Salus In Fide
11.6K posts
@salusfide
Prophetess Seer Dreamer Scribe Kingdom Community Join Fellowship of The Ring https://t.co/m3bdNcpk4t Support Mission https://t.co/rj1uHPN68E
SpaceX put 10 megawatts of solar power in space across 3000 gen1 Starlink satellites, then they put 100 megawatts in space with 7000 gen2. soon, they're doing 1000 megawatts with gen3. SpaceX is basically 10xing space solar every few years!
This is the staffer that Tony Burke flew to Spain, first class, on the taxpayers purse, $48,000, while still married to his wife. Later on, he split from his wife and married the staffer.
Two simple Truths: Jesus Christ died for our sins. America’s fallen died for our freedom. May we live worthy.
Today, I signed a targeted PREP Act declaration to support the development and deployment of medical countermeasures related to Andes virus, which can cause the deadly respiratory illness Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome. This action helps remove barriers to research and response efforts while we continue monitoring the recent outbreak linked to the South Atlantic cruise ship. HHS is taking this situation seriously and will continue working to protect public health and support the safe development of potential treatments and countermeasures.
Born To Rule Uni Party Entrenched Systems of Power youtu.be/vEjHg0p2XSk?si…
In 1915, a princess was born with Down syndrome into one of Europe’s most powerful families.The expected response was immediate and brutal: hide her. Institutionalize her. Erase her from photographs, from history, from memory.Instead, her family made a different choice.A choice that would one day save her life.On April 7, 1915, Princess Alexandrine Irene of Prussia entered the world. Her grandfather was Kaiser Wilhelm II, ruler of the German Empire. Her father was Crown Prince Wilhelm, next in line to the throne. Within weeks, her parents realized their newborn daughter had Down syndrome.In that era, the script for aristocratic families was clear. Eugenics was rising. Disabled children were labeled “unfit,” “burdens,” “defective.” Many royal and noble families quietly removed such children from public view, sending them to institutions where they were often forgotten. Society whispered that their very existence brought shame.Alexandrine’s family refused to follow the script.They called her “Adini.” They kept her at home. They included her in official family portraits that were distributed across Germany — a princess with Down syndrome standing visibly beside her brothers. Her mother wrote that Alexandrine was “the sunshine of our house.” In an age of shame and silence, this simple act of visibility was revolutionary.Then the world collapsed around them.In 1918, the German Empire fell. The throne vanished. The family lost their status, their wealth, their future. But they never lost their devotion to Alexandrine. From ages 17 to 19, she attended Europe’s first school for children with disabilities, the Trüpersche Sonderschule in Jena — a place where she could learn and grow.But 1939 brought darkness unlike anything the world had seen.The Nazi regime launched Aktion T4 — a systematic program to murder disabled Germans. Doctors identified victims. Buses arrived at institutions. Gas chambers disguised as showers killed them efficiently, quietly. Between 1940 and 1945, over 200,000 disabled people were murdered.Most victims came from institutions.Alexandrine wasn’t in an institution. She lived privately with her family in Bavaria, protected by the love that had surrounded her since birth and, ironically, by the very visibility that had been so radical in 1915. While genocide consumed disabled people across Germany, she survived.Her brother Wilhelm died fighting in France in 1940. The empire her grandfather built crumbled into fascism, then rubble. But Alexandrine endured, year after year.For decades after the war, her brother Louis Ferdinand — head of a family without a throne — made the journey to visit his sister near Lake Starnberg. He came faithfully, year after year, until he was the only sibling left.On October 2, 1980, Princess Alexandrine Irene died peacefully in Bavaria at age 65.Pause and consider what that means.In 1915, life expectancy for someone with Down syndrome was less than 10 years. Today it’s around 60. Born into a world that wasn’t ready for her, living through two world wars and a genocide targeting people exactly like her, Alexandrine outlived nearly every medical prediction of her time.She was buried at Hohenzollern Castle beside her parents. The photographs still exist — a baby in christening clothes, a child among her brothers, a young woman in her confirmation dress. In every image, she is there. Present. Visible. Unmistakably part of the family.Her family wasn’t perfect. Her father initially supported Hitler before turning against him. They once ruled an empire built on conquest. But they made a choice that transcended their flaws and their era. When the world said hide her, they showed her. When society said she had no value, they said she was their sunshine.Alexandrine didn’t change laws or lead movements. She lived quietly, loved deeply, visited faithfully. Her life wasn’t a grand political statement. It was something more powerful: proof that acceptance, offered without apology or condition, can sustain a person through 65 years in a world not built for her.She was born a princess of an empire. She died something far more precious: a person with Down syndrome who lived her entire life visible, valued, and loved.That choice her family made in 1915 — to simply love her openly — didn’t just define her life. It saved it
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—THE ART OF THE DEAL!!!
She was 19 years old when she walked into Dundee Maternity Hospital in labour in the 1960s. A young girl about to become a mother. She never laid eyes on her baby girl. Never held her. Never counted her tiny fingers. Never kissed her forehead. Never knew the colour of her eyes. Never knew her smell. Never heard her cry. Heavily sedated, she woke up alone. Around her were mothers cradling newborn babies, cots resting at the ends of their beds, soft cries filling the ward. But at the end of my auntie’s bed, there was no cot. No baby. Just silence. Still dazed and confused, she clawed through the duvet covers searching for her daughter, desperately believing someone must have moved her. Instead, she was told her baby had died. No explanation. No goodbye. No chance to see her. No chance to hold her. Then she was sedated again. A funeral went ahead without her. A mother buried her child without ever being allowed to meet her. It was only a couple of years ago that we finally managed to source the birth and death certificates for baby Gillian. My auntie kept them close until she passed away two years ago, carrying a grief that had never been given a voice, never been acknowledged, never been healed. She told me once she would wake in the night searching the duvet for baby Gillian decades later. Today we remember Margaret. And we remember Gillian. And we remember the thousands of women whose stories were silenced behind hospital walls. Because maternity harm is not history. It lives in our mothers, our grandmothers, our aunties and in every family still carrying unanswered questions and unbearable loss. The greatest scandal in the world is the harm done to women while bringing future generations into this world. These women deserved dignity. They deserved truth. They deserved their babies. And they deserved to be believed. Rest in eternal peace Auntie Margaret & Cousin Gillian. I do this for you. @ArturNadol7566 @KenZeroHarm @MareeToddMSP
