Arrested Development

I often feel sorry for men. And those boys who try to become men, few as they may be nowadays.

I remember when my dad started writing poetry in middle age, in order to potentially ward off another divorce. It was a phase that didn’t last long and I don’t remember if his poetry was any good, but I remember being impressed by that effort. First he converted for her, got baptized and everything, then he attempted to swim, via words, the seas of emotion, alone, at high tide, with no training.

Doesn’t surprise me much. He’s always been impressive that way. Exactly that sort of way, actually. While dismally unimpressive in other ways.

I do understand that’s called being human.

But it bugs me this isn’t something we’re allowed to talk about, the being human part. The warts and all part. Because the sugar coating gets nauseating after a while. Besides, it’s not healthy, in that where’s the broccoli sort of way.

This is not allowed in my FOO (family of origin) and I know for certain, it’s not just mine. Broccoli hits that table only soggy and drowning in artificial cheese sauce.

Somehow over the generations there’s been a great divide happening between many aspects of familial and societal life, and leaving all conspiracy theories aside for a moment as to how that’s come to pass, there are clear and present repercussions being felt by the glaring lack of healthy masculinity being demonstrated currently in our culture.

Dad’s poetry efforts didn’t pan out. Too little, too late, I suspect. That pesky human error thing—hindsight, tunnel vision, any one of the 7 deadly sins—or whatever.

As flawed as I’m able to paint him, which depending on my mood might go pretty dark, it’s the unwashable tones that I prefer, whether that spectrum proves dark or light.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the skill, or the distance, to paint him well, to do him justice, warts and all, not even in words. But, someday.

All I feel able to do now is to demonstrate those parts of him I admire, and always have and always will, which comes down to pointing out their antithesis.

Who is Dad not?

This matters enough for me to post about publicly because there are a whole lot of heroes out there, but you’ll never learn about them until you turn off the TV and really tune in to what higher minds are trying to tell us, because it is becoming increasingly less common knowledge than it should be.

Examples of positivity masculinity exist and were once diligently cultivated. For every accusation of power abuse there is a man who gifted power, maybe even a dozen of them.

For every accusation of narcissism there is a man who dispersed his glory voluntarily upon those close to him.

For every accusation of arrogance, selfishness, egoism, betrayal, there is a man who knew, above all else, that what it takes to be a man is as tough as it is simple: never accept arrested development.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.” -Theodore Roosevelt

Spooky Synchronicity

This is a post that defies logic, as I suppose you could already tell from the title. But, irrationality only scares me when it’s collective and blindly enforced.

For example, did you know that it’s illegal to possess an owl, dead or alive? Even an owl feather. I thought that was just a rumor, or one of those old, dumb laws that never get enforced and most folks have forgotten about anyway.

That is, until I called our local taxidermist to have one stuffed.

As chance, or synchronicity would have it, we found one dead in our front yard this past week. If you’ve ever seen one that close, and handled one, they are truly gorgeous and remarkable creatures. It looked perfectly healthy and in the prime of its life with no visible injuries or defects.

As chance, or synchronicity would have it, I’ve just been reading about owl symbolism in an interesting book called Lords of the Left-Hand Path: Forbidden Practices and Spiritual Heresies.

Those familiar with such symbolism will surely associate ‘dark magician’ Alister CrOWLy and Bohemian Grove with the owl. For many Christians the association will seem sinister and foreboding. To Satanists, however, the owl is known as the mascot of the sorcerers and a symbol of paranormal wisdom.

Belonging to neither of these faiths, I felt only awe, and deep sadness, as it appears from burns on its talons that it was electrocuted while feeding on a rodent. I revere and honor wildlife and abhor seeing it destroyed, whether accidentally or deliberately. The tears I shed for this beautiful creature are a testament to that fact.

I thought, what way might we honor the life of this magnificent being? I set it on the table, pulled the wings out to their full span, gently cleared a bit of grass from its feathers, and called the taxidermist.

I’ve never wanted or particularly liked mounted animal trophies. But, it just felt wrong to not do something, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

The taxidermist on the other end of the line took such a serious tone at my simple question it immediately jarred me.

“I could go to jail!” He meant me, as well as him, and sounded so paranoid I tried to defend myself.

“But we found him dead in the front yard!” I explained again. “What should I do with it then?”

Throw it in the trash was his reply.

He then proceeded to discourage me from calling any other taxidermists lest my loose lips land me in jail.

So, this is how to honor the death of a revered and respected wild predator—throw it in the trash? Yet another brilliant Government mandate, no doubt.

Reminds me of a meme I recently read: “If you think our problems are bad, just wait till you see our solutions.”

If owls really are as wise as the myths make them out to be, I seriously doubt they’re resting in peace.

Muddying Victim Waters

The first two things you’ll hear in New Age Brainwashing school, in which we are all currently being systematically submerged are:
“There are no accidents.”
“Victimization is a choice.”

The so-called New Age, birthed from the Human Potential movement and begetting such popular offspring as Scientology and Christian Science, has been pushed for well over a century already and include schools and foundations like the Esalen Institute, Frankfurt School, Tavistock Institute and myriad others. These two fundamental beliefs work hand-in-glove to perpetuate the status quo, while pretending to help individuals and society at large.

“There are no accidents.”
“Victimization is a choice.”

In other words, everything that happens to you was meant to happen. This is a clever ruse to get the individual to perpetually deconstruct their own actions in order to align better with the world around them, no matter if that world is healthy or insane. Don’t question society. Don’t question tyranny. Question yourself. Look in the mirror and change yourself. In this way you will ‘alchemize’ the abuse or tragedy that occurred to you, against your will, and therefore not only be healed from it, but be stronger from it as well.

The proponents of this warped ideology will swear until the ends of the earth that this is the only way for victims to ‘gain traction’ and it’s the only place where ‘the rubber meets the road’.

It is an outgrowth of Biblical teachings where one is considered more spiritual, more enlightened, more ‘good’ if—as he makes meaning of the events in his life, which is a perfectly natural human thing to do—he never points a finger to the perpetrators of such accidents or abuse, only at his own role in them, no matter how minuscule that role might have been.

In this way your ‘personal growth’ can then be owed to those who victimized you in the first place. As the joke goes among the plebes in a brotherhood after they’ve been swatted with the fraternity paddle, “Thank you sir, may I have another!”

Because “God” only dishes out what you can handle, right? So if you’ve been granted disease at birth, sold into sex slavery by your parents, gang raped at your office Christmas party, lost limbs in war, ‘chosen’ by your priest as ‘special’ —well congratulations—you’ve been gifted at the highest level of spiritual development. What heroic life potential!

Revenge? That’s so petty. Trial by your peers? Good luck with that. Choose more wisely and by the way, you have one choice—get over it—for your own good.

In this way the tyrants and their collaborators can further muddy the waters by throwing into the mix everyone who thinks of himself as a victim, whether or not he truly is one.

Upset because your neighbor hasn’t been properly social distancing? Did your poor choices lead to 5 children from 5 different fathers? Has your cocaine addiction ruined your life? Did your business fail, your girlfriend cheat on you, your dog eat your homework?

Just hop in the victim bandwagon, where everyone is welcomed and no one knows how to use discernment, because all they really need is someone to cry with and listen to and share their pain with, in order to feel heard for five minutes over the cacophony of bullshit flying at them. It’s no wonder to me at all the victim groups just keep growing and growing. I suspect there’s no end in sight.

I know more folks who actually are victims, yet insist they are not. They’ve bought into this establishment farce completely. They march ‘empowered’ for other victims and repeat the nonsense they’ve heard to keep them out of the pathetic victim group.

You can be healed by your attitude! You must alchemize that cancer into “the best cancer ever! Really, you can do it!

And there’s about 2 million YouTube gurus to tell you exactly how.

No need to wonder what gave you cancer in the first place. No need to face down your abusers. No need to learn discernment. No need for justice. No need to understand the psychosis of our civilization or the lies of our history. No need to accuse or confront the tyrants by name at all. Just follow these simple steps and violà, you’ve turned the lead of your psyche into gold and all will rejoice with you. Yippie!

The ‘victim mentality’ is on overdrive now because it’s a very useful tool of the establishment. If everyone is #metoo, then no one is really #metoo—it’s just the culture, sit back, gaze into your eternal naval-mirror and repeat after me: “There are no accidents. Victim is a mindset. Find the silver lining. Turn the other cheek. Let bygones be bygones. Buck up, Buttercup.”

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