Iran Is Making Secret Plans…
December 28, 2022
Steel Sharpens Steel
Over the years, Holy Spirit showed me several dreams about Iran planning to attack the president and Washington DC and to start war. And I’ve learned of two demonic plots agains the US—both the same—to nuke Washington DC and start war with Iran.
Dream #1 (March 26, 2013): A meeting is underway in a small room with white-painted walls, expensive paintings in gold frames and a high-quality table.
The attendant parties stand, smiling, and shake hands. They add the appropriate nods and condensed affirmations. Then one group exits the door behind them on their side of the table. The other group, a man and woman neatly dressed exit a door opposite.
Once outside, the stop at a small table and adjust their belongings.
The woman says, “I don’t think they suspect our real plan.”
“No,” says the man. “Not at all.”
The two are Iranians.
Dream #2 (March 27, 2103): An empty bazaar rests under cloak of night. In the sky, wispy clouds cruise across a three-quarter moon. Rows and rows of assorted ramshackle sellers’ tables made of panel boards and assorted worn components pass by as a camera view passes the dirt aisles.
At the end of the long pan, the camera stops before two men at the far side of the bazaar. They share the thick brown hair and facial features of the Persian people. One puts a cigarette to his lips and takes a drag. As he exhales smoke, the second man says, “So then it looks like there will be no war.”
The second man slowly pulls a second drag and exhales just as relaxed. “No,” he says. “My brother is high in the military and he says they are planning something.”
Dream #3 (December 28, 2022): On January 4th, Trump ordered the elimination of international terrorist, General Qasem Soleimani. Almost four weeks later, I received the following four scenes:
Scene 1: President Trump stands in a city square, tall buildings on all sides.
The scene changes to a meeting of his security team. They sit at a table strewn with city maps covered in large red circles with lines and dashed lines drawn on them.
“We’ve extended the radius beyond what we normally secure,” one suited man says. “And we’ve secured and planned for everything.”
Scene 2: A tall man with dark hair stands in front of two men with Persian features, well dressed in traditional garb and turbans.
“I can’t find a line of sight,” the tall man says. “It’s impossible.”
The two turbaned men look at one another. Fear crosses their faces.
Scene 3: Three top-ranking Iranian men go into hiding. One lesser person also does this. The scene represents them as pus-yellow and dirt-brown blobs shaped like a classic flying saucer shape.
Scene 4: The tall sniper lives in a kind of community rental. People have personal rooms. But toilets and showers are in a common space off a long hall.
One night, someone breaks into a woman’s room. The following morning, several residents stand near the entrance to the building, near the bottom of a staircase.
“He tried to take my purse and jewelry box,” a short squat woman says. “But I fought him off in the dark. He came in through the window and went out that way, too, with nothin’ to show for his troubles.”
The entrance opens and the tall man enters. As he steps out of the shadows of the foyer, the hall light crosses his face.
The storyteller looks at him. “How’d you get that bruise on your cheek?”
The man touches his cheek but freezes in place.
“Now I recall,” says the stout woman. “I hit that burglar with my lamp. Gave him a good what for in the face.”
The man’s right foot slides back an inch.
In a clamor of shouts, the hallway residents jump him.
“Take him down.”
“Hold his arms.”
“Lock the doors.”
They tussle and three of them grab hold of his arms and clothing.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” the tall man says. “I’m an assassin from Armenia. I kill people for a living. But you don’t have to worry. I’m no threat to little people.”
Scene 5: A woman staff worker cleans inside a room (ostensibly) vacated by the Armenian. She grimaces when looking at the jacuzzi tub. The width of a man, a field of back hair sticks to the wall of the tub. She sprays it with the detachable shower head, but it has no effect.
Dream #4 (Sometime after 2004): I visit a field hospital in a desert environment. I sit with soldiers laying in beds. One of them is a blonde I served with in Kuwait (2003-04).
The eyes of the men and women in the beds are red and blood shot. I sit bedside to the woman I know.
“I heard,” I say, “that Iranian soldiers fight here against us. Is this true?”
“Yes,” she says. “We’ve engaged them on multiple occasions.”
“Back in the states, nobody is reporting this. Nobody knows.”
The Iranians use a type of chemical weapon that burns the eyes. Impacted soldiers must remain still and bedridden for several days until the condition resolves itself.
Dream #5 (mid 90s): A Russian officer meets with a junior officer in a Soviet-style room: wood, thick paint, and well-used desks.
“We know he wants to steal the portable nukes,” the senior officer says. “Your job is to establish security measures and protocols to ensure that does not happen.”
Scene 2: The junior officer from before sits behind a desk. Another man enters and sits into a chair opposite the new commanding officer. The two men engage in word play.
“I just came here to quell rumors that I’m here to steal what you’re guarding,” the visitor says. “Besides, everyone knows you are the best. How could I possibly hope to steal from you. Even if that was my plan yesterday, now that you are here, I’d never imagine it.” He stops talking and smiles. “What do you say we shake on it like gentlemen and I’ll be on my way?” He stands, arm extended and walks to the side fo the desk.
When the CO stands and clasps his hand, the visitor pulls him in for a bear hug, slaps him heavily on the back and says, “Yes, brother. This is how comrades show brotherhood!”
Scene 3: the visitor returns a short while later, swipes an ID card and opens a sliding exterior door. He walks through a large open area, then down a wide, long hall. There he opens another door.
Scene 4: The visitor leaves the building through the sliding door he entered. He pulls behind him a hand fork lift stacked high with cases.
Two picnic tables are nearby. A group of young officer cadets enjoy sharing a meal together, laughing. Some sit, others stand. They all stop and observe the large block of crates leaving the building.
But the confidence of the man pulling it away causes them all to return to their own activities.
Scene 4: A duo of cars travel down a remote road. Inside the lead car, a young officer points to a building that looks like a single family residence or possibly a ranch house. Along the road, a plantar edges the home’s front yard.
“There,” says the young officer. “That’s where he is.”
“How do you know?” Asks an older man in uniform.
“I served as his aide for years,” says the young officer. “He always arranges his yard so that people in his Freemason Lodge can identify his property. This is it.”
They raid the building. But the stolen cases are nowhere to be found.
“It took too long to find him,” one of the men says, standing outside the ransacked building. “Those suitcase nukes could be anywhere by now.”