Monthly Archives: December 2018

When I was Nineteen

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~ ]

“When I was nineteen,” she said, “I thought about committing suicide.
Everything seemed cut and dried.  Art and music were fine, but could they
explain anything?  Could they tell me why I was alive or what the world was
all about?  I didn’t think so.  And ever since, I’ve lived a compromise: I
wouldn’t try to kill myself, because there was always a chance something
would happen to explain everything.”  (Songs of Earth and Power – Greg Bear)

It is the end of another year, my seventy-second year, which isn’t bad considering I’d set my “best before” termination year at fifty. It seemed reasonable at the time, what could I possibly accomplish of anything worthwhile past fifty in a society that worships (fake) youth and gobbles its world as if it is a melting chocolate ice cream?

“When I was nineteen,” she said, “I thought about committing suicide.” So did I, definitely, but my reasoning was much more pathetic: my lover dumped me. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but each one brought its own degree of particular inescapable hurt.  It would be many years later, having survived (dig the maudlin self pity!) the many losses, that I realized these experiences in an otherwise sated and bloated consumerist society was how I manipulated reality to grow a bigger heart.

I began to sense that my personal pain was but one of endless extensions of this world’s pain. I began to look at ways I could use that sorrowful “me” to become a part of the rest; to make sorrow my bed partner. I learned to cry in the night and though the tears were mine, gradually they were no longer for me.

Unlike Greg Bear’s heroine in “Songs of Earth and Power” however, I did not hang around for the chance that something would happen to explain everything. I used my awareness as a key to that explanation. Since I am my awareness, my own mind, I would be the key that would open the door and allow the “something that would explain everything” to come into my life and claim me as its lover. Once more, I fell in love, this time with a very dangerous character, an actual terrorist, someone for whom there would be no secrets, the ultimate WikiLeaks.

If I desired to know, all I needed was ask and he took me upon secret paths, through mined fields, under electrified fences of razor wire, into secure, severely guarded places where explanations were taking place.  He made me listen in and I discovered that official secrets were constantly being made up with all seriousness.

The first time I saw this, I wanted to laugh out loud. Only my dangerous lover’s hand over my mouth saved me. We would leave those places, return to city traffic, lights, pedestrians, noises, smells and facades of endless body accomodations, find our own and talk through nights that became ever shorter.

“There is nothing new under the sun” he’d quote from Eclesiastes.

“But I still don’t understand” I protested. “How can there be secrets, then? How do we not know everything?”

“I will not lie to you. The truth is, there are no secrets. You’re a victim of gross mis-direction, all of the time. That is the System, how it controls you, makes you fear; makes you hope. Then it dashes your hopes, deliberately, and starts the whole thing all over again. Each time you are left drained, like losing a lover, and while you are in this heart-mind weakened state you are taken by something else, on the rebound. You don’t want to let go of that last thread of hope and the next lie weaves itself into your dying hope and pulls more out of you. This goes on until you die. Nothing is ever explained because there is nothing to explain – that’s the realization that made you want to laugh when in the vault of secrets: there are no secrets, just manufactured lies.”

“So, if I choose knowledge, what should I do?”

“Use your key. Use you. You are your own source of all the knowledge that exists; all you need do is free your mind. Trust your imagination and go along for the ride.”

“How will I know where I am going?”

“You won’t; you can’t. If you did, that would be another false path, another lie. Where is the freedom in following an already existing path? Obviously it wouldn’t be yours and if you can see it, someone designed it as a trap for you, to seduce you once again upon a way that isn’t yours and will prove disempowering and end in loss, again.”

“Why do the great teachers ask us to follow them? Their teachings?”

“Because they are lovers, not great teachers and their teachings are powerless to change anything.  Because they want you for themselves and have no intention of ever giving you anything of themselves.  Because they are liars.”

“So, no great teachers, and I know everything?”

“Yes, potentially. You need to trust yourself; believe in yourself. You need to realize you were meant to walk this path alone. In fact, there is no path, just endless choices, the best ones seemingly impossible but remember this: nothing is impossible.”

“What happens now?”

“Now I will leave you because you no longer need me. You are equipped to live your life as a self-empowered being. You not only possess the key to all knowledge, you are that key. Much of that knowledge does not pertain to this, your reality, so you must learn to choose wisely, what you keep in your pockets, in your pack, and what you leave behind for the time being.”

“I am scared to be so alone!”

“Fear is the mind killer. I will not fear, I will face my fear… do you remember that? You learned it because you already knew you would need it. Now is the time. You walk alone, you never look back, you never doubt yourself.  Goodbye, lover.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Antierra Manifesto – [blog post #2]

Chapter 1 – Incarnation – A Frightening Discovery

“I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.  I will face my fear. I will let it pass over me and through me. When it has gone, I will look with the inner eye at its passage and nothing will remain.  Only I will be standing there.”

       (Bene Gesserit Mantra- Against Fear – from the Dune series by Frank Herbert)

I awake on a sand dune in what appears to be a desert.  The sun is rising in a direction I sense to be “east”  but another “sun” appears to be setting in what I take to be a northerly direction.  There is no discernible sound except the constant rasping of dry sand being pushed by a cool breeze across the top of the dune I’m lying on.  High above me what appears as a flock of seven black vultures circle.  I am naked and totally alone in a landscape reminiscent of some surrealist painting. 

Thirst is the first sensation I become fully aware of and my lips feel dry.  I look at my body – long and supple and skin uniformly light tan and oily smooth.  My hair is thick, reaching almost to my waist, and of a rich, dark honey-gold hue.  From what I can see of myself, I would be about twenty-five years old.  “My eyes are green” I say to myself, though I don’t know why that matters.

I stand up in the cool breeze and over to the west I see curving black shadows of low hills starkly highlighted; etched upon the landscape in the slanting rays of the rising sun. Intuitively I begin my trek in that direction, the sand here hard under my feet.  Much life beneath the surface of this parched land, I sense; old networks of grass roots holding the subsoil together.  Not so long ago, I think, this was not desert country. 

As the sun passes its zenith, not as hot as I had anticipated it would be I reach a small valley from which emanates the smell of wood smoke.  Without yet any ability to sense fear, I slide down through scrub brush and dry grasses to come upon a dilapidated camp made up of stick and mud huts and comprised of a small band of small, ragged, bony women and a half dozen naked, emaciated children. 

A low cry of alarm goes through the camp when they see me and the women nimbly surround me, holding spears – more like long pointed wooden sticks – to my ribs.  I am surprised to discover I speak their language, somewhat.  We can at least communicate on an elementary level and they reluctantly accept me.  One of the women brings me a tattered rag that had been a robe and I greedily drink the water they offer from what appears to be a worn plastic jug.  A quick survey of these surroundings, the drying brush, the sand flowing over dried reddish clay, makes me wonder how they got the water.

By physical comparison, I am much taller than the tallest of them, with longer arms and legs.  My skin is darker.  Despite their semi-nakedness under a desert sun, their skin remains white, as if it does not tan.  Despite the rigours of life etched as with acid on their sad faces I judge that not one of them is as old as I.  Just young girls barely in puberty and young women aged by some terrible process.

Their initial fears somewhat abated, they come forward and begin to poke and pinch me.  They measure my height with their arms and there is much grunting.  The children, really just babies, three in their mother’s arms and two just old enough to stumble around, are aloof and listless.  Malnutrition is obvious. 

I ask them who they are.  In a pidgin I was to become very familiar with they explain they are the remnant of a small group of escaped female slaves from a city which I gather is somewhere far off to the east, beyond the desert.  As they speak, it’s as if a switch is thrown in my brain.  I understand now, as my memory reluctantly kicks in, not only who I am, but where.  I have arrived, full-grown, on a world I long ago dubbed “Malefactus.”  This is the world I would “tame;” the world I studied and agreed to manifest upon in an attempt to change its mores.  I am the reincarnation of the Avatari Al’Tara. 

As I remember in waves of fuzziness of brain, I am here to participate in a drama that has to do mostly with the people of this land and only indirectly with the environment.  Let it suffice for the moment to describe a few basic physical characteristics of Malefactus as necessary details to fill in unacceptable blanks in the flow of the story.  

For a panoramic view, think of your Earth before your skies were filled with various types of pollutants and imagine much fewer stars in skies that are rarely dark due to the positioning of two suns.  Temperatures from day to “night” do not vary much, though the east-to-west sun gives heat whereas the south-to-north one doesn’t seem to give any.  From its orbit one can only conclude it must be an artificial satellite though the sheer size of it makes one shudder to think who or what would have made it. 

Where I stand I see rolling hills to the south, mostly covered with dried scrub brush that had grown from hard soil but recently become covered in sand.  Among the brush are clumps of coarse grass waving stiffly in the steady breeze so there must be water under the surface.  To the west from whence I walked, are more sand dunes and shallow ‘coulees’ slowly eroding and filling with ever-moving sands.  To the north lies almost pure desert, its sands a dull grey.  To the east are taller hills or low mountains, rare rocky bluffs protruding from the sand and highlighted by shadows cast by the directly ascending sun which indicates we must be close to the equator here.  Everywhere you see and hear the hiss of ever-moving sand filling cavities, creating higher dunes.

I ask one of the women trying to feed an infant from her flattened breasts what the strange sun I’d seen earlier is called.  She replies, “No name for things or people but we hear, remember.  Men, they say it Albaral.  They think it great power.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.  As I do, I motion to her to give me the infant and putting it to my own breasts I find I can produce milk.  The woman heaves a sigh as she looks at herself and offers me a weak smile.  Hopelessness and utter misery.  I can already sense the death of this place.  They have nothing left and no place else to go. 

My question about name meaning makes no sense to them. 

“Why should mean?” [in my mind I add “anything”]  “Men give name.  Albaral carry great evil power, help men capture, kill escape women.  You have thing call name?”  As I listen to them I note their ability to communicate verbally as very limited; that they possess only a rudimentary form of language but that what they have is practical.  As they waste no movement, they waste no sound.  They have an array of gestures and signals much more meaningful than mere spoken words. 

“I’m Antierra.”  Which in their language means, “She of Earth.”  My explanation remains meaningless to them.  The one who asked shrugs and turns away.

I try to explain more of who I am but say too much and too fast.  Then I test their ability to read by squatting down and writing my name in the sand.  The one I take to be the leader jumps forward and quickly erases the marks.

“Not do this.  Evil, evil!  Markings that speak be from evil one who kills.  Make markings, die terrible death.  Gora[1] fool!” 

They take the infant from me and it gives a short cry, quickly stifled by the mother, and they move away from me, making throaty sounds,  pointing and gesturing.  The words I get indicate they believe I may be an evil spirit sent to find them for slave hunters.  They are deciding whether to kill me or let me stay.  The mother of the infant points at my breasts and sees me as a source of food for her child.  My life is spared – I’m useful.  But they are nervous around me.

“She has spirit eyes!” they say to one-another. 

I ask them what they mean and they explain that green eyes are those of the Great Desert Beast, a female spirit or totem animal or some such form of divinity, I cannot establish exactly what they mean.  They say this Beast is thought to protect the weak but unpredictable and dangerous in its ways.  No real people have green eyes, they say.

They may well think it true I am the human incarnation of their Desert Beast because two days later the miserable camp is discovered and overrun by a squad of men in camouflage gear equipped with lasguns and stun wands.  Bounty hunters.  The women fight desperately but sticks against guns?  Most are killed and the few who survive the attack are taken prisoner.  The children are systematically slaughtered in front of the remaining mothers – and the women do not make a sound, but I can feel their pain rip through their guts and tear open their hearts as it does through mine.  At a complete loss as to what I should do I kneel in the sand with head bowed to await my fate.  I watch the women and children’s blood seep quickly into the sand and leave black marks on the surface.  I dare not look up but I sense the flock of vultures circling lower. 

[1] Gora: derogatory word to describe female slaves.  Proper word for woman is ahya.

[End  blog post #2]

The Novel – The Antierra Manifesto

I’ve decided to spend more of my time working on my novels and short stories, perhaps with a view to publishing eventually. I’ve held back long enough and who knows but some people may actually like to read these oft-mentioned “novels” never seen on the blog.  So from here on, until it is completely blogged, I will post two sections of “The Antierra Manifesto” per week right here, beginning today.  I’ll begin by posting an average of 4-5 pages in each post.

Since it is a novel, I break one of the blog rules and post as a copyright.  That doesn’t mean that you can’t copy and paste into your own computers to read at leisure, or to collect and read as one complete novel. In fact I would encourage you to do that as it will make more sense that way.

Fair warning: this is extreme adult content, with blatant sexuality and much violence, in fact the novel is about violence.  However, none of that is intended to titillate or to provide gratuitous pleasure.  The nature of the material will render point quite self-explanatory as you follow through.

The novel itself is the framework upon which hangs a philosophy I have pursued and studied over many years to do with explaining and exposing a particular type of unexplainable violence we are subject to on this world, are exposed to and often, are the perpetrators of same.  Someone had to look deeper and further than others have done, even with their “technical” research and their attendant degrees.  In this novel, I am daring to do that.

What hubris, you might say.  Perhaps, but hubris can have other uses than to gain power or enrich oneself therewith.  It can be turned into moral courage, daring to be called a fool and a charlatan.  Ideas are dangerous things which the system fears above all else and expressing strong ideas not vetted by the system or society in general can result in vociferous criticism.

I will close this introduction with an oft-repeated comment from one of my bosses at Coca Cola when asked how he felt about less than favourable media mentions regarding the company’s methods, involvements or products.  “All publicity is good publicity.”  I am not sure I agree with that but it’s one way of looking at it.  So, this is publicity.

Coming next: our feature presentation:

T’Sing Tarleyn

(The Antierra Manifesto)

© 2007-02-12    By Sha’Tara

Introduction

“I’m fascinated by concepts of other realities, other ways of doing things.  Nothing is fixed, nothing sacred, nothing metaphysically determined — it’s all contingent on process and evolution.  That’s perfect.  It means we might be able to understand, if we can just relax and shed our preconceptions.”(from Moving Mars – Greg Bear)

Note: I have chosen to capitalize the words “Earth,” “Galaxy” and “Universe” simply to indicate that from my perspective these are not just objects but very much living beings as you and me think of ourselves.  When you learn the truth of this you will find it much easier to relate to the greater concepts of nature or creation.  Your understanding and empathy will be greatly enhanced thereby.

My name, as you will discover herein is Al’Tara.  It is I, rather than my other-self or alter-ego An’Tierra (var. Antierra) who is addressing you now.  Although the story is mostly told in the first person by Antierra, it is I who caused the following to be recorded.  This was done not just to satisfy the needs of those who, of necessity, must keep records of Galactic history for posterity but in order to express to you, people of Earth, how much I have desired to help you see yourselves as part of our greater Galactic and Universal human movement among the stars.  It was, and remains, my hope these stories can help you take the jump, evolve, beyond your rather narrow-minded solitary human grouping that believes it is locked down upon a small planet ‘somewhere’ without any location corresponding to the rest of us.  A pseudo-human grouping which for the most part still thinks of itself as alone of its kind in the cosmos. (Exceptions from among your species, noted.)

Let me reiterate that over the millennia that I chose to interact with you as one of you, you gave me much even by how much you took from me.  You taught me to ‘love’ because you forced me to grind out the meaning of love from the manifold perversions of it I discovered on your world.  When I would ask you to define love as you understood it to mean, what did you give me?  If you went so far as to describe love as compassionate interaction with empathy, how often did your actions match your words?  I must tell you now that I spent many long and dark Earth nights crying over you and your world, for I could, even then, foresee what would happen as you short-sightedly and perversely continued to pursue your predatory mindset, exploiting every aspect of your world for short-lived profit or pleasure.  I remain convinced that even then you knew better but were not willing, as a species, as an intelligent and sentient collective, to take the low road of humility and self-sacrifice that would have freed you from the subsequent nightmares you brought upon yourselves.

The following story relates back to a time when I was among you and basically masqueraded as one of you so as to come to know you and attempt to understand what you are all about.  That time in your reckoning spans many of my lives on Earth – from millennia BCE to your 21st century CE or AD as some prefer to say.  I use the simpler indicator C-21.  The following story itself takes place some three hundred years into the future from that time.  I mention this here to help you get a start on the chronology of the following events.

It is difficult (for me) to engage this tale knowing how unreceptive you are to what you do not think you can ever understand and equally unresponsive to thoughts of alternate realities you do not believe are possible.  Knowing also that some will see this as just more workings of a dark mind experimenting with evil energies; as fictitious drama couched in a classical horror theme.  Everyone who reads the following will have a different reason for doing so, and likely a different reaction to it.  That is, of course, how it should be and it will not change how I feel about you in this ‘now’ time, my time, a time beyond the events in the following story.  Although I speak of my past, for you this remains one of your possible, if most likely, future.

However this is received, it must be told, if only to ease my longing to share something deep, terrible and in some latent way very beautiful, with you.  If you do read the following, keep in mind these things: these are events from my past, a past that remains concealed in your future.  The future I express need not be yours exactly as it is expressed, though from my viewpoint I know the outcome of these tales will greatly affect your world, regardless of which path your collective race chooses to take into its own future.  The future I express here is from another world, certainly, but one whose ways directly impact your own this very day – the day that finds you reading this material.

If you find what you read here unpleasant have the courage to look at your own history with the eyes of awareness and ponder your own experiences in that history.

Try to remember these very basic points:

— Your current history as seen mainly from the viewpoint of your media headlines, or what you call “infotainment”  and more recently, “fake news.”

— Your religious power groupings and frequent inquisitions to force individuals into specific group beliefs thus violating their inalienable freedom of choice.

— Your countless wars of conquest, exploitation and oppression which have been a permanent part of your history, continue to be so and will increase in scope in the foreseeable future (beyond C-21 and to the end of C-24).

— Your pogroms, purges and death camps against those who disagreed with you or were “unlucky” enough to be of a different Earthian race from yours.

— Your refugee camps created by power-mongering and systematic global injustice.

— Your male-dominated top-down religious, financial and political (social) systems that account all the powerless, of human and nature, as “resources” – meaning exploitable in some way or other.

Above all, remember if you can how many innocents died of preventable causes on your world of Earth while you did nothing to prevent it, either because you did not care or because you thought there was nothing you could do to change things.

A challenge by which you may determine how close you are to becoming truly human: remember how many times, and in how many ways, you personally and consciously opposed the above methods, risked your life to attempt making change or at the very least maintained a clear and present awareness in your heart of those made to suffer so the System and those who support it could extract profits, pleasures and power from this global oppression.

This is not a guilt trip.  All of us must walk that path of “remembrance” and deal with the memories thus awakened.  For it is a truism that all spiritual awakening is triggered from remembering the past, all of it, as far back as you have lives on or in these worlds.  Remembering is what frees you from the patterns of your past and allows you to continue on your path of spiritual and mental evolution, a path you chose aeons ago as did I, as did all of us or we would not be able to communicate at all.

Remember that as you read Antierra’s story which is one of my many personal histories in this Galaxy and sometimes beyond.  While you read it, think of it as your story, a vision that takes you into a future you have caused to be by how you express your life today.

What are myths, fantasies, futuristic science fiction, tales of heroes, of avatars, sorceresses and wizards but the bringing to the fore of that which “we do not speak of” in our lives?  Are we not all the heroes and villains of our own tales?  I offer the following to you as a challenge to the dawning of your greater human intellect, an intellect that as you will discover in your near future, knows no bounds, recognizes no imposed boundaries and can apply itself equally to the doing of evil or of good.

Together we are what is becoming ‘humanity’ and however we accept this truism, we are the ones who were custom designed from before time to travel time’s pathways and continue on beyond time, to replace the great gods we once worshipped as external to ourselves.  As we spread our “final frontier spacer wings” beyond the galaxy that gave us birth we become ISSA[1] beings.

We are now Source for that which calls itself New Life.  For lack of a better term, we are the creators of this time.  This is not something to take lightly, nor should it frighten us.  It is the inevitable effect of our mental and spiritual evolution.  We, collectively and individually, made ourselves into this.  There is no turning back for the ‘old farm’ (euphemism for what I will call Old Earth or “Túat Har” in my Altarian tongue) has been subdivided and become a city.  In the far-flung future just at the edge of my vision the city has become a space-faring seedship.  There is no more ploughing for ‘farm boy’ and no more fashion shows for ‘city girl.’  We outgrow our mindless toil and irresponsible foolishness.  We move on.  The Final Frontier beckons.  As far as those of us who have travelled into the far future, to the edge of the “13th Floor” we can only say it appears as if it always and ever beckons.

[1] ISSA: Acronym for Intelligent, Sentient, Self Aware

[end blog post #1]

Life and Woman’s Purpose-An Endless Question

Life and Woman’s Purpose – An Endless Question

                    [thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

What makes life exciting?  What gives it that power to draw us in and push us on, even in the most horrible of conditions; that brings us back to the fore life after life?  The endless question, naturally.

Of course, for those who have abandoned the quest in favour of a “safe” future, either in choosing annihilation at physical death or to spend some eternity in a nebulous heaven jealously guarded by an exclusive God, then what I’m attempting to relate here won’t grab.  Just words.  How can anyone who has all the answers in the bag ask any more questions?  What would be the point?  Any new existential question would only disturb the still waters.

What a sad place to be.  No wonder there is so little joy on earth, and so much dissatisfaction.  So many trusting in fate or some God to possess all possible answers to all the unasked questions!

Eve dared partake of the forbidden fruit.  Pandora dared open the box.  The still waters of an essentially male dominated world were stirred forever.  Damn those women, eh?

Life expresses itself as a question.  We are a question and as we come to know ourselves, we receive our answer.  Ah, that is what I am?  No, only in the moment.  Every answer leads to the next question.  That is how creation happens.  We keep questioning the chaos and every answer is a bit of order we put together.  Like fording a stream over stepping stones.  Not all are always visible.  Sometimes you have to wait for the current to change before you see the next logical one and step there.  Then to the next because if you stay on that one it will submerge again and you will lose your footing.

A question that has been foremost in my mind since I began writing the “Antierra Manifesto” or trilogy of the Stacked Worlds as it pertains to a world called “Malefactus” and that is, simply, “What is a woman’s purpose?”  I’m not speaking of position, function or role, but purpose. Please note the difference, these are not synonyms and “purpose” is going to be the driving force of our future.

Much of what passes as history, divine revelation, philosophy and mores comes from the “male factor” on earth.  Did you ever wonder why the injunction against “coveting your neighbour’s wife” did not also contain the injunction to the woman not to covet her neighbour’s husband?  Pretty obvious when you think about it.  The woman was not considered able to understand such things.  She could not really understand the law, for it was from a male God to man, although interestingly enough she’d be the first one punished if she transgressed this male law.  In all ancient literature and carrying on in today’s world we find the same conundrum.

Throughout history males have determined the woman’s place.  Her function or “usefulness” to the male manifesto, which states basically that in any top-down power system, the male must rule. Some rare exceptions can be made for a female to have that power as regent; in some temporary capacity and properly surrounded by male advisors.  Another exception can be made if the female exhibits enough male values to do the job as a male would.

That’s been beaten to death and whatever answers anyone may have come up with – such as “allowing” women to vote; or “allowing” women to inherit property; or “allowing” women to keep their own names in a marriage; or “allowing” women to get equal pay for equal work; or “allowing” women to become police officers or grunts in the military – now there’s a promotion to exclusive male power – none have managed to make a dent in the Earthian reality or “male factor.”

The question asked here is, what is a woman’s purpose?  Could it be it’s to bring forth life because life is female?

 

 

 

Rethinking our Cosmology: more on Lucifer

Is it Time to rethink our Cosmology?  More on Lucifer
     [voice from the Other Side  ~burning woman~]
 
Seen on a bumper sticker:  “Eve was Framed”
 
Indeed.  And on that note I want to leave you with a thought I’ve broached before, if only to demonstrate that “history” can be re-written – and always is.
 
In “researching” the timeless files for my work on the *Stacked Worlds I’ve uncovered some interesting history available to us mostly through deductive reasoning.  The following is but a glimpse into what I have seen from my travels across space and time… and beyond!
 
How to begin such a tale?  In the beginning (only it wasn’t the beginning, of course, just a beginning which was subsequently, for political reasons dubbed the “only” beginning) when this universe was just coming together there already existed mighty entities who had the ability to cross the great energetic barriers erected between the various universes, for even though a universe can be nested within another, it wouldn’t do for the energies of one to intrude upon another and either crush it out of existence, suck it dry or overload it — and vice-versa.  So there are set “boundaries” that universes may not, or cannot, cross.
 
But these mighty beings could cross.  As in all things, these beings were possessed of both good and evil natures, to use a common terminology.  But they liked to think of themselves as perfect, so whatever they did, they called good.  And who would gainsay them?
 
I jump now into this universe at a later time.  The beings I refer to, of course, are the Time Lords.  I have alluded to these before.  They “invented” time as a means of control over their share of creation.  Anyway, there was a group of Time Lords who made the area we observe from Earth as the constellation Orion their home worlds.  I shall refer to that particular group as the Jehovian Gods.  Even in their early days they were warlike and dreadful to their neighbours.  These Jehovians were, and note, male and “white” in how they perceived themselves.  (This information is crucial to understand what happened subsequently on Earth.)
 
The Jehovians do not need females to procreate for them.  For the most part they can “bring forth” (create!) their own offspring as they choose.  To put it bluntly, they can clone themselves over and over.  Thus are the great Divine Families multiplied to rule over their manifold conquered worlds.  It is also a trait of these male Gods, and note, that each ruling divinity likes to be seen as if it were the only Divinity extant in the cosmos.  This perception provides much political and psychological benefits among the conquered and (lesser) created.  So thus they insist their history be written.
 
What the Jehovians require for themselves of “man power” they either create or enslave neighbouring worlds where suitable exploitable life exists.  But they cannot escape the fact that creation is based on duality and they do need female companionship as sex slaves, concubines and for the rulers, as consorts. 
 
Long ago, but never lost in the mists of time, in their imperialistic wars of conquest, they came upon a group of very bright stars inhabited by “angels” — female beings who were, when seen from a physical perspective, black in coloration.  These females had no concept of war or defense and many of their worlds were quickly overrun by the Jehovians in search of spoils and pleasure.  Along with billions of these black angels they captured their leader who was named “Lucifer” which means “Morning Star.”  She was forcefully joined to the then ruling Jehovian Divinity to become his female slave and consort.  Lucifer was the personification of female perfection and considered of great prize.  Her beauty, intelligence and gentleness attracted competing Jehovian Divinities from other worlds.  Her presence engendered much jealousy among the great Jehovian houses for which she was blamed.  Civil wars were fought over her for which she was also blamed.  (You can trace this pattern down to the Helen of Troy story)
 
Lucifer pondered the state of affairs in “Heaven” and after much talk (telepathic conversation) with her enslaved sisters, she decided to confront the God and ask that she and her people be released from their bondage and be given their worlds back.  As is to be expected her pleas fell on ever-deaf ears.  The God was not about to let himself be swayed by a slave.  His final reply to her was this:  “If you can defeat me in war, you can go free.”  It was an inane statement but Lucifer considered it.  There were some odds in her favour, namely that a number of the “Sons of God” of the lesser members of the Jehovian group had fallen in love with the beautiful angels and let it be known that if it came to a war they would side with the angels. 
 
Desperate times call for desperate measures.  There was “war” in Heaven, only it was a war of nerves.  Lucifer declared universal satyagraha or peaceful non-cooperation towards the conquering Jehovians.  The angels refused to serve the Gods and Lucifer was no longer seen to adorn at the left hand of God when he mounted his throne.  She refused summon after summon.  On the conquered angel worlds the same thing happened.  There was widespread non-cooperation.  The angels took whatever punishment was meted to them and waited for many long, dark years. 
 
The situation in Heaven became untenable, pointless, even idiotic.  Neither side would give in.  So the great Heavenly Advisor Michael proposed that the angels with Lucifer as their leader be exiled, along with all Jehovians who had sided with them.  They would not be allowed to return to their home worlds but would be “dumped” upon a small solar system that was still unformed.  All the angelic slaves of Heaven as well as all those who could be found on other worlds were rounded up and forcefully taken to the new solar system and an energy shield was placed upon it, effectively cutting it off from the rest of the galaxy and universe.  From Sol as we called it the angels could see the far-off stars twinkling in space but they could not return to them, at least not as long as the Orion Jehovian Time Lords ruled or they themselves developed the means to defeat the energy shield.
 
Lucifer called her people together along with the faithful Sons and pointed to the chaos of Sol.  If we must live here she said, and we must, then let us make this place into a veritable paradise for ourselves and all the life we are going to bring forth here.  Let us make this our home.  And so it came to pass.  The creative works of Lucifer are the seven days of creation as depicted briefly in the first chapter of Genesis, the Bible.
 
Lucifer chose the planet Tiamat as her home world.  Tiamat was a large water world, a “super earth” that possessed much potential for new life.  However there were spies among Lucifer’s people, among the Sons, and these sent reports of all that was taking place within Sol.  The jealous Jehovians decided to destroy Tiamat by sending another planet now known as Nibiru-Marduk to “attack” Lucifer’s world.  It took two attacks over a period of 3600 Earth years but Tiamat was successfully destroyed as the ancient Sumerian writings attest.  It was split approximately in half, one half shattered and became the asteroid belt (the hammered bracelet) and the other became Earth.  And so it came to pass that Lucifer indeed was “cast to Earth” as it is written.   But even then she would be persecuted and endlessly demonized.  Her people would be called demons.  Earthian females and black skinned peoples would be oppressed, enslaved, repressed and killed without due process over the millennia.  For you see, one of the Jehovian Divinities was allotted Sol as his ruling domain.  Part of the plan was to prevent Lucifer from re-creating in Sol the kind of worlds she once ruled before the Jehovian onslaught.  The other was simply pillaging and raping, a process that continues to this day.
 
Some interesting anecdotes: 
 
–As already mentioned, misogyny is common on planet Earth yet cannot be logically explained.
 
–Black skinned peoples are “naturally” seen as less human than lighter skinned ones and have been used as slave labour for millennia.  Though some things have changed on the surface the pattern remains and will in all likelihood re-assert itself in the future, if indeed the truly black races have any future. 
 
Throughout the planet ancient peoples have worshiped a Black Goddess or Black Madonna.
 
The (then and perhaps still) oldest human skeleton ever found was in Africa.  It was a female skeleton and they called her “Lucy” (short form of Lucifer).  Is it safe to assume this “Lucy” was black?
 
In the Biblical book called “Song of Song” – a love song attributed to Solomon – the woman says: “Dark am I yet lovely, [] dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon. [Tents were woven from black goats’ hair]  “Do not stare at me because I am dark.”

(Question: why would people “stare” at her because she is black if there were no stigma attached to her skin colour?)
 
And now ponder this:  Over the thousands of years that Earthians have existed on Earth and evolved so-so, they have been unable to change their behaviour even when it is abundantly clear that such behaviour is anti-life, counter-productive if not utterly insane.  Are Earthians mentally defective in some irredeemable way?  Not at all.  There’s a much simpler explanation for their insanity.  As is stated in ancient books, and particularly in Jewish literature (and more than hinted at in the Bible) Earthians are given a “soul” at conception.  This is the gift of the ruling Jehovian God to every Earthian.  This soul is an implant that overrides the natural programming of mind-body and replaces it with Jehovian patterns.  Thus is “man” ever and anon created “in the image of God” and helpless to correct his “sinful” nature.  Thus can the ruling Deity make promise after promise of salvation and redemption from a “corrupt” human nature for those who are “chosen” according to the will of the Deity.  But although all are chosen at conception not all willy-nilly follow the divine patterning.  Some remember a time before Eden; before “Adam and Eve” — before the coming of the Jehovian male Deity; a time of fullness, peace, simplicity and comfort.  A time when there was no fear of man or animals; when there was no predator and no prey; when there was no death on this world; when all, human and animals, lived in harmony. Some do remember the Lemurian age before it too was destroyed.
 
Would we end war, oppression, greed, moral corruption, racial hatred and fear on planet Earth?  Would we substitute compassion and love for the evils we continue to cling to as if there was no choice?  Perhaps now as never before we have the chance to re-think our cosmology, our Earthian heritage and the crucial “Why?” reasoning behind the blind trust we repeatedly put in our rulers and deities despite all evidence that they are our worst predators. 
 
“Was man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil principle and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour that can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and loathing.” (Frankenstein – Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley)

*Stacked Worlds is an Altarian theory on how and why certain universal or cosmic patterns, usually of the negative kind, keep repeating even after it would seem all their energies have been drained. ‘Stacked Worlds’ is  the theory I used behind the futuristic, dystopian sci-fi novel, “The Antierra Manifesto” which may yet see the light of day. 

Music Break: Anais Mitchell w Greg Brown – Why We Build the Wall

Are writers and singers beginning to write proper protest songs again, as they did in the Sixties? We need more of these…

Climate Denial Crock of the Week

Lyrics:

[HADES]
Why do we build the wall, my children, my children?
Why do we build the wall?

[ALL TOGETHER]
Why do we build the wall?
We build the wall to keep us free
That’s why we build the wall
We build the wall to keep us free

[HADES]
How does the wall keep us free, my children, my children?
How does the wall keep us free?

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Murdering the Truth is Terrorism

I’m reblogging from this site but if you do not like the black backgound (I don’t) go to
Source: Murdering the Truth is Terrorism | New Eastern Outlook

journal-neo.org

Gordon Duff

Dec 20, 2018
Americans are being dragged into a war with Russia and I can readily see by comments on blogs that the anti-Russia propaganda is working wonderfully well, especially now that Trump has announced withdrawal from Syria. Immediately social media was a-buzz with the same argument used years ago against withdrawal from Vietnam, ergo, there would be endless massacres if the godly USA military wasn’t there to keep the peace. It’s like they opened up the tombs…!

Tales from the Conspiratum

Source: Murdering the Truth is Terrorism | New Eastern Outlook

journal-neo.org

 Gordon Duff

Dec 20, 2018

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The New York Times, in early December 2018, ran a 5000-word article outlining how Russian propaganda, supported by independent media, has destroyed America’s understanding of what is real and true. This time I wasn’t cited personally as last year when Newsweek, the Washington Post, Politico and The Hill named me as a Russian agent.

Endless hours with Federal investigators began to recreate a sense of reality. They genuinely began to understand that they are the ones who have been the victims, fed a narrative of lies for years. It was heartening.

In particular, the times went after the downing of MH17, the Skripal poisoning, or whatever it was, various gas attacks, the alleged election rigging, blaming Russia for making it hard for them to get their version out and believed.

For my part…

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