Month: February 2017

After hearing very alarming, dire, news about the state of the world, and the survivability of the near term future, I woke with an intense sense of dread. This is what’s left of my survival instinct.

And I quote, Jerry Garcia-Robert Hunter, “Ain’t no time to hate, barely time to wait,” Perhaps as a type of mantra this can help in the activation of a survival cause which will defy this very ordinary “go about my business as usual” life which is proceeding right now. In ordinary terms, this life is very good… In actual reality terms, it’s like a blindfolded walk off the plank.

God have Mercy on us all.

Gotta love those that place themselves in positions of authority, and then tell you you’re truth…   Any wonder why we’re seeking an alternative source!? Independence of mind… Independence of spirit…

Haven’t been down this way in a while. Gonna commute for a couple days to do this small project down by the Sound. The sun is just dawning over the horizon as I pull up to a red light. The sun’s sky path is marked with a cloud X just above it in the sky. The light turns green. The first car in line is slow to move. Right behind him is another motorist that gestures radically and lays on the horn. Just like that we’re moving again. The news radio is on. The NY traffic report comes on, and it sounds like a nightmare. Delay after delay on top of delay. The reporter says that the wreck has been cleared, but the damage is done. The weather guy comes on joking. It will be unseasonably warm with near record highs. Now comes the business news. The Dow is sitting at like 20,600. I remember it being a big deal when it cracked 10,000. The line of cars I’m in heading south in on route 58 in is moving slow, and I have to take a piss. We could be doing 50 mph, but instead it’s only like 35. I’m aggravated. Up here on the right at the orchard there’s a parking lot. No reason to not pull in there, and get some relief.

The lot is empty. Pulling all the way to the far side in back there’s privacy. Right back in the saddle, and off again. Good, those slow pokes are gone, and I feel better. At the exit of the parking lot I stop. Looking north up 58 it appears as though the lane is clear. Hitting the accelerator to go I get a strange premonition that I missed something. There’s a sudden numbness in the ears. A sense? I don’t know. Really quick the air goes silent as my glance darts left. It appears as though the side window is blurred. There’s a horn blare followed by the unmistakable sound of the rubber, the road! Holy crap! On coming traffic!? The sided window blur becomes clear, and the horn scream goes silent. Time seems to freeze. A half life time delay ends with pulverizing intensity. A loud sick body boosh and sprinkle blast of spider crashed glass splinter spray explodes all over, and on to me. Moving now by force, the vehicle is screeching in an un-steered way of momentous collision inertia. There’s a constriction squeeze on my torso, left shoulder, and right arm. It’s tight. The compression gets wicked tight with searing pressure, then release. Silence with a sharp crack. More silence tainted with soft stress whispers of a thermal variety; like a heat register heating or cooling. Even more extended silence now interrupted by a drop bong as if a mason jar was dropped on a brick, and a light bulb popped. The accident is over basically before my awareness of it starting.

In the next assessment moments I wondered if I’d been hurt. Moving, moving, I’m moving. I can turn. The legs move. The arms move too. I can turn, but the door is crashed stuck; it won’t open. Focusing now on the interior, it appears unrecognizable. I get the seat belt off. The passenger side door is reachable, and it opens. With my feet now on the ground surreality sets in. Everything seems cinematic. Not everything is in focus. There are big confusion questions beating and repeating in the mind. “What happened?” “What?!” “What’s Happened!?”

A mangeled gray, green, blue pickup, with a hiss, stands stopped in the roadway. It’s in the middle straddling a double yellow line. The drivers’ seat occupant looks invisible in smoky silhouette. He’s gaining frantic. He’s frantic! He’s trying to get out. It’s his head! The head is open across the top, and across the face. I realize that there are others here parked at the scene. A responding motorist is imploring the injured pickup driver to stay down, to stay still. “Sir. Sir! Stay still! Stay still! There’s an ambulance on the way.” A man is standing in front of me, and a woman is right beside me. She says, “You’ve been in an accident.” and he says, “You’re in shock.” I hear myself say, “I looked to see… What!? I didn’t see…” The sound of my voice trails out. Then these words are known, but I can’t tell where they came from. “Time is short. Recognize. The eyes see, the mind is blind. You may not have seen it, but it was right there.”

The doctrine that God is in the world has an important practical corollary – the sacredness of Nature, and the sinfulness and folly of man’s overweening efforts to be her master rather than her intelligently docile collaborator. Sub-human lives and even things are to be treated with respect and understanding, not brutally oppressed to serve our human ends.

Aldous Huxley- The Perennial Philosophy

Maybe it’s not crazy to think you would live through an epochal time. The now is eternal, and we’re all connected in it; though in every day terms it seems that most would not realize it. Eschatological events are building in concentration and frequency. From the seismic to the atmospheric; from the radioactive to the acidic; from the miasmic to the anoxic; from spiking sterility to rapid extinction, every day brings waves of the racing news and mournful images of suffering, death, and dying. I’m sitting here right now numbingly astonished. In spite of familiarization with end times current events, and staying up to speed with world catastrophe stories, the sudden surprise does not wear off. It’s like perpetually waking up from a most unpleasant dream/nightmare. More than the mind blowing realization that the living planet is in full on collapse, is the remarkable astonishment of the widespread blindness and indifference denial prevailing among us. Is it possible that rapturous events could sneak up on us?  Forget possible, or likely, it’s actually snuck right up to full blown obvious without the majority having any more than a hint of it’s approach. It’s astonishing we’re at this point. It’s as if extinction and total conventional end time finality has been compartmentalized as being impossible. We’re left thinking these are simply like mythological metaphors, concepts, or theories. Uh oh, talk about underestimated.

Running parallel with our massive denial is a self delusion that is impressive in it’s power and magnitude. As blind as we are to our reality and truth, we double down, arrogantly, and fortify our troubles by insisting on our prestige position of having reached the zenith of evolution. Modern man is his own god, and is exercising his own right to bull shit himself at levels approaching colossal. On that note, let’s here cover one criminally concealed foot note story nearly lost to popular awareness; the end pumping death furnace Fukushima, Japan. This story is, and has been consistently,  minimized like it’s like another “oil spill” about which one should suspend reality and do the same thing that Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion, and Scarecrow were told to do by the lever pulling Wizard that had just had his curtain pulled back. “Don’t pay any attention to what might matter!!!”

Here we stand, sit, and try to make ends meet at the dawn of Aquarius on a Mother ship that is going down in contamination and radioactive fury. Meanwhile, we dismiss apocalypse with the characteristically idiotic insult arrogance of a numbskull jackass that thinks he can dive off a building into a pile of ping pong balls and be ok. We’re speeding up to a penultimate jump off spot, and the last thing we’re all going to hear is the deafening silence of shock. There’s a kicker to this plot. The perpetrators (perpa traitors) of our demise scurry off to their “safe places”, either off planet or underground, while the rest of us try to cope with the holocaust nuclear winter which laps at everything with the sickness of ice age fire. The absorption of the seeds of our demise come on with every breath, wash, bite, and swallow, as well as, with every report from our trusty media “news agencies” which feed and fortify the delusion and denial. With extreme good fortune our experience also includes awake members of our populations which are ringing the alarm. While these brave agents of disclosure truth are shouted down as conspiracy pariah, their wake up efforts are working. It’s clear that there is decency in the deluded. There is still honor, respect, and selflessness left to tap. Well intended, reasonably good hearted, responsible people are waking up, and moving to wake up others (not easy). Critical mass awareness often feels like it is out of reach, but if it is caught, it will actually result the sure willingness to face the doomsday fate which is now facing us. May we face it before it’s too late…

When you realize that fundamental components of your reality are far from okay, you are in the cross hairs of majesty and madness. This sink or swim passage place is difficult to negotiate. The difficulties originate from the propensity to negativity, fear, and loathing. Stated plainly, I strongly believe that the parameters of the reality in which I find residence are collapsing under the weight of purposeful kleptomania driven calamity, and secretly obvious domination programming. I know this is a crisis time, and I’m finding remarkable difficulty preventing the imagination from railroading into the fear fury hostility realm. The madness of this mind set is that, when in it, I make a contribution to the problem of unfolding catastrophe I desperately wish wasn’t. I would much prefer to apply what imaginative powers I have to the uprising of soluble miracle power, which right now seems immediately urgent. How to make this definite choice, and make it stick?

First, I have to break the denial about the fact that the world, and those on it, are under attack. Attacks of multi various forms from eco contamination to societal/cultural exploitation and extermination. Then I’ve got to admit that there have been, and continue to be, massive perception programs, or misperception programs, at work on us, and me. These programs of control strictly channel free thought into paradigms of control, ultra limited originality, and warped destructive creativity. These programs have jilted my perceptions and subjugated my awareness. This is a potential point of big hope, however, because with some reflection I find that the mass mind crimes don’t, and didn’t, work on everybody. Dreamers, entrepreneurs, artists, and salvation workers have stood out through the generations. Some of the names come to mind, Hendrix, Thoreau, Washington, Rousseau, Teresa, Twain, Orwell… a list of grand proportion, and growing with any application of earnest. How about choosing to allow them to work on me, and for me in inspiration and hope, avoiding madness and imagining majesty? It’s the intrepid art and expression of these and other authentics which may resonate with the bold beyond that exists within, thus catalyzing the solution contribution available for me to make. It boils down to this. There is no time to spare in becoming the best selves we can be. We need help, and to be of help. This is about compassion, service, contemplation of the wonders of salvation, and expressive antidote living.

O Creator have mercy on us all.

The next thing I know is that we are in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It’s like an average out of the way middle class type place. Houses line the street, and each one is separated by modest yards and driveways. I’m among a group that is here by direction. There’s an understanding among us all that we are to criminally destroy this particular two story house. I don’t know any of the other people in the group tasked with the take down, or who’s house it is. It’s hard to tell how many of us there are, however, it’s a big group, and every time you turn around there’s another new face. No one seems at all conflicted about what we are to do. This is an arson job, but for some reason we’re to do a partial demolition before setting it on fire.

I know that I’ve witnessed the entire place being dowsed, loaded, and packed with incendiary and accelerant. When it’s ignited it will be a virtual explosion. I realize that the part of the plan I’m unaware of is the detonation. Walking across the much demolished second floor I get the sense of the impending inevitable ignition. This place is about to go up in flames. Actually, I’m right now anticipating the trigger spark which sets this whole place ablaze. I’m out. I’m standing here, kind of metaphorically, looking back at the semi wrecked house. I can see people moving around inside. These are the same people that were prepping this place with the incendiary. They’re not working anymore. They seem to be inspecting the work we’ve done, almost like they’re acting out a crime scene investigation movie scene. I have an anonymous relationship with my coworkers. In spite of feeling strongly that the place is about to blow, I don’t immediately leave the side yard. For some reason communication with those left behind is not possible. I realize that we never really had communicated. Sensing the impending fire storm I can feel any commitment to remain go away.

In spite of knowing that I’ve been a cursory part of the plan to set this place on fire, I no longer feel connected to it. In my mind I’m thinking that the people left  must know the danger of having the place blow at any time. I can’t figure why they continue to go through the motions of making a show. Do they know the timing?  Do they think they can get out after it blows? Why would you want to? Not only am I not communicating with my coconspirators, there is a dwindling feeling of wanting to. I grab my hammer. It feels more comfortable in my hand than I remember. I start walking away from the building we’ve wrecked and made ready for inferno. Purpose builds with each stride. With each step the feeling grows that what I’m leaving behind is a great curiosity. Curious, for sure, in many ways. What was this all about? How many, if any, got out before it blew? Did anyone survive the blast/ burn? There’s no doubt it’s going to be intense. Stop! Without turning around I begin to wonder…