Tag Archives: money

Is there a Collective Unconscious and a Collective Dream?


[thoughts from ~burning woman~ by Sha’Tara

(Introduction) From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

Collective unconscious (German: kollektives Unbewusstes), a term coined by Carl Jung, refers to structures of the unconscious mind which are shared among beings of the same species. According to Jung, the human collective unconscious is populated by instincts and by archetypes: universal symbols such as The Great Mother, the Wise Old Man, the Shadow, the Tower, Water, the Tree of Life, and many more.

Jung considered the collective unconscious to underpin and surround the unconscious mind, distinguishing it from the personal unconscious of Freudian psychoanalysis. He argued that the collective unconscious had profound influence on the lives of individuals, who lived out its symbols and clothed them in meaning through their experiences. The psychotherapeutic practice of analytical psychology revolves around examining the patient’s relationship to the collective unconscious.

Psychiatrist and Jungian analyst Lionel Corbett argues that the contemporary terms “autonomous psyche” or “objective psyche” are more commonly used today in the practice of depth psychology rather than the traditional term of the “collective unconscious.”[1]

Critics of the collective unconscious concept have called it unscientific and fatalistic, or otherwise very difficult to test scientifically (due to the mythical aspect of the collective unconscious).[2] Proponents suggest that it is borne out by findings of psychology, neuroscience, and anthropology. [end of Wikipedia introduction]


In a recent post I wrote about an interesting dream I had involving certain “symbolic characters” currently much in the collective mind: Donald Trump as president of the USA, his press secretary, KellyAnn Conway, and the White House represented by a “Black House” in the dream.

Since, I have met one other person who had a similar dream on or about the same time I did, involving Donald Trump asking for help. 

In the comments section of my article, Katharine Otto  ( https://katharineotto.wordpress.com/ ) wrote: “Sha’Tara,  Your dream has been working on me since I wrote the above, and I do indeed believe you are functioning as a catalyst. I believe Trump is also a catalyst, in that he is rattling so many cages, but he can’t control outcomes. The outcome (or outcomes) depends on how we as Earthians deal with the changes. We do have the opportunity to uplevel individual and group experiences, maybe with a little help from our more evolved, extra-terrestrial friends, whoever or whatever they may be.

Maybe in a group-dreaming mode, we can dream up some visions of the kind of society we would like to inhabit.

Is there a collective unconscious (or objective psyche) and could this involve a kind of collective dreaming involving those free-er minds no longer bound by belief systems as promoted by organized religion or atheistic scientific materialism?  That somewhere between these antagonistic extremes exists a subtle reality preventing extremism from totally destroying a living sphere; a reality that dreamers can access and input into, thus adding to its power to dampen or control volatile conditions brought on by excessive greed and predatory lust leading to insatiable appetites for the predators; fear and uncertainty for their victims?

The “Teachers” warned me time and again not to embroil myself into the physical struggle for balance in the worlds of religion, politics and money.  They cautioned me not to “take sides” by exercising my voting “rights” as all such moves reveal a sense of powerlessness on my part and a gloating on the part of the enemy. 

Recently I compared the political processes world-wide as a game of snakes and ladders.  “They” cast the dice, we walk the line only to rise, then fall in turn.  “They” are the gamers, we the pawns.  Thus it always was, thus it always will be, until perhaps, as Katherine points out, more and more of us are drawn into the dream, expanding that gentle realm until the extremes dry out from lack of food. What is the extremist’s food? Violence.

The lesson of non-involvement through detachment is harsh and apparently pointless.  The dreamers are the conchies or conscientious objectors, not just to war, but towards all forms of violence.  All violence is always, without exception, an extreme counter life force.  All types of competitive behaviour is based in violence, like it or not.  Is voting then a from of violence? Yes it is because it’s a competition, a vicious game.  It is a religion, the  support of one’s particular “household gods” in the hope that they will bring peace, or if not, then the defeat of the enemy, whatever and whomever that enemy is – in politics, religion or finance there is always an enemy and all of it results in competitive behaviour and that always results in victimization, suppression, oppression, marginalization and often the genocide of innocent victims.

Who is the enemy of religion, politics and finance? The answer is obvious: me, if I dare become an individual who refuses to offer innocent sacrifices on the altars of oppressive and oppressing “divinities”.  Me, the self empowered who dares enter into the collective unconscious dream and therein draw off power from death-dealing structures to engender new life.  From this place I am neither heroine nor victim: I just am. 

Stop Grasshopper: where are you going from here?

[thoughts from    ~burning woman~    by Sha’Tara]

If I were a betting kind of person, I’d bet a substantial amount of my pension check, say $100, that the main question on most people’s minds these days would be something like, “where are we going from here?”  At least in the Western world, faced as it is with some quite serious political and economic changes and challenges. 

Imagine what it’s like to live in a world built almost exclusively on slave labour and stolen resources from Third World nations, or any nation that can’t defend itself against political graft, military superiority and financial corruption, and having that cornucopia gradually go empty? 

The growing number of war costs and bodies on the ground (take that metaphorically or literally) is making itself felt.  Cheap resources and cheaper labour are not delivering their quota of expectations.  Prices are rising, as is discontent, chaos, confusion and fear. Damn, but it’s really quite annoying, this constant discomfort.  It’s like the Western world is suffering from sciatica; it can’t find any comfortable position to put itself back to sleep. 

Never mind the MSM (I understand that to mean something like “Multi-Slime Media” but I could be wrong, it’s probably something much worse), I’ve been reading “alternative” media, or just a lot of blogging on various subjects such as Trumpism, war, global injustice, climate change… or sometimes switching to war, climate change, global injustice and Trumpism.  Nothing like variety, is there.  So, big picture, what am I reading?

I’m reading the confused thoughts of people enmeshed in a net of anti-human corruption called predatory capitalism.  The concept is a real-life Game played with real people who live and die at the hands of the players.  The Game itself is completely artificial, having nothing whatsoever to do with natural life as it was meant to be lived, either on this world, or on any sane world.  The tokens used are called money, and while they all serve the same purpose, they have different names in different parts of the globe.  Dollars is a popular name; rubles, yens, yuan, shekel, rupee, pound, it doesn’t matter, they are just tokens, some “worth” more than others. 

When you sign up for the Game, in very fine print at the bottom of the form, on page 198, there is a cautionary line: If you have some tokens, you may gamble and if Lady Luck favours you, you may get more, but the moment you lose your last token, your life is forfeit to the Game and you and your family must die or go into life-long slavery. 

How seriously do Earthians take this global Game?  Enough to play it 24/7, on every part of the planet.  Enough to gamble away everything they own, even their nation.  Enough to willingly enslave themselves to those who have the most tokens because they control the Game and have enough power to change to rules so the Game always benefits them.  Enough to sacrifice their children on the board and to die by the millions through a variety of preventable causes to keep the Game going.

Pathetic?  Beyond pathetic.  But if that isn’t sad enough, try to imagine billions of semi-intelligent creatures believing that if they stopped the Game they and their world would suddenly die. Billions, even those who have given up believing in invisible sky wizards called gods, believe in, and promote the Game as if all of life on earth depended on an endless exchange of tokens, either in a physical form or increasingly, over the internet. 

I taught myself the rules of the Game when I was very young because I sensed how it was designed to enslave people by forcing them to become addicted to it.  I didn’t want to play the Game because it is disgusting to me, but I needed to know it so I wouldn’t get ensnared by it; so I wouldn’t become tempted to worship in its churches called banks and gambling casinos or shopping plazas.  Furthermore, as I realized that each day of my life the Game was claiming more and more of the world and there would soon be no place left where anyone could live without holding a playing card and having a minimum number of tokens, I needed to know how to pretend to play so I wouldn’t be banished from its all-encompassing zone of control. 

I finally realized that the only place outside was through suicide but after a “half life” of playing with the thought and a couple of attempts, I gave that up.  I was offered a challenge: to live within the Game while despising it and doing everything I could to expose it as nothing but a death-dealing addiction, the number one addiction on the planet.  I could live with that. 

Once in a while I stop long enough to look at this world, and its addiction to the Game; to money.  I realize how everything, and I mean absolutely everything that has any value has been put up as an ante, a forced bet, on the Game’s table.  I see billions of players looking on in dismay, having lost everything, knowing that death is now mandatory for them.  I see the piles of bets in front of the few bloated players who only want more having no other reason to play but addicted to having more.  What do I compare this to?

I imagine a world where everyone is addicted to watching the Bugs Bunny, Road Runner Looney Tunes cartoons on TV.  It’s all they’ve ever watched, all they’ve ever seen, all they know, all they believe in.  The Game is played between Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.  It goes on and on and on, and all those people spend their entire lives convinced that one day, one time, Wile E. Coyote will win over the Road Runner.  They spend everything betting on the coyote, despite the fact that he’s never, ever won.

That is pathetic.  That is capitalism. 

Who does the Road Runner represent?  Bill Gates (Microsoft), Amancia Ortega (Inditex or Zara), Warren Buffet (Berkshire Hathway), Jeff Bezos (Amazon), Koch brothers (Koch Industries), Carlos Slim (Grupo Carso), Mark Zuckerberg (Facebook), Larry Elllison (Oracle), Ingvar Kamprad (IKEA).  These ten richest multi-billionaires in order of value, are each worth over 40 billion Game tokens.  With his endless failed attempts at beating the Road Runner, it’s easy to figure out who Wile E. Coyote represents. 

Tell me again, intelligent people of earth, why you are absolutely convinced that you must play this really stupid “Hunger Game” and sacrifice everything of value to it?  Why you believe that the Game is worth more than the very world you depend upon for your life?  I’m not sure I quite understand your reasoning.  In fact I know I don’t.

Now listen to some pertinent lyrics sung so beautifully by Blackmore’s Night, food for thought:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbJ89efvKqM

 

Their Pleasure is Starving Me

    [a poem by   ~burning woman~   ]

O, Mother, I get so tired at times,
Yes I thought you taught me well,
How to meet them, to please them,
To try to guess the different ways
They expect me to pleasure them.

O, Mother, how they take and take
And how I give and give and…
Nothing.  They give me nothing
Back, and I’m so very tired
But now I don’t know what to do.

O, my Child, I’d hoped you’d learn
Without being told, you’re a woman
And now you are food to them:
They see you and they hunger
And they’re always, always hungry.

O, Child, listen to me once again,
And pay attention this time
Before they’ve eaten your body
And nothing’s left but a husk
And a dis-embodied spirit.

O, Child, listen carefully:
They do not know how to give
It’s not in their nature although
Some may think they’re giving
When they offer you a dollar.

It’s up to you Child to feed yourself
And the only food you’ll find
Is inside them as they lay with you
As they come, and before they go:
It’s up to you to feed off them.

The Power Pizza has Three Slices (however you slice it)

                   [thoughts from    ~burning woman~    by Sha’Tara]

I felt the need to write a follow-up to the essay, “How far back must we go?”  So here’s a bit of an explanation and fill-in using the Earth world view I was taught to see by “the Teachers” some years back.  Having no argument with their explanations, I present that world view here as my own which of course it now is. 

The forces of mind control and repetitive actions due to programming, come in threes.  I first clued into this from my doctrine-heavy Christian upbringing in which the three main Powers were a godhead of a father, a son and a holy spirit.  This is dogma and must be believed in when one is confirmed in the Catholic Church.  There are little variations to this dogma in any other Christian cult.  It’s the basis for the whole faith.  This awareness explains why Christianity was able to grow so rapidly into a world-dominating religion and remains the leading force of religious power even today.  Remove one or two of these “persons” from Christianity and the house of cards collapses into meaninglessness, much as Islam is currently experiencing – they don’t have a Trinitarian god.  Keep this in mind: Power comes in threes.    

This isn’t about religion.  This is about daily Earthian reality and how it all works.  Basically, all of earth people’s lives are circumscribed by faith.  You have to believe “in” certain dogmas (in science and economics they’re called “theories”) for the System to work – and by that I don’t mean it must make sense, it does not, never did, never will – but it certainly works well, just as well as did the Spanish inquisition.  There is purpose behind it all, and that purpose is the exercise of Power Over.  The less the number of power holders and the greater the number of oppressed, the more Power accumulates to the holders of it.  No elitist power, from the would-be gods down through the hierarchy, is ever manufactured.  All of it is forcefully extracted from billions of victims and slaves of the Power Holders. 

How do they do this?  How do they steal your power?  Through lies, disinformation and the blatant, deliberate spreading of fear, which leads to mindless hate, which leads to wars and genocide.  I just watched “High Plains Drifter” with Clint Eastwood.  An old story of greed, violence and retribution.  Basic story: “The Stranger” who never gives his name rides into the town of Lago as a drifter.  Challenged, he shoots three gunmen and is hired to protect the townspeople from three other gunmen due to be released from jail and certain to come calling for being railroaded by the town’s leaders.  Unbeknownst to the leaders, “The Stranger” is in town to avenge the killing of an honest sheriff by the entire town in cahoots with a mining outfit stealing gold from protected government land (a reservation?).  To achieve his ends, “The Stranger” proceeds to sow dissension, suspicion, fear and hate among the townspeople who are all guilty of collusion in the death of their sheriff.  In the end, the town is destroyed, its leaders killed and the three gunmen who had been hired to kill the sheriff are killed by “The Stranger”.  Then he rides out of town, mission accomplished. 

We like these kinds of simplistic stories where the lone “good guy” wins against impossible odds, and the villains are exposed, jailed or killed.  But that is not what happens on earth, quite the opposite.  We slave for the villains; we support them, raise statues to them, give them peace prizes, name towns, universities, streets after them.  We vote them into office so they can further oppress and kill us with endless wars, meaningless labour, manufactured poverty, denial of basic justice and health care.  And we give them all our money and more because we fear each other more than we hate them. This we know.  Yet we cannot, ever, escape this destiny of subservience.  If we get to hate them enough to overthrow them we immediately replace them with characters of the same mindset or even worse. 

I said the forces of oppression come in threes.  These are what I call the gods: Religion, the State and Money.  Childishly simplistic concepts that shouldn’t ever see the light of day outside a sand box or playpen.  Yet they rule the world (and much more!) and are never seen for what they are.  And what keeps them in power?  Three other very basic concepts: faith, hope and love.  These are even presented as virtues in the Christian New Testament: 1Co. 13:13 “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”  Indeed, you could attach faith to Religion; hope to the State apparatus; love to Money: three for three.  An ever winning combination for the Powers.

How desperately Earthians need to believe such things are true by simple description.  Yet the same people do everything in their power to deny every assertion ever made about love particularly.  How many people stop dead in their tracks and ask themselves this honest question: why doesn’t love work?  No one, because the answer would be devastating.  Love’s power is to destroy what faith and hope pretend to build up.  Yes, I say pretend, because they too are lies.  They uphold a triumvirate of endless, circular oppression.  Faith says, believe it even when every common sense in your mind says it’s a lie.  Hope then says, stick with this belief and things will work out for the good in the end.  Love says, if it feels good do it.  Don’t think about it.  Don’t reason it.  Just do it.  That could be the perfect motto for “free enterprise” capitalism.

A brief side trip with love.  In a small US town (Wichita Falls, Texas) earlier this month a 20 year old man kills a 13 year old girl he was obsessively “in love with” by shooting her 14 times.  Ain’t love grand.  Going back a few millennia, for God, love meant wiping out all sentient air-breathing living creatures on an entire world… “Ge. 6:7 So the LORD said, “I will wipe mankind, whom I have created, from the face of the earth — men and animals, and creatures that move along the ground, and birds of the air — for I am grieved that I have made them.”  I know others who love the world as much as God does.  Monsanto comes to mind… in fact the whole military industrial complex just loves the world to bits, literally, with its chemicals, cluster bombs and nukes. 

Anyone with a grain of common sense and an iota of knowledge of history would be able to see through these forces of oppression.  But of course the Powers don’t allow people to draw such a conclusion.  There is a powerful programming at work that maintains a permanent delusion that says change comes from switching allegiance between the Powers.  For a time, Religion rules the world.  Then the State rules.  When both have demonstrated their utter corruption, Money comes to the fore and forces all and sundry to worship at its altars.  Bankers and “business” now rule the world and push for globalism through oppression and bloodshed so they can gain ever more power.  Now you can see what corruption actually is, but it’s too late to save your civilization.  When the last head of the triumvirate of power loses it as we are experiencing now, that is the end of the civilization the gods raised, murdered with and finally plundered to the bare bones.    

Now some people are beginning to clue in that Money in the guise of capitalism is just another corrupt Power.  But what do they talk about as a replacement?  As a counter force?  Some speak of people coming together under a “loving” deity, let’s call her “Gaia” or some such nice motherly name, and some continue to believe that Government can be cleansed of its corruption, can rein in the power of Money and bring some kind of justice and peace to the world.  And for some, Money will solve everything, it just needs to be applied in the right places.  Never mind that these ideas have never worked.  Never mind that it’s impossible to rid any Power of its internal rot.  Logic and common sense do not rule here: faith, hope and love do.  And there are only three possible choices that people as collectives can pick from: Religion, Government or Money.  The Power Pizza has three slices.  These may vary in size but there is, and can only be, but three slices.  And, according to the status quo (which public education reinforces so everybody will believe this) nothing of consequence exists outside the outer circumference of the Power Pizza.

Behold your gods, O Earth!  

The Party – a short story

a short story   by Sha’Tara

Call it a day in the life, hey?  OK, a couple of days, whatever.  I drove 300 miles for this. Cancelled plans.  Re-scheduled jobs.    You be the judge whether I was a complete fool, or whether lady luck and Jove were vying to entrap me, set me up, or bless me with something I’d spent over half a life avoiding. 

Approaching, and just as I expected, there’s Lady Ruthledge in full evening regalia leaning casually against the front entrance door frame of her sprawling mansion.  I slow down to negotiate the rather tight curve in the old drive and pull up in front of what was once the garage and chauffeur’s living quarters. Strange to see only two other cars in the vicinity.  Am I that much too early?  As Lady R is certain to remind me, “How gauche, my boy.”

“Well my boy, congratulations.  You’re late by one whole day.”

“Well, good evening to you too, Diane.  Impossible, I’m early actually my dear.  It’s 18:33.  Dinner, said the invitation, is at 21:00, promptly.”

“Ah, the invitation.  Dinner, my dear boy, was last night.  You haven’t changed, have you.”

“Changed?  Am I supposed to have changed?” 

Sardonic smile times two.  Diane and I go back a few years.  No, a few years more than that, thank you.

“What day was the dinner party last year, Sims my boy?”

“Saturday.  Saturday evening.”

“As it was the year before?  And before that, yes?  You can remember that much, can’t you?”

“Yes, yes, of course I can remember.  It was always Saturday.  How well I remember.  Those girls you imported from Paraguay or Taiwan or Bosnia, wherever.  Damn, I sure do remember.”

“Fine, stop remembering so well for a moment and tell me what day this is?”

“Day?  Of the week?  Sunday.”

“Exactly.”

“But the date said, July 6th.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean, exactly?  You sent me a date, I came on that date.” 

“You came on a number on a piece of paper?  Weren’t you coming to a party, and aren’t my parties the greatest parties in the county, always?”

“Sure they are.  Oh, sure.  Yes!  Dammit, yes.  Mind, heart and body twisting best.”

“Who in their right mind has parties on a Sunday evening?”

“Ah!”

“Exactly. Well, do come in.  There are leftovers, and I’m sure Letta will rustle up something for you.  Hungry?”

“After driving over 300 miles like a bat out of hell, non-stop?  I’d say so.” 

“Then say so.  I’m afraid all my guests have left, hangovers and new-found loves thankfully gone with them. But who knows, there may be one or two still lingering about in the upstairs rooms or hanging in some closet.  I don’t keep the maids on weekends anymore, what would be the point?”

“The point?  I don’t know.  Sure, what would be the point?”

We enter the dining room to sit at a table that would have made the Knights of the Round Table and King Arthur blush with envy.  Two servings waiting under cover.

“Well, there you are.  Sit.  And dig in, as the plebes say.  I’ll keep you company while you eat.  As I was saying, there may still be a couple of guests about, and perhaps you can help me dig them out.  If they’re back to standing shape, maybe a bit of dancing and singing later?  Some drinking and love making?”

“Ever the master manipulator and tease, Diane.” 

“Exactly.  My specialty. Is the wine to your taste?”

Between mouthfuls.  “The wine?  Excellent.  Of course.”

“Yes of course.” 

So it went, all through dinner.  Just the two of us, Letta having left the room to attend to her kitchen duties.  Just Diane Ruthledge and I.  Talking.  Just small talk.  She sat opposite me, watching me eat, smiling when I let show how much I was enjoying the wine.  Ah, the wine.  I should have remembered the wine.  Well, I did, but I did not want to.  You know what I mean.

“More wine, dear?”

“Dear?  What happened to ‘my boy’ and ‘my boy Shims’?”

Am I slurring words?  Dimples betray a repressed smile.

“How were the veal cutlets?  Still palatable, I hope?”

“Excellent, excellent.  Never tasted any better.” 

I felt very thirsty, so I drank more of her marvelous wine.  Local, she said to me once.  I only serve local wine.  That, I will not import.  I drank local wine, more local wine, and each time I wanted more.  She served more but now I could not tell whence it came.  It just seemed to appear, one bottle, another… then she was sitting next to me. Smiling.  I had the presence of mind to realize I was totally, astonishingly, famously, utterly and irretrievably drunk.  Drunker than Bacchus at his inaugural bacchanal.  On wine of all things.  Past the point of feeling shameful I tried to get up, staggered, sat down, and watched the room begin to rotate, and if I moved my head, it would wobble.  It was the earth spinning in space.  And it wobbled – another scientific theory proved beyond any doubt.  By a computer programmer.  I heard something. 

“Huh?”

“Sims, listen to me.”

A voice talking to me from space; from another planet.  A voice I once knew but cannot place.

“Lisssssssssten toooooo meeeeeeeee!”

Slowing down, down.  Lights going out, candles snuffed, lamps dimmed, extinguished.  Sound of waves washing over shale.  

“Shhhhhhhhh…  Shhhhhhhhh…”

I wake up frightfully late the next morning.  Unfamiliar surroundings, large four poster bed.  Blankets, spreads and sheets twisted as a sea surface caught in a Caribbean typhoon.  Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but don’t blame me for that: you expect it, don’t lie.  And you want more.  You want to know, you know – “What Happened, and What Happens Next” – so predictable.

Slowly I turn my head.  There is the definite indentation of a body having laid beside me.  Who? Couldn’t remember.  There’s a breakfast on the side table.  One look and I’m off to the bathroom.  Thank God for toilet bowls.  After that hellish purge I remember the wine.  Red.  Red everywhere.  Red lips locking onto mine, eternally demanding satisfaction.  Whose lips?  Hips?  And all those other parts coming together in the definite form of a potential woman?  I stagger out of the bathroom to encounter a woman struggling to undo the effects of the typhoon over the bed.

“Er, hmmm…” I hear myself say and suddenly I feel, not pleasantly or lasciviously nude, but vulnerably naked.

“Oh, sorry Mr. Dearborn.  I thought you’d left.  May I help you dress?”

I realize it wasn’t a question after all.  And now she is being very thorough.

“You’ve done this before I gather.”

“Will you turn around please?  I have to tuck your shirt in.”

“Ok, fine.  Have me your way.  This is Monday, yes?”

“No sir, this is Tuesday.” 

“What?”

“Tuesday sir.  This is the day.  The auction is this afternoon.” 

“Auction?”

“I believe Mrs. Ruthledge is waiting for you downstairs.” 

“Thank you, uh…”

“Jane.”

“…Jane.”

At the foot of the stairs:

“Sims dear boy, are you going to grace us with your indulgent presence finally?”

“Come on Diane; I’ve got a splitting headache.  The sun’s too bright.”

“That’s the dining room light dear.  High clouds today, no sun.  But no rain either, I wouldn’t stand for it, not today.  Do you need some refreshments?  A light lunch?”

Again those dimples, the repressed smile.

“Please don’t mention food.  Not now, not today, maybe not ever.  What’s that about an auction?  The maid said something about an auction.”

“Selling the place, dear boy.”

Ah, that I caught.  A difference in her tone.  And an unfamiliar shrug, just a touch of apparent defeat in slightly sloping shoulders.  I hear vehicles approaching.  Diane has a tear, one tiny pearly tear, hanging at the edge of each eye.

“What is this all about Diane?”

“That’s it Sims.  I’m done for.  Broke.  If I’m really lucky today, I’ll break even.  Gone.  Gone with the wind.  Romantic, isn’t it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?  Maybe I could have done something.”

“Make me look like an incompetent, having someone else manage my affairs, Sims?  No, I had to take it to the end, take the plunge all at once.  This is an all or nothing world.  You can’t just go down gradually.  So I threw one last party.  The staff stayed on to help knowing that it was unlikely there’d be any extra money from the auction to pay their salary.  I don’t even know how to say ‘thank you’ to them.  I really don’t.”

And suddenly I saw her.  I saw, not Lady Ruthledge, but Diane.  A pretty, vulnerable petite brunette with waist-length hair brushed straight down.  In a plain, knee-length blue dress and slippers.  Tears running down her face.  And suddenly, just as suddenly, I realized that I loved her.  That I had always loved her.  Not the Princess and Queen of Ruthledge House, but this woman, this… Diane.  I walked up to her and took her in my arms just as her dam of pent-up sadness, of helpless fear, of sorrow and shame to be the one to witness her family’s downfall, broke, shattered. 

I let her cry on my chest as an army of professionals, buyers and onlookers filled the yards and took over the house.  I held her as each member of her staff came over and kissed her goodbye, wiping their own tears.  I held her as I guided her through the grass to my car, opened the door for her and placed her in, fastening her seat belt. 

We’ve been together five years now, married for two of those.  I think she’s getting used to the idea, but who really knows with a Ruthledge?  She’s certainly good to me and I think she loves me, as much as her state of mind will permit.  There’s a piece of her heart missing, a hole that I know I can never fill.  Too much of me is the rescuer—a bad spot to be in, and too much is too completely unlike her.  And I must admit, being of that part of the world, I haven’t given up on other women: they’re still there, as available as ever.  Don’t you love her? You’ll ask, and why don’t you respect her?  And I’ll tell you I do love her, of that there is no doubt.  And I do respect her.  The reason is, she lets me have my way and doesn’t express resentment.  And I let her have her way. 

Any other way and we would be at each other’s throats and we’ve both seen enough hell for one lifetime: that we have in common, if nothing else.

 

In the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave

                [a short story by   ~burning woman~   ]

“Don’t mince words: come right out and tell us!”  There is much anger in those voices, but more, it is a challenge, a challenge to back up my words; to prove myself.  Funny part is, that’s the very last thing I want to be able to do, but “they” don’t get it.  How many times do I have to say it: “I don’t want to be right.  But you have to prove me wrong!”

But instead, they shuffle back onto the porch of the old honky-tonk  – well, so to speak – and with hands in pockets, slouch forward, looking down at me standing in the mud of the partially thawed parking lot.  The garish red neon sign casts its bloody glow upon the surface between pickup trucks; bits of frozen soil reflect the light like rubies.  Thousands of fake rubies on top of ruts, a dozen rubes glaring from the porch.  Angry, upset, confused – dangerous in their abject destitution, desperate to strike out at anything that creates an unaccustomed chafing.

Of course the “argument” had been political.  Did I start it?  I don’t know, I may have mentioned the fact that international treaties were responsible for over half of these people being unemployed and having to supplement their welfare stamps with illegal activities, selling pot and hooch and their women, while those who work garner such pitiable wages from the mining corporations they can never, ever hope to make any of the endless ends meet. 

The sad thing is, there’s a tradition of this sort of thing here, long before the great depression of the 1930’s even.  Beating the “revenuers” and their women and children, is more than tradition or a way of life, it’s how these people measure their independence and freedom, even if on the long run the law wins and all of them have served, or will serve, long prison sentences.  The sad thing is, the women and the children play this game too, having no idea how to change the system of abject oppression they have to survive within and struggle under; having no idea there could even be a different kind of way. 

So there they stand, promoters of drugs, booze, prostitution, managing a prison designed by their elites, a self-serving dystopia maintained through a totally dysfunctional society feeding upon itself in an ever-shrinking loop.  Observe with me: through the open doors of the metal-clad rickety building, behind the bar is the country’s flag.  Of course.  And the money enriching the tills says, “In God we Trust.”  And every time a cash register rings its bell an angel gets its wings, isn’t that right?  

I see these things as a matter of course ‘cause in the land of the blind the one-eyed man is a visionary.  I see these people, staring at me, daring me, itching for a fight out here, in the mud of the parking lot.  And these men are proud!  Tell them their pride is the final nail in their dying world’s coffin and they will tear you to shreds.

So, friend, do as I do.  I lift up both arms, open my hands wide and wish them all a good night, walking slowly backward to my truck.  But when I finally get in the cab, lock the door and put my hands on the steering wheel, I notice they’re shaking.  I won’t deny it, I’m scared half to death as I drive away slowly, carefully and as quietly as the beast will let me, expecting headlights to flare up behind me and start following.  The parking lot remains dark.

You, sitting here in the bouncing cab, secure in your seat belt and staring at the winding road bordered by snaggy, leafless bushes, after witnessing the above, remember this: if you think you have some wisdom to impart to this world, be very circumspect because sharing wisdom to the average Earthian is casting pearls before swine.  Do not think that teaching wisdom is worth the price of martyrdom.  A society such as this cannot raise martyrs, your death would only serve as bloody entertainment to supplement its meager fare of pleasures and feed its desperate lusts.    

 

Balance and Harmony

 [observations from   ~burning woman~   ]

Quotes:  “You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.” —                Harlan Ellison

“To put everything in balance is good, to put everything in harmony is better.” ― Victor Hugo

Quotes are good to attract attention to an idea but beyond that they really mean nothing, having necessarily been taken out of context, and what matters is the context, not the quote. 

Having said that, and following my two quotes (and you can go ahead and say, or think, they are meaningless) I wish to say this:  in a lifetime of observation of how Earthian society goes about furthering and plundering itself, I notice that all of it is based on misinformation, disinformation, belief systems based on faith or theories, none of which can be proven as being fact.  One thing I found to be true of Earthian society: nothing about it is true.   

The motions of society are like a dull over-salted sea putrid with dead and dying growth, growth that exists only to further more growth without any desire to change or better itself.  The sluggish waves pile up more flotsam and jetsam upon the shores of the world’s “great” centers of civilization, burying them under thickening mantles of propaganda and lies, the stench of corruption rising like a festering, disease-filled steam over the earth, gradually rising up the sides of remaining mountains, and covering the poles, their pristine snows and glaciers melting and crumbling, their fetid waters flowing inexorably to be absorbed by the dying sea. 

Let me then give some context to the first quote:  you are not entitled to your opinion.  You are entitled to an informed opinion, if you must have one.  No one is entitled to be ignorant.  Sadly, that is obviously not how Earthians reason.  In fact, following the recent spate of election rhetoric down south it’s obvious that ignorance is held in very high regard; a necessary factor in claiming the highest seat of power in the land. 

How did Earthian society become so devastatingly ignorant that it is able and quite willing to destroy itself by destroying its living ecosystem and maybe its home world for no valid reason?  Well, it’s called entitlement.  That doesn’t apply only to the rich, but to every sector of society.  The rich, predictably, never have enough because the more they have of their own manufactured and artificial “richness” – the more they realize how ephemeral and baseless their accumulated false wealth is.  What they chased is now chasing them and they have to get more in order to stave off the inevitable: that unavoidable collapse each generation of entitled elite hopes will not catch up to them. 

And the poor, what about the poor?  Their excuse for contributing to the demise of the planet is economic survival by having lots and lots of “kids” for support in their old age.  They need income, so killing the last elephant, or lion, or taking the last tree, the last ‘whatever,’ or serving the chemical monsters of the age by using deadly chemicals on crops for growth and protection from insect infestations is all legitimate.  After all, aren’t we all entitled to the good life, however we may find it?  If not the good life, at the very least some type of survival.  Does the long term cost matter?  Not when the immediate is so immediate.  Not when food has to be put on the table today… Not when money is needed to satisfy some addiction to drugs or alcohol. 

Rich or poor, it’s all the same.  No one but the rare few understands the need to take responsibility for the whole, and of those who actually do, all is lost when they turn their heads to the past, or the existing structure and think to tinker with it and make it change course a half-degree here, a quarter-degree there in the hope that the ship of state will avoid the string of deadly breakers they can hear in the dark; breakers that will rend and crush the hull of the ship and send it to the abyss.  But the problem is, the structures of the past have so rusted that the tiller does not respond any longer, and the ship will not be turned.  Nor is there enough power left in the engines to slow it down: entropy has set in.  Stand and watch… Listen to the billions of passengers in the hold begging for a bowl of soup, the millions in the lounges drinking and laughing, and the million more  curious with their cell phones on the upper decks clicking in the darkness for a sharper image of a deadly breaker to send to “friends” in the lower decks. “Hey look, that’s what a live mushroom cloud looks like!”

The second quote by Victor Hugo: to put everything in balance is good; to put everything in harmony is better.  That’s a good thought.  You see, with tremendous effort and much sacrifice, using a planet-friendly technology some kind of balance could possibly be gained.  Personally I do not believe man still has that option but if one believes in miracles… OK, we get rid of “polluting” fuels and replace them with wind/solar/geothermal energy.  Great costs, great upsets, great and sore trials, running and running before the flood.  We achieve a shaky temporary balance and we keep up the pressure for change and we hold back the tide.  Balance.  Good. 

We have balance, but do we have harmony?  We’ve replaced a kind of polluting energy with a less polluting one and the cities still function, though millions have died by now, deprived of cheaper, more accessible fuels.  What we haven’t done is bring in harmony.  We haven’t eliminated over population.  Nor racism.  Nor misogyny.  Nor economic disparity.  Nor poverty.  Nor slavery.  Nor the strangleholds of Religion, the State or Money.  The old gods still rule.  The wars are still going on and the “great economies” are still based on oppression and killing.  We haven’t achieved harmony and therefore our balancing act is essentially a wasted effort.  We delayed the inevitable downfall of society and the death of billions by a few decades, perhaps a couple of centuries but we haven’t solved any of man’s innate problems. 

What did we miss?