Boc Hondo & The Outcasts A New Series Of Stories By Mason Cult.

Introduction:

Boc Hondo is a new Jesus, but he is not attached to any traditional religion. He is of another world. I believe that this world is the planet Vixor. He has brought his outcasts with him, they are both male and female gender – fluid in nature. They have to re-deliver miracles but swear the recipient of these miracles to secrecy. The receivers are pellet-tagged by Boc Hondo and his outcasts. It is a ten-year programme. Boc Hondo will inform the recipients of these miracles, so that their souls will be saved for moving on after death. When the miracles are given, Boc Hondo and his outcasts will go back to Vixor, leaving behind more gold monitor spheres to identify good souls suffering upon Earth.

Hail Boc Hondo

Boc Hondo and the Outcasts

It has been two thousand years plus since the miracles of the man they called Jesus, Son of God. Since that time, the anointed servants of the Lord have kept alive the possibility of miracles, with apparent inexplicable cures for chronically ill humans.

So it appears that it is only within religious quarters that miracles eventually be allowed to enter the realm of public digestion.

This, apart from emerging science, is part of what keeps up our hope and will to carry on. It engages any future generations with a sense of belief that for all the trials and tribulations we face, somehow, the perceived souls within us may carry us on beyond our allotted spans of life.

So with multiplying millions of humans, food and medical shortages, and the political will to control and ration access to medical survival resources, there needed to be a sign, to show that humans fated to illness still had the potential for a miracle. A form of inner power which could be promoted in a real-time world with evidence of a qualified miracle.

There was an increasing discourse between humans about the concept of us having within us a soul. This being the container of what we believe is our core being. There was a sense of desperation and need for reassurance that our lives had not been merely a phenomenon. We needed to believe that the conscious state did not only apply to living beings, and that it might be possible for the soul to travel on and enrich another environment. Perhaps taking a form of similar beings with aspects of sensation, but surreal and peaceful surroundings with kinder souls than one had encountered upon earth.

But before the frailties of life, it was important to try to alleviate earthly sufferings. With this said, there existed a wanderer of no religious root, a male by the name of Boc Hondo. He was a mixed-race person who held all facets of human within himself as an outsider. Indeed, one could even say, an outcast. He was a being that wouldn’t attract much attention from other early humans. A form of being that wandered unnoticed, a very private being – until he felt the tingle or signal for his mission. It could be anywhere, in any situation, when the tingle emerged. He would be drawn to the door of a person suffering an incurable disease. The door would open, and the sufferer would be transferred, as if pole axed.

Both would be drawn to the centre of the sufferer’s room, where a radiant ambient aura surrounded a circumference larger in diameter than the two people in the room. This experience lasted a constant five minutes. The sufferer stood back. The aura diminished. A sense of ultra peace ensued. A great sense of well being filled all the space. The sufferer asked “how, why, and who are you?”.

Boc Hondo replied: “Please do not ask. I was sent a message through the continuum that it was you whom I had to visit, you were suffering and dying. I wanted to preserve your life so I can save your soul for when your life is done. Your soul has to grow and enrich its future in a land you know not of yet. But I have to say now, I must go before I attract too much attention. Do not tell a soul and do not think that I am the Lord Jesus returned, for I am Boc Hondo, one of many to be known as outcasts. We come and go. You will never see me again but your illness will become but a memory.”

So this was the start. A beginning for secret miracles. Boc Hondo’s outcasts, eternal pathways to saving souls. They were paying a visit to put balance to imbalance.

Boc Hondo’s outcasts Operations Base location was a sunken craft in a mediaeval forest near a large pond. Hundred-foot tall trees surrounded it. Squirrels raced along the larger fallen trees and toads surrounding the pond edges said ‘ribbit’.

In the evening, a hum could be heard, like a dull thud, and red pulsing light could be seen. In the daytime nothing could be detected as flora covered the craft.

Visitation planning amongst the ten outcasts continued throughout the day, oblivious to the world. The pilot ships of outcasts were getting ready for the first new inception of new miracles.

Evening arrived and the flora shield slid to the side. The hum and pulse started. Slowly, head was generated, and an energy emanated as a lid door lifted. Rains pushed out of the lid, and slowly, in eerie fashion, Boc Hondo’s outcasts – all ten – emerged, and aligned. All were prepared, instructed, absorbed, obsessed and ready to feel the tingle and obtain directions for those who needed visitation healing and soul saving.

The ten outcasts were self-propelled and guided spiritually by the goodness of their inner souls. A period of fresh miracles for the meek, poor and ill was on its way and very soon the sensation of the continuum would guide Boc Hondo and his outcasts to their midnight missions. The restless sleepers would be calmed and cared for.

In the world, to this day, millions still listen in education to religious instruction. Historical miracles are presented but hardly anyone in our time believes of what happened. The tendency in these days is one of cynicism. Science appears to offer pragmatic ways forward, with incremental advancements. They are not the every-day humans and that is a fact. It seems that Jesus is not showing evidence of modern-day. It would not be unwise if there were public ones as in modern times. What we know as media is ever-present, so any miracles would have to be hidden and discreet.

We do not know why we exist. We are born into mostly pre-set but variable forms of society in many countries within our known spinning sphere. We ask mothers and fathers to answer our emerging questions, but they do not have any answers.

Most of us have some basic perception of faith, much from inner belief, some derived within the parameters of religion. In families, regions and countries, the elements of which they are aware are not known of within human existence.

So in essence, for thousands of years we have worked and moulded a landscape. But who controls the human mind? What is our purpose as guests upon earth, – perceived as the only solar planet that contains the required elements to support human endurance?

There are no recent reports of religious manifestations of the Lord Jesus, yet the Bible struggles to survive, maintaining and modernising stories that in reality have the dust of years upon them. What is the human race to do without visible evidence? Is it only leading to an inevitable atomic crescendo? Has the so-called human race become rudderless, without the father of life (this seems possible).

Did God go elsewhere, turn his mighty being into another universe?

Maybe the visitation of the outcasts would give hope.

No Hedge To Piss Upon

ianp

One has not a house or garden nor fence to jump over, no hedge to piss upon, sofas fridges fences, fat bins, bills & papers, bottles, cans waste, upon the wasted,

Covered in but a hand, showing half dead destitute in delirious mortgage madness. To keep with the Jones with do strive,

Covers the garden, the bank manager calls at no 10, I guess one comb one’s hair was this an important thing, a universal man you are now a credit to the nation. Mason Cult.

To Find England, To Find Genteel Ladies.

genteel
I am sure you will find England once more and leave America behind with its ballistic mind we may rediscover gentlemen and genteel ladies of grace & sit by a brook, as the ripples kiss the stones beneath and a wind flowing to and fro leaving crystal air in the still of a night .
The wonders above still a mystery, a winged saint in the form of the snowy owl, weaving in woodland lightning speed through the shed portholes, with a wise soul inside finishing the journey of peace and grace. Where a touch of a hand and kind words could be heard, a land where we once knew of one another. Mason Cult.

Trying For The Next World & Hatred In Their Eyes Two Short Poems.

dex

Trying For The Next World.

Pushing my fingers distorting the plasma I was desperately trying for the next world I could see it all in the lovely colours, but there were people chasing me aware of what I was trying to find and it was only a matter of time before they turned a corner and could see what I was trying to do, I had to break through , Mason Cult

ianat

 

Hatred In Their Eyes.

I see nothing gentle, it is almost entirely crude, it has hatred in it’s eyes it walks, talks it  wants and destroys, breeding and needing are its game it is us and I am not a clown. Mason Cult

I laugh, I cry, People Watch Me As They Walk On By.

Lying in state a quick break from the worm, breaking away from the underpinning I am ripened like an old joint, cursed with dodgy seed, trust today and tomorrow I live here moulded in a corner curled as a rat in dead nest.

The night faded and the day lifted I am a down in my own time, I laugh, I cry, people watch me as they walk on by. Life not so serious if your sat with me, I read the newspaper, cut the eyes from a politician, pretend I’m deaf they never listened.

I’m a mute mug shot of madness divine enough to be different no vanity in the vagrant, I am waiting for them to take me all away, wish I could stay up in this corner I lived around here as a boy with rampant laughter and nothing else but joy Mason Cult .

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