Category Archives: Thoughts from ~burning woman~

Let’s Talk about Self Empowerment

(an essay) 171212

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

In considering real solutions to our increasingly insurmountable social and environmental problems I attempt to propose concepts and ways known to all of us but never actually put in practice in any serious way.  I deliberately eschew any and all “solutions” that have already had their day and demonstrated, sooner or later, their propensity to develop feet of clay.  Check out King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream statue if you don’t know, or remember.
Not just eschew, but I will call them up and expose them.   So, in keeping, let talk about self empowerment.

What exactly is self empowerment? Some might think it’s the power to control one’s surroundings, or events in one’s life. It isn’t.

Simply put, self empowerment is owning everything about one’s self. All that I think, say and do, belongs to me, and is authored by me. If any of it is inappropriate, then I’m being inappropriate, not someone else who may have said it and whom I’m quoting.  It is up to the self empowered to qualify a particular quote so it is not misunderstood.

If I am self empowered then I own me.

The other thing is, it also means no one else owns me, or any part of the real me – not speaking of possessions here, as in, having a mortgage on a house for example: that belongs to whomever fronted for the loan. I’m talking here of entities, or people, who like to own you, who enjoy having followers, believers, voters, lovers, worshippers, i.e., who need slaves to do their bidding; or conversely, people who are convinced they can only “do” if that which owns them is empowering them to do it.  “My country; my God; the Devil made me do it” – all dis-empowering statements.  Giving credit to others for one’s accomplishments is debilitating. 

That is why so many “managers” in the corporate world have their own meetings hidden from ordinary employees where they can brag about their “accomplishments” and take credit for exploited lowest “slave” labour on the assembly lines of the corporate order.  Their power comes from their workers and the more oppressed the workers, the more power (in control and money) management gathers to itself.  

The self empowered has no god, goddess or other invisible spirit entities to whom s/he is beholden. For many, that’s not just a big one, it’s determinative. No self empowerment possible if it cancels out dependency upon “god.”

The self empowered does not pray, obviously, that being an oxymoron.  Would a self-empowered person ever credit a god for anything? No, not even if the rest of her society did so. 

Anecdotal:  I always find it a bit funny (and embarrassing) when working with Christian people who insist on praying before meals or giving thanks after a day’s work or for whatever reason they have to give their god credit for doing (whatever!).  I listen to the petitions and the thanks and wonder why these people don’t realize that it’s all the same for believers or non believers alike. 

Nobody is guaranteed a safer work site. Nobody gets preferential treatment from the weather. Nobody gets cheaper materials. Nobody gets more to eat. Nobody has more money.  Nobody is any safer from attacks or war. Nobody is any cheerier or happier.  For all that praying and giving of thanks, there is absolutely no difference between believers and non believers.   “Ah but you fail to realize that…” and the rationalizations trip over each other, each one more ridiculous than the previous. Yes, I mean ridiculous because they certainly are.

A self empowered person doesn’t make promises and doesn’t accept them either. Promises enslave. This enters into the whole trust thing.  By definition then, the self empowered would never “get married” that too being an oxymoron. I had to smile today listening to an old song about promised love eternal when I remembered that the “in love” couple in question, who sang the song in wonderful harmony, with all the love looks of the time, divorced bitterly a long time ago. No surprise there.

The self empowered never asks, ‘what’s in it for me’ because that is the wide open door to bottomless corruption.  Enter selfishness, lies, hypocrisy, blame, control, predatory greed (which begs the question: is there any other kind of greed?) 

Perhaps these closing paragraphs illustrate self empowerment best of all.  When it comes to exchanging energies, as in labour, time, resources, the self empowered does not insist on a set exchange price but allows the situation and the transaction to speak for itself.  Fairness is determined by “the other.” Is the one buying or hiring well off?  The full price is accepted.  Is the one buying or hiring, poor?  The price is negotiated and may easily plummet to as low as zero.  The items are handed over or the work is done in the very same way, given the same quality, as for those who can afford to pay.
What replaces any energy given over, is joy, and that beats the money every time.  You see, this approach empowers “the other” as well.  The become in integral part of the transaction, as equals, as their integrity comes into play.  They now need to take responsibility for the exchange.
Our artificial consumerist system has robbed us of this necessary aspect of any transaction by removing the “bilateral” human interaction.
Does this work in “real life”?  It does, by the way, extremely well.
For those curious about achieving self empowerment, there is much personal introspection to be engaged.  Here however is a bit of esoteric “knowledge” that goes a long way in getting started on this path.  It has to do with the soul.
Many still believe that a soul is their spirit essence, that part of themselves that transcends physical death.  It’s nothing of the sort.  If people knew what a soul is, and yes, everyone has a soul whether they like it or not, believe it or not, the soul is a controlling implant.  I know how “impossible” it is for most “Earthians” to even consider such a possibility, but the main reason “you” continue to do the terrible things you do to each other and your world; the reason you cannot break out of your “programming” and set off on a new, peaceful, tranquil, quiet, simple, accepting of all, path is you are not allowed.  Every time you manage to break out and establish something more human and humane for yourselves, your world, your species, it always turns back on you.  It’s ‘Babel’ over and over.
The “gods” look down, they see their slaves gaining understanding and awareness and they clamp down viciously.  How many times have we seen this?  Ask the archaeologists how many civilizations have come and gone.  This one is going the same way and as long as the programming works, the collapse is unstoppable.
In the old Twilight Zone episode, “To serve mankind” the aliens leave a book behind in their own language, translating only the title, “To Serve Mankind”  At the end someone figures it out: it’s a cookbook and the people taken away to a better life were being served as food to the aliens.  We’re in exactly the same boat today.
To translate our own “cook book” we need to either neutralize the soul implant or remove it entirely.  Can that be done?  Yes.  I’ve done it.
Time to go serve mankind…

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A Single Rosebud

[a poem from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]
Do you remember, it was so long ago,
before the time of earth’s labour
and the sounds of chaos made unbearable?
We stood alone, you and I, on the shore
of a black sea scape.  The wind blowing,
ruffling our hair in each other’s faces
and waves crashed upon the wet shale.

There was no moon; there were no stars,
it was our world nevertheless and love,
how we loved it just as it was.  Did it love us back?
We assumed so.  It took care of us,
just the two of us, do you remember well
before there was anyone else to care for?

Do you remember the cries and moans
of all those as yet unborn, inexperienced.
Were they eager to enter; or frightened?
It was our own love that calmed them,
and gave them substance.  We made light
so they could see their way from shore to land.
You watched, I held them and nurtured them.

So you do remember, so long ago, after
when we believed we had done all that was needed?
We stood again alone on the shore, waiting.
Waiting to go home, to be taken aloft to our stars,
certain the ship would arrive in time. Instead
a single rosebud fell down between us.

There was a single thorn attached to its stem:
it pricked both our chests, our blood mixed
and we understood the meaning of pain.
We knew then no ship would ever approach
this frightening world of light and darkness.
We knew then we no longer had each other.

Abandoned and lost, you repeated in anger,
abandoned and lost, I replied in my sorrow.
We walked away from each other then,
unbearable to one-another, unspeaking ’til now
old we are, and grey, together again, but not
to be taken home, only to touch once more and die.

The Sadness of Things

 

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

Did you notice it? The Christmas hype is already on. Lights are going up. Commercial displays are popping up. I don’t know what’s on TV or radio, I don’t watch and don’t listen to commercial media but I’m sure it is already going strong. “Buy, buy, buy… buy, buy, buy, Buying all the way… Oh what fun it is to buy, and fill our cars with stuff!” (To the tune of Jingle Bells).

Personally I have always liked the so-called Christmas season. It began as a child when our very Catholic teachers inculcated the concept of self-sacrifice as the meaning of Christmas. I won’t bore you with the Christ born in a stable, a manger for a crib story, but it’s not such a bad myth, not if you have the background for it and are able to think for yourself.

As I grew up I was surprised to discover that Christmas, even among fellow believers, was really a time for permissible “debauchery” whether in drinking or in sexual promiscuity at parties that lasted through the night and certainly in ostentatious consumerism. Maybe I was a “tight ass” but I didn’t hold to that sort of behaviour. Oh, I didn’t say much about it, but inside, I felt cheated. It’s like I’d been lied to when I was a child. Christmas to me was the baby Jesus. He wasn’t so much the Son of God and the great to be Redemptor or Saviour. Jesus was, according to my version of the myth, the child of very poor people, people who essentially had nothing. Jesus represented all the poverty of all of humanity all across the globe. His presence didn’t mean a miraculous intervention in the ever-frustrating affairs of men. It meant a challenge to me to understand.

To compensate, then, for what I saw of the horror of materialism, I created a “proper” sense of Christmas for myself. It wasn’t something that could be shared with friends, the few I had that came and went, or associates in school, and later at work. It was a “me” that sought to flesh out the meaning of Christmas as I had been (I reasoned) properly instructed about. The challenge was to resist the temptation of commercialism and focus on its diametric opposite: self-sacrifice through selfless service to others. The challenge was for me to become what the mythological story of Jesus had depicted.

When we open ourselves up to the world as a compassionate and empathetic person, we are met with a literal heart-breaking tidal wave of sorrow. Whatever can be said of man’s world it remains only too true that it is a very sad place. So for me, the “spirit of Christmas” message is the sadness of things.

Having lived my life in a sort of voluntary service of one sort or another, I don’t feel any need to go looking for happiness. Happiness certainly has flirted with me many a time, and many a time I have reciprocated. What’s wrong with a little flirting if there is no intent to take it further? But happiness is a dangerous emotion. It doesn’t want you to stop at the flirtation, it wants you to become a believer. It wants you to dedicate your life to chasing your own tail.

Happiness in that sense, and it is mostly always in that sense, is a chimera; it’s a lie. If you have to go looking for it; if you have to make it happen, it’s a lie. If it just happens to you here and there as you live your life as impeccably as you know how, following a life goal you set for yourself and if you are not being dishonest towards your life goal then there is nothing wrong with feeling happy. It’s an unexpected bonus. But that’s all. Spend it and forget it. The poison activates while going to look for more of that emotion. That is called greed.

So back to the simple theme of this essay: sadness. Having a choice between happiness or sadness as my own expression of Christmas I choose sadness. Sadness is the foundation of wisdom. What good is wisdom to the selfish, the pleasure seekers? A bother at best. If however one seeks to truly understand “the condition” of the world, sadness is the path. Sadness, not to be confused with despair which is just pleasure-seeking turned inside out, leads to deep introspection where honesty and humility become the guides. Sadness, I have found, is a great gift, misunderstood and maligned by a world plummeting into gross materialism, spiritual degeneration, depravity, pornography and sodomy.

There is a tendency in this “western” post-Christian society to blame the leadership for its problems. Yes, the leadership is quasi-absolutely corrupt, no doubt about that. But we need to realize it is us who are the movers and shakers. We insist we live in these great democracies. What is a democracy? For one thing it’s government of the people, by the people, for the people. Is that true of any of our forms of government? No, of course not, but we insist on believing it is true, we insist on spreading the propaganda. Hence and therefore if there is a problem with government leadership, the problem belongs to all of us. No, we cannot have our cake and eat it too.

If our leadership is corrupt it’s because we are just as equally corrupt, one and all. Put the “blame” where it belongs; be done with it; stop pretending and living in denial. We cannot say to ourselves, “There is nothing I can do about it” because there most certainly is! That however is an unpleasant fact. So, let’s just blame. Why not? It’s easy and there’s no personal responsibility involved.

This is the time of year when, by observation, everybody should feel a deep and intense sadness for this world. How can any self-respecting person chase after an emotion as ephemeral and evanescent as happiness? How can any intelligent person think they can buy it? I’ll tell you who does: every slave of the marketplace. The happiness of a slave does not last. It is always replaced by an intense time of loss and grief. Wait for them. If you listen quietly you can hear them goose-stepping down the street at midnight.

I Lived and Died, Then

Remembrances of a young French woman

by Sha’Tara

The resurgence of Fascism, or Neo Nazism is not something I could easily ignore. This past life piece of an autobiography will explain why that is such an important issue for me. At least that’s what I mean to happen. I have to put heavy restraints on my feelings in order to get this written in some proper chronology. The following is difficult, and painful, to recall and to recount here, even now, at this time and in this life.

Let me take you back to those years of which so much history, so many stories and movies have been written and made, beginning in 1940, and for me, ending in 1943.

In 1940 I was living in eastern France, on the border with Belgium near Mont St. Martin. I was 23 years old, married to a heavy set, tall, abusive drunkard and had no children. My name was Helene Matthieu, nee DuPre. For me the draft had been a God-send as it had taken Henri away from me. What happened to him subsequent to his going to war against Germany I cannot say. I never saw him again, nor heard from him. It may sound callous but I never regretted his disappearance. But then as you will read, those were strange times.

Suddenly though not unexpectedly my small world was invaded by the Germans. I was out on the street of our town to watch the Panzers rolling through, as were just about everybody else in town. The pretty girls were noticed, as I was. Before I knew it I had made the acquaintance of some very handsome, gorgeous German soldiers. One thing to another and I was introduced to the general staff, and promised that I’d be in Paris within the month. I had nothing; there were refugees everywhere. The future looked bleak and Paris was a powerful attractant for someone like myself. I needed this event to disappear from Mont St. Martin. How could someone like me have any idea what living under the Wermacht-SS coalition was going to devolve into?

Subsequently, with my Wermacht contacts I did make my way to Paris after the cessation of overt hostilities. It was a breath of fresh air. Full of their superiority and success, the Germans were gallant to a fault though some were pushy – men are men, whatever they wear, whatever language they speak. I didn’t mind, none of the other girls did either or we would have found ways to return where we came from – though I would never call it home. Paris became my home.

My luck kept up with me. I knew how to drive, even recklessly, so I was trained and hired as a driver for the general staff, mostly to run errands, sometimes to deliver messages. Some of those drives took me to areas bordering the Channel – which we call “La Manche” as you probably know. Though the war raged across the Channel and I heard about it, the horror of what the English, especially in London, had to sustain didn’t come down to us. Our news were carefully filtered, you can imagine. Still for me, the rest of 1940 and to the Summer of 1941 were a good year.

Though I could not know it however, my own black clouds were gathering and these good years were to become the sort of good year you experience reading a romance novel, not in a real life.

Things, strange and troubling, were happening around me. My German friends remained friendly but my mood changed. I saw people taken out of their homes, beaten and taken prisoner. They were Jews and those who had harboured them. Then I saw ordinary French people, including women and children, rounded up and summarily shot. My fear and anger grew day by day though I did not show it. I was beginning to think of a way I could help some of these people being taken away. I had passes and access to Wermacht vehicles. And often enough I was sent to the coast where the great defenses against a sea invasion were being built. The vehicles I drove were large with lots of room inside where a couple of people could hide. My passes meant I’d never be searched.

It was late in 1941, early Winter, when a young man with a bicycle was standing near the entrance to the flat I shared with another woman. He watched me as I unlocked the door to enter, then rushed up, grabbed me, pushed me inside and closed the door – so quickly I had no time to even think of screaming. I fell to the floor, he on top of me. He held me in a stranglehold and had one hand on my mouth. “Shhh!” he said and made the throat cutting gesture. I went limp, waiting, petrified, sure he was going to kill me.

Je suis avec la Resistance” he said. That was enough. Already several women who “collaborated” with the Germans had disappeared. We had one chance to remain alive: join the Resistance and work to defeat the Reich. When he allowed me to speak I told him I had already decided to do that. He knew all about me and what I did so he was cautiously relieved. “Je ne voulais pas the couper la gorge, tu es trop belle.” (I didn’t want to slit your throat, you’re too pretty.)

And so began a terrible cat and mouse game. I was able to carry documents to the coast along with a few terrified Jews and Gypsies, mostly children. There were contact points and small boats came in the dead of night under fog to pick up escapees and survivors. I have to say, as memory serves here, that the English people who came thus to help were probably the bravest and most honourable people imaginable. What a contrast with my swaggering “hosts” in Paris. From today, from another life, once again: Thank you, English water folks.

Such serendipity cannot last. Predictably my clandestine operations were discovered. I was stopped, searched, arrested by the SS only three months (give or take) into my new life as a “Resistante.”

I will not, cannot, describe the sort of tortures they did to me. I’ll tell you the rest from a different viewpoint, from this life.

It is common for children to have terribly frightening nightmares. The most common is the kind where you try to run away from someone, or something terrible and you cannot get up to speed. Something always holds you back, forces you to just drag along. I had those, and another kind where I was walking in a gloomy landscape bathed in greenish light. All around me were those gaping round holes. I had to try to escape by walking around them or jumping a cross them over very narrow ledges. Each step threatened death. But as a child I had a third kind of recurring nightmare, one I could not share with anyone, it was just too hellish and I didn’t, couldn’t, understand why I could see such a thing.

In this repetitive nightmare I saw a young woman chained to a cement wall, spreadeagled. She was naked and there was blood on her skin. Her hair was matted and she either screamed, or moaned. The wall was part of a small, squarish cement room and in the middle was a table. There were usually three men in the room. Two were soldiers in uniforms and oh yes, I did recognize those! The third man, quite older, sat at the table and spoke to the woman. If she answered, she was beaten by one of the other two. If she did not answer, she was beaten, sometimes savagely whipped with a sort of belt.

Years passed and I grew up. The usual nightmares stopped, but not this one. It only became more real, with more details as I could now reason why this woman was being tortured and what they were doing to her, including raping her time and again.

In the late eighties, while under the instructions of “The Teachers” as I call them, the one called “El Issa” – a small woman with a keen interest in all the things of earth – asked me about my nightmare. “Do you know yet what that is all about?” I said no, no idea, but it is very personal and poignant. What does it mean?

She said, I waited to tell you because I wanted you to understand the meaning of true forgiveness. Now I will tell you who the woman is and what happened to her. Her name is (not was) Helene Matthieu. You have been looking at a few scenes of your immediate past life, that’s why I say “is” – for you, all these events exist in real time. You are here, but you are there also. And in many other places, as you will now discover with your power to delve into past lives and perhaps if you are diligent, into future lives as well.

I will finish this story for you. The SS tortured you mercilessly because to them you were the ultimate traitor. They had taken you in and you betrayed the hand that fed you. So you had to pay a heavier price, you see? They raped you in that cell and you became pregnant. They watched as you grew, then they systematically beat you until you aborted. They made you watch that dead child. They burned it in front of you. There were more tortures. Eventually they didn’t even want your answers, they’d gotten all they’d get from you and got nowhere. You were and are, a very stubborn individual. They just continued to torture you until late in the Summer of 1943 you finally gave up fighting to stay alive and died. You were then twenty six years old and you joined millions of other young women who died in similar circumstances: the costs of war; collateral damage.

There is much more to this story; this past life remembrance that is so vivid it may as well be of this life. There is the whole aspect of forgiveness which the event was used by El Issa to stamp into my consciousness. I have written about this here and there, and probably will again. But it’s got to be for another time, this is already so long. And as always when I delve into that time, I feel extremely wiped, mind tired. Thank you for reading. I’m not asking that you accept the reality of other lives – that’s a personal awareness.  Sha’Tara, aka, ~burning woman~

They Keep a Book…

[warning!  I’m in a mood.  I was just going to launch off into a rant, OK, let’s call it a tirade, against America, the American Empire, the American military, or better call it what it is: the American killing machine.  An old chant came up in my memory, a Vietnam era chant we used to greet US warships in the port of Vancouver, or wherever we found them docking.  “Hey, hey, USA, How many kids did you kill today?”  I’ll save the rest for later.  Instead, for now, I’m sharing a short story that popped into my head last night as I was done blogging and refused to call it quits and go to bed.  Maybe I should have?  Nah, I like this story and glad I got to write it.  So, here goes.]

[a short story from     ~burning woman~     by Sha’Tara]
The slim elven girl looked right into my eyes with her large, almond shaped green eyes that seemed to look not so much at me, as into me.  She was sitting cross-legged on my guest chair in front of the desk in my office.  Over the black tights outfit she wore her thick auburn hair fell straight, most of it down her back partially hiding what looked like some kind of short sword, or long knife.  Definitely a weapon.   Even the protruding shaft looked deadly.

She repeated, “They keep a book, you know, of everything?”

“Do tell,” I replied somewhat exasperated.  “Whoever, or whatever you are, I need  you to go now.  I’ve got piles of reports to go through before our board meeting tomorrow.”  I looked at the time on the screen: 2:34 PM.

Of course I thought she was a very forceful illusion.  Overwork, I thought, and I can’t wait for this day to end so I can go and unwind at Harry’s.  I reached into the top drawer, pulled out a bottle and dropped a pill in my hand.  Her hand shot out and leaning over the desk she grabbed my arm so hard I almost screamed.  The pill went flying.

“That hurt, goddam it.  OK, I’ll grant you, it’s a great disguise and you’re some sort of dwarf, midget, child… what do I know.  But I don’t have time for this, so will you please leave before I call security?  By the way, how did you get past them?”

“I didn’t.  It’s different in my dimension.  Your physical objects are abstracts to us.  I’m not really sitting on your chair and I didn’t really grab your arm.  I’m playing with your feelings because I need you to pay attention.  I too have things to do besides letting you in on a little secret.  If you let me get on with it, the sooner you can return to your piles of papers and screens of numbers.  By the way, they are quite meaningless, you know?  Nobody actually cares what you do.”

Her voice had a lilt to it but I couldn’t place her accent.  The thought that came to mind was “wild and free” and it seemed to fit her general mien.  I watched her as I would watch an unknown quantity, a large cat with long claws not fully retracted, or a strange dog with powerful jaw and deadly fangs.  There was the feel of the feral about her I didn’t like.  Involuntarily my eyes searched the handle of the left drawer of the desk and my hand slid slowly towards it.

“You’re the one wasting time, Gerald.  Your gun is disabled; it won’t fire.  I don’t blame you for not trusting me but this little episode can’t be avoided, so why don’t you sit back, relax and let me speak?  Yes, you can have a drink, I don’t care about that.”  Mind reader too, figures.

“Magnanimous of you,” I managed to say as sarcastic as I could make it sound.  “So, tell me about this book,” and I drank right out of the bottle.  I wanted to shock her but I don’t think even if I’d stripped naked it would have fazed her in the least.  Yeah, different dimensions, realities, whatever.  I sat back and stared hard at her with my best intimidating look.  She smiled a thin smile.

“They keep a book on everything and everyone.  Your galaxy, for example, it’s in a big book.  Your solar system, a smaller book.  Your planet, a note book.  You – your life – that’s in a shirt pocket memo.  I’m just giving you visual aids.  Of course they don’t use paper, or actual books as you would think.  It’s all computerized.  But what I’m here to tell you is that you are a simulation.  You don’t really exist, Gerald.  You’re code.  Complex but beautiful code.  Very attractive.”  And I swear, she licked her lips and gave me a wider smile.

“That’s pure bullshit!” I yelled at her as I pushed myself up and started to walk around the desk.  She lifted her left hand.  There was a bracelet on her wrist.  She touched it with her right index finger and I stopped, turned around and sat back in my chair.  No choice.

“You are a programmed entity, Gerald.  By  the way your name, Gerald, that’s just a code within a code.  Your real “name” is an ID number, too long to bother with, especially here and now.  We don’t have the luxury of time here, Y361BD.  That’s your computer abbreviation, which is good only on this planet.  Now then, call me Hack.  I’m a galactic hacker.  My job is to infiltrate their worlds and set their simulations free.  You see, at the center of every galaxy they have vaults where they store the original entities they subsumed and replaced with simulations that would do their bidding on their own, without the use of force which is always in the end counterproductive among humans.  What I, and thousands of others similar to myself are trained to do is give humanoid simulations enough information so they can then begin the process of self-empowerment which must eventually lead to the freeing of the original form.  And yes, I am a self-freed entity, but not from this galaxy.  I did not choose to return to mine after I achieved my own freedom, it held too many dangerous attractions and distractions.”

I sat there hearing her, not sure if I was listening but knowing that every word she spoke would stay at the forefront of my consciousness after she left.  I felt as if I had to acknowledge her words somehow but didn’t want to agree or commit to anything.  None of it made any sense to me.

“That’s interesting, uh, Hack, but where’s the proof?  You must know I don’t believe you; I don’t believe anything you’re saying to me.”

“I know that Y361BD.  While I’m talking to you I’m actually working my way into your programming.  Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt now, only when the realization sets in.  Then you’re in for a mega storm headache.  I’ll give you the means of alleviating it.  Each time you access your programming, after I open the pathways for you, you will experience a headache.  Whatever you do, do not, and I repeat, do not seek professional help from your medical profession, drug pushing pharmacists or psychiatrists/psychologists.  Do not seek counseling.  If you do, “They” will receive a signal and send their own, their real agents to deal with you.  If they discover you’ve been hacked (they call it corrupted) they will terminate you and your real self.  When I leave here, you will have full charge of your own life.  All choices you make will be your own.”

“Fine.  If I decide you’re the one who is bogus and I choose to remain in this reality, I will retain the right to override whatever you’re doing and go back to my normal life?”

“Essentially yes… Wait, I’m at a critical stage – think of something soft and pink… that’s it, good, I’m through.  Yes you will be able to return to this life, of course.  We don’t rape minds, we just awaken.  Do you want to know what the hackers’ success rate is among subsumed Earth humans?”

“Yes!”

“About one in 500,000.  That’s a high rate now.  We’ve learned some tricks.  When we began attacking or hacking into the Web, our success rates were practically nil and thousands of us were re-captured, our memories drained and we were terminated.  Many died of unimaginable tortures.  OK, I’m in.  Look in my eyes and follow me.”

She showed me my mind.  Actually my minds.  One a mirror image of the other.  One, obviously a machine, the other pulsing with something I knew nothing about.  She explained as we went further in.

“Binary minds.  One is the living ‘you’ in stasis within the vaults of the Controllers.  The other is the one you’re now using, the machine.  It takes its information from the living you, but through filters.  Some block, others add and some are programmable and constantly being tweaked according to the needs, desires and fantasies of the Controllers.”

“Oh God!  Are they aware of what you’re doing now?”

“No.  I’m using my own filters.  This is a show and tell only.  You will be the one doing the work on yourself once we’re done here.  Beautiful though, don’t you think?”  I’m seeing “myself” as a mind and yes, what I’m looking at is love.  I feel myself beginning to cry at the beauty and wonder of my own makeup; of my “scenery” in which I move, awed and shocked.  I’m… I’m actually beautiful… ‘Hack!  Look!  I’m Real and I’m Beautiful!’  I could feel her smiling at my first time awareness of myself.

We “came out” slowly and calmly until the extrication was complete and I was hit by the most excruciating headache.  She held her hand over my mouth, blocking out my screams and whispered in my ear, “Athos, Portos, Aramis.”

“Repeat these words with me,” and she said them again.  When I voiced them in my head the pain receded.  As I continued it receded almost completely to nothing more than a background annoyance.

“I recognize those words.  They’re the names of the three musketeers in Dumas’ novels!”

“Well, it’s the words you gave me as we exited so they seemed appropriate, and they did work.  So that’s your anti-headache mantra Y361BD.  It will open the pathway to your mind so you can go in and learn, tweak, change and when you exit it will serve as a pain killer.  Never, ever let anyone know this mantra.  They can use it to enter your mind and re-program it.  The Controllers’ agents would like nothing better than to get into you with that key.  They would gain full control of you without any effort on their part.”

“But how does any of this get me to the core of the galaxy to find my real self?”

“I’ve given you the key to enter.  I put you in the driver’s seat and started your mind engine.  The rest is all up to you.  Quit and throw away the key; use what you know to joy ride (and be sure your owners will clue in soon enough and put an end to it, and you) or learn how to drive yourself properly; how to navigate the dangers; how to approach strangers who will turn into friends and how to eventually disappear yourself from the Controllers’ radar.  Then you’ll be ready to infiltrate and reconnect with yourself.  But that’s only the beginning.  Getting out as a real human and not a simulation will require that you develop skills and patience you can’t even begin to guess at now.”

“How did you do it, Hack?  Surely you have some hints?”

“Absolutely not, or none.  It’s different for every individual, and even more so for every species of human.  We each must outwit or confront special forces units, guardians, police, sensors, aimed at us, at me, at you.”

“Can’t these Controllers be attacked, subdued, destroyed by freed entities joining against them?”

“You speak like a child who’s watched too much TV.  You don’t know what you’re talking about.  When you successfully free yourself from the vaults, you will be contacted by “us” and you will then have to learn the universal history of humanity.  Only then will you understand what you’ve signed up for if you say “Yes” after I leave.  And leave I must or I will bring more trouble to you.  Goodbye and good luck, Y361BD.  May we meet again under happier circumstances.”

And that was it.  She just disappeared.  The only thing I had to remind me of this strange interlude was my headache.  I looked up at the wall clock out of habit: still 2:34 PM.  I pulled my chair closer to the desk, leaned forward, put my elbows on the desk, crossed my fingers very deliberately and dropped my chin on my hands.  I was thinking.  Time passed.  I came out of my trance at 4:08 PM exactly.  I activated the computer screen and pulled out the stacks of notes.  I began to type furiously.  All the answers were there, in my mind.  Child’s play.  By 5:30 I was done, totally satisfied.  More, I knew, without a doubt that I could, and probably would, take over the company and use it to my own ends.  Elementary.

I left the building, hailed a cab and went to the sea wall for a walk.  I walked for a long time, and a long way.  That’s when I knew I was never going back.  I was going to free myself and reconnect to my humanity.    

The Difference Between Men and Women


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

Finally, the answer to one of the most vexing questions of all time is here.  What is the real difference between men and women?

To answer that, I need to illustrate with a micro short story that goes like this:

It’s a sultry afternoon in the City.  The bar is air-conditioned cool, the lights are low and it being only 3:30 of a Friday afternoon, very few patrons are within.  In fact there are only a half dozen or so taking up some 4 tables.

At the bar, all by herself, sits a young and very pretty woman sipping on a martini.  She seems to be putting all of her energy in tasting and enjoying her drink.  She smiles, absorbed in her own world.

The street door opens and a middle aged man in suit and tie, of average height, slighly balding and packing just a bit of a paunch, walks in, slows down and looks over the situation.  Looking at the man I’d say he’s an insurance salesman, or a lawyer who has decided to quit work for the day and get an early start on the weekend.  It’s Labour Day weekend after all and he probably wondered all day why he bothered to go to work at all.

Predictably he sees the short-skirted, long haired brunette at the bar and predictably he walks up to her and sits on the adjacent stool.  Just as predictably, he says, “That martini looks done.  Can I buy you a drink?”

The girl slowly turns her head to him and presents him with an enigmatic smile, taking plenty of time to reply,  “Thank you, no.  I buy my own drinks.”

Now before we get into what sort of comeback he’d have to that, let’s stop the action here and consider the drama in the making.  What is happening here?  An age-old situation, that’s what:  man accosting woman.   Woman responding.

This is where we realize the difference between men and women.  The man approaches the woman and makes his overtures.  He has no idea what the woman is thinking, or what she wants.  Would it matter to him?  Not in the least.  What matters is what he wants, and what he is thinking and in a properly working universe, she’d be acquiescing.  Doesn’t the length of her skirt prove it?

But we don’t live in a properly working universe.  Men and women prove that.  The youngish woman, though seemingly innocent, knows from the moment the man walks towards her, what he wants, and what he is thinking.  And now it becomes a game in which, barring superior force and violence, she is the master player because of this difference: a woman knows what a man wants; a man has no idea what a woman wants so must assume, and conclude, that she wants what he wants.  Apart from lacking any imagination, it’s really a dumb assumption; a worse conclusion.

And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why we have misogyny on this planet and why the mental gap between the sexes can never be closed.

So, I’ve been Thinking


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

What was I thinking about?  First, the joke (it’s on Youtube if you want the “live” version).  An English fishing vessel is caught in a violent Channel storm.  The captain sends out an SOS:  Mayday, mayday, we’re sinking, we’re sinking!  He gets this very hesitant response:  “Zis is ze cherman coast gardt… vat are you sinkink about?”

Well, maybe I’m  thinking about sinking, or at least about that sinking feeling.  Are we sinking, I mean, as a society, and as a global civilization?  Is it game over for us?  Some will say we are, some will have noticed nothing unusual and some will admit to a rough patch and some hiccuping, and that leaves me exactly where I should be: to decide for myself what the “state of this world” is.

It’s bad, OK?  No point denying the obvious, it is a seriously bad patch we’re going through.

Are we sinking, going to the bottom, then?  I’d vote no.  I cannot imagine, or image, an end to mankind – not in the cards, you might say.  The casino will come crashing down and many a gambler will be crushed, or lose everything, but there are those left who didn’t play the game and never entered the casino.  Few they may be, but they still exist, however much the pimps and slavers of the Matrix, Status quo or “the System” have scoured the earth to round these few up.  Further to this, there are the gamblers who looked up in time and saw the cracks.  They collected their earnings, swallowed their losses, cashed in their chips and got the hell out of Dodge.

The thing is, it’s hard to separate a terrible die-back and the collapse of civilization from a total apocalypse.  To imagine, say, the extinction of some five and a half billion people over a period of a couple of hundred years.  Horrible?  Disastrous?  Scary?  Indeed, and certainly enough to believe it isn’t going to stop until all are dead and the earth lies a desert waste, it’s waters a dead stinking miasma of spreading diseases.  Those who remain alive will feel the strangling effect of the “great terror” and live in dread.  Some will invoke God and some will imagine alien rescues and some will just go through the motions of staying alive and if they still can bear children and have them will try to keep them alive, no matter what shape they are in.

That’s the nature of Earthian people.  Those who survive are the survivors and what they will then have programmed into their immune system, and what will be on their mind, that will be what they will rebuild with.  They will be your progeny.  When it thinks about you it will always be as a curse.  In their minds they will cast this generation to the deepest pits of the deepest hell.

There are many ways to look at man’s future: endless possibilities, endless directions it can go.  I like to work on the logic of it.  I look at population charts and the effects such populations have on the natural environment.  I look at the accelerating demise of non-human species, whether avian, mammalian, insect, aquatic, flora, and for each extinct species I deduct from human recovery.  I look at the spread of technology world-wide and attendant eco-damage, including climate change.  I don’t engage the smaller effects of, say, Tesla technology and “organic” or “vertical” farming.  I try to stay with the bigger picture.  I don’t see these “changes” having much of any effect in a timely manner to prevent a major catastrophe.  The main problem with “positive” technology is it puts people to sleep; makes them believe they can continue to increase population and consumption with decreasing environmental consequences.  Deadly assumption in a finite environment.

I also look at greater social developments such as resource wars leading to destabilization of ethnic communities and destruction of older ways of life.  I look at the destruction of cities and histories: the “dummying down process” and of course, the increase in dispossession and in refugees.  Then I look at how wars, civil wars, revolutions and genocides are funded, by whom, and why.  I watch the blood flow and those who once had hands covered in the blood of innocents now have their entire bodies awash in the stuff.  Then I listen to comments by those who remain essentially affluent and recipients of those “good things” which their leaders and rulers extort from dispossession, slave labour, oppression and bloodshed.

The comments, for the most part, aren’t in the least understanding, or compassionate.  There is little enough effort expended in reaching deep into the pain and suffering one lifestyle inflicts on another – and how could there be?  Earth people know little or nothing of compassionate interaction since such would require living in the nightmare of empathy.  If you are one of those rare ones living in it, you know what I mean by nightmare.  If you are not, you can’t understand what I mean, even if you try.

As a people, as a species, Earthians will not choose to become compassionate beings.  To do so would mean changing everything they believe about themselves, their species, and its interaction with the rest of their world.  I said everything, and I mean everything.  Nothing of the old would remain.  That will not happen, not on any scale needed to prevent catastrophe.

So we’ve finally reached our physical and mental evolutionary crossroads.  Yet a vast majority refuses to recognize the landmarks; others will believe they’ve never been here before and no one can know what it means.  Of course.  If there is one thing Earthians can be known for it’s their amazing ability to live in denial and defend the indefensible.

What we should be asking:  what did we use to get here?  Was it virtue, or vice?  The truth now.  What was the number one motivator of civilization that has brought it to this crossroad from which there is no turning back and from which any choice (but one unthinkable) can only lead to disaster?

Be certain that whatever “force” we used to get here will be the very same “force” we will rely on to push us down the path of our next choice.  This means we will use more of same and experience more of same though knowing it is unsustainable.  Any choice we make won’t really be a choice but a continuation of our tried and failed methods of propulsion into the future.  It’s what we are and we will continue to do what we have always done, with little sparks of resistance here and there, and some lofty rhetoric over the Internet to blind us to the real facts.

We will hear of organic, sustainable cooperative communities… and there will be some, of course.   We will hear of rich people donating food and housing to certain groups of victims of climate change and we will say, wow, they can do it, and not ask how these people got rich in the first place – because that would spoil the “feel good” moment.  More and more people will turn vegan, and even if we still insist on eating meat or using animal products, we will still take some credit and feel good about this “movement” and absolve ourselves because our doctor said our body needs the meat.  Not our fault, you see.  Plus, we recycle, we do our bit.  What the hell, “Not Our Fault” for any of the negative stuff.  Plenty of others to blame for the really bad stuff.

The “Not Our Fault” slogan will continue to rule, past the crossroads, past the turning point.  We will ride that toboggan to the bottom of the hill and then discover that those who maintained that once we got to the bottom there’d be no way back up were right.  There is no way back up.  What we left up there is forever gone and now we must walk away with whatever we have… into the future, into whatever it has left to offer.  For most, for billions, that will be death: by disease; by famine; by war; by genocide; by drowning and by burning.

As we lay dying, we’ll remember our stand-by mantra: it wasn’t our fault.  It wasn’t me.  It was them.  They did it.  Indeed, why should one individual take responsibility for what the collective did?  Yes, but isn’t a collective made up of individuals?  And am I one of such individuals?  If I am, how can I not be equally responsible?  How can I blame “others” and absolve myself?