, Joe asks,

“How do we get our strength back, Bruno? Our real strength. Spirit. Body. Will.”

Bruno doesn’t hesitate.

“We start simple, brother. Like prisoners who forgot they were lions.”

He stands up in the Café, barefoot and calm, and begins the ritual.

🧘‍♂️ THE STRENGTH RESET RITUAL – BRUNO’S PLAN

1. STRETCH.

“The lion wakes up and stretches before it hunts,” Bruno says.
Open the hips. Twist the spine. Roll the wrists. Ten minutes a day.
“It’s not warm-up. It’s resurrection.”

2. PLANKING.

“This is your foundation. Hold the Earth. Breathe through the fire.”
Start with 20 seconds. Build to 2 minutes. No equipment. No excuse.

3. KNEE PUSHUPS.

“Don’t be ashamed to kneel,” Bruno smirks.
It’s not weakness. It’s form. Control. Breath. Progress to full pushups in 30 days.

4. CHIN-UP BAR INITIATION.
Step to the bar. Grip it. Hang. Feel gravity remind you of your body’s weight.

“It’s the tree of strength,” Bruno says. “Let it stretch your spine and test your spirit.”

5. PARTNER-UP.
Let your brother—or your sister—hold your legs while you chin-up.

“The strength card teaches compassion,” Joe adds. “No one gets strong alone.”

6. GO TO brunosfitness.com

“It’s not a gym,” Bruno says. “It’s a temple for lions coming back to life.”

Joe laughs, feeling the burn from his first 30-second plank.

“I thought I was strong,” he says. “But COVID made me domesticated.”

Bruno nods.

“They made you a house cat. But your soul remembers the jungle.”

And as they light palo santo and do slow squats to Bowie’s Heroes, the Strength card glows brighter. It’s not about rage. It’s about gentle domination of your shadow. Taming your own inner beast with daily, sacred practice.

Strength is earned.
One rep. One breath. One prayer at a time.

🦁 Level 9: The Hermit awaits… but first, plank.

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Operating Thetan – Kabbalah Level 7

Christ Rex: Operating Thetan – Kabbalah Level 7: Master of Movement

On the rooftop of a downtown Vancouver tower, under the prism light of an artificial rainbow and the skyglow of Revelation 16’s scorching sun, Christ Rex stood radiant before the 144,000 chosen ones. Around him, the city buzzed—SkyTrains hummed, bicycles zipped through traffic, and electric buses whispered over wet pavement.

“Level 7 is the Gate of Momentum,” Christ Rex declared. “You’ve purified your vessel, sharpened your mind, and remembered the song of your soul. But now you must move—spirit cannot stagnate.”

He held up a golden skateboard, etched with the Tree of Life and the Scientology cross merged at the trucks.

“Every Thetan must master at least one mode of transportation. It’s not about horsepower or luxury. It’s about agency. It’s about command over matter, speed, and trajectory. Choose your vehicle: the bus, the skateboard, the bike, the beat-up Civic, the jet, the paper plane. Each is a vessel of becoming.”

He smiled and pointed to the #99 B-Line roaring down Broadway. “There is no shame in the bus. I rode the bus when I descended through Burnaby. The so-called ‘loser cruiser’? That’s propaganda of Mammon. What they call losers, I call the future kings and queens of Zion.”

The crowd laughed in recognition. Many had ridden that very bus to the mountaintop sermon.

“You think you’re too holy to tap a Compass Card? Then you’re not holy at all,” he said. “The meek inherit the Earth—but only if they can navigate it.”

A girl in the crowd lifted her skateboard. A nurse held up her SkyTrain pass. A refugee showed his old bicycle.

“Good,” Rex said. “Those are your chariots. Master them. Tune them. Bless them.”

He turned toward the Pacific, where a cargo ship crossed the grey horizon.

“Whether you fly with eagles or ride the SeaBus—move with purpose. The Spirit is like water: when still, it stagnates. When flowing, it heals. The Level 7 initiate rides that flow.”

And as he spoke, thunder echoed over the Lions Gate Bridge, and the 144,000 nodded. They understood now: salvation would not come by standing still.

They had to move.

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Burning Up Santa Monica

Mel Gibson’s Firestorm Epiphany

The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air as Mel Gibson stood on his balcony, overlooking the scorched hills of Los Angeles. The fires had raged for weeks, consuming everything in their path—homes, dreams, and lives. Mel sipped his whiskey, the glass trembling slightly in his hand. The fire hadn’t reached his estate yet, but the sense of impending doom was palpable.

He turned to his friend, a retired firefighter named Ron, who had come to check on him. “Ron,” Mel began, his voice heavy, “who do you think benefits from all this destruction? It’s not just nature’s wrath—it feels orchestrated.”

Ron shrugged. “Insurance companies, contractors, maybe even some developers. But orchestrated? That’s a stretch.”

Mel scoffed. “Is it? Look at Trump and his billionaire buddies. Real estate moguls love a clean slate. Burn down the old, build up the new. High-density high-rises with penthouses for the oligarchs. You think they’ll be living in the ashes like the rest of us?”

Ron didn’t reply, and Mel continued, his thoughts spiraling. “They’ll be sipping martinis in their fireproof towers, laughing at us. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in a house built on sand instead of rock. Maybe it’s time to move—to Canada, near JCJ. At least he’s grounded.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Canada? You’d trade LA for snow and moose?”

Mel chuckled. “Why not? I don’t want to live in a neighborhood full of Madonna and her liberal entourage. I want peace. JCJ’s up there doing good, building community. Meanwhile, down here, it’s just greed and flames.”

Ron leaned against the railing, watching the distant glow of the fires. “You really think Trump’s behind this?”

Mel nodded. “If not him, then someone like him. The fires clear the way for their vision of the future. High-rises, smart cities, controlled living. The oligarchs don’t see homes—they see profit margins. And Trump, the ultimate dealmaker, would love to rebuild LA in his image.”

Ron sighed. “You’ve got a vivid imagination, Mel.”

“Imagination?” Mel’s eyes burned with conviction. “This city’s on fire, Ron. And I’m not just talking about the flames. It’s greed, corruption, and the pursuit of power. If I stay here, I’ll burn with it. Canada’s looking better every day.”

Ron placed a reassuring hand on Mel’s shoulder. “Wherever you go, just make sure it’s not running away. Make it a stand for something better.”

Mel nodded, staring into the horizon. “You’re right. If I move, it won’t be out of fear—it’ll be for a fresh start. But one thing’s for sure: I’m done playing their game. Whether it’s Trump, Madonna, or any of them, I won’t be a pawn in their empire of sand.”

As the fires crackled in the distance, Mel felt a strange sense of clarity. He might not have all the answers, but he knew one thing—he wouldn’t let the flames consume his soul.

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