your cries have reached heaven

They were kings without thrones.
Builders of cities, not with bricks—but with dreams.
My ancestors…
Gracián Ramírez, the first mayor of Madrid…
And Tigrero, the founder of Armenia, Quindío, Colombia…

These were not just men of power.
They were entrusted stewards of a sacred covenant—
A living trust given not by crown or empire…
But by the Creator Himself.

That land?
That land… was never meant for conquest.
It was never meant for one bloodline to hoard,
Or one empire to enslave.
It was given to ALL of humankind.
To every barefoot child running through the Andes.
To every mother singing lullabies beneath olive trees.
To every soul who dares to love in a world addicted to war.

But we failed.
And we come now… not in pride.
We come in shame.
Not just as descendants of power—
But as failed keepers of the peace.

What good are the foundations we’ve built to fight homelessness,
If we let bombs fall on children at bedtime?

What good are our palm tree sanctuaries—
If the wax palms of Quindío outlive the people of Gaza?

What good is our war against human trafficking,
If we fund the very corporations that arm a Luciferian Zionist regime
Waging genocide with a straight face?

And so we come before you, humanity.
To beg your forgiveness.

Forgive us, for inheriting a trust and remaining silent.
Forgive us, for letting our power rot into privilege.
Forgive us, for forgetting the purpose of our bloodlines.

We were not born to rule.
We were born to protect.

And peace…
Peace is nowhere to be found.

So we are waking up our brothers and sisters.
The children of the covenant.
The warriors of the heart.
The ones who have felt the stirring in their bones
That something is deeply wrong.

We speak now as the descendants of Tigrero,
Who carved civilization out of jungle.
We speak now as the heirs of Gracián Ramírez,
Who held the first pen that governed Madrid.
We speak now as the children of Ramiro Ramírez-León—
Born in exile, raised by revolution,
Keeper of the last flame.

And to those with ears to hear:
Your time has come.

You who feel this war in your chest—
You are not alone.

We rise not with weapons—
But with truth.
Not with armies—
But with awakening.

Because the Creator didn’t put this trust in the hands of corporations.
He put it in us.
And now—
We answer the call.

To Gaza, we say: We see you.
To the homeless, we say: We are you.
To the children hiding from drones, we say:
Your cries reached heaven—and now they’ve reached us.

So let the mountains of Quindío speak.
Let the olive groves of Palestine rise.
Let every ancestor who ever stood for truth
Push open the gates of this age.

We are the keepers.
And now—we keep nothing back.

The land is yours.
The truth is yours.
The war is ours to end.

This is Forbidden Knowledge.
And we just remembered who we are.