fake science – Kensho Homestead

Repost from September 2020 with new video link.

This is really the last straw and it’s clear I must find a way to demonstrate the resolute firmness of my stance. I will not comply, cooperate, collaborate, conform, or negotiate.

To that end, I’m going to coin a new mental disorder for myself and all the other poor dear souls seriously suffering for the idiocy of this current madness sweeping global civilization.

All those with Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome please step forward. Let’s join together in our victimhood, in that, at least, we can feel a part of the in-crowd again.

The scenario that did me in was serious indeed. In hindsight, with my 2020 goggles on, breathing freely without a suffocating face diaper, I’ve rewritten this conversation in a more sincere way, closer to the way I really feel. Authenticity is so important these days, or so they keep saying. How that fits in with covering the most expressive part of the face and the fine nuances of the voice, I’ve not a clue, but that doesn’t really matter now.

I gifted myself a birthday present and I was really excited about it. I’m not a big shopper at all, but I do love learning and adventure. So I invited Hubby and a friend to join me for a plant walk at the Caddo Mounds with a well-known naturalist in our region.

I was very excited, because I already tried to go on this plant walk last year, right before a manufactured tornado in the middle of the day during one of their spiritual ceremonies leveled the place, along with miles of the surrounding forest. Needless to say, the event was canceled.

Having already paid the $50 each for the afternoon walk, I received a courtesy call for the current event: Masks required.

Of course, I cancelled, despite my intense desire to learn from this expert on the flora and fauna in fall in our region and waiting patiently already a year and a half.

Why do I refuse? ADS. That’s right: Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome. I find it absolutely impossible to bow to tyranny. It’s not just that it’s even more ridiculous to walk around the forest in a mask than it is in the city. It’s the principle. Many will have no idea what that word means and even less what it looks like in action.

Another friend suggested I write to this expert and ask for special permission to remain free of required face diaper. I considered this option, and thought, what appeal might I make for such an undeserved privilege? Why should I be able to breath and speak freely while everyone else in the group is muzzled? How selfish. After all, I know folks who’ve got infections and rashes from wearing these awful things, yet still they comply. Is my suffering on par with theirs before making such a bold gesture as expecting special privileges from the expert?

What makes me so special? I haven’t worn one yet and it’s my goal to keep it that way. But, how? My concern is accelerating. It looks like this charade is not going to let up and in fact, the tyrants look to me like they are doubling down, with great pleasure.

ADS. The harder they push, the worse my condition becomes, it’s extraordinary. The more illogical they get, the more stubborn I get. Clearly this is an adverse condition that should make it into the DSM15, or whatever number the expert psychologist collaborators of tyranny are on now.

If my condition were severe claustrophobia (in fact my case is fairly mild, relatively speaking) would I be required by the social rulers to ride in a crowded elevator everyday? Would that not seem to be a cruel punishment of a mentally handicapped individual?

Obviously it’s ridiculous on its face that masks should be required in an outdoor setting. And to pour a little salt on the wound of my ruined birthday plans, my friend is going anyway. Nice.

In the meantime, I’m practicing my routine, for the next time I have to sacrifice to the many tyrants and the hordes of worshippers who love them.

Clerk: Ma’am, you’ll need to wear a mask.
Ma’am (me): You mean a face diaper? I’m so sorry, I can’t wear one of those. I suffer from ADS.
Clerk: It’s required, ma’am.
Me: No, you see, I have an exemption from my therapist, it’s right here, Dr. Freeman, psychological condition, you see it marked right there, ADS.
Clerk: It’s not a face diaper, it’s a mask. Doctors wear them all the time, they never have any problems.
Me: Oh, but you see, that’s exactly why I didn’t become a brain surgeon. The first time I had to wear one in medical school I had an attack, that’s when I was diagnosed with claustrophobia. They didn’t know about ADS back then.
Clerk: What’s ADS? I’ve never heard of it before.
Me: Don’t worry, you will, they are popularizing new syndromes all the time. This one’s going to be really huge, my astrologer told me.
Clerk: Well I find it offensive when you call a surgical mask a face diaper.
Me: That’s because you’re not performing surgery.
Clerk: But diapers are for babies.
Me: Potato-PoTAto. Where you see a mask, I see a diaper. Can’t you see now what a serious mental condition this is?

https://www.cultofthemedics.com/chapters.html

I nearly made the same mistake with the Chinaberry tree as I did a decade ago with the Mimosa tree.

I must make even greater efforts to De-institutionalize my mind.

It’s like with the official Farmer’s Market, in the small city 40 minutes away, which grows along with the city, but doesn’t get any better, because there aren’t enough farmers and there are too many regulations.

A treasure from a local plant swap now starting to bloom, Plumeria, how exciting!

how it will hopefully look one day! It’s the tropical delight used for making leys in Hawaii, with a delightful fragrance.

Meanwhile the very localized, small, rural events have been well worth the time. At one we got several new plants I’m still excited about.

Catalpa tree is another I’ve been longing to grow, but only found available through a local swap.

Catalpa blossoms, the ‘worm tree’ as it’s called in these parts I’ve just learned from a local angler

And at another we ate better tacos than we’ve had in years. And at the last one I gave away lots of cheese, because I’m still too apprehensive about selling or even bartering it. Giving it away to strangers felt a baby step closer to that potential future possibility.

So it goes with the Chinaberry, too. At least this time I didn’t waste an entire decade believing the official nonsense that these trees are invasive and toxic and in the case of Chinaberry, even illegal.

But I did still waste almost a year, and that’s why I’m complaining now.

I’m disappointed with myself. I thought I knew better by now. But damn if old habits don’t die hard.

It’s not the same story exactly, but it sure does rhyme, and the refrain harkens back to a very common problem, not just my own.

I still did not trust my instincts, wisdom and preferences quickly enough.

Put into perspective, and relatively speaking, I have come a long way. I’m much better than I used to be and considering I know folks who still think vaccines are safe and effective, I could afford to be a bit more self-forgiving.

But I’m not getting any younger and time’s a wastin’! Trees don’t grow overnight, you know!

My little Chinaberry foraged/stolen from the abandoned lot where I first fell in love with it.

Instead of spending that year trying to identify the tree and wasting lots of precious time, I should’ve said at first sight–I love it, I want it, I will have it.

There is something magnificent about that speckled mahogany bark, those tropical-looking yellow berries, the glossy deep green foliage surviving even in drought in the dead of summer, that sleak curve of the trunk and the little grove it’s trying to form. I must have it. Pure instinct.

Instead of trying to germinate the berries, which is so much more challenging with many trees, I’d have taken cuttings right away. Instead of going to official sources, online and through various experts and professionals, I’d have gone to the most local source I could find, folks living in these parts for many generations.

I was given wrong identifications online, and from our university extension service that is the Master Gardeners, the usual Corporate-State fear propaganda of ‘invasive’ and ‘toxic’ and unsafe.

Because if they don’t sell it at Walmart or Lowes, it’s got to be bad. Because if it’s an ancient medicinal, it’s got to be poison.

They think they mean well, I suppose, sometimes.

But othertimes I think nope, not at all. They don’t mean to do well at all, they mean to stay compliant with the authorities. They mean to collect their paychecks and their pensions. They mean to think themselves well-meaning without ever examining themselves.

When we first came here and first becoming gardeners and stewards of this land, I vowed beyond our veggies I’d grow only ‘native species’. I didn’t know any better and that sounded to me like an admirable approach to a new venture.

I now think the term ‘native’ is itself highly suspect and what’s considered ‘invasive’ is highly relative and shifts with the breeze of the current oligarchy.

I will be satisfied when my intuition (I want that tree!) trumps my logic (what’s it called?) at the speed of the mind of a 3-year old.

It really is about the mindset, but not in the relentless Positivity sense of ‘everything is possible’ of the pop psychologists paid to entrain us to the status quo, but rather in the learn to Trust Yourself First mindset. Even in baby steps, even prolonged over decades, even against the tides more often than not.

No, not everybody, but enough to make it miserable for the few malcontents who just want to be left in peace and who care for truth and beauty over comfort, convenience, or malignant and uniformed collaboration.

Next post, all about the splendid, but illegal in Texas, Chinaberry tree.

Share this:

Share this: