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Ottavia Massimo © all rights reserved


Small missions ..invisible?#Missioni. Piccole ..invisibili?

ITALIANO a seguire – I’m sure that I’ll sound complitely crazy to most (by the way I’m use to it), but I have to tell you.. the emotion you get when you buy medicines for hospitals in a war zone, it’s incomperable. Suddenly, the image of the excited faces of doctors, nurses and patients, appear to nourish the soul emptied in front of the growing sense of helplessness that certain dimensions are able to inflict. Thanks to those who are helping me to help, from far away and here with me. Thank You A.B.    #                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Vi sembrerò pazza (e comunque ci sono abituata), ma ve lo devo dire.. la soddisfazione che si prova nel comprare medicine per gli ospedali all’interno di una zona di guerra, è incomparabile. Le emozioni disegnate sui volti dei dottori, degli infermieri e dei pazienti, compaiono improvvise a nutrire il vuoto dell’anima attonita di fronte alla crescente sensazione di impotenza che certe dimensioni sono in grado di infliggere. Grazie a chi mi sta aiutando ad aiutare, da lontano e qui con me.

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Deir Ezzor – SYRIA

Accept your polarities                                                                                                                                                                                                ..this war is happening because her mirror it’s your indifference

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PEOPLE OF WAR. MECHANIC TIME VS NATURAL TIME

ITALIANhttp://ottaviamassimo.com/2013/01/04/tempo-meccanico-vs-tempo-naturale-text-5-photos/

The System is against love

Dialogues between misunderstood people and incomprehensible dimensions

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“Who are you? You’re not a journalist.” Are you? Sadiqi knocked on my door one night, two months ago. I was just out of Syria, and he came to pick me up at the border accompanied by a mutual friend. He said he was a freelancer. He was very quiet. A smiling person. He had a lively look. A flicker of perverse intelligence in his eyeswhen they stop they enter into your soul in order to understand. And to spread a mysterious pain. Sadiqi is a mercenary. He is paid by a state of the Middle East. He has killed sevenhundredandeightytwo people. He is a sniper, an executor. He does not shoot at random, he does not waste bullets, he does not kill from the fear of being killed. Of African origins, he belongs to the most important family of a tribe of Central Africa. He grew up in France. At sixteen he joined the Foreign Legion. He left it after four years instead of five, after killing a superior for matters of honor. He joined the army in Algeria. He married a girl who gave birth to his son. She and part of the family live in a city in the south of France. Sadiqi, why did you choose to do this job? “For the adrenaline. Nothing like a war front activates the mechanism by which the excitation erases memories and past.” From the ethical point of view, how important is the side to which you decide to belong? “A few months ago I received a proposal from the Syrian regime in office. I refused.” Why? They did not pay enough? He laughs. “Are you kidding me? We are speaking of tens of thousands of dollars per month. I refused because Bashar Al Assad is killing his own population without logic or discrimination.” Sadiqi, why did you choose this job, what happened, what happened to you? He does not answer. His gaze to the ground, his hands clenched into a fist. I insist. “You know why I make people call me like this? Sadiqi was the name of my son. He was six. Suddenly he disappeared. I received a phone call in which I was told that to have my child back I would have to pay one million Euros. I refused. I knew that if I accepted they would have continued to haunt me. My family is one of the richest families in the city. I know how those things work. Sadiqi was found dead a week later, a few kilometers from the city center.” And then what happened? “I killed the whole family of the person responsible for the kidnapping. Except a baby.” How many were there? “Three. Him, his wife and his son.” Why not just him? Why not the baby? “The son, because his father had killed my son and because he would have taken revenge. The mother,to prevent her from talking. Him, for obvious reasons. For the baby I found a family of adoption.” How do you know how many people you have killed? “I do not shoot at random. Not even on the frontline. A magazine contains 30 bullets. I use an average of two per person.” How does it feel to kill a child? “I only do this as a matter of honor and vindication to those who have done the same.” Sadiqi. Look at me. How does it feel to kill a child?... How do you do it, do you shoot him? “No. It’s a quick job. Clean, no blood. I break his neck by twisting his head.” How many people really know who you are? “A few. Here only you. And I do not think you want to die for so little.”

It’s night. It’s raining. We are about twenty kilometers from Aleppo, Syria. We are preparing a mission in support of the attack on AlMushad headquarters, under the control of the regime of Bashar Al Assad. The cold is bearable. Running in the mud is not pleasant but with the clouds the planes don’t fly, so this is the best time to encircle the targets. The house we are occupying is that of a family evacuated a few hours ago. We are twelve.  They put a Kalashnikov in my hand.  I give it back pointing at the camera and the sky, saying Allah u bes, Allah and nothing else. We go out in the yard for a smoke. Every now and then we hear the whistling of the bullets of the snipers among the olive trees about five hundred meters away. The house is one of the headquarters and around there are other revolutionaries, fifty or so, to protect our and other occupied farms. “Today is a beautiful day!” Why? “Because I am still alive. When this war is over we’ll get married.” I laugh. I believe in love, not in contracts. Long live freedom! “If you don’t marry me I’ll kill you.” Perfect. Thank you! “You can choose to live or die. It is not difficult. ” Sadiqi, who was the first? He does not answer, like two months ago. He looks down and smiles. “You never forget anything, eh?!” Tell me then, just why you do not want to say. “Why do you want to know?” Because when you look at me I get a sharp old pain. Who was the first, Sadiqi, how old were you? “Less than fourteen. He was the brother of my mother. I killed him with my own hands.” While sleeping? “No. I never killed anyone who did not look me straight into the eyes.” What is Time? “Not to die. War teaches you to appreciate every single moment in which you are allowed to breathe. Why are you a Muslim? ” It’s a long story. “We have time.” I am a messenger. Allah saved me from Mars when it disintegrated, I grew up on Sirius, the star. He sent me on Earth twenty-three thousand years ago. I am a bit fed up, I want to go back home. “Why did he send you here?” To help the human race avoid extinction. “And how would you think to save it”?

I am not the only one, Alhambdulillah! We are a group of brothers, from different planets, all sent to Earth to activate consciences. He smiles. You may not believe it, it’s your problem. “And where are the others?” Around the world, transmitting codes. As far as I know, I am the only one to cover the war zones. “Codes?Yes. Each one of us is a transmission channel of perception to other dimensions. A being from Venus came, he was born in Argentina. With the features of a woman. She passed me a code which appeared to me in my eyes throughout precise geometric figures. I gave her mine. We recognized each other as belonging to a single mission. For nine years, she has been traveling around the world enabling beings who have varying levels of consciousness. Consciousness develops through the storage of information that gradually connects to form non-random stories. She tried to lead me away from war. I told her about the instructions I get and finally she realized that I still cannot get away from wars, because my powers are activated in those dimensions. “Why Islam. What is your mission?” “Do you think Allah is pleased with all this blood? Do you believe that Jihad is truly a holy war to be fought with weapons and terror? Do you think that Muslims today are really interpreting the thought and the will of Allah? Buddha, Allah and Christ. I believe in all three but Allah gives me the instructions. God is one, but works in three parts depending on the ages and the areas of the world. Listen. What is happening on Earth is nothing but a reflection of what humanity emanates. Currently there are about sixty small and large conflicts in the world. The most cruel wars are Islamic. The current interpretation of the essence of Islam, Jihad, is nothing but a reflection of the same constraints that apply to minorities. Think of the West. Look how many cases of cancer there are.

Cancer cells move in the body devouring its organs and tissues, until their complete depletion. Just like in that part of the world, humanity builds and invades the territory. Without mercy nor respect for the environment. Consequences: earthquakes and diseases. “What is your mission?” To activate the consciousness of the most beings possible. “Why?” Because I am trying to get out from the Earth’s dimension. “But why wars?” To create a bridge of consciousness between good and evil. “If you’re so conscious of evil, why do you need to live it”? Because my soul is still polar and not yet incarnated. The incarnation takes place through the experience and the acceptance of our own polarities. We are what we release, not the matter which surrounds us. “What is the purpose?” To return to live in the vibration frequency 13:20. To return consciences to the Natural Time dimesion. “That is?” We are trapped in the temporal dimension of the Gregorian calendar based on the artificial cycle of twelve moons, Mechanical Time installed on Earth in order to make souls gradually lose the power to travel between dimensions. Thirty days a month, twenty-eight, thirty-one, sometimes twenty-nine. As a matter of fact, the months are thirteen each of them of twenty-eight days. Simple, logical, natural. Return to live thirteen moons through the perception means remembering to get away from the concept of material Time, the main cause for the involution of the soul which will continue to reincarnate on this planet. According to scientific studies we use on average 8% of our brain. The remaining 92% is anesthetized by the polarities chasing the matter away from the essence of the emotions we feel. The current world system is against love, that is the reason why there are so many wars.

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Despite what people say, time does not cure if you do not find a way to vent anger without resorting to revenge. If you get stuck between the dynamics of revenge, disappointments, and traumas, anger will unconsciously be nourished by the illusion of relief and satisfaction that revenge pretends to provide every time. The feeling of revenge drives the production of adrenaline. Adrenaline is addictive. Revenge is a dimension in which the mind engages the feelings in a space regulated by anger mechanisms. War moves through dynamics of additiction, ruled by the feeling of emptiness created by the lack of love. The feelings that a war zone is capable of producing, creates the illusion of not having the time for painful memories. As a drug, the war seems to stop time, so nothing has value apart from the essence imposed by a given circumstance. In war there is no time to think. Mind games have no place.

“Ottavia, what is war?” War is a desperate scream in search of feelings. The reflection of the part of the world distracted by material needs that your own ego deceives to have. War is against love as it is the system regulated by the wish of fame and power.

Dying is nothing more than not having time to perceive.

Ottavia Massimo

Syrio from Syria

Syrio from Syria

TRANSLATION:  C. M.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Published by The Trip magazine/Italy  

http://www.thetripmag.com/blog/2013/01/14/tempo-meccanico-vs-tempo-naturale/