Category Archives: After Life

Nebuchadnezzar’s Dream: the Statue, Then and Now

Book of Daniel — The Vision, old and new.

 (Another vision from    ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara)

The books called the “Bible” are not difficult to understand, least of all those who deal with dreams.  But so much darkness has been cast upon the words by would-be interpreters, by greedy fools; by writers of bad fiction, but mostly by Religion, that it takes careful re-reading to “get it” if one is looking, say, for information in prophetic writings of long ago.  An open-minded person, educated enough and perhaps with a degree of wisdom can get much valuable information from that maligned and misunderstood book.

A case in point:  The prophet Daniel lived during the Babylonian Jewish Diaspora, circa 530 BC.  During the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, the king had a dream of a majestic statue that had a head of gold, chest and arms of silver, belly and thighs of bronze, legs of iron and feet partly of iron and partly of baked clay.

 While he was looking and admiring this colossal statue, “a rock was cut out but not by human hands. It struck the statue on its feet of iron and clay and smashed them.  The statue collapsed and was reduced to broken pieces, like chaff and the wind swept them away…”

Daniel (Daniel 2:31) interprets the vision according to his information at the time.  The interpretation, except for the last part, is now ancient history.  Babylon fell, as did the other empires symbolized by the statue.

 The vision remains as a reminder that “history” repeats.  There is a new interpretation of this vision, which I will share because I have had a similar vision, but to do with these times, not those of 2500 years ago.

My vision has to do with the corporate world, banking, the military industrial complex, medical and prescription drugs cartels; energy and food empires built on aggressive exploitation of natural resources, including the ubiquitous usage of human slave labour.  It speaks of hierarchies and bureaucracies.  The head of gold is those who lord it over these powersdictators of empires, CEO’s and elitist fat cats on the boards of directors: the richest men on this world.  Most of the statue’s energy flows up there and there is not enough left to make the entire statue of gold, nor would those at the top allow that! 

 So must come the next echelon of “leaders” – those who are represented by the chest and arms of silver.  These too are rich, and have a greater “reach” than those at the top.  The second layer of power: politicians, heads of various military and security state agencies, despots of all kinds in politics, religion, business, “mobs” and families; heads of charitable” (read tax-free) organizations – all those whose positions depend on those at the top but are autonomous from those below them.

 Then come the bureaucracies – the “belly and thighs” of the statue – those entrusted to make it work; to suck the energy from the bottom and move it to the top.  The mid-level corporate managers, the bean counters… and those qualified to “have the great ideas” and push corporate fanaticism through advertising, etc.   Professionals of all stripes, research and development scientists, teachers, doctors, lawyers and judges, law enforcers, local bank managers, on it goes.  Those who must believe and push because they have sold their souls to the upper parts of the machine; because it makes them comfortable, relatively rich and feeling safe.  

 Finally come the feet of the statue, those who support and feed it: the working class.  There is some iron in them, which means they actually believe in the ponderous contraption they laboriously and pointlessly support with their faith, their hopes, their love even… and ultimately, their mindless laboring and ignominious, pointless death.

But it must end, as all things that have grown out of balance; as have all empires in the past.  And in the collapse of this monstrosity, most of those who support it must, of course, die with it and their remnants will be swept away by “the rock cut out, but not by human hands.” 

In my vision the “rock” is nature turning against man in a final showdown in which only the planet can win.

There was more to my vision:  I saw beyond the pollution storm of environmental destruction; beyond spiritual corruption and mental bankruptcy

I saw what remained beyond civilization’s collapse; what had survived in underground testing labs; what was dead to feelings and could never understand empathy: I saw the rise of the Cyborgs.  Human machines gradually taking over because they needed so little “natural” energy to operate on.  They could live in a poisoned environment.  They could reproduce themselves, repair themselves and even evolve through trial and error processes using old and new technology and what they had absorbed from brief interactions with non-earth people who had shown up during the catastrophic destruction (The ancient “creators” from planet X, Nibiru, perhaps?  It wasn’t clear who these interlopers had been, just that they had made a brief appearance and made a quick exit.

 

These Cyborgs, I saw, were determined to hunt down and kill the last surviving “true” humans on this world for they sensed them as dangerous competitors.  Well, not surprising.  They had, after all, the “memories” of the pre-Cyborg human race.  A necessary part of their awareness, their programming.   They understood that if the humans survived, the many battles would go to the Cyborgs but the final war would be won by the surviving humans… and history repeats itself!

Oh well, hints of “Terminator” and other sci-fi stories and movies.  But in these confused times where nothing, anything or everything can be believed, or believed “in”… who’s to say what is fiction, what is prophecy?

I would not offer my dreams and visions as prophecies — just some food for thought.  Something to help us “slow down” and do a bit of thinking outside the box. Nor is this about taking a stand for survival: there is no surviving earth.  This world has evolved itself as a treadmill; an exercise machine for Earthians.  When our time’s up we have to take off our sweaty exercise stuff, shower and dress appropriately for “out there” and exit the “club”…

 “And what’s “appropriate”? someone might ask. 

 Depends on what’s “out there” for you.  Think: why have you done all that exercising all those years?  What was your purpose?

To live a life, I suppose” would be one answer.  “I really have no idea” would probably be the most common reply.

“How could anyone possibly know what’s out there?” someone else may add

 All they’d get for answer to that is a smile and a reminder that it’s all on their destination ticket.

 “I don’t have a destination ticket” another may challenge.

The answer to that is, that’s not a choice.  Everyone has a destination ticket.  All are born with it and it’s a part of one’s entire life.  Perhaps now would be a good idea to locate it and read the fine print.  Who knows but what one’s life lived without due care and attention may have caused to be written on the “admission” side of the ticket? 

 

     The Star Dancer

       I have no recollection of having posted this very short story.  If I did, it would have been many months ago, and “followers” have changed drastically since.  If it is a repeat for you, just ignore, although I have made some edits.  thank you.                                               

                                                               a short story by  ~ Sha’Tara ~

One could almost say she had the characteristics of a winter bird without stretching the comparison.  A killdeer on a windswept dune in December heard only after darkness covers the shores, that would describe her presence. 

Slim of build, almost translucent of skin, she could stand in perfect stillness beside a doorway and remain unseen by those passing in and out.  Generally silent, there was a quality to her voice that demanded stillness and silence.  Not from weakness nor self-pity, her way of remaining in the background was her means of allowing her to observe the world, voicing some of her thoughts little more than the occasional soft word.  She could just as easily remain alert and active for long hours without apparently tiring.  Never was she seen indulging food or drink beyond a body’s basic needs.  Her pleasure, and she radiated pleasure, did not emanate from satisfying carnal desires. 

She was not what would be called pretty, but she was truly beautiful, with the movements of a small wild animal raising its head to look inquisitively at the world; with the velvety touch of an angel.  And what to say of her attire?  She wore no makeup and draped herself in the simplest of styles, in second-hand clothes.  If asked why she didn’t spend more on herself, she’d smile, as if shyly, and shrug.  “It doesn’t go with the innocence of children,” would be the extent of her explanation on the subject. 

Certainly, the innocence of a child would have described her.  She was called naïve by some.  To that she’d reply, “Do not confuse naïvety with innocence.  I choose to remain innocent.  It is my way of counteracting the many grave faults of this man’s world.  Do not make the mistake of thinking I am unaware of what goes on here or helpless to do anything about it.”  Only then did her voice take on the severe tone of the Teacher, a tone of voice loaded with implications which none but the awakened caught.

She was an empath.  Compassionate.  When she interacted with strangers, she mostly smiled and helplessly, they would smile back at her and then at one-another.  All children who met her were attracted to her, that is until the time when their innocence was forcibly taken from them.  Then she faded from their eyes and their memory.  They will not remember her until they get old and tears will roll down their lined faces in realization of what they had encountered; what they could have learned; how much it could have changed their lives.  

There were tragedies in her life as in every life.  Through it all, she brought hope and comfort where none existed.  That was her nature — to give, not to take.  It was as if she gave her own flesh and blood to those in need.  She “fed and clothed” by what she did not spend on herself – that was one of her “open” secrets.  But with each sorrow, her translucence increased.  A dawn would come to finally dim her starlight beyond earthly recall.

It didn’t matter what they called her, I recognized her from times before time.  She was of the Star Dancers; those whose home is the infinity of the Cosmos; who scatter themselves as stardust over myriad of worlds and touch the lives of countless others.  Sadly, yes, some of us get lost and for long periods, sleep in forgetfulness.  Our memories of the Star Dancer are but myths in the conflagration of time that burns within our confused minds.

But she did come.  A speck of dust on the wind, perhaps, but she appeared on our horizon, burning off into the skies like a meteorite. 

What does that matter now that she is gone, you may well ask?  What matters is, she came, scattered a bit of magic stardust and there was joy where none was to be had; there was hope where despair had held sway. 

What matters is, I can now remember and continue to do some of what she began.  How could anyone forget such a passing?  How could anyone mourn?  How could anyone who ever encountered her not make a supreme effort to remember? 

 

Some Things are best left Unexplained

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

 

When an Earthian by some fluke (some coming together from a series of fortuitous events) makes the jump from being a pseudo-human into the actual human race, life completely changes.  It becomes a totally different concept; it becomes amazing.  A slave sees things from a certain perspective: painful, narrow, limited and basically hopeless.  A master sees things quite differently.  There’s an open vista of infinite possibilities that flow, swirl, dance; beguiling, alluring, attracting, calling to explore the limitless possibilities of the cosmos. 

To the master, the cosmos is not this material world or the universe or even the multiverse.  It’s more and beyond anything so crass, material, limited and limiting.  Any reasoning based on strictly physical awareness brings one to some end; a wall. To an actual human, does the physical body stand in the way of new and expanded awareness?  Then the body is abandoned, temporarily or permanently – it’s really not that important.  A body is a sensor, nothing more.  It allows the occupant to taste only one particular reality: the physical world. It’s not designed for anything more.  You don’t take your car to bed with you; you don’t make love to it (even if you wanted to).  The material has its limits.  

To the slave, the body is all there is, and it is a death trap.  Its “awareness” is limited to the functions within a physical brain, a physical set of switches that operate a material body.  That central processing unit doesn’t sense anything that isn’t material.  It has no affinity for abstractions.  It cannot think or reason, only compute.  Pseudo humans, a description that fits the vast majority of Earthians are no more than computers installed inside robotic bodies.  Their thinking isn’t theirs, they picked it up from watching TV as a baby, and up through the ranks of the faithful followers of approved beliefs, changing their minds (or not) as their pet beliefs fell into disrepute to be replaced by something new and improved. 

It’s a funny thing, that man can “evolve” a kind of material technology and yet become less human in the process.  Well, not so funny actually.  It’s an energy trade-off.  If you want to advance your technology, you must coincidentally give up previously attained levels of humanity or consciousness.  The greatest loss is in values and ideals.  These are sacrificed on the altar of science and technology. Science and technology are not human values, they are material and mechanical properties.  They belong strictly to the material world.

In the beginning of modern “advances” in scientific thought and experimentation, older values and ideals still held sway.  As success followed success for general science; as it gained expertise in the use of natural functions and turned those into technological achievements, the human part of scientists and technologists eroded away.  They became thinking machines until all that mattered were measurable results.  Consequences of applied science and technology mattered less and less.  Science, or rather its high priests, were bought by financial interests in order to serve them, not the world, not the people but corporate and banking predators.  A “moral” science would never expand as rapidly, nor be as lucrative as an amoral one, and so scientists dropped their façade of human ideals and plunged whole-heartedly into a materially centered understanding with a mechanistic explanation for everything. 

Thus was humanity lost in developed and developing worlds.  When everything must be scientifically explained and materially demonstrated or it is labelled false, you’ve gone from a human world to a machine world.  When you enter the machine world all your human values and ideals; your wonderful abstract relationships, must be abandoned: they are poison to the machine, and machine is all that modern technological civilization understands.  Inasmuch as it is still capable of worship, machine is what it worships.  When a choice has to be made between securing resources to keep the machine running, or protecting life and the natural environment, the needs of the machine supersede those of life. 

To claim that some things can be real while remaining outside the ability of science to categorize them is a direct assault upon the mechanistic central processing unit; an insult to technocratic machinists who label themselves scientific brains.  Such claims could very well lead to legalized lobotomy or euthanasia in the near future with the “machinists” claiming that such thoughts hamper the machine’s ability to usher in the golden age of man. 

Engineers have to explain, whether they know or not. [Magi’i of Cyador] (L. E. Modesitt, Jr.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life Exists at the Sufferance of Darkness

[poem by  ~burning woman~  by Sha’Tara]

I heard the music in the darkness
Or it could have been the night
Low and ponderous, it came in waves
With which the ocean of time washed
Glistening shores, but not of healthy light
And I thought, I thought, I need to think
About good things, nice, kind, soft things
I tried, I really tried to think upon such things
But the music changed into angry noise
Waves of it thundering against the shore
Loosening rocks, pulling them down
Where they can never see the light again

I cried for the rocks enslaved into darkness
As I stood between the remaining ones
And the black waves thundering forward
I screamed a warning to the rocks
Hold on!  Save yourselves from death!

But you see they were rocks, only rocks
And they could not listen even if they heard
The last of the rocks were taken then
Clattering helpless past my prostrate form
I could but watch them tumbling down
Into everlasting darkness, so it seemed
I learned thus that thinking good thoughts
Really changes nothing, nothing at all
I learned it is wiser to think all thoughts
The good, the bad, the indifferent
To read what the mind writes between them

That’s when I discovered the truth of life
That life precedes death, and death, life
That life exists at the sufferance of darkness
That darkness is the prime mover, the arbiter
Of all that lives, all that was, all that will be

Beware of your own great realization
All ye worshipers of what ye call light

“Why worry about what can kill you tomorrow when so many things can kill you tonight?” 

(title is a remembered quote from the movie, “Lord of War”)
[thoughts from  ~burning woman~  through Airin WilloWitch, a.k.a., Sha’Tara]

I’m sure that title and quote is also a paraphrase of something else I’ve read somewhere in my travels.  It is a line however that I have often thought about.  What does that mean to me?  Does it mean, in the hedonistic biblical sense, “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die!”?  Throw caution to the wind, live for the moment, and the Devil take the hindmost?  (Or the lion if you happen to be a wildebeest?)

While I completely disagree with the common politically correct phrase, “we’re all in this together” (which is obvious bullshit in spades when you think about it seriously for a split second) there is definitely one thing we all have in common: death.  Whatever we do to avoid it, and believe me that the amount of money people spend to try to avoid it is beyond staggering (well, OK, I don’t know how much, I just know it’s a whole lot more than that), we simply can’t.  Death is our constant companion through life.  We’re born to die, with a little lunch break in-between we call life.

No, I’m not trying to cheer you up, but I’m not trying to depress you either as both would defeat my purpose.  I haven’t (yet) said anything you don’t already know so if this feels uncomfortable, think of it as a reality check – and try to make sure it doesn’t bounce.  Hell hath no fury like the Devil holding a bounced check and you could be looking at a fate worse than death – but I’m ahead of myself here and I hate it when I have to keep looking back while writing, it’s so hard on the neck.

Two questions arise from the above: why worry?  And what is death?  And from that let’s extract this gem: is all of our worry concerned with the possibility that we may die, suddenly and inexplicably, or that we may be driven to death by any number of means or reasons: bankrupted into abject poverty; contracting an incurable, terminal disease; arrested for murder and though not guilty convicted of same in a death penalty state; accident?

So, why do we worry?  Why are so many people stressed to the max and depressed today?  What happened to the real, un-faked happiness, the verve, the “joie de vivre”?  What is this terrible darkness that is descending upon the planet and which seems to only increase every time some major man-made event happens?  Why can’t we have at least one major truly joyful man-made event of gargantuan proportions to celebrate ourselves within, as a species?  Why must everything of major import be sad, dreadful, horrible, hopeless, destructive, death-dealing, polluting with no end in sight when we are sick and tired of hearing all about it, or of experiencing it?  Or, why, if we are of the hopeful types, must what we hope for be forever out of reach, more often receding from our grasp than approaching it?  Why does the carrot always turn into a stick?

I think it all goes back to death.  Consciously we may choose to ignore the monster and try to live relatively normal, happy lives among those we love or the society we fit in, but subconsciously “it” is always there, just like *Joe Black, not always recognized for what it is but suspected, distrusted and feared; the entity with its own agenda over which no one has any control.  Death, the great equalizer it’s been called.  Well, I don’t know: I see a lot of death, I don’t see much equality arising from its presence, quite the contrary.  Death is like that bouncing ball that after it’s set a bouncing, every time it’s touched it bounces even more wildly and unpredictably.

In a moment of wild ecstasy I suppose, John Donne wrote “death thou shalt die.”  Literally or figuratively?  It really doesn’t matter how, it matters more when.  Until now man has been the slave of death and the certainty of having to face that executioner has caused man to behave in very irrational and contradictory ways.  For the average Earthian, the way to avoid death is to be the first to deal death to some whose existence is perceived as a threat.  This knee-jerk reaction is called war, man’s most precious invention.  The one he spends the most resources upon by far; his joy, his baby, his heritage.  Makes me want to write an ode to war, or a love poem: “O dear war, how I missed thee in the dark hours of peace and how I praise thee now that thee are back, filling that aching void in my human heart, O dear war promise, O promise me thou shalt never abandon me again, I could not bear it!”  Well, that’s a start.  Dark humour, but how far from the truth of the matter?  So we kill in a vain attempt to save our own life, a life that was forfeit from the moment we were conceived.

OK, so I’m not looking for rationality among the species, I know such a thing is anathema to man’s thinking.  I’m just wondering if there is a cure to worry.  Let’s spread the net.  All animal life dies, sooner than later, here.  Do animals worry about dying?  I don’t think they do, although many animals experience powerful emotions when one of them dies, some more than others.  They know about death; about the end of the body, but they don’t seem to be worried about their own coming death.  It’s only when the predator appears that they resort to their fight or flight mode.  And if they get sick they do not linger.  Either they can heal themselves or they quickly give themselves over to death without any struggle.

For whatever reason, Earthians are very different from the animals in the matter of death.  Animals don’t form armies to attack and decimate their enemies.  They may be territorial for logistical purposes but they don’t try to expand their “empires” outside limits set by the Alpha male of the tribe.  Those outside the limits are safe from attack and free of harassment.  Animals kill to survive, not to enhance their own personal power or “wealth” as the expense of others.  {Oh please God, make me into an animal this minute!  Amen!}  Animals do not cling to life when evidence shows the game is up: they gracefully surrender their bodies to the earth and very quickly no evidence remains of their passage.

It is foolish to worry, even more so to allow oneself to get depressed.  Depression isn’t a disease, it’s the dirty diaper of the spoiled and entitled modern bratty human who wants more than it’s willing to get for itself or share and give to others.  Depression comes from a “I want it, and I want it now” civilization whose technology provided a lot of stupid, unnecessary and polluting toys and that continues to promise even more toys while the natural resources that fueled that technology are being wasted by overuse and war or vanishing from the planet in waves of entropic energy like climate change.  Depression from not getting what one feels entitled to leads to worry about more serious things, like losing one’s home or having no money to buy basic necessities such as food or losing one’s children through violence… Ah yes, the list of things that cause worry is long indeed.

So, I choose to live by my first quote.  I don’t worry about what could kill me tomorrow.  I think about the things lurking in the night of my mind, the things tonight, that can kill me.  I think about the dangers of reverting back to being a common Earthians; of waking up tomorrow morning worrying about food, clothing, shelter, money, what’s been stolen in the night, etc.  I think about spiritual regression and mental devaluation from nightly visitations of “demons” from the darkness of the Matrix.  I think of the horror of discovering I’m no longer immune to the foibles of man but rather fully back in their clutches.  I think about what it would be like to lose my sense of self empowerment, of knowing what I am; of losing sight of my purpose… in the night.  And I shudder.  That would be worse than any conceivable depression.

Ah, but I’m a witch!  I have spells to protect myself from demons who would steal my self-made personhood:  “I think my own thoughts, therefore I am my own person.” And spells also to protect me from well-meaning Earthians who would also destroy me with their verbal weapons of mass distraction: “I Choose Me.”  And then I remember that death is a gift, my doorway out of this place and to another I know about and look forward to – and no, sorry, it’s not heaven!  And when does death die?  It dies for me when I kill it by transcending it every moment of every day.

*Joe Black: reference is to the movie, Meet Joe Black, with Brad Pitt as death.

 

 

 

 

Death, Mind and Collective Brainwashing

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

Let’s begin with death.  “What is death?”  Perhaps that is not quite the right question to ask.  Perhaps a better question would be, “What is it that dies?”

If you reduce any collective entity to its individual components – to its particles of light, of energy, does it still die?  What if the “memory” of the entity that “died” was now carried by its scattered particles?  Hopefully I’ll get to that when discussing the concept of mind.

Death is a coming apart of a collective.  Therefore only a collective can experience death.  Death is the scattering of the individual parts of any collective.  As long as collectives have the power to call individual particles to themselves to feed themselves, they can overcome some the effects of time, the erosion that time imposes on everything it controls.  When its individual components can no longer supply its growing needs for converted energy, it begins to disintegrate at an increasing rate.  It literally dissolves.  That’s called entropy.  It’s also called “limits to growth” where a collective has surpassed the capacity of its environment to keep it alive.  Many believe now, or can see, that man has reached this point on this planet.

Perhaps I could think of entropic process as life’s sluice gate, to flush out overgrown and destructive collectives, from universes (the largest we can “know”) and down to our own bodies and smaller so the greater (cosmic) process can develop as life intends or so individuals can regain the freedom lost to collectives.  Individuals seek freedom.  Conversely collectives seek to constrain, to gather, to bring together in order to control, then to squeeze life from individual particles.  In the great chess game played by collectives, they’re forever competing against each other and enslaving (called mergers) of other entities to “grow” the more powerful one. 

Time, the bane of collectives, cannot control individual particles.  Time cannot destroy or kill individual particles because these belong to life’s canvas of infinity.  Death is the effect, the poison, of time upon collectives.  That’s as simple as I can explain it to myself.  (I am speaking here of the “time death” which is as artificial as time itself, affecting only collectives, not of natural death which is a fusing, transferring and reshaping through what I’d call the energetic flow, or flow of free energy.  I sometimes think of it as re-formatting.  That’s not death as such, just transformation.  A collectively-minded entity will see it as death but a free entity will see it as a simple metamorphosis.) 

There is another aspect that is not affected by time, and is also infinite and that is – mind.  I believe everything is of mind and has a mind because everything through its individual members (particles) belongs to infinity, not to the realm of time.  As well, no collective can exist without a mind.  Collectives are self-aware to some degree, therefore not mindless.  But the mind of the collective does not belong to it, nor does it emerge from it.  The collective must somehow trap existing minds in order to claim legitimacy. Any collective of necessity it seems, can only have an artificial “mind” made up of individual minds it has enslaved to do its bidding.   Therefore all collectives are predatory by nature.

Speaking of collectives, let’s consider the city. What is a city?  What purpose does it serve?  How does it not only remain together but grow? What feeds it the energy it needs to function?  A city is a complete contradiction on a world such as this.  This is a lush, natural world that calls for nature to express itself in the most wonderful and luxurious ways, both exotic and erotic in its freedom.  But man for the most part has never made the effort to understand the nature of earth; never fell in love with it so as to go and live within it, unconstrained and free.  In fact man declared long ago, from the appearance of Homo Sapiens Sapiens, that nature was his enemy.  His “creator gods” commanded man to extend his rule over nature and subdue “her.” 

So a dark, destructive, hate filled, murderous mind entered man’s collective thought and one of the results was the building of fortified cities which, being fed with enough human fodder have proliferated into megalopolises.  Do these collectives serve humanity, or the elites?  Well, just look at how the buildings grow, and who lives and operates in which: there’s your answer. 

In the Hebrew sacred books we read that Cain, the first son of the first parents Adam and Eve, after murdering his brother in a fit of jealousy was “marked” by God so he would never be molested for his crime.  Follow this if you will: Cain goes off to the land of “Nod” and builds a city. 

Three things stand out:

ONE:  The very first ruler of man was a murderer. 
TWO: He becomes the first of the elites to be declared unaccountable for his crimes – by none other than God. 
THREE:  He builds a city, symbol of power over and against. 

The die for humanity’s future is cast as in a divine forge.  The pattern is set and indestructible – the forging of the ring of power that would rule all in the darkness of a dark mind, but who’s the Lord of the Ring of power?  What’s behind the collective that keeps all forces of subversion, corruption, oppression and suppression so well fed and immune from judgment regardless of the terrible conditions it causes to exist in man’s world?  

As we readily can see today, the collective mind that rules humanity on Earth, or Earthians as “my people” call them, is corrupt and evil.  It is anti-life, thus explicably misogynist, and totalitarian in nature.  How it gains its power is by ensnaring individual minds to do its bidding.  It is made up of individual enslaved minds that serve the collective in the belief that an individual “has no chance” or “can’t make change” and therefore must “belong” to some form of ruling mind collective. 

I just read an article by a blogger who rants against Donald Trump, fears him, hates him, excoriates him (which is fine by me, don’t get me wrong on that!) but closes by lambasting “third choice” voters.  She says, if you vote for Jill Stein you are giving your vote to Donald Trump and it will be your fault if he gets in the White House.  So you have to give your allegiance to one of two utterly Matrix-chosen despicable characters, by closing your own mind and believing against all evidence to the contrary that Hillary Clinton is a better choice for POTUS than the Donald.  In other words, here’s another slave of the collective that says, don’t you dare exercise a free vote – we’ll blame you if things don’t go our way; it will be your fault for exercising your “conscience” vote.  Such thinking ensures that the Matrix pawns always win when “popular” choice might just make a difference.  

Earthian minds, through fear, hatred, and brainwashing from the crib on up, have been, and are, enslaved to a murderous belief system.  Few are those left who understand the real concept of freedom of choice, decision making, and how to respond in self-empowerment to any and all conditions extant.  The first thing an Earthian mind does when confronted with a problem is seek for a problem solver, in that’s where the Matrix holds all the cards. 

Problem solvers, though a dime a dozen, as prolific as garbage, are very, very expensive.  Doctors and hospitals, lawyers, insurance companies, politicians, bankers, police, shrinks, security guards, educational systems, prisons, counsellors, egotistical academics, the military, corporate CEO’s and their research scientists, lamestream media and its herds of presstitutes in short skirts and fancy suits and the M-Billionaires who speak for God.  Got money? No? Well, we’ll mortgage your life and give you a solution to your problem.  

YOU (pointing a carefully manicured finger in your face) cannot, EVER, seek that solution without coming to us.  Any solution you try to apply on your own, whether it’s eating natural foods or smoking a joint, we’ll declare illegal.  We’ll hunt down the source of your freedom and destroy it.  We’ll search your homes and fridges for illegal substances and imprison you when we find it, and if we don’t like you, and we can’t find evidence to jail you, we’ll plant it, drug you so you won’t remember, and you WILL go to jail.  You get me, sweetheart?

Why collectives are evil, why they always die: difficult concepts to mull through.  Even more difficult to share with other intelligence.  But in these times, such thoughts could prove salutary.  Our “System” or collectives are, after all, dissolving before our very eyes…

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All truths are within us and for these truths we seek within ourselves (The One Tree – Stephen Donaldson)

“The coming years will prove increasingly cynical and cruel. People will definitely not slip into oblivion while hugging each other. The final stages in the life of humanity will be marked by the monstrous war of all against all: the amount of suffering will be maximal.  Pentti LinkolaCan Life Prevail?   http://journal-neo.org/2016/09/12/the-empire-of-mediocrity-and-the-end-of-the-world/

“Bring back normal, get our cable TV back no matter the cost, nuke whoever you have to, just give us our lives back!”  You have to see the end of all this taking shape, I know you do.  Putin attacked no one.  Muslims are not the problem.  Neither Republicanism nor Democratic stoicism will defend us from ourselves.  Mediocrity cannot rule, but in the 21st century it can obliterate us all.  I leave you with the root of our collective demise, the reason Obama or Clinton or Trump types enthrall the masses so:  “Most of our pocket wisdom is conceived for the use of mediocre people, to discourage them from ambitious attempts, and generally console them in their mediocrity.” (Robert Louis Stevenson)  Phil Butler is a policy investigator and analyst, a political scientist and expert on Eastern Europe, exclusively for the online magazine “New Eastern Outlook”. http://journal-neo.org/2016/09/12/the-empire-of-mediocrity-and-the-end-of-the-world/
There is always a heavy demand for fresh mediocrity.  In every generation the least cultivated taste has the largest appetite.  (Paul Gauguin)

I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen. ― J.G. Ballard, from “What I Believe.” Originally published in the French magazine Science Fiction, January 1984.

There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get. —  Sylvia Plath

What does it mean to die a Martyr?

[a dream by   ~burning woman~   ]

In the midst of all my writing activity… I fell asleep outside at my back yard computer “desk” while listening to Ana Vidovic playing “Recuerdos de la Alhambra” by Francisco Tarrega.  I had a dream, almost a lucid dream. 

In this timeless dream I stood  in an old Middle Eastern or Turkish city square – the ground surface was of beige stone, as were the houses and walls surrounding this square.  There were many people around but deathly silence.  I was a tall blonde woman wearing a long white cotton robe draped from the shoulders down to my ankles with the neck carefully and deliberately exposed.  I wore long blonde hair down to my waist and I had large, bright blue eyes.  What had I been before this ordeal?  A captured royal princess?  A slave?  

My wrists were tied with ropes at my back.  Two swarthy men stood at each side of me and in front was an execution scaffold with a depression for a human neck.  A very large bald headed man holding an over-sized scimitar stood by the bench, looking down, waiting.  All so well staged, I would have smiled had it been a play. 

I looked over the crowd and they were all staring at me.  The overall impression I was getting was, I was trying very hard to decide how my situation should make me feel.  Frightened?  Angry?  Desperate?  Hopeless?  Distant?  I wanted a feeling to hang on to but each feeling flitted across my mind and none would stick.  Should I again try to beg for my life, to argue my innocence?  But I already knew it had nothing to do with justice, or innocence, but with religion and politics; with machinations I could not begin to understand.  I wasn’t a human being, I was a tool, perhaps a weapon of state craft.  My death was necessary to make a point.  To whom?  I had no idea.  It occurred to me then that I did not understand the language being spoken, and no one had ever translated anything for me.  But could they understand me? 

I would not beg; I would not speak a word.  I could not speak. 

I realized then I was already dead, so prepared for this inevitability that I had gone past my physical body and was looking at myself from the other side of the ordeal.  I could already see my head on the ground and the blood gushing out of my severed neck, over the ground and what had been a pristine white dress and in my mind it was all over.  That’s death, I thought. 

What does it mean, then, to die like that?  I thought about it as I walked slowly to the place of execution, and as I knelt down to put my neck in the curved mold.  It means to be utterly alone; it means being just yourself for the first time since the day of birth.  It means a new birth, however frightening, however painful, however devastatingly stripped of everything that your life, your beauty, your dreams or everything else that ever meant anything to you or anyone.  This is it.  One life’s, however brief, final crossroads.  Did I see a friend, a lover, a possible “knight in shining armour” to save me in the crowd?  Honestly it would not have mattered, I no longer desired to be known, loved, or saved.  I no longer belonged here.  My feelings were dead.