Jude, you had asked more than the one question, so I'll attempt to answer those, as well, now.
... how? does one sell his soul when he joins a school cult?
Notice the scripture I posted in #18 above (Rev.), in which the responsible party is "the rich men of the earth" and "the merchants of the earth" i.e. the bloodlined dynastic BANKING families.
The merchants, the great men of the earth, practiced
sorcery, a form of
witchcraft. Pharaoh called on his wise men,
sorcerers and
magicians (e.g. Jannes and Jambres - II Timothy 3:8), who did
enchantments. They cast down their rods, and they became serpents (Exodus 7:10, 11). Pharaoh’s
magicians, with their
enchantments, brought up frogs upon the land of Egypt (Exodus 8:7, 18). Judgment was brought against the Babylonians because of the multitude of their
sorceries, and for the great abundance of their
enchantments (Isaiah 47:9, 12). Men refused to repent of their
sorceries (Revelation 9:21). The Babylonian
merchants were the great men of the earth, and by their
sorceries were all
nations deceived. They were also responsible for the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth (Revelation 18:23, 24).
witchcraft = a form of nature religion (creation worship); various kinds of magic practices
sorcery/sorcerer = Greek
pharmakeia = drug/pharmaceutical; druggist/pharmacist; magician; poisoner; witchcraft/witch
magician = astrologer; soothsayer
enchantment = charm (Latin
carmen = song); magic spell; hex; bewitchment
nation =
ethnos, ethnic group (not a reference to geographical location)
Granting devils access can occur through the simplest of acts. Here's an example. If an armed bad guy threatens to shoot me if I refuse to renounce Jesus Christ, and I respond with, "You can shoot me, but I'll never renounce Jesus Christ!", I may still 'go to heaven' to be with the Lord, but it will probably be a bit sooner than I had expected! Why? Because I ignorantly gave the enemy permission to kill me via my tongue ala "You can shoot me..."
We deal with lots of folks who, through the power of life and death, i.e. through their tongue, have given the enemy legal access.
Here's another, but less-simplistic, example.
The transnational pharmaceutical corporations are among the richest merchants on the planet. Tissue from aborted human babies is an ingredient in several of their common vaccines. If you partake of those vaccines, you are partaking of the blood of those murdered babies, and the blood of those dead babies you have partaken of is literally on your hands (or in your body). Those vaccines are a modern-day blood sacrifice ritual, soon to be mandatory under threat of imprisonment, intended to bring the partakers into bondage. It opens a legal doorway through which Satan can enter.
Of course, I can now hear the bark of back-biting dogs in the distance re: vaccines. I'm not going to get into the Moloch worship that is the vaccination hoax (sacrificing of children), but I will leave you with a testimony of a woman who experienced firsthand the spiritual reality of how the granting of access to devils (ignorantly or otherwise) is a form of "selling your soul" (or, in her case, the selling of the soul of one under her authority i.e. her child). Child sacrifice has always been an integral part of the unbelievers' nature worship and fertility ritual.
I pray this will help you understand a dynamic of spiritual warfare.
This story is my testimony about how I finally woke up to the extremes of life, and how I finally grabbed hold of hungering for truth and wisdom. It took a big, bad angel to get my complete attention.
The Death Angel
Most people that hear this story think it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. It happened more than thirty-five years ago. I was just a young wife when the Death Angel visited, but I am convinced today, as I was then, that this truly happened just as I relate it.
I lived in a small community of mostly young military couples. All of the young families were expecting, or had a baby or two already. The girl directly across the street was nineteen years old and was married to a soldier of the same age who was training to go to Vietnam. Her baby was born a few days before mine. One cold morning she came over to tell me the military authorities had called her, reminding her that the Health Department had issued a requirement that babies two-and-a-half months should start on their vaccinations. This was a new mandate, starting the baby shots earlier than ever before. Somewhere I had read that there were problems with these vaccinations, especially for such young babies, but who was I to question the Department of Health? Besides, the shots were free and we could afford that! My best friend, Carla, who lived next door, also had a two-month-old son, but when I invited her to ride along, she wasn’t interested in getting her baby a shot. Mrs. Soldier Girl and I took our babies and stood in the cold in a line outside a small trailer that served as the local Health Department, waiting for our babies to get their shots. We chatted and visited with not a care in the world except to stay warm. I think back to that day and ask myself, how were we to know what was to come? Then I wondered, why didn’t we take the time to ask questions, demand information, or seek out advice? I know the answer. We were young; we believed that everyone else knew better than we did. Until that moment neither of us had ever been put in a position to know just how terribly a thing can go wrong due to a lack of knowledge.
Mrs. Soldier Girl called that evening to ask if my baby had a big red hot spot where the shot was administered. He did. Both of the babies had high fevers. I knew it was going to be a long night. As I rocked my son, trying to soothe him, I began to wonder why Carla had resisted getting her son a shot, and I sincerely wished I had listened to her when she tried to explain to me what she had read concerning the shots. Finally, the medicine I gave my son caused him to sleep. It was cold in our old farm house, so I nestled my baby boy up to my body and fell asleep. He cried off and on all night.
I awoke sometime in the predawn hours, the blackest part of the night. Other than my newborn’s soft groans and my husband’s light snores, the night was deathly quiet, like when there is a heavy snow that blankets the sound. I couldn’t say why, but I lay tense and fearful, waiting...for what, I knew not. I was afraid. I moved ever so gently to lay my hand on my son’s head. It was burning hot. I moved my head to his tiny chest and heard a strange rasping sound. Profound terror gripped me, causing my whole body to sweat. Then, as if I could see the shadowy figure, I knew that the Death Angel stood there at the end of the bed. My body was rigid, my mouth dry; I tried to control my breathing, but could manage only great gasps. I reasoned with myself that I was just an emotional female, and that nothing was really there. Yet conviction held ground in my mind and soul...I knew what I knew, and I knew that the Death Angel had come to our house.
I gave up trying to convince myself that it wasn’t real, and I began to pray as I have never prayed before. I pulled my baby up tight to my chest, defying the figure at the foot of the bed that dared to enter this room. Time passed as I begged God’s mercy. I began to pray aloud, getting louder and more insistent as my panic grew. Finally I jerked the covers off Mike and shouted, “Wake up now and pray. The Death Angel is in this room! Pray for our son!” My startled husband sat up, confused and alarmed. Then he grabbed the covers away from me, mumbling that I had lost my mind. I jerked his covers off and smacked him on the back as I screeched, “Get up and pray for your son!” By this time he was awake and truly concerned for my sanity. He tried to comfort me, but I cared nothing for comfort; I only wanted to hear him pray, asking God for mercy and commanding the Death Angel to leave the room. I told my husband what to pray. He reminded me that I could pray just like he could pray, so why did I wake him up? But he was my spiritual head and I knew that now was the time for the top command to pray. Thoroughly chilled, he grabbed the covers to lie back down but this time his normally obedient wife shouted, “You will never sleep again until you pray for our son!”
He turned over and tried to se me through the darkness, trying to perceive what had provoked such a passion. What I was doing was so out of character that he was genuinely mystified and somewhat intrigued. He wondered if maybe I was right, that the Death Angel was indeed standing right there in the room. I am not a “spiritually sensitive” type -- ready to lead him into all truth. He has always been the spiritual leader of our home, by anyone’s standard. I could sense that he had made a decision. He reached over me and laid his hand on our son’s head. He prayed. As he prayed, I sensed the Death Angel leave the room. For the first time in several minutes, the constriction in my chest released; I could breathe again. Our baby fell into an exhausted slumber. We lay there wide awake, man and wife in the dark, staring at the ceiling, whispering about what had just happened. He believed me. We watched the early morning light slowly begin to lighten our bedroom.
Suddenly red and yellow lights darted across our ceiling. I sat up and pushed the curtain open, peering across the street. The cold thin window pane frosted over and I rubbed it clean to see better. Then I saw the ambulance. It was parked across the street at Mrs. Soldier Girl’s house. I still remember the feeling of profound relief that enveloped me. I still remember the shame that followed. My son was spared...but her son was taken? I watched as a police car arrived. Why police?
We quickly dressed. Mike rushed over to see what was wrong, and was told the following story:
All night the baby had cried. The young parents only had a couple of nights left together before the soldier was shipped out to war. When they awoke in the morning the baby was no longer breathing. At first the poor stricken couple was charged with neglect because the authorities assumed the baby died of cold. Later it was determined that it was the common three-month “Crib Death” that had taken the child. No one dared blame the vaccination that our babies had been given the day before.
Did I learn anything? That night changed my life. Never again did I stand in line like a dumb sheep waiting to receive what “professionals” said I needed. I learned that “professionals” were people who were just following orders from people whose only goal is to make a buck. It is true they might have gone to school a few extra years and learned a different vocabulary; but they were not my baby’s mom, and they couldn’t make wise decisions for him. Time has strengthened my resolve. The older and more “professional” I get, the less I respect “professionalism” as the voice of knowledge, understanding, and wisdom.
Now, no matter what the issue, before I submitted, I would LEARN everything I could possibly know for the sake of my children’s health and my family’s well-being. The door was open. I started to learn...really learn.
Source: Michael and Debi Pearl, Preparing To Be A Help Meet (Pleasantville, TN: No Greater Joy Ministries Inc., 2010), pp. 85-88.
