Covid-19: politicisation, “corruption,” and suppression of science

Just one more of hundreds of posts decrying the scamming aspects of the political/economic COVID 19 pandemic.

The New Dark Age

13 November 2020 — BMJ

BMJ 2020; 371 doi: https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.m4425 (Published 13 November 2020) Cite this as: BMJ 2020;371:m4425

Kamran Abbasi, executive editor

Author affiliations

When good science is suppressed by the medical-political complex, people die

Politicians and governments are suppressing science. They do so in the public interest, they say, to accelerate availability of diagnostics and treatments. They do so to support innovation, to bring products to market at unprecedented speed. Both of these reasons are partly plausible; the greatest deceptions are founded in a grain of truth. But the underlying behaviour is troubling.

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A long way from home yet never far away

I’ve been feeling a little bit guilty about not interacting more on this here blogging thing. I’m getting questions and reminders and I’m thinking, OK, time to share a few thoughts and close that up with a story that, to me at least, sums up my thoughts on the whole thing rather neatly. I won’t tell whether I believe the story and I know I’ve posted it before but for those who care, yes there are a few changes-the beauty of owning your own piece of writing. Doesn’t say what you want it to say? Fine, just delete something, write something else into it.

Why haven’t I been writing? Two simple reasons: one, the US presidential election; two, the scamdemic, both of which are exercises in stupidity, ignorance and of course, self-aggrandizement. Apart from the truism, ‘if you would know the truth, follow the money’ there’s the one for the common peon: ‘we’re right and because we’re right, they are wrong’.  Another way of putting it is ‘scientism.’

What intelligence wants to argue with, let alone against that?

Now the story.

___________________________________

It was a hot and dry day up near the end of the canyon when my old half-ton blew its rear driver side tire.  Fortunately I was easing the thing as the going had been mostly uphill, something the old crankcase didn’t like much, so after a bit of swerving to gain control, I was able to pull up beside the road, on a dry patch of gravel. 

I got out to assess my situation.  I had no food and no drinking water – hadn’t thought of that since I was only going a couple of hundred miles.  An inaccessible half mile below me the river glistened mockingly in the noon day sun.  All around was dead silence except for a few crickets and heat waves made everything shimmer.  The scent of scrub pine and sage brush filled the air and under almost any other condition that would have been enough to give me complete pleasure.   At that moment I failed to appreciate the offering.

There wasn’t much traffic in those days, as the conditions of the highway were still quite primitive so I wasn’t expecting help anytime soon.  I went to the back and looked with some apprehension at the dried cake of mud that hid the spare hanging under the box.  I found a rusty tire iron behind the torn seat, some cracked gloves and a short carpenter’s pry bar and went to work loosening and dropping the spare.

After some time it came loose and I was able to slide the lifter chain off and drag the spare out.  Sure enough, it was as flat as flat can be.  Who thinks of making sure spares are kept up?  Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, I couldn’t find any sort of jack and looking up or down the surrounding countryside quickly told me that I wouldn’t find anything resembling a suitable lever to lift the truck: plenty of large rocks to use as fulcrums and supports but no pole.

Well, what to do?  I scanned both sides of the road for any sort of habitation and didn’t see anything.  Only one thing left to do: start walking.  I knew there was nothing behind me, so I decided it was best to head north, into the unknown.  At least this way there would exist the possibility of some sort of home or homestead or a road upkeep yard showing up.  Being eighteen and having been raised on a northern homestead, I already had the survivor mentality and a bit of philosophy to match.  The one thing I was sure of, I would never give in to the problem.  I ‘knew’ by reasoning based on certain experiences that life entails problems, that problems require solutions and that these solutions are always available, one way or the other, though none of that alters reality. 

As I trudged along I became very thirsty.  The river surface down below continued to mock me, so I looked for berries but the only thing resembling berries were bunches of dangling blue elderberries.  Bird feed at best and not ripe in any case; too early in the season for anything else.  As I walked on uphill, each curve showing more endless climb, my feet began to throb in the heavy work boots so I stopped by a rounded rock to sit and loosen the laces.  A dull throbbing in my head made me want to stretch out by the side of the road and sleep – which is exactly what I did.  I didn’t feel like walking any longer. 

That I lay in dusty sand would not matter much to my dirty white tee shirt, my tattered greasy blue jeans nor to my over-length hair which was several days in need of a serious wash and many weeks in need of cutting.  At least there were no flies and sleep came easy despite the choking heat. 

That’s when I had the dream that would puzzle, haunt, thrill and bother me for the rest of my life.  How could a dream manifest in reality?  How could events in a dream become events in “real life” which changed not only my mind, but my physical reality as well?  These were, and remain, unanswerable questions.   So let me recap the events instead of getting into the mind-twisting impossibilities remembering always brings up.

I had just fallen asleep (at least it seemed so) when someone called my name and said, “Hey Levi, get up.  It’s time to go.”  The name Levi was given to me as a joke after I was stupid enough the mention that I’d wanted to be a priest, and there happened to be a defrocked Bible thumper in our logging crew who yelled, “Levi!”  My real name is Logan Learned – which was also quite entertaining in my school years: “Hey, what have you Learned today?”  Laughter.  But now, Levi?  I had to ask why.  Matt, the ex-Bible guy said, “Don’t you know about Levi in the Old testament?  The priesthood of the Levites? 

“ ‘Fraid not, never read the Old Testament.  Only know the Catholic catechism and some bits and pieces of the gospels.”

Instead of commenting further, he just laughed and the rest joined in, including me.  Nothing wrong with Levi, so I became Levi the Levite.  So now I was, in a sense, a priest.  I’m sure my Catholic confessors would not have taken it so lightly, but that didn’t matter to me, I hadn’t been to church in several years and had no intention of ever returning.  Bad memories best left behind, along with my upbringing.  The more baggage you drag along with you, the more your life is stifled and I had too much to live for to let that happen. 

I opened my eyes and I wasn’t dreaming.  An obviously native man was standing over me, offering me his hand.  I took it and he held me firmly as I stood up.  He handed me a bottle of cold water which I gladly took.  Half was gone before I felt sated and thought that maybe that was all the water he had.  He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“Lots of water here Levi.  Lots.  Don’t you worry about that.”

“You know my logger’s nickname, how come?”

“It’s the name you go by, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.  Mine is Jack.”

“Okay, fine.  Thanks for the water, I was parched.”

“Yeah, I know.  Maybe we should walk back to your truck now, or do you need some food first?”

Out of a growing sense of curiosity I looked around.  Except for “Jack” nothing had changed.  The sun hadn’t even moved; the heat was just as intense and I saw no food, not did “Jack” carry any kind of pack.  He wasn’t even holding the water bottle anymore.

“I could use some food, Jack, if you have something without meat or fish – I’m vegetarian and I get sick on meat or fish.”

From nowhere he produced a fresh sandwich, loaded with vegetables and cheese.  I took it with thanks and ate it in four bites.  It tasted like more and sure enough, “Jack” produced another one, just as delicious. 

“OK, I’m really curious now Jack.  Where did this food come from?” 

“People always ask these same small questions.  Where do you think it comes from?”

“I have no idea, that’s why I asked.”

“Ever heard of the continuum, Levi?”

“The what?”

“The continuum.  You know, what your religions call infinity?  What some people call heaven?  If you’d read the Bible you would know that the Hebrew God fed them what is called “manna from heaven” while they lived in the desert.  Connect with your nickname and look into your memories, Levi, third son of Jacob, founder of the Levite tribe.  Can you see anything there?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Jack.  Are you telling me that you pulled that water and food out of nothing, like God dropping food from heaven on the Hebrews?”

“Actually at this point we should refer to them as “Israelites” rather than Hebrews.  But yes, why not?  But not “out of nothing” as you say.  Out of another reality.  We’re always part of the continuum and it’s what feeds the material order.  Without this bleed through of energy, these worlds could not exist.  All it takes is for an intelligent mind to image or invent material/physical reality from an endless supply of free energy we call the continuum.  It’s really very simple if you think about it.”

“Well Jack, I am thinking about it and the more I think about it, the less sense it makes to me.  This is too much like fantasy; science fiction, a fairy tale.  If it was that easy everybody would be doing it; everybody would have her or his way and you know what?  It would spell utter chaos, that’s what.”

“They realized this long ago when intelligent beings discovered the ability of manifestation and problems began immediately.  So “they” – the ones who discovered this ability – decided to put a block on manifestation.  Only one would be allowed to manifest reality, that was their solution.  Basically “they” created the concept of “God” and through the eons the concept remained.  “God” gets to decide what is, what isn’t; when it begins; when it ends and the reasons are also God’s reasons, no one else.  At least that’s the theory.”

“Is God accountable to no one then?”

“Oh yes, God is accountable, but only to his peers; to the “they” who started it all.  And also, God isn’t always the same person on the divine throne.  “They” have periodic elections and take turns running things.  Hence why you discover “bumps” in the process of creation and material expansion or destruction.”

“This is very interesting Jack, but how do you know all of this for a fact?”

“I go by what works, see?  You and I, we’re the same with one specific difference: I’m from the other side of the continuum, you’re on this side.  I was on this side long ago, but I, shall we say, translated to the other side gradually, over many incarnation.  It began with a glimpse of the continuum, what you might call a near death experience.  Only it wasn’t “near” but total.  That was my first awareness of how much freedom there is in living without a body.  After being given a chance to look around, someone simply sent me back.  I had fallen and broken my neck.  They fixed me up, good as new and I was left with a permanent question mark that became a quest.  I would find this place and live there.”

“Then there should be literally billions of people like you out here now!”

“Not really.  You have to understand how the thing works if you want to, say, commute from the outside to the inside – from the wholly non-material to the material.  After my return I began to earnestly study shamanism, witchcraft, the concepts hinted at by every established religion on this world.  I contemplated anything to do with the so-called after-life.  I discovered that only those who were able to pass through with their material bodies were said to be empowered to return and manifest in the physical.  So I cheated: I found the trick that allowed me to slip out of this realm into the other with my material body.  Oh, it was immediately changed, of course, but it wasn’t killed – there’s no termination over there, see?  Once you’re in, you’re in.  Then it’s up to you to make it work.  Luckily for me, bodies don’t need to be fed or even exercised over there.  They are what you make them to be and they remain that way until you change them.  You couldn’t imagine the different “things” I’ve been since I translated.”

“Time out, Jack, hey?  I can’t absorb all this stuff.  Besides, I’m still not convinced you are what you claim to be.  You could be an illusionist; some sort of con artist…”

“Of course, I could be.  I never asked you to trust me, did I?  But think on this, see if it rings a bell or two:  ‘You were thirsty and I gave you water to drink; you were hungry and I fed you.’”

“Oh! …  You don’t look like him.”

“Like who, Levi Logan Learned?”

“You know who I mean… I am really confused now.”

“Good.  It’s good to be confused on materiality – it prevents dogmatism which is astigmatism of the soul – a blurring which prevents clear understanding and appreciation of what is.”

“OK, so there is a God? Or is that only your theory about the “ruler” of materiality? Answer me that!”

“I can’t answer the God question simply because no matter how it is answered it will satisfy no one. Your people are too dogmatic to allow free information to flow through their minds unimpeded by belief systems, you see. Even you, not knowing whether to believe or not to believe; not knowing if you’re an atheist, a theist or anti-theist, won’t let the God question flow unchallenged. For you it’s just too big a question fraught with too much emotion to be allowed its freedom to answer itself.

“Now listen to this. “There is a God” is the truism that proves there is no such a being as God. God, as religion preaches and teaches, is categorically impossible. But according to all I have seen, studied, contemplated and worked with, there is a “ruler” who guides material reality, not always for the best. It’s not God, of course, but it ACTS as if it were, and appears as God to less-understanding entities. It is “all powerful” in that it can prevent almost anyone, certainly anyone without the necessary qualifications, from participating in manifestation. Already explained why that must be.

“Unfortunately, power begets power and as intelligence expanded in the “created” realms, some of these individual intelligences sought power. Since you can only express power by dictating to others, usually of lesser minds, these intelligences became totalitarian in nature and “evil” was born in, and bred from them, oozing right down to your own tin-pot rulers and dictators, right down to your school yard bully; down to your racist, misogynist, bigoted, greedy, planet-eating sociopath corporate manager or banker. As you know money is a major means of gaining power. It allows the few to rip power from the many. In your future, Levi, you will see a relatively few bureaucrats tied in with also relatively few “billiocrats” to change the pattern of money into a single global power. You will in effect see the effort made by these billiocrats to establish their goal of one world economy ruled by one world government, and that won’t be the end of it, but the beginning. Then will come the conquest of space; endless expansion and endless wars to conquer and expand. The nature of greed, friend.

“Do you get the picture, Levi?”

“Huh… yes, I’m sure that I get it – it’s not a subtle point you are making. But now, where does that leave me?”

“Exactly where you are, or as you were if you choose to ignore this unexpected interference in your rather uneventful System-controlled life. But don’t you have a truck to drive up the road another hundred miles or so?”

Out of habit I struck my forehead with my right hand. “Oh yes, the truck. Well, it’s down the road about a half-hour’s walk. Or maybe you can transport us there and fix it for me?”

“Would you like me to do that?”

“Sure, why not?”

And I thought to myself, well, that ought to be a good one. What happens next?

That’s when I woke up. I mean I really woke up. I could feel the heat, the stink of my sweat, feel the swelling of my feet in my boots. Overhead the sun was still blazing at its zenith as if no time had passed. I did notice a couple of things that were different. I wasn’t thirsty nor hungry and I felt, well, completely blissful. And then I noticed that my truck was parked just below me, without a flat, apparently ready to go on. I shook my head and let the dizziness pass before I stood up and took another good look around. No Jack. Just the same empty countryside and the river surface reflecting silver from the bottom of a very deep, dark canyon.

Being “child of the land” as they say, I looked around carefully for tracks in the sandy soil – there were only mine which indicated the point where I sat down, then laid down. Nothing had changed and everything had. And the only witness I had that “Jack” had been there was my old pickup with four healthy tires and except for the cracking of cooling dissimilar metals rubbing angrily against each other under the hood, it wasn’t saying a word. Well, no word except the sounds indicating that, since the engine was still cooling, little or no time had passed since I’d pulled over with a flat tire.

I’ll tell you, from this experience, there are things you can’t look back from, only forward. I made it to Cache Creek, where the main highway splits, the 97 going north to Prince George, and the #1 Trans Canada highway heading east for more than 3000 miles, crossing the expanse of Canada. Symbolically this was also where my life would change direction. I had to make a choice here: continue my logger’s or construction labourer’s vagabond life that was fun but not terribly fulfilling, or get serious about life.

Well, there were the two roads beckoning away from, always away from, and suddenly I felt tired of running away. I booked into a motel for the night, avoiding the bar and a couple of very pretty girls watching me bring my pack in my room and the next morning before the sun rose I was turned around and heading back to the coast, and the university. I felt an insatiable hunger for more knowledge that would not materialize from jumping across the mountains, work camp to work camp until too old to do much more than working security detail on construction yards. My mind had taken control and I realized I didn’t half mind it.

Thanks, Jack.

Angel Angst, Angel Anger

[poem by   ~burning woman~   ]

Remember when we first met
When we first meant something
In the world together?

Angel you called me.
My angel, my beautiful,
My simple angel.

Your arm curled warmly
Around my slim waist.
Your lips found my smile.

I wondered under a small cloud:
Would you get tired of simple me
When my pretty became boring?

But the love was good, the bed warm.
We walked more miles together.

(until)

I became slow, stupid and boring.
I became a leech ruining your life.
Now you abuse me, suppress me,
You crush my dreams, suck my life,

(but)

I’m the angel you crowned,
Danced with, loved, married.
Deny me, yes: it changes nought.

I’m still your angel, though changed:
Angry, avenging, terrible.
Yesterday I was the angel of love,
Tonight, I’m the angel of terror

Responding to your choices.  

A Real Treasure

A Real Treasure
[A short story by Sha’Tara]

(A simplistic tale of a simpler time too many of us have forgotten.
Two things – One, I hope it proves entertaining. Two, I also hope I haven’t posted it already. Fortunately, it’s a short read. Enjoy)

“Life is full of treasures if one can only find them.” That promise,
from a happy-ending story read in class that afternoon, kept going through
his mind as he ran along the rough, rocky shore. His straight, unruly hair
blowing across his reddened face, his eyes watering in the spray, his
sleeve wet from wiping his runny nose, eight year old Jamie thought about
treasures: piles of gold and silver coins in an iron-bound pirate’s chest
with a huge padlock to guard against theft. He thought if he looked hard
enough, he would suddenly spy the corner of such a chest sticking out of
the loose gravel. Imagination, being free, is one of the real treasures
of the poor!
Forgetting his hungry stomach, he would regularly stop to scan the
rising swells for a familiar boat returning to the jetty, but the waters
were too rough and the visibility reduced to the line of shoals disappear­
ing in the in-coming tide. He shivered in the gusty, mid-winter winds. He
thought of his father and two older brothers out there on the sea. He
sighed, “If only I could help…

His keen eyes saw something dark floating in the water. A log! A whole
log being pushed ashore by the tide and wind. He waited impatiently as it
came close enough for him to direct it, then wondered how he would claim
and keep it. The tide may wash it away again, or someone else may find it
before he could run home and return with his mother. He decided to keep an
eye on it and let the tide do its work. His mom would worry and be angry
but when she saw the wood, she would understand.

The log floated higher. Too big for him to do anything with, there was
nothing to do but wait… All thoughts of pirate treasure left his mind:
his real treasure, representing several days of heat, and perhaps some
scraps for carving, was that log. He eyed it jealously, scanning the
shoreline for scavengers. He was relieved to see no one. Wandering around
while waiting, he searched for other treasures. His imaginary hoard now
was a whole pile of logs against the slate-roofed cottage just over the
top of the low, weather-beaten cliff separating land from sea.

He didn’t find any more wood, but he found an old rusty steel cable
tangled in blackberry bushes. Struggling to free it, he had an idea.
Laying out the cable, he found he could wrap it around the log then around
one of the larger rocks protruding from the gravel. He secured his log,
then using a broken piece of stone, laboriously scratched his name in it.
His hoard thus properly identified and anchored, he ran home. His mother
met him at the top of the path, scolding as he came up. He stopped to
catch his breath, then told his story of the log. She didn’t believe him
at first, but when he ran to the lean-to for the saw and the wheelbarrow,
she grabbed her coat and accompanied him down to the noisy, indistinct
strand, the clattering sound of their footsteps lost in the raspy,
turbulent surf.

Following her son, she looked eagerly for the treasure. Two motionless
figures were inspecting something in the gravel and Jamie cried out:
“They’ve found my log. Please, mom, hurry or they’ll take it!” Running,
nearly out of breath in the biting air, she came upon two men sizing up
the log. “Hullo, ma’am” one of them said, looking at her and touching his
cap. “Reckon this log’s ours ma’am, we found it first.” She looked at
Jamie and he pointed to the top of the log where he had scratched his
name: Jamie Willbrooke. They looked at the coarse but fresh inscription,
then the same one said, “Smart little fellow you have there, ma’am.” She
nodded and waited for the inevitable question. “Maybe, for a chunk, we
could help you haul it in, then?” She nodded again and took her son’s
hand. Holding it gently, she turned her head, permitting only the sea to
witness the love in her tear-filled eyes.


A Planetary Soap Opera

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

“Man was created in the image of God (of the gods).  So the ancients believed and taught.  “There is nothing new under the sun”  states an ancient wisdom text (Ecclesiastes). 

“As below, so above.”  (An important awareness, as expounded by the Teacher, YLea.

Earthians love drama, theirs and that of others.  Endlessly, pointlessly, daily, they create and re-create their dramas and melodrama-dramas.  They suffer in them and entertain themselves with them.  All of their systems rely on drama to promote themselves.  Their divinities – whatever they believe in – are nothing if not complete drama.  All advertising is based on drama.  Fashions and fads are drama.  Love affairs, their successes and more obvious failures: all drama.

Why is drama so popular and necessary to life on Earth?  The only conclusion is because every Earthian was “created” to be an actor who performs on cue.  Life on Earth is basically pointless, beginning nowhere, leading nowhere.  Rich or poor, famous or unknown, what is the difference in the end?  Where’s the payoff, whether one is a good or a bad actor?  Whatever is being said has already been said; whatever is being done has already been done. You cross the Mediterranean Sea in a trireme or fly across in a private jet… and the difference is?   

If the Earthian actors were permitted to realize they are but bad actors in an endless soap opera some would probably be intelligent enough to question the wisdom of repeating the same moves ad nauseam.  To keep an entire world as an on-going live performance over hundreds of thousands of years for the entertainment of sophisticated galactic watchers requires great skill on the part of script writers and producers.  Some Earthians do wake up to the fact that all is not as it seems here.  These “actors” are summarily written out of the production: the show must go on.

I have always wondered about the necessity of maintaining vast numbers of unknown and innocent victims — those tens of thousands who die each day of preventable causes.  Who benefits from this?  Not Earth, certainly.  But these “extras” are necessary to the drama.  All those deaths make it so much more real. How long would wars remain popular if no one died in them?  

Would we not be moved to resolve our gross planetary injustices if the power to do so was really in our own hands? Actors say what the script tells them to say and do what they are told to do. So, without committing suicide, how do we get off the stage when we realize we really do not like the part assigned to us?