Robert’s Incredible Full Story

Dear Sir or Ma’am,

Thank you for being willing to take the time to understand more of the story of January 6 and the vast array of characters involved. You have already done more than most by slowing down your life to read my letter and for that I am grateful. It is my hope that by the time you are finished with this letter, you are intrigued and want to know more. More about the day, the people who attended and the motivations of those who, with the best and constitutional intentions walked into a nightmare that unfolded in broad daylight before their eyes that are either just beginning this gruesome sojourn or have been suffering this diabolical fate for many years as I have. My name is Robert Abraham Morss and this is the abridged version of my life highlighted with the latest events of interest to provide an indicator of whose written words you read. Thank you for your time.

To make a long story short, I was born and raised in Reno Nevada, “where the deer and the antelope roam” and “where home means Nevada, home means the hills, home means the sage in the pine“. Youth in the “Battleborn” “silver state” was an enriched outdoor adventure where I learned to fish, hunt, survive and thrive in God’s beautiful western creation.

I left the majesty of the clear, sapphire waters of Lake Tahoe, the biggest little city in the world, and the brilliantly breathtaking sunsets that God decorates with his multicolored paintbrush across the canvas of the afternoon sky at the age of 17 to join the army. I had enlisted to become infantry, so I “enjoyed” my 18th birthday in basic training on Sandhill 4th Platoon Echo Company, 150 Fort Benning, Georgia.

I originally intended to become an airborne infantryman, ideally with the 173rd in Italy, but God (and the army) had different different plans. During basic training, I was dared to become a Ranger, despite the smothering humidity of August in Georgia and out of nearly 300 candidates of my basic training class. There were eight available Ranger contracts to aspire towards. Well, I earned one of those contracts partly because of my skill as a marksman I learned from hunting big game and water fowl in the diverse climates of Nevada and due to my capacity to run ahead of the pack, an ability I kept from my days of running past those sage and pine and painted western skies in the cross country sports back home. So instead of going to my unit after airborne school, I endured what Georgia had to offer during the winter and spring months during R.A.S.P. or the Ranger Assessment Selection Program. Upon successfully earning my tan beret four months later, I would be deployed to Afghanistan. I was officially going to war at age 18. During my first combat appointment, we lost my Airborne Ranger in the sky, Thomas McPherson. I turned 19 in a combat zone, decided I wanted to marry my high school sweetheart, and after an encounter with providence by literally feeling the pillar of fate descend upon me in the thrashed locality of Sharana as we “walked the night and hunt the wicked”, I was informed, shall we say, that I would dedicate my entire adult life to becoming a high school history teacher, so that my country did not become the wasteland I was riding through under the cover of darkness and so that the next generation would learn how to keep this Republic.

From that moment on, I knew I did not want to re-enlist. I wanted to make more of an impact beyond what I was capable of with my M4 rifle or mortar system.

Two more deployments passed, my high school sweetheart had broken off the engagement and left me, contributing to my decision to go to college somewhere other than Reno upon fulfilling my army contract with honor. I chose Pennsylvania to be my next destination of where I shall pursue my calling- Penn State specifically. Once I was honorably discharged, I returned home and became an Uber driver- a gig that allowed me to make up for lost time with friends and family and work at night at my own pace. I was a glorified taxi driver in a 24 hour gambling town for six months straight so that I could earn enough money to finance the operation of replanting my stakes in the east. My dad and I took our road trip across the country early summer of 2016, officially moving to the historic “cornerstone state” so that I could attend the fall semester at main campus of Penn State where I would utilize my G.I. bill to joyously attend. 2016 was also the year that Donald Trump was running for president. In response to the politically charged climate of an election year on a college campus I attended the club meetings of the “Bull Moose Party”, the only club on campus that would publicly endorsed Donald Trump for President when Penn State’s own Republican club refused to do so. It was not long until the Bull Moose Party made me their chief and as their new leader, I dedicated our clubs energy to contribute to the electrifying vibe of political activism on campus in a bold way.

In an effort to let the campus and the country know that it is okay to support a candidate that is relentlessly accosted and disrespected in the media, to think for yourselves, to be proud of your country and to be unafraid at college, the Bull Moose Party built a wall out of wood that stood about 4 feet high around the American flag on the old main campus lawn as a political demonstration. I had given the instruction to my club members that we were going to be well spoken, informed kind “quiet professionals”- a term I picked up while in second Ranger Battalion, regardless of the opposition we faced. Students of all walks of life interacted with us throughout the day repeatedly remarking how “respectful those Trump supporters were”. The demonstration was a huge success. My college career was off with the bang and consistently was exciting. I went on to transcribe Civil War journals, dance in the 48 hour long dance marathon to raise money for pediatric cancer research otherwise known as THON, facilitate several 5k runs for veterans and families of veterans/ support groups, maintain regular attendance at church, the gym, and the gun range, chipping away at not just my bachelors degree in secondary education, but also earning a minor in history and political science.

In the summer of 2020 with the assistance of a phenomenal crew I unveiled a mural that we painted for the local American Legion post 150 in Petersburg, Pennsylvania that I organized and designed.

That project took over seven months to complete, as every contributing artist was a full-time successful student at Penn State. Our work commemorated each campaign of American war as well as the heroes who fought in them, with 10 panels equaling 20’ x 5’ of a labor of love. After each panel was revealed by someone, deliberate and significant in the crowd, including a World War II veteran, and the unveiling ceremony was a complete success. The town of Petersburg offered me the opportunity to become their mayor. My response was that I needed to finish college first and on December 19 of 2020, I did just that. Because the p(l)andemic robbed everyone in our nation of their civil liberties and a chance for me to have a college graduation, that same legion in Petersburg Pennsylvania offered to host my college graduation party. Family and friends came from all across the country and the four wins to jovially celebrate the end of an era and the beginning of my long sought after promising career as a high school history teacher. The Shaler school district offered me a job to fulfill that the very next year due to my outstanding performance during my senior year practicum. Life was good and about to start.

Then January 6th happened. I remember thinking to myself with my left hand on the steering wheel of my black Jeep Wrangler as I drove to DC the day prior, “I think I am about to lose my new job, my apartment I just locked down in Pittsburgh, and my beautiful girlfriend…” but I kept driving. All of my premonitions came true as a result of January 6th and much much more.

On June 11, 2021, I would be arrested after looking over my shoulder for nearly 6 months straight, knowing that I was a wanted and hunted man yet still showing up to class in a suit and tie each and every day.

It just so happened to take place on the last day of the school year. I never got the chance to wish those seniors well who personally invited me to their graduation, or sign the yearbooks of those who had told me that they learned more from me than any other teacher in the last four years of their high school experience, or shake the hands of the young men I prayed with who confided in me about how awful their home life was. No, I was ripped from my life that I had built for myself since I was a decade younger, swearing an oath to the constitution willing to live for grander purposes than myself. Soon those three premonitions would come true within the initial months of my incarceration. Trusted friends who ensured me would storm with the gates of hell with me, coworkers, and family members turned their backs on me. Once again, the woman I cared for saw fit to leave me while I was swallowed whole by hell itself, my parents of 31 years of marriage got divorced, and now after a life of service from the days I was a little Cub Scout/ Boy Scout, I was public enemy #1 to my own country. My castle made of sand was swiftly swept away. My world turn completely upside down. My soul was on fire like that of inferno from Dante’s imagination, but my pain was only about to become even worse.

It was as if I was living out of an episode of the Twilight Zone. I could not believe my eyes or ears. H.P. Lovecraft could not manage to articulate the monstrosity of this nightmare that had become my waking reality. There I was in American jail (for the first time in my life) in our Nation’s Capital no less, being labeled a criminal and a domestic terrorist by an imposter of a commander-in-chief who on his watch was now allowing the location I invested my youth in, turned 19 and 20 in the sadistic sands of, sacrificed for, and had scars on my mind and body from, go up in flames!

From the DC jail better known as the “American Gulag”, I was helplessly witnessing from my cell of solitary confinement, the disgraceful and disgusting “Afghan Pull Out” unfold on the television that hung on the wall across from my morbid tomb. Innocent young Marines never came home, countless allies abandoned and betrayed, and my country had become a mockery to the rest of the world as a result of the unbelievable event displayed upon the black mirror.

The adage “insult to injury” could not have been more true as I realized that everything I had performed, worked toward, invested and endured from the moment I watched on live television the second plane hit the second tower while in the third grade to when I triumphantly wrote to my father a letter describing the circle of completion of how I was now in Afghanistan hunting down the people responsible for the attacks of 9/11 in 2012 on the same date was a complete waste of time for myself and the rest of my heartbroken veteran brotherhood.

I was experiencing such severe visceral destitute agony that it was difficult to wrap my mind around the grotesque fact that I was indeed living real life, and that I would not at any time wake up from this disturbing, bizarre, psychotic terror. But the cold concrete coffin I now lay trapped in, was true. My life had been torn to shreds- those ghostly ribbons of my broken heart and apparent life failures were my only company. Words like “tragedy”, “rage”, “bewilderment” and “hopelessness” fell short of describing the emotions relentlessly overwhelming my mind, nor could those words accurately name the poisonous daggers I felt in my back, deep in my chest, and slicing my throat. As worthless and devastated as I felt through the fog of my oppressive gloom, I quickly realized that I was not the only one drowning in this rare smothering pain.

In Vicktor Frankl’s “A Man’s Search for Meaning” a life-changing document derived from the survival of the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps, he writes that “with a good enough WHY, you can bear any HOW.” After many sleepless nights and lifeless days, I recognized the WHY I encountered in the mystic mountains and war torn wastelands of Afghanistan did not evaporate into smoke with the shameful “Afghan Pull Out”. If anything what I realized at 19 on those foreign and fateful sands had now become even more authentic and more personal than ever before.

In addition to this, the arduous challenges I overcame in the army prepared my mind for the greatest challenge I was now sucked into taking place on the global stage. The mythic “hero’s journey” had begun and I was now venturing through what is known as “the underworld”.

It was not long until I discovered that I was Teddy Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” and so were my fellow political comrades. We who had arrived on January 6th, 2021 from every corner and culture of our beloved country that believed in our constitution, rejected the tyranny of the p(l)andemic, and knew the 2020 election had been indeed stolen, were now destined to suffer the same sacrificial lamb’s fate together. We incarcerated few. My Frankl-esque WHY morphed into: accepting the mission God had clearly given me; deciding to identify with former prisoners of history and equity in the Bible who never gave up; seeking the God of Jacob, Isaac, Daniel, Joseph, and his wisdom; shouldering this burden as best as I can- to “suffer well”; becoming a better man, deciding not to waste this terrible gift; helping those around me witness the same hopeful realizations I had; doing what I could to ensure that we would be a team of American underdogs worth rooting for, as well as keeping the “espirit de corps” high of my political prisoner brethren. I now belong to a “new platoon”. My Ranger creed demanded these things from me. My scout oath and law required these things. The oath I took at 17 was still just as valid and more vital now than ever. Keeping myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight had never before been more crucial.

I started to understand that the grand conductor of the universe had orchestrated everything I had been through up to that point, even my background and education at Penn State, for this exact moment in time. With this latest discovery, I found purpose and meaning and got to work.

The fabulous TV show that that has ardently reported on the trials and tribulations of the January 6, political prisoners, “Cowboy Logic”, has a wonderful segment where I explain how I personally augmented our national anthem. Once my mind was made up that hell or high water or national betrayal could not take my love of country or trust in God from me, I began shouting the words “STILL THERE” from Francis Scott Key’s lyrics in defiance of everything I had suffered up to that point in 2021 and would violently roar my nightly determination that I was not going to give up regardless of the insurmountable challenges I now faced. Don and Donna of Cowboy Logic have an excellent portion of their show dedicated to that story. Those two words are shouted within our anthem to this day every night at 9 PM in the DC Gulag.

When morale was dipping to an all-time low as a result of the pandemonious suffering we were enduring at the hands of the DC Gulag and the horrendous nightmare our nation was daily decaying into outside of our dungeon, I intervened. I created comedy/talent shows to uplift morale and re-establish a positive environment in spite of the mind warping atmosphere we were trapped in, calling these shows “Hopeium Dens”.

I facilitated, organized, and acted in four of these shows in the DC Gulag in the year of 2021 as well as when I would eventually return to the DC Gulag in 2023. I managed and acted in two more, the last of which being on the Fourth of July, arguably the most impactful Independence Day of my life for reasons you can imagine. They were all a hit!

While trapped in the rotten anarchy of the unholy swamp of the Northern Neck Regional Jail I designed and wrote “The Recommended Code of Ethics and Conduct” which based on biblical principles and scripture, outlines topics of consideration for my fellow political prisoners on how they can suffer well through this present darkness. The 17 points I designed have been considered with high prestige by inmate and citizen alike.

When about 25 of us January 6ers were shipped from the Godless graveyard of Northern Neck Regional Jail, where despite lack of sunlight and sleep, I maintained a job as a nightly painter for an entire year, earning two character references from the captains of that jail, we were gradually taken to the famous “Big House” Lewisburg prison. Here, I attempted and succeeded to unify the warring factions amongst us political prisoners, likening us to the diverse members of the Avengers of the recent Marvel movies, utilizing the metaphor to consecrate an undertone of peace within us. To maintain this Avengers Assembly, I established and organized weekly game nights, like in the spirit of DC Gulag tradition, that took on a life of their own with “trivia nights”, “charades” as well as “Apples to Apples” as methods of levity, reminiscent of Vietnam P.O.W. survival tactics so that we did not eat each other alive or succumb to the soul thieving design of the B.O.P.. It was there in Lewisburg that I also drafted my sentencing speech to my judge, which has been considered profound by many readers and praised after hearing it in person by Donald Trump’s own advisors at my sentencing hearing.

Meanwhile, during my entire incarceration, I have been diligently sending journal entries, written work and epiphanies to my mother‘s address to contribute to the book I intend to publish shortly after my freedom is granted, as well as studying the works of Cicero, Xenophon, Hobbes, Paine, Plato, Voltaire, Milton, Napoleon Hill, Keirkegaard, Dale Carnegie, Solomon, Dostoyeveski, Homer, Jordan Peterson, Sturleson, Machiavelli, James Allen, Benjamin Franklin, Patrick Buchanan, Eldridge, T.S. Elliot, Twain, Campbell, Frankl, C.S. Lewis, Dickens, Dumas, Tocqueville, Wilde, Verne, Towles, Thoreau, and John Locke to name a few.

I have a spotless record have denied every drug that has crossed my path, maintained employment through a vast majority of my incarceration, and have not been in a single fight.

I have simply been too busy to indulge in those common false gods of imprisonment, and thanks to my incredible parents’ instruction as well as the Holy Ghost’s company by my side, I know better.

Everything I have referenced can be validated by looking into the publications of Kiely Thomas of “Valiant News”, Mel Hawley of “1776 Returns”, Don and Donna of “Cowboy Logic”, Jonathan Hayes of “Northern Neck Sentinel”, Julie Kelly’s work, Miranda Devine’s work, and many others.

Since coming to prison here at Loretto, I have actually resumed teaching. I assist fellow inmates obtain their GED as well as instructing multiple social studies classes.

So even though I was ripped from my lifelong goal of teaching high school history the minute I obtained it, as well as the state of Pennsylvania filing the first ever lawsuit against me to strip me of my teaching credentials, I remain a teacher in the middle of hell, daily rejecting my forlorn fate.

Because I have never been placed in “the hole” or “protected custody” or misbehaved/been disrespectful toward anyone while serving my now three year long exile, I am able to attempt the same mission of morale here at Loretto. Though I am not trapped in the patriot pod of the DC Gulag of 80+ men who have been mutually betrayed by their own government from the events of January 6th, I continue to be as supportive as I can be with the four or five political prisoners I am held captive with by hosting little birthday/departure celebrations in my humble cell for my fellow January 6ers, adorning them with either food or hand drawn gifts to remind them that they are amongst brothers, are loved, and are not alone. I will continue to do these things until I am freed and then some because it is the right thing to do, as well as it is the method of response to the conditions and the machinations of those those who lied to the American public about who I am and what I did and why I was there on January 6th, 2021. I will prove the despicable domestic saboteurs wrong about me and the Fed-surrection as I fight back with the right hook of integrity. “Again I stand, Lord God I stand, against the faceless man”.

If you have read this far, we must have a lot in common with the political preferences we ascribe to and the context in which we understand what freedom means and what it requires. I have considered this experience my second basic training, for what assignment God only knows, but I refuse to believe I have walked through “two hells” for nothing.

In addition to the saving grace of Jesus Christ, I am a firm believer in the concept of the “hero’s journey”. As Joseph Campbell points out in his book “Hero of a Thousand Faces”, the same story of a hero triumphing over evil has been told across the planet by every tribe and culture on every continent and island referencing the gruesome sojourn the hero character must overcome. He or she must survive a passage through “the underworld” or take part in “the night sea journey”, a locality that is nothing like the peaceful shire of home, before returning to the land that they love with the humble desire to revitalize the very place they were banished from. In order to re-create what has been devastated of his or her beloved yet broken community, the “runes of wisdom” or “the golden fleece”, or “the life giving elixir” that they uncovered in the underworld must be applied to their home in order for the hero’s journey to reach its prosperous climax. Mankind cannot seem to get away from this timeless tale, no matter what corner of the globe one finds themselves.

Here in America’s dungeons I discovered that I too am on this ubiquitous mythic hero’s journey, and I shall not waste the unique opportunity.

I intend to not just learn from this experience, but to also allow this experience to build me instead of break me, to purify, refine, and educate me and expand my self awareness, so that upon my return to the surface world, I do not return home empty-handed, tempting fate to drag me back to the depths to learn what I should have the first time. I will inevitably return with exactly what my home needs once our Father in Heaven decides that the proper hour has been struck. “I will give them some thing they have never seen before”.

If we truly want to Make America Great Again, we don’t need a Civil War or want any bloodshed at all. Mankind has been making that same mistake for as long as history has been recorded and it is the most stupid “solution” to our national internal problems amongst ourselves. No.

What we need to do instead of running to government in times of crisis, is unanimously decide to run to God. We cannot legislate to heaven, we have to humble ourselves before the Lord, should we desire to climb the stairway. To Make America Great Again you have to Make America God’s America.

Having the patience, desire to instruct, the experience, and the compassion to reach one American at a time is the solution to Making America Great Again. Our people must remember and/or be taught for the first time “individual sovereignty”, “civil liberties”, “self reliance”, honor, sacrifice, discipline and self-restraint for a selfless cause, as well as learn about those in history who performed these deeds to inspire them. As C.S. Lewis writes, “Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage”. Our people must be taught how to fish so that they will eat for a lifetime instead of being given a fish each day. That is the only solution that will not require 50 additional years to recover from. The moral rot you witness in the news and experience in daily life must be “renewed” with a priceless identity.

Christ is the only one that is capable of turning water into wine and the hero’s journey he went on to save our souls is the one we can emulate with our own actions.

As far as I can tell, we don’t need a violent revolution as much as we need a revival of the hero within each of us that would be willing to choose a better way to live. To choose courage. To choose strength and honor. To choose that the next generation would learn HOW to keep this republic.

I am very interested in speaking into a “can” when this is all over so that I can encourage my fellow Americans who I dearly love, to decide to become even better people. To embrace the hero’s journey so that the underworld process that I am currently passing through can purify, refine, educate, and renew them as well so that we can all contribute to the nationwide movement of Making America Great Again, only after and by having made ourselves great again. If we do this, and I believe we can, we will experience what I perceive in our near future, a real “American Renaissance”.

I hope this letter finds you well and encourages you with the knowledge that you are not alone in your perceptions. I look forward to working with you to save this sinking ship of a country. With the experience that I have gained, I will be an asset to any and every movement that is willing to oppose communism, socialism, nihilism, despotism, tyranny, and godlessness on our shores, using education, effective constructive knowledge delivery, and compassion to withdrawal our confused brothers and sisters from the deceptive matrix they have been deliberately corralled within, so help me God. I will tell you the same thing I wrote to Jim Jordan when I offered to testify before Congress last year about the lobster trap that January 6th was. “Put me in coach”.

Please feel free to share this letter and my website akatheleggoman.com with any and all you think would be interested. I consider my website to be my “résumé” which includes most of what I have previously described so that whoever is in charge or willing to rescue our country, will have a place for me on the chessboard, not on the bleachers. I would not have made it this far without my faithful friends, family, and loved ones as well as my faith in God who has promised to never leave or forsake me. Of that I am certain.

I am the “Man in the Arena”, here with my political prisoner brothers. Many were called but few were chosen. And as much as it hurts, I know we are right where we are supposed to be…for now. I trust our King and I believe in you. The best is yet to come, should you choose.

-Your Friendly Neighborhood Lego Man and Political Prisoner, Robert A. Morss

Rangers Lead The Way

Jeremiah 29:11-14, 2 Corinthians 4, Job 13:15

Enjoy this playlist curated by Robert, full of songs that have been meaningful to him throughout this journey.