The Window

The saying goes that where God closes the door, he opens the window.  I used to think that expression was dumb.  But then, I used to think God was just a dumb word invented by dumb folk.

Now I understand God a bit better and that expression seems apropos.  Surely in these months of our Scamdemic we’ve seen a lot of closed doors.  We could point at them all day, and I get the appeal of that, really.

Or, we could search for the windows.  They are there, no doubt, dumb expression or not.

There are ones out there opening the windows, trying to make them easier for others to find them.  I really believe that.  Even if you told me with 100% scientific evidence that no one is out there trying to open any windows, maybe even because there aren’t any windows to open, I’d insist your science was wrong. 

That means my belief is more powerful to me than anyone else’s science.  Funniest thing about that is, it also means, if you can’t reason me out of it, you can’t shame me out of it either.

And that’s a window right there.  Here’s another one:

Plandemic

 

Compassion Minus Consent

I’m something of a stickler for words, but what can I say, when you teach foreign languages for two decades a fetish for ‘le mot juste’ just comes with the territory.

Furthermore, when you love being a student as much as I do, it’s expensive to disagree with your teachers.  On the other hand, it’s far more expensive to not disagree when I think a disagreement is in order.

Which brings me back to a recent post where I disagree with my current favorite teacher, James True.  I don’t think I was persuasive enough in my argument, because he tried to shame me with group-think in front of the whole class (by class I mean his YouTube audience).  It didn’t work though, because my love of words is far stronger than my capacity for shame, or group-think.

I lie awake at night thinking about such things.  In the wee hours, that is usually between 2 and 3 am, I often get inspiration in the form of annoying insomnia.  It’s a fairly small price to pay for what occasionally turns out to be a spectacular insight.

So, I’m trying again, Professor True, to convince you to shift your expression ‘Compassion is not consent’ because I think it’s not accurate.  Embedded in the word compassion is consent.  Its etymology is ancient, unlike more modern words like empathy.  But, I already mentioned that in my first failed attempt to persuade.

And, I don’t want to just negate the expression, because I think I understand what is meant and the sentiment behind it.  Instead, I’d like to offer what I think is a more precise phrase in order to refine it.

Consider instead, if you please: “Compassion minus consent.”

Here’s why.

Understanding is based in intellect.  Empathy/sympathy is emotionally-centered.  But compassion comes from the core. I think so far the good professor would agree, because he talks often about the importance of being seated in one’s pelvis, though he uses more colorful expressions for that fact.

I believe these subtle differences in expression have considerable impact and can be used by nefarious powers against the greatest intentions and wills of man.  A couple of examples:

“We are all One” or “We are all in this together” is a kind of bastardization of an absolute truth: Everything is connected.  We live in a holistic system.  I believe this means that in the mind of man is buried the ancestral wisdom of all ages.  I believe this is true because I’ve experienced it personally.  Someday I’ll have the skill to express it.  But I don’t yet.

I believe this is also what NDE (near death experience) is about.  There is an ‘extended consciousness’ realm and I do believe some folks are able to move between these realms (sometimes against their will or comprehension).  We used to call it shamanism and try to cultivate it, now we call it schizophrenia and try to control it.  Professor True has several excellent posts on this topic.

Another example: “All we need is love” or the myriad variations that have bombarded us for several generations through art, film, books, music.  I’ve already said my piece on this a couple of times, so I won’t rehash it again.

I’m all for love and compassion.  I just think to saturate the culture with it or suggest it’s the magic bullet to end our social woes is actually undermining it.  True love and compassion should be earned and dished out sparingly.  Empathy, sympathy, understanding should be extended as far and wide as humanly possible.  Kindness, care and concern should be liberally applied, perhaps even where it’s not deserved.

And compassion, minus consent, is something awesome I could aspire to—I know it won’t be easy—but it seems to me a worthy goal of an enlightened social order.

In any case, these men are totally crushing in this best Apocalypse ever, and are so much more entertaining than this post.  Do something both fun and healthy for yourself on Father’s Day and check them out!

Compassion IS Consent

Websters Dictionary, 1905

Definition, Compassion: To suffer

A suffering with another; painful sympathy; a sensation of sorrow excited by the distress or misfortunes of another, pity, commiseration. A mixed passion, compounded of love and sorrow; pain or regret, or is excited by it. Extreme distress of an enemy even changes enmity into at least temporary affection.

Sounds like Stockholm Syndrome to me.  Our virtues are being played against us.

If you’re still believing what you see on TV, you’re addicted to the McDonald’s of the mind.  If so, may I suggest some proper nourishment, in the form of my current favorite philosopher, James True.

I’ve already recommended him on this blog quite a few times.  Now I’m going to attempt to do something he’s asked his subscribers for, which I really respect him for asking to do: “prune my lips.”  Excellent expression and sentiment.

One of Jame’s big schticks is the idea that “compassion is not consent” —he repeats it often and it’s being adopted by others.  It’s gaining traction, and I don’t think that’s a good thing.   

I think it’s like throwing your precious pearls of prana at swine much of the time.  I’m sure there’s a few exceptions, but compassion fatigue is a real thing.

I also think receiving compassion is the favorite sugar donut of tyrants, abusers, criminals and malcontents of all flavors.

Just look at the etymology of the word—to suffer together.  If you are choosing to ‘suffer with’ anyone, you’re giving consent.

When I witness the suffering of another and extend compassion to that individual, or even group, it’s a visceral experience.  I feel it in my gut, it twists in my stomach and moves up my spine and into my heart space, and if I extend it even further it goes right up my chest and lodges as a lump in my throat.  If I extend it even further still, my eyes well up, my lips begin to quiver, and when the tears begin to fall for them, I know we are suffering together.  I hope they are touched by this, that it makes them feel less alone in their suffering, that somehow energetically I’ve lessened their burden just a bit.  It’s expensive, it takes a lot of calories.

John Stoessinger, in his compassionate bestseller, Henry Kissinger: The Anguish of Power (1976), demonstrates his consent of this man’s actions in every chapter.  He makes excuses for him, shows how very ‘human’ he is,  and calls this ‘speaking truth to power.’  He wrote the book because, he says: “I suspect that many of those who later attacked him without mercy might have done so out of their own frustration, bitterness, and disappointment.  What has been sadly lacking, however, is a sense of reality and balance.”

As James and Owen Benjamin agree, the pedestal and the pit both suck, as does Stoessinger: “I have attempted to portray the human being and the statesman behind the myths of accolade and condemnation.”

I wonder, what if Stoessinger would have thrown his pearls of compassion at the millions, perhaps billions, who continue to suffer because of Kissinger’s lifetime of global influence?  I wonder if Kissinger needed his compassion or valued it all that much.  I wonder, by demonstrating how ‘human’ he is, how much compassion for the man moved through his readers like a contagion, building up compassion for the man decade after decade, so that all his misdeeds piled up like good manure in the barn, to be spread over the garden to grow and grow, so that he moves effortlessly between pedestal and pit, achieving his every tyrannical dream in this alchemical process of perpetual re-consenting.

Try this aperture on for size please, gentlemen.  Imagine you are Kissinger, receiving the public’s compassion, what does it feel like for you?  Does it look like dissent to you, or consent?  Would you have the sense your work was approved of, or disapproved of?

Furthermore, would that change much, considering he has an agenda for your life, whether or not you show him compassion?  Why would you extend your compassion to someone who has not demonstrated to you he is suffering?  Do you assume he suffers?  Might it be a common case of : We don’t see others how they really are, we see them how we are? 

Do you think Jesus would’ve washed Kissinger’s feet before or after he stomped all over the world?

Crowd the Bubble

Handy Hubby claims he’s becoming a social distancing bully.

I think he’s becoming a perfect disciple of civil disobedience and further honing his already natural aptitudes in that essential discipline. He complied with Costco’s face mask dumbass police-y, but at least he makes it expensive for the collective in so doing.

The corporations will only respond to strong collective action, strong collective action can only be flamed by the torch of the strong individual.

So, of his own accord, he chose to crowd the bubble. He wore the mask, because we have a fetish for bulk shopping, and I hate shopping. He took another one for the team.

He just made a few of his own rules along the way.  Like, once a shopper’s indecision caused him a moment’s annoyance, he broached the six-foot distancing zone, causing enough discomfort for the shopper to stop hemming and hawing and make a choice already, so he could move in for his kill.

I’ve already mentioned in many posts he’s nearly an expert marksman. He shops the same way he shoots, which was the same way he seduced me—move in quietly, have a concise agenda, work fast, take no prisoners.

As further recrimination, he repeatedly pulled down his mask.  Why would he pull such a stunt?  Oh, just because he couldn’t breath.  Well, I guess breathing is considered the entire reason for social distancing these days, so mark that another winner!

For my part, I slowly, oh so slowly, basked in the empty aisles of my favorite antique store, touching everything of even remote interest.  I filed longingly through several old books and bought a few, with cash.  Then I put another few items on credit card, and watched as the clerk, who knows me now, because she knows I love it there, use hand sanitizer.  I said, “You know, I know you’re following police-y, but that stuff is not good for you.”  She confided, I know, I’m just trying to be cautious and accommodating.  I said, with a wink, refill the bottle with lavender-scented water and aloe vera gel , no one will suspect a thing.

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Recently, one of Hubby’s passengers was tested positive for the cornholio, now he’s lying in the hammock drinking beer for breakfast. This is what quarantine looks like here at Chez Shell, aka Kensho Homestead.

Thanks Corporatocracy! Greatest Apocalypse Ever!

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I will end here and now blessed with a river of knowing in this song, passed along through the hands of one receptive woman, and in deep bows to those who are waving along the banks as I flow, have inspired me, challenged me, caused me the pain and chaos that sparks my flame, as an individual, passing, in wisdom.

And occasionally, with great and aching discernment, even very selective gratitude.

Blind Empathy

I’ve had a recurring nightmare for a decade or so.  This is not unusual for me, I’ve had them all my life, the contents and themes just shift.

I only have an elementary knowledge of dreams and their symbolism and I avoid over-researching in this domain, because I believe these things to be highly subjective.  But still, I try anyway to record them and discern their meaning through dynamics happening in my life and all around me.  I know someday I’ll have a broader lens and previously unseen layers of the dreams will be revealed at the right time as long as I don’t fall for the illusion and convenience of ‘forgetting’.

This most recent recurring stream recently ended and I’m so glad for that.  I believe energetically the message the dream meant to convey was purged, after a traumatic few months last spring, which thanks to any kind readers who’ve hung around that long and are paying attention, because I don’t have to repeat the entire storm scenario.

This recurring nightmare was different, but very similar versions of losing everything and being lost—being alone in a big, foreign, sometimes bustling, sometimes abandoned city, unable to contact anyone because I was without money, had lost my wallet, phone, even my shoes and sometimes clothes.  I’m always barefoot in these dreams, on the pavement of a foreign city, completely without support or resources.

Then just over a week ago the dream shifted, dramatically, for the better.  It started off just the same, no wallet, no shoes, no phone, no contacts, in another crowd, of this time all women.  I’ll skip the boring details.  It was some kind of meeting group in a mall, I set my bag down for minute, then walked outside.  Once outside I realized I’d forgotten my bag, knew just where, went right back in, but the bag was gone.  I immediately yelled at the women there to give me back my bag, that I know someone took it, and I was very angry.

All of sudden, a woman threw my bag back at me.  And then a dozen women began throwing at me all the wallets I’d ever ‘lost’ (in the dreams).  I was stunned, but happily so, and was marveling at all the different shapes and colors of them from over the years.  My anger that they might have been stolen, and my shame that I’d lost them, dissipated instantly.  I smiled, dropped them all and walked back out the door.

Today I read two excellent article by Michael Tsarion, and listened to an interview on it.  It struck me that these passages are related somehow to what I hope is the permanent passage of this nightmare for me, and also where I think the culture in general is currently circling the drain.

I wish I had the insight now to connect the dots for any curious readers, but I’m afraid I don’t.  I think it’s one of those cases of knowing what you’re doing without knowing what you’re doing.

All text below from either of two recent MT articles: Souls in Darkness and/or

Children of Thanatos

“Basically, human consciousness and behavior are directed by the search for pleasure and the avoidance of pain. The Marcusans decided to co-opt this basal tendency and use it as a tool for building the utopian society they wish to see replace Western civilization.

The Marcusan plan was to establish a society based on the Pleasure Principle. They believed they were following the course of history, and that their dream was quite rational.

Success was assured as long as one systematically removed obstacles causing distress, want and injustice. Hence the welfare dependent “Nanny States” that now proliferate throughout Europe and America. Hence the endless supply of bread and circuses and “good times” had by all.

Nine times out of ten, there’s not much wrong with the psychopath’s sexual life. Why should there be? It’s just a physical act. Because no feeling is involved, and because there’s no genuine care for the other person, what’s the problem? The psychopath has no hang-ups in this regard, no need to sweat bullets like a neurotic or seek out head-shrinkers to help him develop confidence with the opposite sex. Sex is mere recreation for the psychopath.

Indeed, male psychopaths often have no problem getting dates. Many women actually find themselves attracted to them, adoring the fact that they can finally be with a “man” uninhibited by loathsome morals, ideals, sensitivity, hang-ups or qualms. They just get on with it, and don’t care about boring social graces. In extreme form this condition is known as Hybristophilia.

Since the psychopath is unencumbered by emotion, he can easily focus his brain and learn things quickly. If he already has a high IQ, his success is certain. This is why we find a great many psychopaths in high places. They covet the power offered them by religious and political appointments. Our present hierarchical systems make it easy for psychopathic types to excel. Indeed, our world is infested with them. Without upgrading our psychological knowledge, we have no way of ridding ourselves of their loathsome presence.

Sadly, no expert on pathological types dares utter a word of this in public. There’s no longer any mention of the effect on society of psychopaths in high places, and no comment about how whole nations can be psychopathic.”

Another Swarm!

We must thank our lucky stars once again.  Last post we caught our first swarm right in the garden, and if that wasn’t easy enough, this one flew right into our trap, as if guided by the Divine!

Positioned high in a pine tree with lovely views of open pasture, lightly seasoned with a few drops of lemon grass essential oil, move-in ready with two frames of fully drawn comb, and violà, our first volunteer tenants.

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Apparently they were not privy to any shelter-in-place sort of order.

Guess who else is not abiding by the social distancing commands from their government . . .

And these crazy rebels, well, it’s just shocking how little they care . . .

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Bubba does not respect their Authorité!

Buttercup doesn’t know what psy-op even means!  Whaaaa?!?

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That is not 6 feet, re-education camp for you!

Last night Tori came to me in a dream and stated matter-of-factly, “I’ll take ‘em all down, easy-peasy, just lemme at ‘em!”

torinpups

And I replied, “No, each must choose for himself, otherwise we just get more tyranny.”

“LORD Technology is Saturn Worship. It’s the religion of slavery and narcissism. All academia, governments, and courts are Saturn worship. Christ is real. But people are worshiping a human sacrifice. He was the Passover Lamb. To give him your prana is to feed it to the owners of the ritual. The True Cross, or Christ, is a spiritual astringent – the most crucial archetype you can have to survive Saturnism. Christianity is a government trauma cult made by Saturnalians to keep you docile, meek, egoless, and dumb. The Bible was a relic of LORD Technology written to gaslight you. The book sucks all of your cosmology about God into the black hole of scripture. It’s a vacuum where your creativity and prana are sucked into deep space where it can do nothing forever.

I hope this clears things up. After all – this is the Apocolypse.”  James True

 

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 recollection 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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

True Healing

My favorite podcast, Unslaved, has just had an interview with an amazing couple that I must pass along.

The wisdom they impart in their practice: Heal your body and your mind and spirit will follow. (The first hour of the interview is free, but requires registration—well worth it!) Episode 169: Awakening Somatic Intelligence (Yerasimos Stilianessis & Sophie Fletcher) – Unslaved

The intense armoring of the individual and of the culture, caused from ancestral trauma that is being constantly recycling with each new generation from lack of healing, are pertinent themes in this interview.

Yerasimos, whose parents were Greek immigrants, carved out his unusual work and life path the same way most of us do when attempting to navigate the road less traveled—by following the small, still voice of the soul and finding his inspiration in the journey—with plenty of heartache and tribulations and loneliness along the way.

Like for me, the short novel by Herman Hesse, Siddhartha, was also a catalyzing force.

“And Siddartha’s soul returned, died, decayed, turned into dust, experienced the troubled course of the life cycle. He waited with new thirst like a hunter at a chasm where the life cycle ends, where there is an end to causes, where painless eternity begins. He killed his senses, he killed his memory, he slipped out of his Self in a thousand different forms. He was animal, carcass, stone, wood, water, and each time he reawakened. The sun or the moon shone, he was again Self, swung into the life cycle, felt thirst, conquered thirst, felt new thirst.”

Emboding the archetype of the wounded healer, Yerasimos opened a unique healing practice in the Los Angeles vicinity.

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“For me, that was life-changing as it seemed to crystallize so much of what I had learned up until that point, but most of all, I was able to personally experience a much deeper understanding of the role the body plays in any healing process and how the body truly is the hard drive for our experiences in our lives, storing traumatic events, repressed emotions, and lost memories, as well as all the stress and toxicity from our lifestyle choices and interactions with our environment.” http://voyagela.com/interview/meet-yerasimos-stilianessis-healing-yerasimos-santa-monicavenice/

288BC33E-CA2F-40F2-8AB6-F7CBF55169C2“From a bodywork perspective, there are two main modalities that I use in my practice. The first one is an unconventional technique where I use my feet along with deep, rhythmic pressure and walk on different parts of the body that correlate with the Chinese meridians (electromagnetic channels in the body).”

A perfect quote from his website http://www.healingwithyerasimos.com/

“When Health is absent Wisdom cannot reveal itself, Art cannot become manifest, Strength cannot be exerted, Wealth is useless, and Reason is powerless.” Herophilus, 300 BC

Wheel of Fortune (part 1)

I guess after being accused of being Luddites before we knew the meaning of the word, and having emphatically denied it through several more accusations, we’ve at last adopted it as true.

Now I wonder why there aren’t more of us.  After all, all technology is the equivalent of Prometheus bringing fire.  Is that to be no cause for concern?  It all carries the power of goodness and of destruction.

Even the written word, and the shoe, two of man’s greatest, earliest tools, became proverbial Pandora’s boxes.

One Man and a Chainsaw in Texas

What do you think of with that title?  The popular horror film, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?

Or, do you think of the magnificence that is the invention of the chainsaw?  Fire to warm and create or fire to torture and kill?

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Handy Hubby’s still plowing through the remnants of last spring’s ‘tornado’.  As fortune would have it, the trail he’d just cleared to make way for the fencing of the second pasture was the exact path the ‘tornado’ chose.  Amazing.

I know these constant chaotic weather events are not just Mother Nature, and that man has developed weather tampering techniques, which could be used for good, but are instead being used in public manipulation and covert warfare.

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Yet, thanks to another of man’s technologies, what once not too long ago would’ve taken weeks for one man, now takes days—just one man and a chainsaw.  It’s truly awesome.

I’m far more inspired by that relatively simple technology of our forefathers than all that’s being boasted about, and experimented with, today. 

But we, Luddites or otherwise, don’t get a vote.

Before and After—make that one man, a chainsaw and a tractor.

Because if you’re not on board—hook, line and sinker—with whatever the technocrats care to shoot down the pipeline this week, well, you’re just a Luddite.  A bitter clinger to the past.  A sore loser who needs to roll over already.  An old curmudgeon.

Whatever the wheel of fortune has in store for you, whoever’s spinning that wheel, you’re just along for the ride, buckle-up, and don’t forget to say thank you.

Right.

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Does this look like the life of a Luddite?!