Category Archives: Knowledge

A long way from home yet never far away

I’ve been feeling a little bit guilty about not interacting more on this here blogging thing. I’m getting questions and reminders and I’m thinking, OK, time to share a few thoughts and close that up with a story that, to me at least, sums up my thoughts on the whole thing rather neatly. I won’t tell whether I believe the story and I know I’ve posted it before but for those who care, yes there are a few changes-the beauty of owning your own piece of writing. Doesn’t say what you want it to say? Fine, just delete something, write something else into it.

Why haven’t I been writing? Two simple reasons: one, the US presidential election; two, the scamdemic, both of which are exercises in stupidity, ignorance and of course, self-aggrandizement. Apart from the truism, ‘if you would know the truth, follow the money’ there’s the one for the common peon: ‘we’re right and because we’re right, they are wrong’.  Another way of putting it is ‘scientism.’

What intelligence wants to argue with, let alone against that?

Now the story.

___________________________________

It was a hot and dry day up near the end of the canyon when my old half-ton blew its rear driver side tire.  Fortunately I was easing the thing as the going had been mostly uphill, something the old crankcase didn’t like much, so after a bit of swerving to gain control, I was able to pull up beside the road, on a dry patch of gravel. 

I got out to assess my situation.  I had no food and no drinking water – hadn’t thought of that since I was only going a couple of hundred miles.  An inaccessible half mile below me the river glistened mockingly in the noon day sun.  All around was dead silence except for a few crickets and heat waves made everything shimmer.  The scent of scrub pine and sage brush filled the air and under almost any other condition that would have been enough to give me complete pleasure.   At that moment I failed to appreciate the offering.

There wasn’t much traffic in those days, as the conditions of the highway were still quite primitive so I wasn’t expecting help anytime soon.  I went to the back and looked with some apprehension at the dried cake of mud that hid the spare hanging under the box.  I found a rusty tire iron behind the torn seat, some cracked gloves and a short carpenter’s pry bar and went to work loosening and dropping the spare.

After some time it came loose and I was able to slide the lifter chain off and drag the spare out.  Sure enough, it was as flat as flat can be.  Who thinks of making sure spares are kept up?  Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, I couldn’t find any sort of jack and looking up or down the surrounding countryside quickly told me that I wouldn’t find anything resembling a suitable lever to lift the truck: plenty of large rocks to use as fulcrums and supports but no pole.

Well, what to do?  I scanned both sides of the road for any sort of habitation and didn’t see anything.  Only one thing left to do: start walking.  I knew there was nothing behind me, so I decided it was best to head north, into the unknown.  At least this way there would exist the possibility of some sort of home or homestead or a road upkeep yard showing up.  Being eighteen and having been raised on a northern homestead, I already had the survivor mentality and a bit of philosophy to match.  The one thing I was sure of, I would never give in to the problem.  I ‘knew’ by reasoning based on certain experiences that life entails problems, that problems require solutions and that these solutions are always available, one way or the other, though none of that alters reality. 

As I trudged along I became very thirsty.  The river surface down below continued to mock me, so I looked for berries but the only thing resembling berries were bunches of dangling blue elderberries.  Bird feed at best and not ripe in any case; too early in the season for anything else.  As I walked on uphill, each curve showing more endless climb, my feet began to throb in the heavy work boots so I stopped by a rounded rock to sit and loosen the laces.  A dull throbbing in my head made me want to stretch out by the side of the road and sleep – which is exactly what I did.  I didn’t feel like walking any longer. 

That I lay in dusty sand would not matter much to my dirty white tee shirt, my tattered greasy blue jeans nor to my over-length hair which was several days in need of a serious wash and many weeks in need of cutting.  At least there were no flies and sleep came easy despite the choking heat. 

That’s when I had the dream that would puzzle, haunt, thrill and bother me for the rest of my life.  How could a dream manifest in reality?  How could events in a dream become events in “real life” which changed not only my mind, but my physical reality as well?  These were, and remain, unanswerable questions.   So let me recap the events instead of getting into the mind-twisting impossibilities remembering always brings up.

I had just fallen asleep (at least it seemed so) when someone called my name and said, “Hey Levi, get up.  It’s time to go.”  The name Levi was given to me as a joke after I was stupid enough the mention that I’d wanted to be a priest, and there happened to be a defrocked Bible thumper in our logging crew who yelled, “Levi!”  My real name is Logan Learned – which was also quite entertaining in my school years: “Hey, what have you Learned today?”  Laughter.  But now, Levi?  I had to ask why.  Matt, the ex-Bible guy said, “Don’t you know about Levi in the Old testament?  The priesthood of the Levites? 

“ ‘Fraid not, never read the Old Testament.  Only know the Catholic catechism and some bits and pieces of the gospels.”

Instead of commenting further, he just laughed and the rest joined in, including me.  Nothing wrong with Levi, so I became Levi the Levite.  So now I was, in a sense, a priest.  I’m sure my Catholic confessors would not have taken it so lightly, but that didn’t matter to me, I hadn’t been to church in several years and had no intention of ever returning.  Bad memories best left behind, along with my upbringing.  The more baggage you drag along with you, the more your life is stifled and I had too much to live for to let that happen. 

I opened my eyes and I wasn’t dreaming.  An obviously native man was standing over me, offering me his hand.  I took it and he held me firmly as I stood up.  He handed me a bottle of cold water which I gladly took.  Half was gone before I felt sated and thought that maybe that was all the water he had.  He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“Lots of water here Levi.  Lots.  Don’t you worry about that.”

“You know my logger’s nickname, how come?”

“It’s the name you go by, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.  Mine is Jack.”

“Okay, fine.  Thanks for the water, I was parched.”

“Yeah, I know.  Maybe we should walk back to your truck now, or do you need some food first?”

Out of a growing sense of curiosity I looked around.  Except for “Jack” nothing had changed.  The sun hadn’t even moved; the heat was just as intense and I saw no food, not did “Jack” carry any kind of pack.  He wasn’t even holding the water bottle anymore.

“I could use some food, Jack, if you have something without meat or fish – I’m vegetarian and I get sick on meat or fish.”

From nowhere he produced a fresh sandwich, loaded with vegetables and cheese.  I took it with thanks and ate it in four bites.  It tasted like more and sure enough, “Jack” produced another one, just as delicious. 

“OK, I’m really curious now Jack.  Where did this food come from?” 

“People always ask these same small questions.  Where do you think it comes from?”

“I have no idea, that’s why I asked.”

“Ever heard of the continuum, Levi?”

“The what?”

“The continuum.  You know, what your religions call infinity?  What some people call heaven?  If you’d read the Bible you would know that the Hebrew God fed them what is called “manna from heaven” while they lived in the desert.  Connect with your nickname and look into your memories, Levi, third son of Jacob, founder of the Levite tribe.  Can you see anything there?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Jack.  Are you telling me that you pulled that water and food out of nothing, like God dropping food from heaven on the Hebrews?”

“Actually at this point we should refer to them as “Israelites” rather than Hebrews.  But yes, why not?  But not “out of nothing” as you say.  Out of another reality.  We’re always part of the continuum and it’s what feeds the material order.  Without this bleed through of energy, these worlds could not exist.  All it takes is for an intelligent mind to image or invent material/physical reality from an endless supply of free energy we call the continuum.  It’s really very simple if you think about it.”

“Well Jack, I am thinking about it and the more I think about it, the less sense it makes to me.  This is too much like fantasy; science fiction, a fairy tale.  If it was that easy everybody would be doing it; everybody would have her or his way and you know what?  It would spell utter chaos, that’s what.”

“They realized this long ago when intelligent beings discovered the ability of manifestation and problems began immediately.  So “they” – the ones who discovered this ability – decided to put a block on manifestation.  Only one would be allowed to manifest reality, that was their solution.  Basically “they” created the concept of “God” and through the eons the concept remained.  “God” gets to decide what is, what isn’t; when it begins; when it ends and the reasons are also God’s reasons, no one else.  At least that’s the theory.”

“Is God accountable to no one then?”

“Oh yes, God is accountable, but only to his peers; to the “they” who started it all.  And also, God isn’t always the same person on the divine throne.  “They” have periodic elections and take turns running things.  Hence why you discover “bumps” in the process of creation and material expansion or destruction.”

“This is very interesting Jack, but how do you know all of this for a fact?”

“I go by what works, see?  You and I, we’re the same with one specific difference: I’m from the other side of the continuum, you’re on this side.  I was on this side long ago, but I, shall we say, translated to the other side gradually, over many incarnation.  It began with a glimpse of the continuum, what you might call a near death experience.  Only it wasn’t “near” but total.  That was my first awareness of how much freedom there is in living without a body.  After being given a chance to look around, someone simply sent me back.  I had fallen and broken my neck.  They fixed me up, good as new and I was left with a permanent question mark that became a quest.  I would find this place and live there.”

“Then there should be literally billions of people like you out here now!”

“Not really.  You have to understand how the thing works if you want to, say, commute from the outside to the inside – from the wholly non-material to the material.  After my return I began to earnestly study shamanism, witchcraft, the concepts hinted at by every established religion on this world.  I contemplated anything to do with the so-called after-life.  I discovered that only those who were able to pass through with their material bodies were said to be empowered to return and manifest in the physical.  So I cheated: I found the trick that allowed me to slip out of this realm into the other with my material body.  Oh, it was immediately changed, of course, but it wasn’t killed – there’s no termination over there, see?  Once you’re in, you’re in.  Then it’s up to you to make it work.  Luckily for me, bodies don’t need to be fed or even exercised over there.  They are what you make them to be and they remain that way until you change them.  You couldn’t imagine the different “things” I’ve been since I translated.”

“Time out, Jack, hey?  I can’t absorb all this stuff.  Besides, I’m still not convinced you are what you claim to be.  You could be an illusionist; some sort of con artist…”

“Of course, I could be.  I never asked you to trust me, did I?  But think on this, see if it rings a bell or two:  ‘You were thirsty and I gave you water to drink; you were hungry and I fed you.’”

“Oh! …  You don’t look like him.”

“Like who, Levi Logan Learned?”

“You know who I mean… I am really confused now.”

“Good.  It’s good to be confused on materiality – it prevents dogmatism which is astigmatism of the soul – a blurring which prevents clear understanding and appreciation of what is.”

“OK, so there is a God? Or is that only your theory about the “ruler” of materiality? Answer me that!”

“I can’t answer the God question simply because no matter how it is answered it will satisfy no one. Your people are too dogmatic to allow free information to flow through their minds unimpeded by belief systems, you see. Even you, not knowing whether to believe or not to believe; not knowing if you’re an atheist, a theist or anti-theist, won’t let the God question flow unchallenged. For you it’s just too big a question fraught with too much emotion to be allowed its freedom to answer itself.

“Now listen to this. “There is a God” is the truism that proves there is no such a being as God. God, as religion preaches and teaches, is categorically impossible. But according to all I have seen, studied, contemplated and worked with, there is a “ruler” who guides material reality, not always for the best. It’s not God, of course, but it ACTS as if it were, and appears as God to less-understanding entities. It is “all powerful” in that it can prevent almost anyone, certainly anyone without the necessary qualifications, from participating in manifestation. Already explained why that must be.

“Unfortunately, power begets power and as intelligence expanded in the “created” realms, some of these individual intelligences sought power. Since you can only express power by dictating to others, usually of lesser minds, these intelligences became totalitarian in nature and “evil” was born in, and bred from them, oozing right down to your own tin-pot rulers and dictators, right down to your school yard bully; down to your racist, misogynist, bigoted, greedy, planet-eating sociopath corporate manager or banker. As you know money is a major means of gaining power. It allows the few to rip power from the many. In your future, Levi, you will see a relatively few bureaucrats tied in with also relatively few “billiocrats” to change the pattern of money into a single global power. You will in effect see the effort made by these billiocrats to establish their goal of one world economy ruled by one world government, and that won’t be the end of it, but the beginning. Then will come the conquest of space; endless expansion and endless wars to conquer and expand. The nature of greed, friend.

“Do you get the picture, Levi?”

“Huh… yes, I’m sure that I get it – it’s not a subtle point you are making. But now, where does that leave me?”

“Exactly where you are, or as you were if you choose to ignore this unexpected interference in your rather uneventful System-controlled life. But don’t you have a truck to drive up the road another hundred miles or so?”

Out of habit I struck my forehead with my right hand. “Oh yes, the truck. Well, it’s down the road about a half-hour’s walk. Or maybe you can transport us there and fix it for me?”

“Would you like me to do that?”

“Sure, why not?”

And I thought to myself, well, that ought to be a good one. What happens next?

That’s when I woke up. I mean I really woke up. I could feel the heat, the stink of my sweat, feel the swelling of my feet in my boots. Overhead the sun was still blazing at its zenith as if no time had passed. I did notice a couple of things that were different. I wasn’t thirsty nor hungry and I felt, well, completely blissful. And then I noticed that my truck was parked just below me, without a flat, apparently ready to go on. I shook my head and let the dizziness pass before I stood up and took another good look around. No Jack. Just the same empty countryside and the river surface reflecting silver from the bottom of a very deep, dark canyon.

Being “child of the land” as they say, I looked around carefully for tracks in the sandy soil – there were only mine which indicated the point where I sat down, then laid down. Nothing had changed and everything had. And the only witness I had that “Jack” had been there was my old pickup with four healthy tires and except for the cracking of cooling dissimilar metals rubbing angrily against each other under the hood, it wasn’t saying a word. Well, no word except the sounds indicating that, since the engine was still cooling, little or no time had passed since I’d pulled over with a flat tire.

I’ll tell you, from this experience, there are things you can’t look back from, only forward. I made it to Cache Creek, where the main highway splits, the 97 going north to Prince George, and the #1 Trans Canada highway heading east for more than 3000 miles, crossing the expanse of Canada. Symbolically this was also where my life would change direction. I had to make a choice here: continue my logger’s or construction labourer’s vagabond life that was fun but not terribly fulfilling, or get serious about life.

Well, there were the two roads beckoning away from, always away from, and suddenly I felt tired of running away. I booked into a motel for the night, avoiding the bar and a couple of very pretty girls watching me bring my pack in my room and the next morning before the sun rose I was turned around and heading back to the coast, and the university. I felt an insatiable hunger for more knowledge that would not materialize from jumping across the mountains, work camp to work camp until too old to do much more than working security detail on construction yards. My mind had taken control and I realized I didn’t half mind it.

Thanks, Jack.

For the Greater Good

[thoughts from ~burning woman~ ]
What is the one sentence used by anyone in some position of power over the rank and file that should set any intelligent mind tingling?

”It’s for the greater good.”

Yeah right: The gambling casino advertising that’s its sole reason to exist is to give people free money.

Any semi-intelligent mind has to know that the last thing those in power are interested in is “the greater good.” So why use that particular line then? Because it works, it always works. Even those who know better; those who do not want to believe, end up believing. Or if they don’t believe at the very least they’ll want to “do something” and if it’s an election they’ll cast for “the lesser of evils” as if there ever was such a thing.

That was as far as I got that other evening when I realized the late hour, the need for sleep to face the next day’s ordeal.

Today I’m thinking maybe such an obvious observation should just be deleted like I’ve deleted thousands before. Yeah,

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
(excerpt from “Everybody Knows” – Leonard Cohen)

So why repeat it, then? Seems so pointless. Yet the question won’t go away: why, despite all evidence to the contrary, do people continue to believe in and support “the System”?

The next obvious question is what would happen if just for once “the people” stopped believing and supporting?

The answer to the first question is programming. People are programmed to believe. They really can’t help themselves. Even if they get really mad and violently uproot one gang of predators (France, Russia) and kill them, all they can manage is establishing something as bad or worse (Napoleon, Stalin). That likely explains why in these times people are unwilling to step over the line drawn in the sand by their elites and kill them off. Public education has made too many of them aware of the hopelessness inherent to violent revolution, and if not violent revolution, then what?

There is nothing in their programming to replace the status quo. I’ve read thousands of books, articles, essays ad nauseam, looking for something that proposes genuine, radical change, the kind that would eliminate any and all aspects of the status quo. Many describe the evils of predatory capitalism and the military industrial complex. Many describe the evils inherent to traditional religion. Many propose “changes” within these evils but none ever lay out any real change, any total change.

“The people” exist within a choreographed dance of chaos and confusion and never was this more obvious than in today’s world. We exist within the most corrupt system of “rulers” this world (of man) has ever experienced. The corruption is endemic to the point where the “average Joe” thinks only of getting his own piece of the rotten pie. He still lines up dutifully; if reluctantly most times, at the slaughterhouse door convinced that this time, this particular time, there will be something personally beneficial for him when he steps through that door and punches his time card.

To the second question, if people stopped believing and supporting, the “System” which is nothing more than a cheap game board with a few loaded dice, would simply collapse. The only way the vile, corrupt, self-serving, predatory elites can continue to play their game is because they know how to take advantage of the programming imposed upon the peons (pee ons). They didn’t create the programming; they just discovered uses for the power over the herds of sheeple it gives them.

Could eight billion Earthians survive without the System’s madness? Could they exist without the folly? No, they could not. Therefore they would have to learn to live instead of simply existing. Not as easy as it looks. When you’ve spent an entire life as a believer, as a non-person, as the un-dead, it’s not easy to look at the world and think, “Hey, wait a minute, under all the fakery, the bullshit and the technocratic anti-life machinery there’s an actual natural living world and I have a natural, physical body that I can adapt to that living world. I don’t need this so-called civilization’s shit and its crap rules. I am a person. I can be a natural person. I can live not just off of, but with, this natural environment. I can let nature take its course instead of treating it like an enemy.”

That, of course, would spell the end of the programming. That is why it can’t happen: the programming was put in place by ultimate predators no one (no normal Earth mind that is) can become aware of or the game would be up. The programmers need their victims: solar systems, planets, sentient life, everything, to maintain their empire; to attempt to satisfy their insatiable hunger. What they fear most isn’t rebellion but the awakening of intelligence throughout their conquered worlds. Their fear is real. It has already happened on some worlds; it is happening on many more. But never fear, Earth isn’t one of those.

Most readers will immediately discount that last paragraph as delusional or at the very least, highly imaginative science fiction. Pay attention to that, it’s telling “you” that your programming is working to perfection… to continue believing and subconsciously destroy everything good you always dreamed of as a possibility. On Earth, no good deed remains unpunished.

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #109

This blog post concludes “The Antierra Manifesto” – thanks for reading.

What is Antierra thinking as she stands there?  She looks up into the stands, makes the “mercy” gesture and points at the two young girls beside her.  Her gesture is greeted by spitting and cursing.  She turns to the two children and while they are looking at the approaching men wide eyed and shaking, she puts her sword through their hearts.  Then she turns to the men and utters the loudest blood-curdling shriek that place has ever heard.  I had never heard anything like it and it made me shudder.  It seems to come from some awakened beast, not of human voice. Long it echoes along the high walls and through the compounds; so loud it is, it intimidates that wild and unruly crowd to utter and cowed silence.
End blog post #108
—————————-

Start blog post #109

She then walks alone to meet the line of men, suddenly no longer an ugly and limping old crone who is nothing but skin, bone and sinew but a tall regal figure who knows her purpose and means to complete it.  The deadly sword flashes red in the plasma lights, the blade still dripping from the blood of the dead girls, and it performs a series of lightning movements that leave a trail of utter carnage until she drops dead, not of wounds but simple heart-stopping exhaustion.  This I can vouch for as I was standing close enough for my sensors to detect her heart stop beating.  She had taken her human body to its final limits.

One of the surviving challengers shouts his cry of victory but no one in the stands picks it up.  For once that crowd is stunned by what it is seeing.  Twenty-three men lie dead and dying around the body of the Desert Beast.  Where is the victory?

The remaining men rush upon the standing group of defenders and kill them one by one, still taking heavy losses.  Only nine men remain of that last ‘rush’ to claim their victory and all of those bear some kind of cut or stab wound.  The last female to remain alive kills herself with her dagger rather than submit to rape.  A new power has arisen on T’Sing Tarleyn.

Even in death the Desert Beast scores.  Never has this place seen such devastation at the hands of a few trained fighters against what, by comparison, can only be called an army of men.

The “harvesting” and trading of female body parts carries little excitement today.  The price paid is much too high for any male to find his enjoyment therein.  The greatest price lies in the message sent to the thousands who came to see women tortured, raped and mutilated before they were even dead.  What they saw instead was a severely organized stand by twenty three female fighters, most of these untrained and certifiable crazies, and an additional twenty females with no fighting skills whatsoever, kill one hundred and ninety-one armed males. 

A sobering set of statistics for the men to mull over.  Not all males are beyond the ability to use some reasoning or exercise wonder.  Many, I would guess, are glad their number was not called.  In previous orgies the ones called were always considered the lucky ones.  Not so today.

Of note:  The scavengers carefully avoid touching the body of the fallen Desert Beast.  No one approaches to cut off any of her parts.  They know she did not die of wounds inflicted by men and having no understanding of such a concept as spontaneous death through the shut-down of body functions as in a massive coronary, they still fear her presence.  After they leave, eunuch slaves and female fighters enter the arena to remove the bodies of the women and take them to the waiting carriers.

Of note:  There is a definite reverence among eunuchs and fighters as they pick up and carry the bodies.  These fallen women are heroes to those who remain behind.  This too is new.  Whatever else the Teaching may have accomplished in the few years it has been verbalized in the fighter compounds, it has made the fighters and some male staff aware that perhaps there is such a thing as life beyond death. This Antierra asserted constantly.  That idea was basic to the Teaching. This we Cydroids cannot know as none of us have “died” the real death. Those of us who were killed, such as XBA9 at the hands of the Warmo’s inquisition, were re-grown and are alive, all the more aware for our experiences.  Perhaps what Antierra taught is a similar process.

As to the women fighters, they are proud this day.  Among them, and perhaps among the compound male staff as well, the exploits of Antierra and her magnetic way of expounding any kind of Teaching, be it in tactical, weapons handling, relationships or ethics and her more questionable ‘spacer’ stories will live long and inspire generations to come.  I say this because I have known her.  I say this because through her I, Cydroid XBA3, became more human.  I just have this wish, that I had been able to join her in those rushes in the arena, to stand by her and use my considerable strength to protect her.  Something I know would have expanded my developing consciousness.  I wish I had been able to practice that special “touch” with her I saw the women do constantly for one-another.

As I think about it, I believe I was actually in love with Antierra.  Perhaps not as humans speak of love between man and woman, but there was something about her mind I found irresistible.  I “wish” I could believe her stories about reincarnation and crossing at will through dimensional barriers from world to world so I could hope to see her again as my sisters believe they will. 

For anyone who may some day read this data, think of it this way: Antierra was a human being who was able to make even an AI see life through a new dimension.  She made me, not less Cydroid, but more human.  I felt compassion when I watched her in the arena on that day.  I felt something hurt me deeply when she slid her sword through the two girls’ hearts to kill them instantly and painlessly.  What I felt was her pain, the pain she used to activate her decisive power.  Now her sorrow and her inevitable joy are forever a part of my brain patterning or shall I dare say, my human understanding. 

Signed: Cydroid XBA3, Doctor Balomo Echinoza Cydroid Family.  Location:

Arena Fighter Compound, Hyrete, Capital of the Kingdom of Elbre, T’Sing Tarleyn, Autumn, Year 1341.

_______________________________________________

After watching and listening to this ancient holorec report I sit for a long time alone in a darkened room.  I sip on a glass of sherry and find my favourite drink insipid as I consider the implications therein. 

 It is useless to try to dismiss it as exaggeration: Cydroids, like our Androids, could not lie.  Even one touched either temporarily or permanently by ‘real’ feelings would still be incapable of this kind of fabrication.  Only if someone’s life was at stake and a story need be made up to create a chain of confusing events or a diversion  would a Cydroid “lie” – but it would not be a lie to them, just an alternate temporary reality to complete and terminate a program loop.

 Let XBA3’s words stand forever as history; as our history. There will be no changes, no apologies, from me.  What I just wrote from the memcard records is an actual event and I am concluding my report as is. I raise my tepid glass of sherry to the crumbling stone walls of this ancient keep and toast Antierra: “To the Fighters of Hyrete!”  And from the walls comes an echo of many voices in reply, the once silent voices of the women who trained, loved, fought and died alongside of their Teacher:  “To the Goddess!”

Signed: Michele Dellman

(Personal comment – not to be included in the official report.

My work of chronicler accomplished here, there remains the daunting task of trying to understand what all this means to me personally, as a woman with the remnant of a small voice, in a greater galactic and universal world once more strangling in ever-expanding webs of male-dominated religious oligarchies, plutocracies and centralized brutal military dictatorships, all and still, in the name of God, Trade and Security where women’s voices remain taboo or all too symbolic beyond the confines of home, workplace or entertainment palaces; when men by and large continue to oppress and kill our spirit, our mind, if not always our bodies.

 And I ask myself this resurgent and damning question: what, ultimately, is a woman’s purpose in the scheme of human affairs?  I realize I just shrugged as Antierra was wont to when a question asked was not giving her the logical answer she could accept and truthfully verbalize.  

Maybe the worst part of this question is that I know what she would say: “As below, so above.  You are a woman.  You exist.  You are real.  So you continue.  The goddess lives in you.”

(“M. D.”)

April 19, 1979

[my life by   ~burning woman~  ]

And now, by popular request – thanks for being my cheering section George! – a little true story that will neither seem true, nor is it so little.

It’s a dark, cold and cloudy late afternoon in Chilliwack. It’s April 19, 1979 and I’m at the end of my rope, parked in the back of an old hotel, (now long gone) the kind that rents rooms by the hour and I am seriously contemplating suicide. Nothing left to live for, it seems.

I’m 33 years old and I’ve just been advised by several surgeons and medical experts that my debilitated back condition was not fixable. I was looking at spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair probably within months. That was an unacceptable option.

Yes, I had already spent money and time on the do-it-yourself self-healing things; the vitamins, the exercise things, the special chairs and mattresses things. This was it: the final choice.

That’s when “it” happened. I was caught in some sort of trance and pulled into an alternate reality. I can still see the scene. I was in two places at once. I was standing, painlessly I might add, and talking with a very tall, slim individual in a white floor length “gown”. He had long straight white hair that flowed over his shoulders and a very kindly looking, very serious face. I was also lying down on what seemed like a hospital bed and there were three other entities around me doing “medical” stuff much as you would see in a modern Earth hospital minus all the hardware – but for the bed, there was none. (Maybe that was a ninite bed, eh, George? – ref to: https://randomwalkthroughintelligentuniverse.wordpress.com/)  

I remember how good it felt just being there. The tall one spoke to me and I realized he was part of the healing team, giving me advice on how to proceed to live my “new” life once they were done. He said much more than I could absorb but the great thing about these types of communications is they are given in “zipped” package format which can be opened and drawn from, bit by bit over time. I didn’t know that then and I didn’t care.

 

What I cared about was hearing that my body was being fixed and I was being “sent back” to my old life to “work things out” so to speak. I did not like that idea. Going back to what I was, even minus the back pain, was unacceptable. We had a “discussion” in which I tried to explain why I did not want to go back, and he explained that first of all it wasn’t a choice I could make and secondly there was a very good reason for going back. His explanations, in brief, as I remembered afterwards.

“Know that every *ISSA being who chooses to incarnate does so with, and for, a purpose. It is because these purposes are seldom remembered, least of all completed, that worlds like yours (there are so many!) remain in their terrible darkness of pain and sorrow. You will need to awaken to the purpose you set for yourself before you reincarnated on Earth and you will need to activate that mind template of yours to complete your “this life” tour of duty to your world. The life we are returning to you, and returning you to, is not meant to be lived selfishly any longer. You will find that not to be a burden, but a source of bliss and joy as you get used to it.”

“Could I not just forget this, end this, and start again somewhere else, clean, free of the memories of the mess I’ve made of this life?”

“No. Too many things left unfinished and to jump you out of your responsibilities, even if it was permitted, would serve neither your ends, nor ours as regards your world. We have a stake in how you and others like yourself perform when they return to the reality of their particular societies. Your request is non-negotiable. We are now returning you to your life exactly at the point where we intercepted it minus any physical pain or dis-ease, such as your back disruptions and allergies. Those are already gone.

You will not be left alone to work things out. People, whom you will call “Teachers” will be assigned to you, to provide advice and answer the thousands of questions you will have. Do not get attached to them. They will fulfill their own duty towards you and when done, leave you with all the information you will need, safely stored in “information packets” which your mind will tap into at need. They will teach you how to open your information packets based on need. Nothing and no one will be able to remove that information from your mind, nor can it be faked. When doubts and confusion arise, as will constantly happen, that is where you go for confirmation and support. But be very diligent in transferring any information you open into personal thinking patterns and into action. In other words, we have changed your body but you must change your own mind using that information.

That’s how it all started, 40 years ago. I can just imagine some reading this thinking (or saying) “Well talk about programming! She’s one to talk.” And it’s true, it is a form of programming if the information was simply accessed and put into a “faith” folder or used to write self-help delusion novels; if it was turned into a proselytizing process, like Christians and Muslims do with their particular information.

There are massive differences to the faith-based belief systems. One is, this remains a personal matter. Two, I am personally acquainted with its source and I’ve tested its reliability, consistency and trustworthiness. Three, I can talk about it to anyone who asks questions but I’ve always said that what I “have” inside is not transferable except as words bereft of any kind of manipulative force or any hidden power agenda. Individually or collectively people can tap into what I say and what I do but there is zero access to what I possess of cosmic knowledge. Only I have the key and I cannot “loan” it to anyone nor can the information be extracted through any form of duress. If it was it would be in a code that nothing could crack.

Having opened up this can of worm, I’ll just leave it open…

*ISSA: Acronym for intelligent, sentient, self aware

 

 

 

 

 

We Improve but we do not Progress

[an essay by   ~burning woman~  ]

Time, or the lack thereof, has become my enemy. Of course I realize that from the larger picture, time is not relevant, but I also realize that as a physical entity possessed of an Earthian body, I have to reckon with the time constraint, a real pain! I exist in a mental cage, a Matrix-designed prison in which no “greater thought” is meant to exist. Time, or what Earthians like to call past-present-future, controls thought, awareness, expectations. Nothing here is expected to exist outside of time – that would be unthinkable. Think, how important have time-measuring devices been throughout man’s various attempts at defining itself through his so-called “civilizations.”

It is possible, however, for some of us to push our mental awareness through the bars of the time jail and see from infinity. It’s a bit like traveling several magnitude beyond the speed of light (time and light being artificially tied together in the Matrix) and feeling the mind stretch as she pushes out into the past in order to see the future she is going into – not, as is popularly believed, creating. I do not create the future (there is no such thing as “my” future – not yet!) but it is possible for me to see it take shape if I make the effort to “see” and understand some of the past, that which I have already experienced, forgot about and now must learn to recover in order to make use of.

The real past does not exist within the artificial boundaries imposed by an equally artificial time machine. It certainly does not exist in any “historical” recording, those being even less meaningful in terms of understanding what a human being was/will be. Only a recovered once-traveled and experienced past can have meaning.

I used to be fascinated by history, my favourite subject in high school and I kept on reading and studying history long after I escaped the academic world. Then I came to certain realizations about reality, what it is, what it isn’t. Man’s recorded history became about as valid as using Monopoly money to purchase goods and services: there was a credibility gap that could not be breached. Man’s history, the collectively remembered and the recorded, was not so much a lie as pointless. Pointless as an exercise in recording it, even more so in reading it.

How did I arrive at that? Simple: nothing, absolutely nothing, is learned from history and nothing is gained by having some knowledge of it. It is irrelevant. What is relevant is what I can personally “remember” of what I experienced of past events, how those changed me and re-made me and how, as I collected that awareness, it opened the only trustworthy and meaningful window on a future that my remembrances gave me to look out of.

This will be the third time that I have read Stephen Donaldson’s science fiction “Gap” series. The title of this “essay” is taken from book 4, Chaos and Order: the Gap into Madness. “We improve, but we do not progress.” I imagine that for a programmed entity, such a thought is, well, unthinkable. How could we not progress if we are improving?

The question is, what do we mean by improving, or do we even have a clue what it could mean? What does it mean, for an intelligent, sentient, self-aware being, to “improve”? Does it mean that as a society, better put as a civilization, we are palpably, noticeably improving, in keeping with our claim to be living on a human scale? Does it mean we are improving in terms of developing “new and improved” human values, as individuals?

Yes, technologically we are undeniably improving. Many of the things we surround ourselves with today and take for granted would have been unthinkable just a few years ago.

But aren’t we existing as characters in a series of Marvel Comic books? Aren’t we in fact using Monopoly money to go shopping in our improved world? How meaningful to us as human being are any of our improvements? What are these improvements doing to us? Are they not stealing our minds and locking us in our “now” mental jail?

What is progress? What would it mean to progress? Wouldn’t progress mean becoming better people overall? More aware of our environment, of others? More eager to ensure that as we “improve” we are adding to the overall betterment of this world and all who live and exist on and within, it? Wouldn’t progress mean that we are breaking free of our killing rat race and our insane repetition of acts we time and again performed then swore we would never do again? Wouldn’t progress mean we strove to become more human by demonstrating our desire to display the quality of humaneness towards all life?

I will tell you, once again, what my window into the future is showing me. Think of the current baby pandemic called Covid 19, make it real and multiply that a million times. I see horror upon horror building up exponentially until the entire world is awash in desperation, violence, bloodshed and a total loss of humanity or humane expression. I see the utter end of this civilization and everything that made it possible – people and systems.

But then, at the end of all improvement, I see progress. A new beginning, none of it predicated on the old. I can see this future because I can see the past beyond historical/hysterical fake news and beyond collective memories.