May 15, 2013
Excerpt from The Master Plan
“Our combined prayers would also empower The Prince to usher forth a global utopia for the entire existence. And to join this glorious kingdom, we must prove our allegiance by receiving the Radio Frequency Identification Device (RFID) chip.”
“I guess I had better let you know the daily schedule,” she continued. “During the weekdays, every morning at 5:30 a.m., a buzzer goes off. Thirty minutes later, it goes off again and you have to be standing on the front steps ready for work.
“I don’t know what they’ll have you doing, but I’m sure it’ll be hard labor. All laborers are due back by 4:00 p.m., unless there’s an unforeseen event.
“We don’t have to work on Saturdays. However, all laborers and their roommates have to attend the weekly assembly in the Main Square. Sometimes there is an execution, usually because somebody broke a rule or angered an official. During the assemblies, we are reminded that all known infractions must be reported immediately and that any violation will be publically addressed with swift and fair consequences. But everyone knows that the real purpose is to instill fear and discourage any notion of breaking a rule or challenging an official. When there haven’t been any violations, we’re marched to one of the sports arenas.”
“Sports,” I interrupted. “What kind of sports?”
“Sports are the only form of entertainment provided in the labor camps. At first, I couldn’t stomach watching them; I usually kept my eyes covered during the whole event. But I’m starting to get used to them now. The ball sports can be exciting. It’s not easy to get a ball from one end of the field to the other, especially when the opposing players have weapons. You would be surprised at the imagination and skill involved in making a weapon from a common household item.”
“That doesn’t sound very sporty, to me.” I interjected.
“They really aren’t,” she countered. “Sports in the labor camps are simply a means of pacify the laborers, nothing more.
“On Sundays everyone is marched to the Temple to honor The Holy Trinity; the United Nations, The Prince and The Prophet. Later that day, we meet with our counselor. The rest of the time we are locked in our cabin.”
“Why do we need a counselor in a labor camp?” I asked.
“Counselors are actually Psychological Operations officers. They determine everyone’s classification based on a series of psychological tests. From the results, a psychological profile is established and each person is classified in a specific category, such as a political activist, a malcontent, an agitator, a traitor, or whatever. Your classification determines your placement and subsequent treatment. Whether you go to a re-education camp, or an indoctrination program for extensive brainwashing, is all determined by your Counselor’s classification status. The counselor also supervises medical needs.”
“Okay, now I know the Counselor’s role and I’m aware of the United Nations, but who are The Prince and The Prophet, and what makes them holy?”
“Lance, humans are considered to be the most destructive creatures on earth. And if The Prince hadn’t put a stop to the human atrocities against the earth, it would’ve been doomed to extinction. By doing so, he actually saved the world. A lot of people believe that he is the son of God. Some even say that he is God.”
“Out of curiosity, I asked, “So who do you believe The Prince is?”
“I’m not sure. So much has happened to me in the past few years it’s hard to believe there is a God.
“But the Prophet is also considered to be holy. And I’ve never seen anyone perform such miracles as The Prophet has—and yet, he never gives any credit to himself, he only encourages us to worship The Prince.”
The next morning a guard escorted me to a single-story building outside the barracks. There. I met with my camp counselor, Mr. Hal Copeland. He told me to be ready at seven o'clock sharp the following morning to be escorted to his office. He was then going to transport me to the Main Complex for a meeting with Ms. Amanda Rourke, who was going to be my new counselor.
He asked me if I had any complaints about Monique. I assured him that she was working out fine, and barrage of complaints I did have, didn't include her. After he had sufficiently briefed me on all the changes, he directed me to a room to await an escort back to my cabin.
I told Monique what Hal Copeland had said. She seemed pleased to know that her information regarding my transfer to the Main Complex as the new architect was correct.
Later that day, a company of guards and goons escorted a hundred and fifty of us to an enormous temple a mile from the barracks. I couldn't help admiring the exquisite architecture as we approached the huge building. The architect had cleverly designed stained glass within antique metal frames as the exterior of the structure. Utilizing stained glass, each window portrayed a unique graphic design. When combined, each exterior wall of the cathedral portrayed a picturesque scene of the earth arrayed by existing life forms of every variety. The interior walls, pews, and altar also consisted of intricate metalwork fashioned in superb craftsmanship. It was truly a magnificent structure.
A strong, pungent smell of incense overwhelmed me the instant I entered the temple. A hundred rows of pews were positioned on both sides of the main aisle and stopped twenty feet shy of the altar. We were ushered to our seats, and the group I was with now filled the temple to its capacity. Our group sat amid the others, while the guards, who were positioned about the temple, also remained through the forty-five minute service.
At the far end of the temple was a luxurious altar. I had never seen anything like it. The main attraction was an exquisite throne fashioned from pure gold and covered with jewels of every type. Surrounding the throne, including the partition-wall behind the altar, were replicas of a variety of species, all of which were fashioned out of silver.
Suddenly a male’s voice began to sing. It was accompanied by music that filled the sanctuary and surrounded us from every angle. The singer encouraged us to join in with him and become a spiritual participant in this holy experience. For ten or fifteen minutes, he sang a variety of songs; many were familiar to the crowd and they joyfully sang along.
“Don't miss this opportunity to receive your blessing,” he exhorted the crowd in between songs. “The Prophet wants to bestow a blessing upon us all!”
Directly in front of the altar, with the illusory effects of a hologram, a life-like image appeared before us in the form of a man. He was wearing a shimmering black and white robe with a long velvet train that almost covered the altar completely. As he turned in certain positions, he would disappear, and then suddenly reappear in brilliant splendor before our eyes in a different location. And then he suddenly turned, sauntered over to the throne and while turning to face us, he sat down upon the throne.
He was extremely articulate, an excellent orator with a perfectly toned voice that enthralled the audience. In correlation with the emotion he desired to induce, and the thoughts he wanted to convey, he raised and lowered his voice with perfect inflections and precise timing. His entire presence projected authority and commanded our full attention. He spoke to all of us collectively, and yet, to each one of us individually. I felt he was talking to me and me alone.
His eloquent mannerisms and his persuasive words had the whole audience captivated. It wasn’t long before I heard shouts of praise and echoes of worship resounding throughout the temple. The atmosphere was electrifying. The people were entranced; they feasted on every word The Prophet spoke.
Within me, my intellect and emotions struggled against each other. I was tempted to suppress what I knew to be sound judgment, give reign to my irrational feelings, and join the ecstatic crowd.
The Prophet masterfully painted a utopian picture; a world designed to meet every need and every desire. He claimed that utopia existed in every sector of the world where people were in harmony. And, by our faithful prayers and worship, we could collectively gain the support of all the spiritual forces in the universe and convince the entire existence of the great plan for eternal peace. Our combined prayers would also empower The Prince to usher forth a global utopia for all existence. And to join this glorious kingdom, we must prove our allegiance by receiving the RFID chip.
Suddenly, the lights brightened, and for the first time I noticed woven within the strains of his garment the words, THE MOST HOLY.
Before any of us realized what was happening, in one clean swoop, The Prophet removed a large canvas revealing an enormous, full-length statue of an image. The workmanship was superb, almost lifelike. Although I wasn't positive whom the statue was designed to represent, his aristocracy emanated powerfully from the image. “Here is your ruler!” he shouted. “Here is the savior; the savior of the world!”
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The instant he finished his charade, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. When we left the building, I took a deep breath of fresh air, thankful to leave the dancing shadows, dimming lights, and pungent odors that lingered inside its mystifying walls.
Monique explained later that the Sunday services continued throughout the day from 6:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m., with varied sermons every week. She also told me that the image we saw was The Prince, and then she described the service as being in the presence of a divine, spiritual holiness. I held back from telling Monique what I really thought. I found the ordeal to be spiritual, but it certainly wasn't holy.
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“Al Duncan is the author of The Master Plan, which is now being revised. He is also compiling a booklet of about 60 short articles for publication and future availability. Until recently, he wrote a weekly column for a local newspaper, the Lake County Record Bee, distributed by Associated Press. The readers were basically secular and unaware of the New World Order, so his articles were written hoping to educate the reader on this subject. However, Al realizes that NewsWithViews attracts an informed reader, who is seeking to expand his or her understanding of the truths behind the daily events, and how these truths can best help them meet the challenges ahead.
the fourth generation of Real Estate Brokers and for the past eight years
he has owned Al Duncan Real Estate, Inc. in Clearlake, California. For
the past seven years he has been on the financial committee, participated
as a Sunday greeter and head usher at Lake County Bible Fellowship in