How often to stop; stop and consider the world and our place in it? Here now begins a contemplation of the ecoworld that is much taken for granted. Standing here, on the back porch, breathing under the super moon night sky. There’s light bright shining off earth’s celestial satellite, leaving down on the land through an otherwise darkness back field littered by randomly small puffy patch vague and dark gray tissue clouds. Spreading moon shadows draft a photo negative appearance view about the landscape. Looking up, observing, noticing the moon’s brightness providing clarity of it’s own feature and of the night sky surrounding it. Brief cloud silhouette after cloud silhouette fade to disappearance with any growing distance from the shining moon. As each cloud patch approaches the lunar lamp it becomes gainingly visible. Passing closely by, or in front of the moon, a characteristic is evident; the characteristic is of color. Each wispy draft of cloud has a definite holograph hue of pale pink-violet cotton candy like light. Impurity?! This is it. It’s the spray trails, the atmospheric engineering fallout. The breathing continues in contemplative remark… What? This? This… Miasma!!
Stop and stay right here. Consider the view above. Continued contemplation on the condition brings on a strong sensational impact. It’s in the air. It’s everywhere! The tonnage, the shear volume and magnitude of all the spraying documented and detailed, now realized in total. It’s of nightmarish proportion and scale. It’s a disastrous nightmare. It’s really sinking in now. With incredible subtlety the wholesale permeation of every where all the time surrounding everything becomes materially known. Inescapable and inhaled with every breath, the molecular absorption has become a constant. So quietly these clouds bliss through the sky unaware of the toxic treason. Every single breath consumed by every single thing in saturation sum and blanketing. The oppression of insistence and anti life will takes hold, and I try to wrap the mind around this possibility. How can this be happening? How can it be allowed that this excruciating amount of purposeful pollution be allowed; allowed anywhere at anytime. We’re all in one gargantuan gas chamber! Recoiling and revolting my senses begin to smash with fury. But who to take it out on, and how?
A sense of disastrous hopelessness and dread is creeping right into the pit of my guts. Though dire failing destiny seems unavoidable in tragedy a filament of faith signals, “Don’t give up.” Taking a deep breath (how crazily ironic is that!?) and leaving room for any potential cast of harmony or hope to persuade it’s way into to the thought field, and it does. A memory of joy springs to mind. Another memory of pure like thankfulness for a recognized grace. Thank God for a big rudiment of life: that foundational principle which actually makes life real… freedom of choice. At this point the power of crippling insistence brought on by the contemplation of this asthmatic atmosphere, and the obscenity at large, works to the choice of giving, donating, service, and charity. The mind and body can be chemically contaminated, conditionally corrupted, or bent by control, but what I’m going to next do, I decide. The material panic race of the modern world may now go on without me. Obviously it doesn’t need permission, but in my mind and in my way I say, “You don’t have permission to control, impose, or poison me anymore.” This sentiment is found to feel strongly right now with conviction. The conviction is founded on the occasion of stopping, opening the eyes, and contemplating the view. Peace…