R U OK?

R U OK?

This question was emblazoned on a bright yellow t-shirt with a smiley face, gifted from Hubby’s place of employment several years ago.  It’s been the butt of jokes ever since.

Folks can’t even talk to their own loved ones about how they’re really feeling, but the wise guys in Human Resources imagine a worker will feel motivated to show and tell thanks to a cheesy slogan on a free t-shirt.  That’s a special brand of marketing brilliance right there.

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I suppose there’s more than a few veterans who feel this way, too—they need to communicate how they’re feeling as a form of psychic hygiene—yet when they do there’s a half a dozen ‘highly-trained’ shrinks taking notes and filling the next DSM with their dysfunctional honesty and using their confessions to prescribe a list of solutions based entirely on poppycock.

Happy.  Sad.  Angry.  Bored.  Afraid.  Please to check appropriate box.  That’s become, please to choose appropriate emoji.

But, How are you really feeling?  These times are being prescribed as the days that try men’s souls—so I am asking out of sincere caring—how are you really feeling?  I suspect you don’t even have sufficient words to describe it, since feelings came long before words, which is why man had to invent art.  And then reduce it to emojis.

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Did you ever consider that love and fear are both feelings of petrification?  They are emotions of freezing in time and space.  They serve to protect the species through seduction.  In love we long for time to stand still, yet it races.  In our memory or subconscious it takes hours to sift through minutes.  As in fear time seems to stand still, an agonizing splitting into nanoseconds.

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Can’t tell the forest for the trees?

Where were you when JFK was shot?  Who told you about 9/11?  What were you doing when the hurricane hit?  Why didn’t you evacuate/shelter in place/donate/volunteer/follow orders/surrender your weapon/buy ammo/plant a garden . . .??

How are you really feeling?  Does it fit in the box?

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Mama Chop says don’t be shy!

Fear, like love, are the static aspects of feelings that are meant to cause actions—those of survival—run for your life, or care for another’s.

Does fear, or love, inspire you to action?  Why, or, why not?

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Handsome lads on dogwood petals

Please feel free to reply at length in space below.  True empathic response to follow.

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Channel your fear, says Buttercup!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tyranny or Freewill

I know they mean well, but the podcasters and bloggers and various other ‘social influencers’ who at the moment are espousing some variant of “make the best of it” really just don’t get it.  Don’t think of it as quarantine.  Click past the media hype and overcome the social distancing, they say, through ‘personal growth’ work.

Such utter nonsense. Use this as an opportunity to take up a new hobby, they repeat, learn something new, organize your closets, take an online class, and loads of other banal advice that demonstrate unequivocally how disconnected they really are from the core of the issue.  Throw someone into solitary confinement and then insist he’ll be a better person for it.  Adversity builds character, right?  Occasionally it does, but more often, it does not.

Stop thinking, and start feeling, I’d advise them, if they were listening to me.  It’s a very different beast to choose isolation than to have it forced upon you.  It feels different, because it is like the exact polar opposite.

We were avid travelers, Hubby and I, before and after we met.  Being forced to evacuate, twice, was absolutely nothing like the feeling of choosing one’s own time and place of adventure.  That I was somehow expected to smash these bipolar feelings together was actually really offensive.  I got that advice constantly, too.  Think of it as an opportunity, I heard from everyone who claimed they cared.  Go volunteer.  Be the bigger person.  You’re not really homeless.  Show them what you’re made of.  Seriously?  And you label this empathy?  Give me a break, pronto, please!   The perfect opportunity presenting itself to me then was, and still is, to drop those self-righteous idiots like hot potatoes.

It’s very different believing something intellectually, taking steps toward verifying that belief in order to quantify it as knowing, and the spin cycle that’s required for the Positivity Virus to see every insane challenge as an opportunity.  Don’t panic.  Get resilient.  Don’t fret over your lost job.  Don’t contemplate the doom of mandatory vaccinations or the gloom of martial law.  No pain no gain.  Think of it as a character-builder.  Rise to the Occassion.  Raise your vibration.  Find the silver lining.  Dig deep. Help others.  Why?  Because we say so.  Because that’s what it means to be a good person.  So, the slave class abides.

If you ask, but, how do you know this?  I did ‘the work’ they reply.  The Work.  The Great Work. That means, They know.  They got to choose it, or at least, not to choose it.  Now they insist everyone become as enlighten and evolved and woke, by saving your friends and community from your fatal invisible germs. Good for you, good for them, good for all.

When the so-called free-thinkers start to cooperate with the government mandates, and insist you do to, it might be the right time to unsub.

Personal growth work, by force.  The beatings will continue until moral improves.  Personal growth work, through shaming tactics.  Become a better team player through home quarantine.  We couldn’t get you to evolve yourself to fit our agenda in the easy way, so really, it was your choice.  We’ve been trying to breed and mold the ideal global hive for a century, we’re nearly there, there’s just a few million more pesky free-thinkers we need to convert, that is, convince.  Everything we do is for your own good.

I told that to my bees today when I went to inspect their colonies.  I said, “Hi my bees! I’m from the government and I’m here to help!”

They were not convinced.  One colony actually crafted themselves a very unconventional upside-down foyer, apparently because they called mutiny on my restricted access portal.  The brazen nerve of them!  I told them they would get robbed mercilessly with this approach.  They did not abide!  And they were robbed mercilessly, just as I’d predicted.

Now those frightful rebels have created a super strong colony by virtue of fighting off all those thieves.  They’re like ninja warrior bees!

How dare they successfully trump my sub-par, ignorant efforts at micro-management!

A quick look at their valiant efforts, please excuse my poor video skills!

 

 

 

The Toxic Feminine: Perception Management

A brief lesson on analyzing toxic female behavior using two real-life personal anecdotes.

Part One:  The Beautiful Budding Gymnast

When I was about ten years old I liked gymnastics, but I wasn’t good at it.  I was briefly amazed by a neighbor girl who was really good at it.  She was a bit older, but one time she let me come over to her house to practice.  Not only was she really good at gymnastics, she was also exceptionally beautiful—quite tall for her age, with shining, straight, long black hair and perfect alabaster skin.  She reminded me of a real-life princess and I felt almost troll-like standing next to her.

Her mom was there, an attractive divorcé  who remarried shortly after that day, the two of them moved and I never saw her again.  That was no big deal though, because I wasn’t friends with the girl, I just admired her beauty and talent.

What has stuck with me my entire life about that day was something her mother said, because I would discover this again and again throughout my life in my dealings with certain toxic people, especially women:  Their stated perception about reality trumps reality itself. 

Nowadays they call it ‘pathological narcissism’ or any other number of psychological terms, and Gaslighting has become the clever term for their favorite tool of perception control.

The girl wanted her mom to ‘judge a competition’ between her and I on our gymnastic skills.  Of course, we all knew who would win that competition.  Apparently though, the mother had decided, unbeknownst to us, to give me a few bonus points in advance. Perhaps due to my younger age, or my more novice standing, or just because she wanted to teach her daughter (or me) a lesson?

I watched the girl’s clearly superior cartwheel with simple, honest envy.  How I’d love to cartwheel that perfectly, I thought!  She would probably go to the Olympics I suspected, with a cartwheel like that.

I was sure if I practiced enough I could be that good, but back then I had trouble keeping my legs stiff in the air and landing in a straight line.  Her mother, however, claimed my cartwheel was definitely better, to the jaw-dropping astonishment of us both.

How she lies!  I was baffled. The girl objected, naturally.  I objected, confused as all hell.  The mother insisted.  And for decades I’ve analyzed this lie, turned it over in my head, compared it to what I’ve heard and observed with others, and to what I see happening in the society at large.

I do believe by now I’ve got a pretty good handle on this particular brand of heavy duty gaslighting.  What makes it so harmful is that it’s so insidious, so easily masked, with layers of plausible deniability—it’s a real life example of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  The evil step-mother type is easy to discern, so not nearly as confusing, therefore not nearly as dangerous.

At first I thought, like is natural to do, to give the mother the benefit of the doubt.  But no, it’s not really about encouraging humility in the achiever, because we both knew she was lying, and she knew that we knew.  False humility is manipulative and to force her daughter to pretend to be ‘less than’ she actually was would be a mean trick, seems to me.

It was also not about assuaging the real loser’s feelings, though she would surely insist her intentions were both of these efforts toward virtue.  But, if she had really been concerned about my feelings in that situation, she should’ve pointed out my flaws directly and asked her daughter if she’d be so kind as to spend some time to help me with them, because that’s what I really wanted. I already knew plenty of places by that tender age where I could go to get lied to.

So really, it was about assigning herself the loftiest role in the room, that of the High Priestess, aka, Perception Manager.  And in doing so, she takes it on herself to gaslight everyone else in the vicinity.  It’s not virtuous, it’s self-serving.  It’s not about creating harmony, it’s about stifling dissent.  It’s not about fostering relatedness, it’s about establishing hierarchical control. Though she would admit nothing of the sort, I’m sure.

Not only will she readily lie to others, she will then lie to herself about what her lies mean.  These are not ‘little white lies’ to avoid being unnecessarily hurtful.

Conflict avoidance is also not a virtue, it’s a tactic.

These are the relentless Political Correctness promoters.  Anything not coated in marzipan, according to the Toxic Feminine, is considered hate speech and outside the purview of polite discourse, (unless they do it, which is always ‘out of fear’ they say, but actually it’s just avoiding minor discomfort and loss of total control of the given situation).  Bring up voting at the dinner table and you’ll get a heel to the shin.  Try to discuss your cousin’s drug abuse and you’ll get an eye roll.  Mention your pending divorce and she’ll change the subject, most likely to her own pending divorce. 

An excellent mind-f**k movie of this popular leitmotif, from the French, because they do it best: La Moustache

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She’ll even police your language and behavior at the bar after three martinis from a distance, this is the level of professionalism we’re dealing with here, like she learned directly from the Fabian Society experts themselves!

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We see the negative impact of this brand of perception control to the microscopic level everywhere we look today.  Everyone gets to choose any reality based on their personal preferences—boys can be girls, girls can be boys; whites can call themselves blacks ‘on the inside’; beauty at every size, even morbidly obese; sunny weather claimed even when the sky is murky with filth; adults behaving like children and children posing as adults; abuse labeled as quirky fun; poisons labeled as food; violence sold as entertainment; indoctrination called education, and on and on.  Give the devil a finger, as the adage goes.

Where are the ADULTS?

She’ll happily blame every social ill on “The Patriarchy,” right after she cashes her welfare check and swings by WIC for more free baby formula.  And it’s getting worse exponentially now.  

To be an unwed mother with three babies from three fathers is not even considered an undesirable familial or social situation anymore.  I wish I were exaggerating!

This wolf-in-sheep’s clothing toxic deception harms every level of social life, from the relations between the genders, to the family unit, to the political sphere.

If the gaslighting gets pushed any heavier in this country the demand for wool is going to skyrocket!

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Or maybe, all is not yet lost in space.  Some critical thinking is being applied in some small circles.

Here’s a hopeful and educational interview with Justin Deschamp and Adam Riva on Dauntless Dialogue:  Social Engineering of the Male-Female Dynamic, that’s well worth some deep consideration.  What’s been created, expressly, is a culture of acceptable gaslighting—socially-engineered through propaganda for reasons of control—promoting a culture of confusion, distraction, and distorted value systems that force individual, inter-relational, social and political imbalance.  So the oligarchical controllers are then appeased to, eternally, by their hapless subjects to create order out of their physical, intellectual and emotional chaos.

That’s the lesson of the beautiful budding gymnast.

 

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(Coming soon Part 2)

How Suicide Triumphs

It might be a ghastly case of misplaced empathy.

Try this at home:  Bring up the topic of suicide and note how folks react.

On the radio yesterday, one of the south’s ubiquitous Christian family stations, were some astonishing statistics about the outrageous suicide rate currently in America.  The host’s conclusion, not surprisingly, was that these poor, long-suffering individuals had not found Jesus.

I beg to differ.  In fact, the suicide that hit too close for comfort this past spring, was committed by a woman who had just found Jesus, had just been ‘born-again’ baptized, and was attending a local church.

Sympathy was oozing from every direction for this apparently fragile, misguided woman, who left behind three teenage boys.

The responses I get when repeating this story always include, first and foremost, something along the lines of: “Oh, how terrible, that poor woman!”  The boys are lamented also, but along the lines of how awful it will be for them to be without their mother.

And I’m thinking, “Seriously?”

The woman who spread far more pain and chaos around her than joy and caring is the one who gets the caring attention, even in death.

Why is violent sociopathy rewarded with sympathy in our culture?  Suicide is extremely violent.  Violence is violence, whether or not it is self-inflicted.  It is also extremely manipulative, as one is freed from one’s own pain by unloading it on everyone else.

This was a grown woman, who had abandoned her children, was addicted to untold number of drugs for at least a decade, and who was unresponsive and ungrateful to the help lavished on her from countless well-meaning hosts and wanna-be saviors for years.

What about all those who were forced to witness her self-violence?  What about all those who were subjected to her lies, her manipulations, her emotional and physical abuse?

What about her boys, and her parents who are forced to raise them, while she partied her life away?

Has anyone ever considered that maybe they would feel relieved to be rid of her, once and for all—that is, if relief were a permissible social option for them?  Instead they are required to feel sorry for her, forever.

What about “God helps those who help themselves?”

What about the obvious fact that the suicide rate continues to rise, as the churches continue to fill, as the preachers continue to preach, as the psychiatric profession proliferates, as the pharmaceutical sales flourish, and as the entertainment industrial complex offers ever-more fun for everyone?

Might it be remotely possible, perhaps, that all the misplaced empathy and coddling to sociopathy, and the elevation of weakness, cowardice and powerlessness to a station of social superiority, might play into this problem at all?

Of course, if I point out this difference of perspective, I’m the heartless bitch with no sympathy, for the violent dead woman.

Well, I confess.  Let’s just write it off as yet another case of compassion fatigue.

Transcendence is Escapism

Life is significantly easier when you don’t give a shit.  Not only are you spared the physical, intellectual and emotional effort of caring, you are also spared the spiritual effort of sifting through the good and shitty people and things in your life.

When you don’t care, you don’t care if others don’t care either.  You don’t build up any resentment to their lack of care.  You get to feel comfortably numb in blissful ignorance.  You don’t have the added social cost of having to mask your disdain and disapproval.  You can chuckle, rather than wince, at their callousness and cruelty and disregard.

The spiritual effort of discernment is so taxing that many religions have successfully spared their followers of it, naming it ‘Judgement’ and leaving the dreadful task to God, or similar distant entities.

Discernment is in fact so precious it’s innate in all sorts of species, not just mankind. 

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Sunflowers discern which way the sun is glowing and turn themselves to face it.  Plants can actually discern and communicate all kinds of things about their environment, even things like where their trellis is, and other survival instincts—this is absolutely true, and now that science ‘proves it’ you are allowed to believe it, even though those in tune with the natural world already sensed it aeons ago.

http://www.bbc.com/earth/story/20141111-plants-have-a-hidden-internet

https://e360.yale.edu/features/exploring_how_and_why_trees_talk_to_each_other

Birds of a feather do indeed flock together, even domesticated ones all raised together tend to stick with their own kind most of the time.

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Human babies are so highly discerning they recognize their own kind from the most tender age, reaching out automatically to other babies, or puppies, or other young or small things, as if they are already quite conscious of their current place in the universe.

What are the emotions which humans make such concerted efforts toward escaping or transcending?  Sadness, weakness, loneliness, illness, vulnerability, anxiety, fear, pain, discomfort, failure.

But rarely, apathy.  Apathy, as dangerous as it can be, is of another category.

Apathetic populations serve an important purpose in civilization.  Not only are they the perfect minions of any corrupt power structure by never questioning their surroundings or roles, but they also serve brilliantly in undermining the efforts of the relatively few who do actually give a shit.

Apathetic slaves are the best sort.  The less you care about those around you and your environment, the easier the masters have it.  It makes for better order followers, because you’re still smart enough to never bite the hand that feeds you, but passive enough to go along with anything told to you from above.  Hand over your children?  Ok, what can you do, and besides, you can just have more.

The culture-shapers have been breeding apathetic populations as long as man has been breeding domesticated livestock.  Obedience, docility, positivity, faith, industriousness are in the category along with apathy, as with all the other desired traits that make the livestock more manageable, desensitized, acquiescent and profitable.

The “Namaste Billionaires” (a phrase I’ve borrowed) say they give a shit, and they want to fix it all.  They know how, because they say so.  They’ve transcended, and they’re billionaires, so of course they know how. They’ve reached the pinnacle of materialism and spiritual ascendency in tandem and they’re going to create order from the chaos.

These are the latest brand of culture-shaping snake oil salesmen and if their predecessors had not been breeding in apathy for centuries the populations would still have the discernment to see this as clearly as if it were pulsing in neon from the heavens.

How can you tell, as easily as if you were discerning white from black?  Look to nature.  Order already existed.  It still exists even now, though the perpetual tinkering makes it less and less obvious every year.

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These false prophets create the chaos in order to save you from it, so that you then confirm your role as indentured servant to their system.

So, don’t give a shit just a little bit longer.  This Thanksgiving, show the proper gratitude to your betters for the relatively comfortable free-range servitude they’ve granted you.  Raise your children right—to jump when the master calls— ‘front and center!’ To bow when your master gestures, to serve courageously at his side when required, and cower silently in the corner when ordered.

Drugs and distractions, or enlightenment, take your pick.  If you’re truly blessed you might even be able to kiss their feet someday.  Dare to dream!

Still, if you don’t make it quite that far on the righteous path, as your just rewards you’ll still get all the baubles and accolades worthy of your slave station and gain the admiration of all your enslaved peers.  Congratulations and . . . 

Long live the Queen!

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Shades of Deception II

Scene II: Moving to the culture at large . . .

Me: “That’s abuse!”

Them: Chorus of Flying Monkeys and Power Worshipping Apologetics

Normalizing: “It’s called discipline, and we all turned out just fine.”

Reframing: “It’s an ‘Adverse Childhood Experience’.” (And there’s a drug for that.)

Repression: “I just don’t see what good it does to dwell on it. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.” (And let’s have another cocktail!)

Dissociation: “Can you believe this horrific X character on the news?!” (X=but is not limited to: Jeffrey Epstein, Jimmy Savile, Harvey Weinstein, Charles Manson, and I won’t bore y’all with even a partial list, cause it goes on . . . And bloody on, and on.)

http://dauntlessdialogue.com/systemic-pedophilia-part-3/ 

http://dauntlessdialogue.com/evidence-of-the-mass-arrests-of-pedophiles-a-master-list/

Spanking, the gateway to control through violence. Just discipline. Fine and natural.

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Yes, clearly, they did the best they could. And still are.

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Right?

 

 

 

 

Upgrade to Vocation

I like the old adage: “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”  I think it’s true.  I’ve actually said it before to Handy Hubby and it makes for a pretty effective guilting tool.

But there’s an equally true non-adage I think to be more fitting to most folks in this country currently:  All play and no work makes Jack a jackass.”

Don’t get me wrong please.  I do know there’s plenty of fine folks working multiple meaningless jobs just to keep their family afloat.  I’m not talking about them.  I’m also not talking about those who are seriously mentally and physically suffering, because there’s plenty of those folks around, too.

But I do mean those of us who are in the majority, like me, relatively mildly mentally and physically suffering, still able to get up each day and do stuff.

Here’s my point.  There are three main stages in life between birth and death as far as I can tell so far.  It begins with Service to Self (infancy, childhood, adolescence), it moves to Service to Others (family, friends, community), and these stage are both motivated primarily by a ‘will to power’.  Then, as the third and most crucial stage, we mature into Service to the Greater Good.

Bush’s answer to Americans when starting another insane war was: “Go shopping!”  Hillary Clinton claimed: “We have a huge fun deficit in America.” They were appealing to Service to Self.  

JFK’s famous quote, encouraging to his future Peace Corps volunteers for decades to come, was an appeal to Service to Others:Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”

This is where too many of us are getting stuck.  And our rulers have designed it this way quite deliberately.

The coup d’état in slow motion we are witnessing unfold now at a rapidly increasing clip has been in the works for many generations.

“Contrary to common belief even among the educated, Huxley and Orwell did not prophesy the same thing.  Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression.  But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history.  As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacity to think.”  Neil Postman Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business (1985)

Instead of wisdom years filled with . . .well . . . wisdom, we’ve got Alzheimer’s and chronic fatigue, and a dozen and one other ailments of mind, body and spirit.

The middle aged and elderly, those still healthy enough to have a life, are devoting it to a retirement filled with meaningless pursuits—gambling, cruises, the Shopping Network, or latest sport, game or craft craze, looping right back into Service to Self or Service to Others, without ever maturing into the final, and by far most crucial, stage of life.

Without our wise elders we are doomed as a culture and a society.  We don’t need them getting plastic surgery and posting their new faces and evening dining choices on social media.  We need them learning from their mistakes, seeing reality through the lifetime of a mature adult, sharing their hardest lessons as well as their greatest gifts.  We need them to realize it’s not a popularity contest anymore, to take off the masks once in a while, to call out the bullshit they see, to relentlessly speak truth to power, and truth to youth.

Retirement should not mean a decade or two of crossword puzzles and golf.  Service to the Greater Good—that means greater than self and others. Not following orders, not following trends, following the highest calling of the divine Self—the vocation— the will to meaning.  It’s not ‘do what you love and the money will come’ it’s ‘do what matters, beyond the money, beyond the need for approval.’

Without examples of this, with so few mature adults modeling this 3rd stage, what do we expect to happen?

Do most of us in middle age now have examples of wise elders in our lives?  I have a few, but that’s only because I consistently seek them out.  I’d say the majority don’t even know what a vocation is, they see the ‘o’ as an ‘a’.

In fact, a vocation is far more precious.  It’s the secret garden where your skill, your joy, your wisdom, and the humble desire for a better future to leave behind, all magically coincide.  It’s the sweet spot of life’s greatest magic that only you can offer.  It’s the quilt, or the tapestry, or the garden, or the painting, rainbow, symphony—whatever metaphor suits you most— as the scene moves from seemingly random splotches of design and craft, to the point where the image takes shape at last, nearly ready for show and tell.  

It’s your life as the willed ephemeral expression of the divine.

luckyday

But so many are missing this, as it’s been systematically stolen and replaced by entertainment, endless material pursuits, silly vanity, diversions of the Order of Bread and Circus, that if I were a kid today I’d be saying: “Grow up, Grandpa!”