The World\'s Most Dangerous Secret Societies: The Illuminati, Freemasons, Bilderberg Group, Knights Templar, The Jesuits, Skull And Bones And Others pdfdrive com

Chapter Nine: BOHEMIAN GROVE
Monte Rio. Snuggled deep into the woods of Sonoma County just 
overlooking the Russian River, this idyllic California hamlet of barely more than 
1,000 residents is an ideal vacation getaway populated by dense forests of 
redwood trees and viaducts, lakes and streams. It’s easy to lose yourself in the 
natural splendor of the surroundings, enraptured by the scenery and the warmly 
glowing Northern California nights, unaware that just a mile away, on a private 
2,000 acre campground, some of the most powerful and elite leaders in world 
politics are gathered together to re-enact their ancient pagan forefathers’ rites of 
drinking copiously and unrepentantly around a bonfire loomed over by a 
massive owl—the ancient Greco-Roman herald of knowledge and secrecy.
It’s easy enough to perceive this highly-guarded two-week getaway as
nothing more than a cabal of some of the most high level political magnates
reaping their respective mid-life crises through a collegiate level weekend of
alcohol-fueled high jinx draped in highly suggestive mythological motifs. It’s as 
far removed from the daily life of the upper-class vacationing families nearby as 
the more sinister myth surrounding Bohemian Grove; those of sinister Luciferian 
rites lorded over by wealthy politicos hell-bent on world domination and infant 
sacrifice. It’s tempting to think of the conversations between such turn of the 
century literati as Frank Norris and Jack London and statesmen such as Oliver 
Wendell Holmes and Theodore Roosevelt over an unending flask of undistilled
moonshine, with only stale cigar smoke and Japanese lanterns summoning an
eerie ambience in this preternatural landscape; but it’s likely that such
conversations belong to the hangovers of ghosts and rash hubris.
What is it about Bohemian Grove that invites such wild and far-fetched
speculation? Other highly publicized weekend retreats for world politicos—such
as Camp David or the G8 summit—rarely result in the sort of crazed allegations
surrounding the Grove. Is it merely the garish “rites” that mark what would
otherwise be seen as “blowing off steam” for overgrown frat boys accustomed to
Brooks Brothers suits and bureaucratic spools of red tape that hold the lives of
millions of Americans in their arthritic hands? Is it the vision of a naked Henry
Kissinger leading a ghoulish coterie of Senators and industrial magnates around
a bonfire to pay homage to an elite bloodline bestowed by the fortune of

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supernatural forces? Or is it that Bohemian Grove represents one in countless
annual soirees among those very same names we’ve grown all-too-familiar with
in the course of this book as being those which have an intimate link to the same
threats of globalization and unswerving authority that have been amply
demonstrated by this book over and over again?
A plaque directly outside the entrance to the campgrounds of Bohemian
Grove bears a legend from Shakespeare’s 
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Weaving Spiders Come Not Here.” An ominous warning to would-be intruders
that their fate could be the same as that of the humble spider; squashed and
tossed out the window of a moving car into the rapids of the Russian River, lost
to the rippling maw of nature? Or a knowing allusion to the myth of Arachne;
that to penetrate the web of guarded secrets and defense will only result in an
inescapable entanglement?
Despite successful attempts from researchers and documentary producers to
break the spell of hermetic silence that surrounds the myth of Bohemian Grove,
in the end only one neutral party knows—the Redwood trees. And they’re not
talking, either.