Fact, Fiction, Fantasy

The only social media I follow are YouTube (which I’m happy to replace with D-Tube or whatever-comes-next-Tube) and this site where I post this blog.  That’s simply because, I’m not forced to spend time on any others. 

I don’t like it enough to spend many hours daily in cyberspace, but I know loads of folks are all over many social sites.  So, I rely on a few trusted channels to inform me on what’s informing our shared reality.

James Corbett is a major one, for a very long time. It’s been so long now that I’ve lost track of how many years I’ve been following his work.  James and I have a lot in common actually.  We both studied literature at university.  We both taught English in countries outside our own.  And where I’m something of a ‘word NAZI’ he’s something of a ‘fact NAZI’—something I adore about him.  (Do I even dare to make NAZI jokes these days?!)

Anyway, it’s clear in these ‘days of our virus’ (aka ‘Best Apocalypse Ever’) that facts have run amok, manufactured chaos has crowned himself king, and discernment is on death’s doorstep.

I can hear poor discernment knocking on this door, pounding actually and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Hey, anybody in there who wants to come out yet?”  He’s just found some extra room in his balloon and he’s rescuing yet-undead prisoners by the dozens.  

I expect that it’s a limited time only offer.

If you’re ready to join him, here’s a great lesson on facts.

James sparked a profound memory for me during this video: The first time I remember Mom saying to me: “Look it up!”

She was talking about the phone book, which from the moment when I pulled one of the enormous yellow volumes from the hall closet, it felt like the most fascinating book I’d ever seen.  I remember trying to figure out the phone book not long before I tried to figure out the dictionary, then the encyclopedia, then the Bible.

I remember my huge frustration at wanting to look up so many things, but I didn’t even know the words for them.  So, ‘look it up’ became my first seemingly insurmountable challenge as a child.  If I wanted to ‘look it up’ I had to first know what it’s called.

Lifetime mission begins.

Here’s going to be a great lesson on fiction.

B30FC5D6-F750-4B3F-8B64-897074BEE40C

I’ll admit, I haven’t read it yet.  But, I’m about to start it today.  Since we’re on a James theme I figure, why not advertise it, just because I trust it’s going to be excellent?!

And here’s my life: a great lesson on making your fantasies into actual realities.  We did this, from scratch—raw land at first—mistaking our way to this point like the one-eyed man leading the blind lady.  

I can’t help but wonder sometimes if I would’ve had the courage to do it if Grandpa hadn’t thrown me in lake before I knew how to swim.

While I still mostly suck at it even after a decade, at least I can trust it’s real.

BCE36E22-7DE6-4598-8054-7BE4AEFECDC7
Our newest addition to the wee homestead, next I learn to milk!

 

 

 

 

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.

8566EA03-99E8-457C-B4FF-4AA0351B3F92

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!

85A4D03F-7205-428F-9283-3A13C59CB8F0

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.

Humanity Is NOT a Virus

An awesome, inspiring, common sense, philosophical, funny conversation between two men almost as awesome as my man!

What’s the prana economy?  What’s homesteading life like? How is it so many just can’t/won’t/will never lift the veil? What’s up with the masks?  And lots more very compelling content!