Last month, I posted an article entitled, “Healing from SRA: A Survivor’s Perspective.” This was a guest blog written by author and SRA survivor, Robyn Kranig. (You can also read PART 2 to that guest blog article HERE). Robyn and I first met at one of Tom Dunn’s speaking engagements and have since become friends. Her story is incredible–both in its intensity and in its redemption. Robyn is finishing up the last-minute details of her memoir–her testimony of SRA survival, and I will make details of her book available to you once the book is published. Several sample chapters of Robyn’s book are available on her website, Ritual Abuse Refuge. I am posting a sample chapter below.

[TRIGGER WARNING] the contents of this chapter are graphic. This is not some Walt Disnified version of Robyn’s life. To the metalheads out there who think black candles and death metal t-shirts are “cool”–Robyn’s story unmasks this mythos and shows the very true, painful, horrendously evil reality for those raised in, or trapped in, the occult. Please do not just read this chapter and shut down–pray before, during, and after you have read and ask God what He might have you do with this information. Why did He direct you to read this? Why do you now have these details?

To read Robyn’s “Foreword of Warning,” before reading, click HERE.

Not all of us are called to be warfare slayers–but we have all been called to be warfare pray-ers. It’s the very least we can do for these children and these families. Will you do it?

Abigail Lives

Circa 1978

Just like most other nighttime events, I had gone to bed at home. I woke inside the decoy church but this time I was walking. In this moment of surprise, I waved my hands upward to remove the hood of a cloak while stumbling from side to side.

What I saw was different. The only light came from candles that burned on top of long candle stands. I had never seen this before, but I did recognize that I was inside the decoy church. I was between the pews and the platform, in a line with other cloaked children moving from the left side of the building to the right. The moment that I woke I was near the center aisle between the pews with seated adults to my right.

There was a booming sound that roared in cycles. I knew the sound originated from near the demon’s door. It sounded like a massive engine. It generated power; I could feel it. It was evil and I was headed toward it. This was overwhelming by itself, but each cycle of roars was accompanied with a swishing of fluid. The fluid scared me even more.

The Saints spoke. “Look to your left.” I looked. The place where a cross had always been carved into the stucco behind the baptismal had a different symbol. There was something like a cross in its place. This was not at all the same thing. It contained an infinity symbol.

My stumbling was noticed, and a cloaked adult leaned in from a sitting position and waved their hand over my face which put me back into a trance.

This was all that I remembered for quite some time. I put God in control and recently he pushed me to gain awareness of the next events that followed.

I was kneeling in front of the source of sound. It was covered with some sort of a veil. There was a child to my left and one to my right. We had wooden bowls of liquid near our knees. We were told to drink. After I was poked, I picked up the bowl in front of me and pulled it to my mouth. I heard a cry from heaven. Many voices screamed “Don’t drink that!” I looked up and about twenty feet in the air something was dangling above the thing that made the engine sound. I tried to convince myself that this was a little midget doing a trapeze show. I held on to this delusion for comfort for as long as I could.

I was scared and unaware of what was in the bowl. I lowered the bowl and a cloaked woman offered what seemed to be loving encouragement. She said that it was okay and that it was for me. I raised it again. As soon as I did her attitude flipped and she jerked my arm and pulled me away. I could feel the liquid on my upper lip. The jerking action woke me out of the trance, and I became intently aware that I had an abomination on my mouth.

I took a seat four pews from the front on the right side. My handler sat next to me. There were people crying on the pew in front of me. The restrained whimpers were real and snotty. It seemed like they were at a dignified funeral. Each person was a different size. They looked like a grieving family. They were a grieving family. I knew I couldn’t let myself be distracted.

I had to focus on what was above that engine. It was dark but I could see. I could close my eyes but not the entire time. I could blink, I could blur, but after a while I had to accept that the thing that was hanging was not some silly show. This was a child about four years old.

She had tight uneven light brown curls. It looked like her hair had been cut in chunks. Her head tilted backward a bit, and her torso buckled. Her arms were limp while one knee raised higher that the other. The placement of the legs had a poised look to them, and I wanted her to be doing a trapeze show. This was not a trapeze show.

This was not rubber, this was flesh. The fluid was blood and it was not for me. The physical reality of what I was seeing was more evil than I could comprehend. However, the mental aspects are way worse.

“That is our Abigail,” my handler explained. She told me how the demon had taught them a better way to do this activity. She said that he told them that they had been excessively cruel in their former method. She explained that they used to hook them through the mouth and out of the rectum. He however hooked them through the shoulder, ran the hook through the center of the body and out through the genitals. This was preferred because going through the rectum contaminated the blood. She also said that this new method kept them alive longer and that the blood was not worth much after they were dead. Her tone was calm and smooth. She seemed lifted by her newfound information.

She spoke of Abigail’s contribution as if it had been a sacrifice of love and honor. “We love her,” she said. She talked about how Abigail had experienced an exceptional amount of affection, as if she were loved more than most in the same situation. I did not get it. At this point I lost my ability to ignore that there was a metal rod projecting from her left shoulder and blood dripping from her feet. She continued to rejoice over the newly revealed techniques.

Abigail twitched and the people responded with a verbal gush that sounded like a wail of both mourning and appreciation.

“She is still alive,” my handler bragged.

The whimpering family continued as my handler sat in admiration of their sacrifice. God allowed these people to raise their children in Satanism. He let them kill Abigail. But I know that the God who loved me through my suffering took her soul to paradise well before the blood stopped pumping. It is the ones that lived that suffered the coldness of this way of life. Not only was Abigail not alive, I saw no signs of life in any of these people. How hard it must be for her siblings to find true life after this. She did not feel that twitch, but we sure did.

~ Healing Notes ~

I processed this memory in two different time periods. The easier part came first. The harder it is to deal with a memory, the longer that it takes to come forward. It was not too hard dealing with the moment that I saw the symbol and heard the sounds. However, I knew that there was more information because I knew that the fluid that I heard swishing was blood. For a time how I knew that it was blood was a mystery.

Seeing Abigail on a hook was harder. I recalled a glimpse of it and shook it off. I got severe abdominal cramps for several days. I felt as if I had diarrhea, but with normal bowel movements. With prayer that went away. But then I began to feel as if I had an extremely high fever for several nights, but without a physical fever. I prayed and it occurred to me that both diarrhea and fever are detox processes. But I was not detoxing physically. I was detoxing spiritually. I accepted that I had to address what I remembered and am finding healing and sharing it.

This was a tough one. I know the generosity of my God. He allows people to raise their children as they choose, and sometimes that gets much worse than others. I get it when it feels good and when it fits into what I think is a normal range. I know that evils against children are common in third world countries. It is hard to accept that right under our noses people murder their own children, and so cruelly.

This is not the hardest part. Abigail got a ticket out of a life in which she would have been mind-controlled. Her siblings did not. The long-term damage is the death of their hearts and not knowing the security that God offers.

The enemy distorts. Betrayal is the core belief of Satanism, and they betrayed Abigail. Because I saw this, I had never felt safe until I let God heal me. I have in the last few years watched God keep me safe. I have had people enter my hotel room as I slept and suddenly leave without harming me. I never knew how warm complete security is until I let go and let God be God.

God’s power was always obvious. In the moment that the woman jerked me and prevented me from drinking blood. I did not respond to the cries from heaven telling me not to drink so he forced the hand of my enemy to prevent my participation. That is amazing. So why would I think that He who shielded me perfectly did not remove Abigail from her body in perfect timing. He is more brilliant that I can conceive.

I have not doubted exactly. However, as I move forward, I am more and more convinced that I am on the right team. God can ask a lot. But He never asks for the sacrifice of a child in exchange for a cup of hormone-pumped blood. His yoke is easy. It is all a path to perfect. I do not know what today’s perfect is, but often I see what it is in hindsight. All things work toward the benefit to those who serve the Almighty God. He allows more than I wish he would sometimes, but it always works out in the end for my benefit.

By the way, in my research I found that the symbol I saw, the strange cross with infinity symbol, is the alchemical symbol for sulfur. It’s also called “Leviathan’s cross.” Psalm 74:14 reads “You broke the heads of Leviathan in pieces. You gave him as food to the people inhabiting the desert.” And Psalm 68:6 says: “God sets the lonely in families. He brings out the prisoners with singing, but the rebellious dwell in a sun-scorched land.” Why do the occult music videos so often feature desert symbolism? Why would they choose an enemy that God already defeated?

Let’s get this straight. Satanism is not the worship of a specific false deity. Satan is not a proper name; it means adversary. Scripture does not honor them by using their given names. At its core it is the belief that betrayal strengthens humans, hence the word Satanism. Adversary-ism. The opposite of “Love one another.” They just flip it inside out because the enemies don’t create, they destroy. Also, they know their “lords” are limited. They just like that they are offered immediate gratification. We must wait if we are to receive perfect.

Its practice focuses on the worship of oneself and a specific group of chosen loved ones. While most would never dream of sacrificing a child, these core principals are not far from the way most people live. It is a common way of thinking. I have seen where this way of life leads to. I know that the only refuge is through the protection of the Almighty God. In a time when people are losing more and more personal freedoms every day, He blocks attacks aimed at me often.

If a person fears the occult would come for them as an individual, the only way to get away from it is to surrender to God. A life of repentance is a life of growth, not condemnation. It is fullness. The Almighty God is handy to have around. Constant, unfailing instruction from the source of all power is working for me. It makes sense. The current way of the world is headed to openly practice satanism.

God showed me, it’s not about just avoiding hell after death. Nor is it about avoiding hell on earth. Its about true and perfect freedom, back to the way God created us and intended us to be; in fellowship with Him and being love, like He is love. Its not hard giving others things that you are not using. It’s not hard to share when you do not have excess either. Love one another is not an option when it is so obvious that all negativity brings death.

~ END OF SAMPLE CHAPTER ~

ROBYN’S LINKS

WEBSITE: Ritual Abuse Refuge—Shared Healing

YOU TUBE: Ritual Abuse Refuge

BOOK: Surviving the Occult: Little Bird and Her Jesus

GUEST BLOGS ON REAL DARK NEWS

SRA Briefing: Guest Blog by SRA Survivor Robyn Kranig

Healing from SRA: A Survivor’s Perspective

Healing from SRA: A Survivor’s Perspective, Part 2

Healing from SRA: A Survivor’s Perspective, Part 3

FREE Download of Surviving the Occult (ebook)