Location: Jupiter Inlet, Florida Date: May 4 Time: 04:13 a.m. Intercepted By: Alexandra McGraw Signal Source: Unknown Frequency: 113.7
🎙️ [Begin Transmission – Alexandra’s Voice, soft, tired, but alert]
The wind’s been wrong for three days. The trees don’t move the same. The birds—quiet. My radio equipment, old as it is, started humming again tonight like it remembered something I didn’t.
I don’t sleep much anymore. Haven’t since the order came down. So I got up, brewed some coffee, flipped the dial like I always do. Nothing but dead air—until 113.7 lit up. I hit record just in time. The voice… it wasn’t human. Or maybe it was, once. Maybe it was all of us. Maybe it was the Earth herself.
Here’s what came through.
🌩️ [Begin Transmission – The Voice of the Earth]
Thus saith the Earth—
You who forget the signs and seasons—you will be caught unaware. You who harden your hearts and seal your ears—you will not hear the thunder until it is too close to run. You who built your altars to comfort, to control, to currency—your gods will not save you.
Because the storm is already here. And the Earth remembers what you do not.
You neglected the soil. You paved it over. You poisoned the waters. You bottled them for sale. You silenced the women. You mocked the poor. You cast out the queer, the neurodivergent, the prophets in your own land. You crowned your pastors and called it God.
But God is not who you think. God is in the tremble beneath your feet. God is in the fire licking at the edges of your cities. God is in the lungs of the child coughing from wildfire smoke. God is in the shaking hands of the veteran, the broken mind of the survivor, the trans kid begging to exist.
You prayed for revival, but revival doesn’t come in song. It comes in truth. And truth is messy. Ugly. Uncomfortable. Truth is not your weapon. It is your mirror.
And when you see what you’ve become— Will you look away again?
The prophets already came. You stoned them. The Earth already warned you. You drowned her out with industry. The children already spoke. You silenced them with rules and rage.
But still—you are not forsaken. Not yet.
This is your last breath before the plunge. This is your final warning whispered in ash and thunder. This is your Jonah moment. Will you turn? Will you remember?
Everything is by design. Even your forgetting. But forgetting has a cost. And now the debt is coming due.
So thus saith the Lord—not of gold, not of guns, not of empire— But of wind and wave and womb:
Repent. Remember. Return.
Because everything you buried is rising. And the reckoning will not wait.
It ended just like that. Static, then silence. I’ve played it three times now. Once for the record. Once to believe it. Once more to try and shake the feeling that it was speaking directly to me.
If anyone else is out there, if you’re picking up the same frequencies—I need to know I’m not the only one listening.
