Tag Archives: fear

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #103

They have simple minds and I’m not really lying.  It could be the good life they all dream of sometimes.  I gain three men that way and stop my recruiting.  That’s it; we have our complement and are set.  Now it’s up to the engineers, the Cydroids and the weather.  We wait. Was it too easy? I feel serious discomfort in my mind but cannot locate the source. Maybe I’m nervous. Maybe I just want it all to be over.

End blog post #102
—————————-
Start blog post #103

While I wait Tiki and the Concubine are involved in two more fights.  They are a deadly pair.  Twice in one day they are pitted against drooks and twice they defeat them and kill them, sharp and clean.  With the many tricks I’ve taught and demonstrated plus their single-mindedness as fighters the two are simply unbeatable in any reasonably fair fight.  The day will come when they will be tested in unfair fights, especially Tiki because she is small, pretty to watch and young.  Money flows more freely where basest emotions of sexual lusts are stirred.  I have warned them not to get over-confident and to expect the unexpected, always.  Treachery is always around the corner.  It’s the way of life here, basically.

This I teach all women fighters, no longer using their pidgin in my exhortations.  I am the representative of the goddess now, and the voice of the crone from the other side:  “One day, I sense, you will enter the arena expecting the usual one-on-one fight and you will be faced with double the number of men, two on one, four on two.  You will not be permitted to protest and will have to fight for your lives.  You will get hurt in those.  If a team, one will likely be killed and the other have to finish the fight to stay alive.  Think about that.  Think about your state of mind when your partner receives the death blow.  What will your instinctive reaction be?  That is what will determine if you live or die, at that moment.  You are all excellent fighters but you are not immortal or super women.

“Train for that one eventuality now.  Train also for weapons switch.  It will be done to you.  Arena fighting, because of the many losses and the new phase of wars with Estáani, is entering a dark phase.  They are angry that less women die at the hands of challengers than used to be the case.  Ordinary challengers, the ones who did it just to show off for their friends; who made bets while under the influence of brew or chakr, are becoming rarer.  Now you mostly fight condemned men or drooks and less money is flowing through the gambling houses.  Investors are pulling out or going broke.  This means desperation and treachery.  Know your place, and your changing times.  Adapt to them quickly, I warn you.

“Now I have this to add.  When I arrived in Hyrete I was shown the legal array of weapons fighters needed to be familiar with and would be challenged by.  Of those we have consistently ignored one set because it is, well, antiquated and ridiculous.  So it was pulled out at my suggestions some years later as no one in their right mind would use it.  Who remembers this particular set?”

The women look at one another, staring especially at the oldest in the training line-up.  They all shrug negatively.

“It was a lance and buckler.  A lance is like the staff, a kind of long spear only much more unwieldy, easily broken if a weight, such as a man’s body is thrown against it.  Basically it can only stab a challenger.  The buckler is a small round shield with a short spike sticking out of the center, with which, if you break your lance, and expect you will, you try to stab your opponent.  Idiotic?  Totally but I’m going to request this weapon be re-instated in our sets because I sense that very soon some drook from a distant town where they use this stupid weapon to kill women will demand to face one of us with it. 

Yes, it is a man’s weapon.  It is very effective against us because of our small size and light weight.  It works against our speed.  A clumsy weapon designed on Túat Har, another world, in another dimension and at another time, to be used by tall muscular fighting men called soldiers; also used by fighting men, usually slaves, called gladiators, who, as with us, fought to the death unless given mercy by the crowds.  Later the combination lance and shield was used for one-on-one combat using heavy four-footed beasts called horses who could carry a man in a heavy saddle while both man and horse were covered in steel chain link armour.  The lance rested on a stand when not in use. 

“Tomorrow we begin training with lance and buckler if I can find enough of them.  Back to your training please, women fighters of Hyrete!”  I salute them to give them that extra edge of pride.  I have thoroughly trained them in the art of the self-empowering mantra and I can see their lips moving as they repeat the old mantra against fear:

I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer. I will face my fear. I will let it pass over me and through me. When it has gone, I will look and only I will be standing there.”*

Action processes, when engaged properly, tend to move in a reverse spiral, from slow to tight and fast as they approach the center.  Our commitment to the escape is tightening up.  The storms are all but certain now.  Great winds are arising over the desert I am told via Tieka from the on-duty Cydroid in the kitchen. We can see the sands being sucked high into the atmosphere, dulling the sun’s light.  Sand builds up in our washing and drinking troughs, on our benches and tables and even our straw we have to kick and stir before we can lay in it.  The flagstones are covered with moving, snaking sand.  On the horizon, what we can see of it, are great grey clouds with white thunderheads climbing high in the sky by late afternoon then receding in the night, only to return again the next day and climb higher each time.  So we know the prevailing winds are weakening to be replaced by a type of sirocco rising from the desert, crossing the sea and dumping its wet, oppressive sand-filled humidity upon Elbre. 

I do not envy those untrained and poorly equipped soldiers out there in their sandy dug-outs and eroding trenches attempting to defend Hyrete, the royal city; waiting for death to find them in the way of concussion bombardments or swallow them in quicksand in the sudden collapse of newly formed dunes or washed away to drown in the sand-filled waters of flash floods from rain storms sweeping the foothills to the north east. 

I get word that a confusion plan has been worked out among the Cydroids.  I really think they enjoy all this cloak and dagger stuff.  They have ‘recruited’ two of the legitimate security personnel to escape as well, using these individuals as the fall guys in what should be seen as a security breach allowing an Estáan commando force to enter the keep and steal five carriers as well as taking some thirty five captives for slave labour and sex in their offensive.  So that’s to be the official cover story.  It should leave all of us in the clear.  And that, I hope, takes care of the last detail. 

We wait, not without some anxiety.  The way I feel, you’d think I was one of those escaping.  But these are my people, these young women my children.  Long ago there was a change of energy towards me in the compound.  I became the head mother, especially to the newly arrived trainees.  I sought them out to encourage them and protected them from particularly vicious fighters to whom they were given.  I had one fighter taken out and flogged to death for abusing a trainee.  That example was needed at the time both to protect the young and to establish my authority in the cages.  Serious infractions to our own ‘rules’ were reported to me and I administered the punishment in a totally fair way.  It was done on the training ground.  I’d ask for the perpetrator to be matched against me in training, then I’d let her have at me to see who was right and who walked away in pain. 

Now I’m also the Teacher.  That’s my personal beachhead on Malefactus.  Over time, I’ve embellished our silent and sacred ‘cult’ to our goddess.  The women’s prayers, always including their chosen name, have become more personal and specific.  I’ve taught them that prayers are not begging for miracles, but for strength and patience.  For understanding when nothing makes sense.  For compassion towards one-another when one is afraid or hurt.  For courage the day a killing orgy is announced and the cages are culled for the slaughter.  I have given them something to look to, beyond their physical life and we have lived longer, had less suicides and many less executions.  Also I’ve noticed the women respond better if I use my own language, not their pidgin, and they are learning to speak more fluently. 

Now eighteen of my children are heading out into the unknown to attempt the building of some kind of normal life they have never experienced.  They and their men hitching rides in the open on flimsy carriers are the seeds of a new culture, the hope of Malefactus.  Much hinges on the success of this venture, and taken one part at a time, it is a simple plan.  But put all those pieces together to happen simultaneously and you have a complex structure that can collapse on itself from the outset.  I’ve never been one to overlook possibility of trouble.  Life has not been so easy on me that I can afford to do that.  But at this stage, what can I do but join in the women’s prayer and offer mine to our ‘goddess’ in hope?

* Bene Geseritt mantra against fear – Dune, by Frank Herbert

End blog post #103

Looking under Rocks

[an essay from   ~burning woman~  by Sha’Tara]

What would happen to society if no one except of course politicians, experts, billionaires, media talking heads and entertainers or actors, ever questioned the status quo? If no one ever “looked under rocks” as I read from one commenter – I think it was Hyperion – on one of my blog posts.

You look over a field in the hot sun with scattered rocks, or hey, cow pies(!) and you see nothing moving, nothing happening, except perhaps some flying insects. But if you’re a farm kid full of curiosity as I was about a thousand years ago, you turn over the rocks or cow pies and crouching there you see a life you didn’t suspect existed. You enter into a different and fascinating world.

What happens if you never stop turning over rocks and cow pies? That’s easy: you become a conspiracy theorist. You see aspects of your world no one else knows or wants to know. That makes you dangerous to the System first of all but also to the believers. It upsets things.

If you’re in church and the preacher says something you know is a lie and you interrupt the man to correct him, you may as well pack your bags: you’re outta there unless you put yourself under discipline of “the elders” and repent. The Preacher is the defender of the status quo and everyone in the auditorium is one of his body guards. No dissension allowed in the ranks. The Preacher cannot lie.  Well, guess what, this civilization is the church and dissenters are being increasingly marginalized. Ask yourself “why?”

Before we were labeled conspiracy theorists we were called rebels. We were those who rebelled against an authority we could no longer endure. We said… “Hell no, we won’t go!” and eventually we stopped one of this world’s grossest, most abusive, murderous and unjustifiable wars.

Without these very powerful protests how long would capitalism’s war against the people of Vietnam have gone on? If, instead of pulling away we had wholeheartedly supported the war criminals by giving them fresh bodies to throw into the fields and swamps; to cause mayhem; to use flamethrowers and Napalm against helpless women and children?

But who wants to be remembered of that now? Poisoned waters under collapsing civilization bridges! We’ve done worse, much worse, since Vietnam so let’s remind ourselves to be proud, very, very proud of the millions of innocents our acquiescence has exterminated as if they meant absolutely nothing.

Today I live in a society of dummied down sheep. The government says not to turn over any rocks, there’s great danger under there. People acquiesce instantly and happily convince themselves that it’s OK not to question dictates that come from “the leadership” – in the current case it’s mostly from medical dictators. But they can’t be wrong, they’re wearing WHITE lab coats. Why white, by the way? Because, well, white is pure and holy, black is dirty or evil. God is white, Satan is black. How could any one doubt who’s telling the truth?

Does it matter if it’s a Doctor Mengele* in the white lab coat? Not in today’s world. Can anyone question a doctor Mengele’s agenda in today’s society? Sorry, no. That would be engaging in a conspiracy and such people are dangerous traitors to the human race. Better the evil you know, or think you know, than the evil that lurks in conspiring minds.

…and that is how this current society of sheep has thrown away any right it may have had once upon a time to claiming it lived in certain democracies which not incidentally guaranteed freedom of speech and certainly freedom to express thoughts not garnered directly from the poisonous lies of bought-and-paid-for medical “experts”, equally corrupt politicians, billionaire ghouls looking to make their next quick billions and their lapdog mainstream media.

Do I sound angry? Yes? Good. But I’m not angry at the obvious evil doers, I’m angry at the fear-driven submissive collaborators who make their evil possible. I’m angry at the mind slaves who believe that by submitting they will save their own hides.

*Josef Mengele, also known as the Angel of Death and the White Angel, was a German Schutzstaffel officer and physician during World War II. He is mainly remembered for his actions at the Auschwitz concentration camp, where he performed deadly experiments on prisoners and was a member of the team of doctors who selected victims to be killed in the gas chambers. Wikipedia

 

Why can’t Man live in Peace?

[Thoughts from the mind of  ~burning woman~ ]

          Certainly, a question that’s been asked millions of times throughout history, in every part of this world. This topic should be utterly exhausted by now; nothing new to be added.  All the answers should be there, for all to see, as plain as plain can be.  But each time someone proposes an answer to the question, the question turns into a riddle that no one can answer.

          Does “man” enjoy the violence of war?  Yes, of course, even when hating the pain it inflicts upon himself and loved ones: a conundrum. Does man enjoy inflicting pain on others, and does it give him a satisfaction that goes even deeper than his sexual experiences?  Yes he does and yes it does. 

          Some blame religion for this and in a shallow sort of way of looking at history that is not so farfetched, even if that does not constitute an answer.  Some, having “rejected” religion claim that these unsavory aspects of “man” are all part of natural evolution; that the same can be found in all of nature.  Again, in a shallow sort of way; in skewed conclusions from a cursory look at “nature” one could derive such a thought, even if that too fails utterly to constitute an answer.

          Sometimes, in the night, in the depths of my infinite mind, I imagine a world without conflict of any sort.  No saved or damned; no chosen or rejected; no surviving fittest at the expense of the less fit.  In other words, a normal world not driven by bad religion, bad science and bad history.  What’s “missing” in that world?  It appears to be fear.  A normal world would not know fear.  There would be no danger from anything or anyone.  Each interacts normally with the other without demands; without pressure; without expectations. 

          What is the love of violence but a knee-jerk reaction to ever-present fear?  If you live in fear of being attacked, raped, plundered and killed, what is more “natural” than to take the initiative and live in ways to prevent this violence from catching you unawares?  Our current condition demonstrates that victims are those who live innocently; who trust “the system” to protect them; who are too foolish to protect themselves or have been pushed into a hopeless “lose-lose” situation, socially and economically.  Society’s victims are its fringe dwellers; its weakest members. 

Therefore, in this scenario, society is the predator.

          Define society?  Collectives of those who hold sway with power, be this religious, political or financial.  Those who “employ, print the money and make the rules thus empowering themselves to impose their desires and whims upon the rest.  Those who have no intention to ever share that power with the rank and file members.  That is society; that is man’s number one predator.  Then of course there is also the bully, and the mob from whom come abuse, rape, lynching and genocide.

          Back to the “legalized aspect. Since the beginning of imposed laws, we have had a serious problem: laws are invented to create fear and confusion; to disempower; to create a growing number of fringe-dwelling victims of society while promoted as necessary to maintain societal order or peace.  Laws create both, expectations from the law-makers they have no intentions of meeting, and fear for those who do not understand the laws, or simply cannot meet the requirements of those laws – because, again, laws are made by the predators to be foisted upon the prey. Simply put, laws are enacted by the elites and the elites are man’s number one predator.

          Through a legalistic process, “man” is brainwashed into institutional violence; forced to take sides when there really are no sides, just illusions created by the power-holders.  Man is endlessly pitted against himself by his power Matrix; an invisible and denied force that creates the sociopathic gods of religion; the corruption of politics and the increasingly unbearable life-stealing choke-hold of the global banking cabal aided and abetted by the military-industrial monster. 

          To “escape” this pressure man readily plunges into wanton violence.  Tell him he’s being threatened by a terrorist group and he will immediately react to the “news” emotionally.  He will feel an instant need to defend and avenge himself.  He will seek an outlet for his fear and he will find one, or the Matrix will open one for him through some psy-op; it will offer him a scapegoat individual or group to demonize or it will give him a “new” war that will require no justification beyond the state and corporate propaganda. 

Nothing new so far.

          But the question will not be answered in more bloodshed; in more imposition of power by the haves over the have-nots or vice-versa in a violent revolution. That sort of thinking has brought us to a state of permanent war and permanent fear of a sudden, accidental or deliberate state of nuclear aggression. Most may believe that they are not affected by the depredations of the power-movers but how little they know of the subconscious and what it can do to the body and the mind. This is not something that “free” health care, vaccinations or over-the-counter pill hand out can cure.  Man’s condition which I refer to as “condition red” is either going to be addressed squarely by individual man or it is going to bring man to extinction and not in a gentle good night either. 

         I know that man can live in peace. For me, that is not the question. The question is, how can man ever come to realize how much of a slave he is to his manifold systems, collectives, groups, institutions and invented divinities? Obviously not with any method that replaces one such entity with another, even if thought to be new. Certainly we’ve been there, done that and can all agree it has backfired in the worst of ways. So what then?

          Imagine being struck violently across the face with the obvious! Imagine the reaction to such an event! Who can argue against the obvious? Who can fight the Matrix with its imposed puppet leaders and their ever-present endless barrage of lies? 

          What’s this “obvious” that has such power? Ah, well, obviously the obvious is obvious.  That’s the first clue to grasping some understanding of it. It isn’t based on questionable theories or on carefully crafted institutional lies. That’s obvious. 

          The obvious doesn’t exist institutionally. It doesn’t show up in groups and collectives. It doesn’t empower mobs, churches, political executives or boards of directors. No, not even in marriages or between lovers.  No obvious to be found in any of those.

          Which leaves but one place where the obvious can be found and can clarify everything: the individual mind.  Interestingly, however that’s been denied to man since “the beginning” (whatever that entails). Surprise, surprise: every person has a mind; a totally individual mind that needs no connection to any kind of institutional complex to function properly and to develop ad-infinitum.  What a surprise, to discover that “man” is after all nothing less than an individual with an individual mind.  That “man” is not a creature belonging to some god, or an adjunct of some institution, or mob.  That “man” can think for himself; can choose, can decide, can take full responsibility for his own passage through life and can evolve himself as much as he wants to and absolutely nothing can stand in his way – no promise of heaven, no threat of hell and no fear of anything or anyone. 

          And that’s the obvious. Catch that, O man, and discover that you can live in peace; that you need not be a predator; that you are not a meaningless mote in a hodge-podge of neo-Darwinist evolutionary theories or a helpless victim of some super-power invisible sky wizard. Just remember the obvious… before taking the next independent step towards becoming human, the maker of peace.

 

Everybody Knows…

[some timely thoughts by  ~burning woman~ ]

Yesterday I had to go out “in the public” – sort of – on a job, and today I found some time to slip away and do some shopping. What I saw these last two days staggered my imagination, enough to make me “righteously” angry. I saw the programmed sheeple at their best, lining up at banks and stores, waiting patiently or walking silently between half-empty or blocked off shelves tossing frightened or angry looks when another violated the “6 foot rule” and got too close. Some had masks and gloves. Few smiles, just confused expressions as they contemplated the manufactured shortages and forced themselves to believe and trust. Surely, this is all legitimate. Surely there is a virus out there devastating the planet and killing thousands, soon to be millions, then billions. Surely one must obey the masters for do they not always know best? And who’s to question them? If we do not obey, will they not shut down even more, and will we not all die, if not of “the virus” then of starvation?

The story was being told in strange encounters. My particular clients yesterday are elderly (I’m 73 but I guess I don’t qualify since I am not playing the game by the new rules) and they have “compromised immune systems.” They couldn’t pay me in cash, so they had to place a cheque (yes, that is the proper spelling) on a chair outside for me to pick up, but only after they properly retreated back into their house, with their masks and gloves.

Signs everywhere announcing shut downs of various businesses. Restaurants only doing deliveries. Most government offices shut down, people working “from home”. Schools closed apparently until next Fall. I wondered if they’d shut down the wars?

So I listened to my anger and it told me things I am really not supposed to think. Why? That is always the first question and if followed through it explains much. What are the elites hoping to accomplish with this manufactured pandemic? I could immediately think of a few things. Take China, why not, we’re told it started there… their bubble economy was in shambles and ready to blow sky high bringing the rest of the global market place down with it. It needed stopping without exposing the lie and the massive corruption that is the viral capitalist system. Hide one man-made virus, predatory capitalism, with another! Another test: can the money system finally eliminate all cash transactions? Use the virus to scare the sheeple into going on-line or e-transfer; get them trained, then tell them cash is no longer available: too dangerous to health. Of course this means greater control by the banking mafia. Want another? Why not use the virus to begin the serious elimination of all no longer wanted nor needed older folk? Get rid of pensioners for one. Then kill off other undesirables, those that require health care but can’t pay for it and want “the government” to seriously go into the health care business and control Big Pharma and the entire medical malpractice world – get rid of the sick before serious profits are lost and keep the pressure on to hide the massive corruption threatening to destroy civilization in one fell swoop.

Meanwhile to sheeple are, as usual, returning to their blind faith. Believe those in charge, maybe even go back to believing in god. Believe the virus is deadly and can only be controlled by following mandated guidelines. Invest a maximum amount of emotion and fear in the process. Worry, worry, worry, about grandma and grandpa (or great grandma and great grandpa) and although they are already “compromised” and “sick” – if they die, believe it is because of the virus. Blame the virus, and blame whatever animal is supposed to suddenly, for no reason, have spewed it out upon innocent unsuspecting humans. Blaming always accompanies blind faith.

There are other thoughts going around in my mind about this massive scam job but I’m letting it go. It’s “your” story, not mine and I’ve decided not to spoil your fun and faith in a fabulous fantasy. If you cannot, or will not, realize that only a tiny minority of deaths are not caused by pre-existing conditions; if you do not or will not realize that “they” are blaming generic deaths from chronic conditions accompanying old age, heart conditions, over-drugging, collapsing lungs or whatever else (car crashes maybe next?) on this “virus” then go ahead, enjoy the emotional ride. While you’re at it, remember there’s a comet out there too  and comets have been known to be harbingers of “terrible” things. So let’s add that to the list while we’re at it. Maybe the comet caused the virus. More blame.

Yesterday I kind of blew up at my “boss” as she went on about the virus and I said, “There isn’t any f*****g virus! It’s a scam of such mega proportion that it’s impossible for the sheeple to even try to think. Exercise faith, obey, fear, take expensive precautions, and hope. Meanwhile this game is giving billions of quietly desperate lives something to “do” giving those lives a semblance of meaning. Suddenly the commuting, assembly line working, shopping, playing and praying system-slave discovers excitement outside the bland ordinary. A new game, and the rules aren’t all set yet: does it get better?

Remember this song?

Everybody Knows – Leonard Cohen

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
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

That’s the gist of it, but of course that is not how it goes: how it goes is, nobody knows because nobody wants to know.  What everybody does know however is that if the virus “grows” it will be my fault for not playing by the establishment rules. For not being “vaxxed”; for not getting medicated; for not doing the doctor check up; for not BELIEVING. That’s my crime: I’m an unbeliever. The proof is undeniable: I don’t get sick and I don’t carry around or feed a compromised immune system. So watch for the comet then put up the stake in the public square. Burn some unbelievers and the virus will die off.  It’s always worked in the past. 

 

How does a Thing Become “a” Precious?

            [thoughts from  ~burning woman~  ]

…  and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom:
as if what exists, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious
—Lisel Mueller, from “In Passing,” Alive Together: New and Selected Poems. (LSU Press; First Edition edition October 1, 1996)

          A thing can be longed for, can be thought of as precious, but until it is lived for; deeply sacrificed for; even bled for (or killed for) and finally apparently hopelessly lost, that thing can never be accurately described as truly precious: it remains an illusion, a story in a book of fiction.  However good the fiction is, it is still fiction.  The book isn’t purchased, it isn’t owned, it is merely borrowed from a library. It hasn’t cost anything that is irreplaceable: I think that’s the key here.  

          In J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit” and continuing in “The Lord of the Ring” there appears a character called Gollum.  Gollum possesses a ring which he calls his “Precious” and is driven mad by it.  Gollum’s ring was indeed his precious because he had paid a great and terrible price to attain it.  Back in the ancient days when he was still a normal being he was called Smeagol and he had an inseparable friend, Deagol.  It was Deagol who found the ring at the bottom of the river Anduin, but when Smeagol saw the ring his desire to possess it exceeded all bounds.  Deagol wouldn’t give up the ring, so Smeagol killed him for it.  Many long years later, the outcast Smeagol, now known as Gollum, lost his “Precious” to Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit.  Then did the ring truly become Gollum’s precious – he dedicated his life to finding the ring and getting his revenge on “the nasty Hobbit Baggins.”  In the end as we know, Gollum died with the ring: they both fell in the fire of Mount Doom. 

    How many of life’s offerings can we call precious?  Of all the obvious: air, water and land from which we draw our sustenance and cannot live without: precious?  Not according to my observations of how man treats his natural environment – definitely not his “Precious” is it. What about people relationships?  I suppose for the few, some relationships become precious as they are engaged, then irretrievably and inconsolably lost.  But for most?  Generally speaking relationships come and go, most easily replaceable.  The gregarious Earthian prefers its creature comforts of body and mind to the pining and the dying for, that puts the meaning of precious in a relationship. This is especially true of today’s consumer “throw away” society.  Most relationships are cheap and easily replaced. 

    I’m obviously fishing in deep waters here: what comes up from the deep?  I’ll tell you: the unexpected; the frightening; the dreadful and also the ineffable that literally takes our breath away so that when it disappears we long for its return to the point that we are willing to die to find it again.  I’m talking about the things that lurk in the depths of the Cosmos; that sing and dance and call beyond our memories, our experiences, our survival instincts and all our paraphernalia of security or ecstatic expectation.  Beyond the symbolism of religion, the greatest works of the mystics and even the best efforts of the poets.

    Nothing can keep us safe from what shows up to become something truly precious.  For to be precious it must be of a nature capable of taking over both mind and heart, all of one’s life, and can never be owned or controlled.  Once one has engaged one’s Precious, one’s life is forfeit.  It belongs to its Precious. 

    According to ancient wisdom, there can only be one Precious in one’s life. “No-one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other.”  After many long years of thinking it was irretrievably lost to me, I found my Precious, or rather it found me.  Well, perhaps to be fair to both, we met half-way and recognized each other.  Following that meeting, there was a test of my commitment: it called for my life and I in a gesture of genuine forfeiture, gave it.  That it gave me my life back, if for a time, only lengthened the period of testing – it did not conclude it.  It will be my “master” until I die, and beyond, for my Precious is of a nature that does not die and it is now as much a part of me as I am of it. We are inseparable.  Just to make sure I am not misunderstood here, I am not talking about another human being, or other “being” such as a god or “saviour” in a romantic or agape-love type of relationship.  Nothing so common: this isn’t about love.  Repeat: this has nothing to do with love.

    As I was writing this and thinking about the truth of it, I was wondering how many people have a working relationship with their Precious; how many are even aware that such a state of mind is desirable for life to make sense; how many are aware that without a commitment to one’s Precious, one is left helplessly open to being consumed by some force or other with which it has the relationship of a slave; of a believer in wizardry. 

    The force or forces one responds to when not committed to one life-linked “Master” or “Precious” would say in so many words, “The purpose of our relationship is on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.  Just follow any of the approved paths the rest are on.  Believe and don’t step out of those paths.  The outcome isn’t for you to know, just to worry about.” 

    And that worry becomes fear, fear becomes anger, anger becomes hate and the rest is history, or as some like to say, His story.

{Your head’s like mine, like all our heads; big enough to contain every god and devil there ever was. Big enough to hold the weight of oceans and the turning stars. Whole universes fit in there! But what do we choose to keep in this miraculous cabinet? Little broken things, sad trinkets that we play with over and over. The world turns our key and we play the same little tune again and again and we think that tune’s all we are.” — Grant Morrison, The Invisibles, Vol. 1: Say You Want a Revolution. (Vertigo June 1, 1996) }

 

Walking Barefoot and going Naked

[thoughts from  ~burning woman~  ]

There’s been quite a bit of talk out here in blog planet about walking barefoot.  It is even said that walking barefoot on the earth is healing to the body.  A dangerously revolutionary concept in re-awakening awareness and consciousness of what it means to have a physical body that is meant to be connected to the earth, not to a rising megalith of technology.  So let’s look at man the civilized technocrat as he proudly stands today, master of his earth domain, and let’s look at an alternative lifestyle, a what-if when man encountered a fork in the road of his evolution and chose the path of civilization and technology over the path offered by nature.  At the start of man’s right-hand path choice he didn’t realize that his civilization could only proceed to the degree that he conquered, denigrated and systematically destroyed all vestiges of his natural roots.  Man’s new world would be an artificial one which in the end would enslave him completely.

Technology has made man less and less sensitive to the natural environment.  It’s given rise to several generations of whiners, bitchers and complainers about “the weather” even from those whose sole contact with the great bane of “the weather” consists of a dozen or so steps from a centrally heated or air-conditioned building to a heated or air-conditioned vehicle.  But it’s not just modern technology that has made man into an unnatural borg-like creature: it’s all of man’s civilization right from the beginning.

Archaeology demonstrates that man’s civilizations arise spontaneously as if out of nowhere and from nothing, without natural or rational explanation for their sudden appearance only to fall prey to destruction and decay over and over again.  Our great global capitalistic-technocratic civilization today is poised on the edge of its own irrevocable downfall, the “sword of Damocles” hanging over its raison d’être.  And here we go again, and this going is being accompanied by horrendous loss of human life, of indigenous species and this time may well result in a planetary eco-environmental disaster making current non-mutated biological life as we know it impossible.  I’m not saying anything new here and it’s all available to anyone who still doesn’t get it. 

So let’s go back to that famous fork in the road; the great bifurcation.  At the time, most Earthians chose to ignore the lure of civilization and quietly took the left hand path leading to the fair, sweet, unspoiled empty lands and wilderness for which man and his fellow earth wanderers, were made.  They walked away in their innocence, naked and unafraid, to pluck juicy fruits dangling from healthy trees and vines, roots and herbs growing along the path for the digging and the picking. 

Oh, and here’s a tidbit of information most, if not all, “civilized” Earthians are blissfully unaware of, and deliberately so: on that left hand path into the untamed frolicky wilderness of earth there were then no predators.  That’s right, and I can just hear the intake of breath, see the snide smile and the shaking of the head: nuts!  Yes, there were lots of nuts, also for the picking, and free as everything else.  But seriously, those terrible predators that get so much mileage in Disney movies and corny virtual reality shows, and so much bad press from children’s tales… they lived side by side with man and his children and everybody was… vegetarian.  There was no killing; no bloodshed and very little pain.  Death came about naturally, was accepted, and nature continued to offer her bounty as that which died returned to the soil to become part of that which lived on. 

For those who think they really know the “Bible”… here’s a quote to make anyone think:

Genesis 1:29 Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.

Genesis 1:30 And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground — everything that has the breath of life in it — I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.

I imagine a world where the choice of paths had not materialized; where “normal” was not interfered with.  What would earth look like today if man had not become civilized and had not “discovered” technology?  Let’s look at the obvious and let’s try to determine if man made the correct choice in not only making an idol of civilization and technology, but forcing those who had not, into it’s polluting, deadly melting pot, and if they would not, enslaving them and killing them outright. 

What happens if you don’t wear shoes, but must walk barefoot?  You are basically guided by your feet: you cannot go where the terrain would destroy, burn or freeze your feet, so you remain in foot-friendly zones.  The rest remains for the livelihood and safety of “others.”

What happens if you don’t learn to wear clothing?  Again, your body dictates where you may live.  Any area too cold, too wet or otherwise too harsh for “the naked ape” body would be naturally eschewed.  So those areas would remain the domain of others who could live there and man would never become a threat to them. 

What happens if you don’t learn to make heated shelters?  Again, your species is limited to those temperate zones where sheltering or sleeping comfortably on freshly strewn grasses and leaves can be done.  You stay within zones nature says are suitable for you and you leave the rest alone.  And again, the “others” can find their own life in non-threatened areas of the planet.  

What happens if you don’t learn to make and wear armour in battle?  You remain much more vulnerable to sticks and stones and choose to avoid pitched battles with strangers, instead making attempts to live in relative peace with them.  You don’t become “warriors” in any case because you really have nothing to defend.  You can always move on.

One can see by the above that “overpopulation” and the Earthian species overrunning space naturally reserved for others would not have happened without civilization.  Also man would not have developed the incredibly stupid hubris of inventing weapons of mass destruction to threaten not only his own civilization, but all others and perhaps the living biosphere.    

And here’s one more: what happens if day in, day out, everybody around you, from baby to oldest remains naked?  Well surprise, surprise but you don’t notice such a thing as unusual.  So you don’t become a misogynist male; you don’t rape your women or young boys.  You don’t need books of laws of sexual taboos with attached punishments for violating those laws.  When you need sex, which in non-civilized societies isn’t the driving sickness it is in crowded, controlled, stifled city-type living, it is easily and simply satisfied for both sexes. 

In conclusion I want to repeat a teaching I got from one of the Teachers, Phaelon.  In his list of attributes that define a true human being, was this one:  “When you find you can walk naked among others of your own species and feel no shame, know that you are a human being.”

Which closes this essay:  Why do Earthians feel ashamed to be seen naked by each other?  Why do they experience the need to measure themselves by how their bodies look to others through pride or shame?  Why do they associate nudity with sexuality?  And why does this shame persists even among those who have deliberately rejected organized Religions and the gods who purportedly made those arbitrary and unnatural rules regarding sex, gender identity, and the type of clothing a male and a female may wear?

I am completing this sitting at my back yard computer “desk” under a bright, clear autumn sun… totally naked and feeling wonderful.   Want to join me? 

 

 

Thanya of Norda

While Roger at Woebegone but Hopeful (https://heroicallybadwriters.com/2016/09/05/a-true-history-of-the-isles-part-12-the-vikings-arrive-a-aaa-a-ha-a-eeya-a-ha/#respond)

is entertaining us with his hilarious history of the British Isles, his 12th part with the arrival of the Vikings reminded me of this story I wrote some time back, based on a past life remembrance.  Unlike Roger’s stories however, this one is not humorous.
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Thanya of Norda
          a short story – by Sha’Tara

My name is Thanya.  I live on the coast of Norda, in a poorly fortified village.  My people are woodsmen, fisherfolk and farmers.  We constitute one of the main centers on the coast and my father and mother are considered to be the Chiefs.  I have an older brother who is a great hunter and whom I admire.

This part of my story begins when I am fourteen years, according to the Christian calendar.  In the late Summer the feared and hated Norsemen raid our village.  Our men are overwhelmed and put to the sword.  I see by father and brother die.  I pick up a sword to defend myself but I cannot handle the weight of it.  I’m quickly disarmed and brought to the leader of the raiders.  I can hear the cries of the women and the children, some being raped and killed, others rounded up, tied and put aboard the boats to be sold as slaves down the coast.  I can see and smell the smoke as our homes are systematically destroyed and burned.

A tall, red-haired and red-faced man stands in front of me.  He tears my clothes off and has me put to my knees, my wrists pulled back and tied to my ankles.  He straddles me and lifts his sword.  Laughing, he brings it down as if to cut me in half but swings it aside.  I curse him for letting me live.  He rapes me.  I scream a “prophecy” at him:  “I will have your son and when you return here he will kill you!”  He laughs again, has me untied and held away from him.  He says to me: “For that I will let you live and go free.  If indeed you have my son and if indeed he lives to defeat me in battle, I shall freely confer my title and properties to him.  I am King Garthul.  If you survive, remember that name, wench.”

They rowed off the shore, then sailed away with their spoils.  I found some rags to cover myself and tried to cover the bodies of the dead.  I covered my father and brother.  I found no trace of my mother so assumed she had been taken prisoner.   I did not have the strength to drag them onto a pyre and burn them, so I left and entered the forest.  I found shelter in a cave made from a hollow windfall and survived my first winter on nuts, roots and dried husks of fruit hanging from branches or lying in clumps of grass.  I gave birth to a healthy son in the Spring and took him deep into the forest, not knowing what to do.  I found other survivors and eventually convinced most of them to return to the coast, to my village.  We gathered the bones of the dead and burned them, then performed the ritual of cleansing for the land.  Then began the task of re-building.

Throughout the years I directed the re-construction based on villages and strongholds I studied during inland wanderings.  First an inner fort made of stone, not of material that could burn.  Then an outer palisade made of strong timbers and deadly stakes.  Finally, near the beach another fence made of non-burnable materials, whatever we could find.  I trained the people, young and old, male and female, to bear and use arms of all kinds.  I designed new weapons, especially for the females.  Shoes were basic wooden sandals equipped with a sharp spearhead at the front and sometimes at the back.  Armbands made of wood were equipped with a deadly dagger that could be flipped and locked in a forward position, the tip of the blade extending past the hand.  We made bows that were longer than hunting bows and much more accurate, using longer arrows.  I made them leave crenellations in the walls, and holes that looked natural but through which arrows could be shot.  And I trained the tallest men to use long spears that could be thrust through cracks deliberately left in the walls but concealed from anyone looking from the outside.

As more and more survivors and disgruntled serfs from other parts joined us our village grew and surpassed the numbers and strength of the past.  My son became a fearsome warrior, I made sure of that.  He was tall and had red hair.  There was no doubt who his father was.

Among those who joined us came two Christian monks.  They claimed they had special knowledge they wished to impart to certain chosen people among the village.  I asked them to share their knowledge with all of us, offered to give them a special place at our regular meeting day, but they insisted their knowledge was only for the chosen.  They also insisted that we give up worshipping our gods and learned of their one god and accept him as our only god.  This I refused to do.  I gave them a hut and made the people aware of their offer.  Anyone who chose the Christian god over the land’s gods was free to do so.  Some did but it did not matter.  Christians made good warriors too, there was no conflict among us.

In time my prophecy was fulfilled.  The raiders returned and an older Garthul still led them.  As soon as the alarm was given all the people who could not fight and all the younger children with as many goats and fowl as could be taken, were sent deep into the woods in preselected hiding places.  Then we waited.  My son was then eighteen years of the Christian calendar, and eager to fight this Garthul.  I had not told him this was his father, just what he had done to his family.

Yelling their taunts, the raiders rushed our first slender defenses.  We killed several of them before we retreated to the next defensive position.  The raiders crashed through our first wall only to encounter a much more effective defense.  They had no place to hide and we defeated them there.  Garthul gave the signal for surrender and my son jumped forward to put a sword to his throat.  I ran behind him and stopped him:  “Well Garthul, we meet again.  Remember the prophecy of the young girl whose parents and brother you killed.  Remember her taunt, “I will have your son and he will kill you!”  Well here I am, and here is he, your son, Garth.”

He remembered, and believing he was about to die, he called his second and swore that his title and lands were now the property of his son, this son, my son, Garth of Norda.

And this is where my life turned.  For Garth said, “He is my father, and I cannot kill him.  Therefore, since he has so grievously harmed you, mother, here is my sword.  You must avenge your parents and your village.  This is not for me to do.”

I took the sword and held it aloft unflinchingly.  I could have easily cut his head off, but instead I laid the sword on his shoulder and said, “Life has taught me this, Garthul: That there comes a point where it becomes necessary to let go of the past and to forgive.  For as heavy as the burden of loss is, the burden of vengeance is twice as heavy.  I have reached that point.  Today I have redeemed what was lost.  I have defeated you and I am your master, I, a mere woman.  Furthermore, I have something of yours that I know is more precious to you than your own life: your son.  So here’s my proposal – listen to me well.  I wish that you should take Garth with you.  Make him into a sailor and take him back to your own land and train him in the arts of being a King there, as you are.  When the time comes, I wish for you to pass your power on to him.  Further, I wish that your country should enter into a  permanent peace with us.  We have much to trade with you, especially of hardwoods.

And it came to pass.  Garth became ruler of both Norda and his father’s land.  There were no more raids on our coasts.  We remained at peace until a new trouble began to brew from the hinterlands.  But that is a story attached to a future that is not mine nor Garth’s.