Tag Archives: Violence

Our World is Essentially a Violent Place (or if you wish, How did I discover myself here from there?)

[scattered remembrances from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

This may come across as a strange piece of admission but…???

When we are young we live as if we were immortal. That is a truism except that for some of us, we do not want that immortality which translates as eternity. It demands responsibility we have no idea how to deal with.

Some of us are born watchers, observers of our world, perhaps because at birth we partially broke out of the programming, or because it didn’t take. So what do we see, or to be more personal (and honest) what did I see?

I saw that the weak and the meek get the raw deal. Though I sometimes saw the other side of the coin what hit home was its dark side: the fear, the hate, the distrust, the anger – the IN-JUST-ICE!

I cringed when the parents fought each other and there was no place to hide except under useless blankets if I couldn’t get dressed quickly enough to run for the barn and hide among the cows, not for protection but for their warmth and so as not to have to listen and feel the “terror” taking place in the house, a terror that could quickly turn against me as the convenient scapegoat.

Then I got older and saw that the family squabbles resembled the world squabbles only these were on a much greater scale. I was learning responsibility too at the same time. More choices.

Mine, I judged, was a harsh world with little leeway in terms of forgiveness. You made a mistake, you paid a price, often way beyond the weight of the mistake. The same was true of nations and races; of the poor and for the powerless gender, all claims and propaganda to the contrary.

I so desired to do away with myself but what to do? I had a life and my religion stated unequivocally that if I took that life I was damned to exist in a burning hell for eternity: again, no escape, not even the warm flank of a milk cow there. I would stare at a pitch fork and try to imagine what it would feel like to be endlessly prodded by that as a punishment for something I had done out of despair millions of years ago. I would also know that despair was another mortal sin that was added to my punishment, of course.

So no escape, just choices. I saw and felt pain, my earliest recollection. Then I saw jealousy and senseless expectations. I saw injustice and how it nurtured fear, doubt, distrust, hate, anger and brutality. Where in that did I fit in? Nowhere, but since there was nowhere to hide from all of it, and as my knowledge expanded exponentially, I sensed a growing awareness of the essential brutality of the world and I was forced to make hard choices.

I saw two: I could choose to accept and suffer the arrows of injustice upon myself and for the most helpless of the world (I did not know that was known as being empathetic) or I could fight back. Fighting back meant using violence, no matter what word is used to hide that fact and using violence meant losing my heart. It wasn’t what I wanted but it seemed to be the only logical choice.

At the beginning of this journey and still much in the dark as to who I was and what I would choose to become, I chose anger as my companion and then violence just seemed to make sense. It took several years before I realized that my reliance on anger was eating me up and then came more guilt: was I committing suicide? I wanted to leave this world desperately but was I willing to risk the potential consequences? I had already sacrificed my heart to one choice, would I lose myself for eternity?

The frightened child had grown into an adult. I had learned to bluster my way into the adult world even if I felt I were an alien or something altogether weird. I hid my real thoughts and feelings and expressed only those I thought would make me seem normal and acceptable. I used ideas and words from books, magazines, the radio, songs, sermons, political speeches, and that seemed to satisfy people even though it polarized them. For a time I was a complete stranger to myself but at least I had some mental peace, a pretense of belonging and discovered I had accessed some power.

I might continue this and explain how I came to the edge of my own personal black hole and found myself inexplicably pulled out of it.

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #36

End of last post: … His face turns into a snarl and he lunges.  I parry and slash.  The blade does its work and cuts between the slit in his coat.  Blood gushes from his thigh and he winces, jumps back and prepares for another assault.  He’ll be more careful and more dangerous now. [end blog post #35]

[begin blog post #36

He’s angry more than hurt.  The cut was not life-threatening and did not slow down his movements.  He manages to slice into my forearm but I pull out of his slash in time, replying with another long wide swing that takes him on the shoulder.  To my surprise, the light axe bites through his protective armour and cuts deep into the arm.  He reels back but recovers before I can jump him and administer the slash across the throat I had anticipated.  I get a double cut on the calf of my left leg and now my blood is pouring out.  Were it not for Deirdre’s gift of stim and the cheelth coating in the laces the fight would have ended there – a sobering realization.

Risking it all I pull within his swing and turning as if to drive my pike in his stomach, I balance on my good leg and let the other rise impossibly high – doing those splits everyday may yet pay off – and having activated the hidden sole blade, I bring my leg down again, the tip of my sandal aimed straight at his heart.  This was beyond anything he could have anticipated or any information he may have purchased because I have never used this move since the day I killed that “careless” trainer, and that was pure accident.  As for the blade in the shoe, I can only guess he thought such a weapon too silly to be of any value, the extra weight on the feet not worth the effort and dismissed the concept. Remember what I said earlier about difference? A weapon does not have to be superior if it can help create the unexpected.

He cannot parry the kick in time and doubles over, the look of contempt for me frozen on his face.  I pull my foot back, regain my balance, swing the good edge of my axe and slash swiftly with my remaining strength.  His head is almost completely severed from the neck and I watch the corpse twitch to its death, the bloodied mustache hiding the rictus smile.  I practically eject myself from the fighter trance I’d hypnotized myself into to make myself aware of my surroundings and the sad shape my body is in. The stim is still working and I haven’t begun to feel my pain yet.

Instead of the usual spitting and cries of “Death!  Death!  Death”  there is no sound coming from the stands.  My trainers come and take me down through the tunnel.  Is it over?  I survived and I’m alive?  Same question each time.  You never get used to this even though you tell yourself each time you will return.

After roughly stripping me of my armour they take me to the shower stall and dump cold water on me.  I almost collapse from the shock and pain from my cuts.  I barely hang on to the edge of the trough, bent over, one hand in my mouth to keep from screaming.  Then I’m walked to the doctor’s clinic and again Deirdre is there, having somehow managed to get herself released from the cage.  She is allowed to follow behind, doing so in an uncharacteristically meek way.  Once inside the doctor’s office and the door closed, he helps me on his working table and quickly goes to work cleaning the cuts to cauterize them with a laser pen and sew up the worst ones. 

Deirdre holds me down but nothing is given to ease the pain.  I want to scream with the added pain but I understand the need of it: I have to return to the arena for round two, so they cannot give me pain killers or any other drug that would slow me down, confuse my thinking or knock me out altogether.  I must be able to feel my body, pain and all.  Also speed is of the essence so no luxury of time for another treatment by the auto-med.

“The slave will wait for you outside; I must speak to you alone,” says the doctor.  I sense another of those moods in him and say nothing.  He continues to examine me carefully.  I feel his emotions.  I must be exuding an extra measure of those pheromones.  I sense a kind of admiration mixed with loathing and hate towards me.  He would have taken me, even in my condition, I can easily tell he wants to, but some greater force prevents him.

After taking several deep breaths and running his fingers through his hair he says, “You are the only fighter on the roster today, I must warn you.  The reason is simple.  You belong to House Tassard.  No, you belong specifically to the King.  When you first arrived here in Hyrete and were put up for auction by the freelance slave hunters who found you, his aides came to look you over and when they reported what they saw, the King decided to buy you.”  

So that’s what the brother meant when he said he’d kill the King’s favourite animal.  I am the King’s fighter.  All the years I’d wondered who owned me until finally I gave up trying to find out and learned to concentrate on my purpose.  Interesting.  That explains a lot, especially the gradual ‘perks’ I’ve been granted with training and in weapons design, choices and handling.  I wasn’t alone.

“Wonder not I know these things.  I am assistant to the King on a regular basis.  He it is who orders me to take care of you…  but I cannot be here all the time.  I spend much time in the castle with the King, dealing mostly with the more serious state matters for politically, things are not well in Elbre.  Because I cannot always be here when you need me, I arranged for the Cholradil to be given to you.  We have taught her many new medical skills so she can take care of you when I cannot be here, or when I’m otherwise busy.  She has not spoken to you of these things because we bonded her into silence.  Once so bonded Cholradils cannot violate the trust put into them, however impossibly they be tortured or put through truth probes.  They cannot unlock their information to divulge it outside of their own minds.

“So I must warn you again that today is a special day.  It is adoption day for the King.  He has chosen a son from a specially raised group of boys bred for leadership among the aristocracy.  That is how they get their heirs here.  As a sign of goodwill he has opened the arena seats free to all propertied and moneyed interests who wished to attend and has decreed no taxes would be levied – today only – on any profits made from the gambling.  The King of course, hopes you will win.  He has promised to put his personal winnings in a special account for his son.  Believe me, if you do win, that money will be considerable.

“So it’s a great celebration but on the downside, it became known that his brother has been seeking to kill the King to take the throne.  There was much hate between these brothers – who were boys from different crèches.    It was the brother who contrived to have you fight the drook.  Your death was to cost the King a fortune and was meant to weaken him financially.  When you defeated the drook, the brother lost a fortune to gambling debts and legal claimants to the drook’s wages.  He went into a terrible rage and made a vow to kill you himself – a vow eternally binding upon the person who takes it if taken before three reliable witnesses, which was done.

“So he had you watched and also came to see you fight himself.  He took special training in the axe because, as you said, it is a most difficult weapon for a female to handle.  But he failed to recognize the value of your new designs.  He also underestimated both your strength and endurance though it was your speed that cost him his life.  Now his hireling and aide has, by contract and previous arrangement, to avenge the death.  Your next encounter is against Torlat whom I am told, you have already briefly met?”

“Well doctor, I only saw him.  He did not speak to me, nor did he come near me.  The Tassard did all the talking.”

“That is how it is.  Another warning: he is taciturn, yes, but highly intelligent and thoroughly into hand-to-hand weaponry.  Likely he will prove to be even more formidable and dangerous than the King’s brother.  With this one, I suggest you take your time for the obvious reason: it is easier to outlast a known opponent once you know his basic moves than to take on a new one.  Well, I don’t need to tell you that, it’s just a reminder. Also, since you are the only defender for the day, it’s all a matter of lasting out the time.  The King will terminate the sport once you kill this Torlat if you make it last long enough.  Otherwise the rule is that you must face a third contender to satisfy the requirements of gambling.  Third contender, triple winnings.

If the King leaves, the fighting ends.  So make it last, for your own sake.  They won’t give you any reprieve in terms of time, not after killing the Prince.” 

He suddenly reaches for me, pulls me up so I am sitting and we are face to face.  He puts his arms around me and holds me tightly.  There are tears in his eyes and even in my pain I feel a moving of my heart for him. 

He takes my hand in his, squeezes it.  “I care for you, Antierra.  I have lived here fifteen classic years and I am cursed with this planet’s madness, ‘tis true, but I know in my clear moments that I care much for you.  Please be careful in this next fight.  One at a time; just one at a time.  Remember no one can do what you do.  No one can fight like you and certainly no one knows weapons like you do.  You can win this next fight.  You must win it and you will win it.”   

His entreaty is genuine.  I reply, “You’ve given me two reasons to come out alive sir.  Deirdre and you.  To be cared for as a slave woman in this place is truly the ultimate gift.  To be cared for by a man?  If I did not honestly believe that all things are possible I’d say to myself, ‘this is impossible; it’s a trick.’  But I believe you.  I want to believe you doctor.  I need to believe you.”

[end blog post #36]

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #15

begin blog post #15]

“You were dropped here, then?”

Again he emphasizes the word “dropped” to indicate it means more than what he is saying.  I don’t understand what he really means by it but I infer he means landed by someone not of Malefactus, for some purpose of their own, someone who then vanished without trace in some flying contraption or shuttle craft equipped to detect and foil all of the planet’s detection systems.

“No sir, I do not believe the word dropped is the correct way to put it.”  I still dare not tell him what I really remember about myself: that I was able to reincarnate full grown out there in the desert having travelled here from some place even I can barely describe at this time.  So I try to create a plausible story that he could buy, at least for the moment.

“I must have been cast away then, but I cannot remember from where I am, or what or who brought me here.  I awoke on a sand dune, as the reports indicate.  True, and walked a long way until I smelled the wood smoke from the rebel women’s camp.  I went down into it.  I found I could speak their language enough to communicate easily.  They gave me drink and food and saved my life.

“Two days later the slave hunters found us and the women killed five of them before they were overrun.  All the children were slaughtered and most of the women – there were twenty one of them.

“I knelt upon the sand during the fighting and killing, not knowing what was happening or why women and men were killing each other there – or why men would kill defenceless children.  Six women survived, two badly wounded who were killed and left on the open desert.  Only four and myself made it back here.  That is all I remember.  You know the rest, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I read the damn report.  You take me for a fool, gora?  You’re lying.  How many others were dropped with you, on this planet or nearby worlds?  What do they hope to accomplish here?  What are you here for?”

I look at him and shrug, turning my head just as he lifts his hand and hits me totally unexpectedly and brutally on the side of my face.  As a trained fighter I should have been able to detect some shift of body or some give-away in facial expression.  I should have been able to sense something.  But I saw or sensed nothing unusual coming from him, either before or after he hit me.  It’s as if he’d already planned to terminate our “interview” in that fashion or he wasn’t even aware of what he had just done.

I make no move at all, taking the blow within as if fully deserved.  Blood pours from my lips, cut on impact on my own teeth.  He stands up suddenly and pressing the com unit on his wrist to open the outer door he orders in a peremptory tone that broaches no hesitation on my part: “Go! – Get out!”

I walk out, near to collapse from the blow to the head, the previous beatings in the fight and an empty stomach.  I stand groggily a few steps outside his door freezing and shaking in pouring rain, every rain drop giving the impression of an ice needle going into my skin.  I have to hold my hand over my mouth to keep my teeth from chattering.  Water and blood mix and run freely down my arms, thighs and legs to the wet stones.  I wait, as I must, for no woman is allowed to go anywhere without being escorted.

Handlers arrive, presumably summoned by the doctor, and they escort me to the eating place, to the long rough-hewn tables with smooth-worn benches along the kitchen walls.  Several women are there, as naked as I in the freezing rain, eating from bowls filling with rain water as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  Well, for them, it probably is because they cannot imagine the possibility of alternate choices.  I wish I couldn’t either; maybe what I am going through at this moment would be easier to bear of I did not know of alternative lifestyles.

The food is served by the youngest trainees.  Old women, not fighters, work in the kitchens.  My portion arrives and I find myself ravenous.  I eat carefully, trying to avoid my broken lips, wincing with the pain.  One tooth is loose and I feel terrible.

I force my mind away from my immediate problems to create a “safe zone” in my thinking.

So it was that damned chakr drug that so upset my stomach.  Idiots, they could have killed me with that stuff, or I could have passed out entirely after the fight began – I’m intolerant to most drugs.  Must work on that too.  I can accept the inflicted pain – can I learn to overcome the effects of their poisons and drugs?  On Old Earth billions of humans survived the toxic effects of air, water and soil pollution for over two hundred years.  I remember living a life I considered healthy during the worst of their environmental crises.  So it’s not impossible to adapt to poisonous conditions even given little lead time.  Humanoid bodies are short-lived but quite resilient in their own way.

I wolf down all they give me and seeing I’m still hungry, they double my portion at a nod from the handlers.  They certainly seem pleased.  My “doctor” may be upset at me now – and may well have me killed – but somebody’s happy from my day’s success, I think.  Somebody made good on my “work” of the day I bet.

And at that moment I feel nothing but absolute disgust for these men.  Ugly, stinking, heartless creatures, all of them.  The women refer to these types as “dungut.”  And their world has shaped itself to their ways.  Why would I have thought, long ago in some never-never world they or their counterparts on Old Earth were worth redeeming?

So, great.  Add “hate” to my list of personal failings to date.  That particular vice was not supposed to be part of my repertoire.  I’m still plummeting toward my personal nadir.

[end blog post #15]

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. 

The Garbage Man – Part III

Continuing with the story, “The Garbage Man”.  What was to be a short story has taken off on me and is well on its way to becoming another fantasy novel.  No idea where it is going either.  I hope you do enjoy it.  The title will eventually change and Lotharic, you will discover, will return to his earlier name, Edgar, not only by popular request but because Beanna prefers it.  Oh, and the name, Allay is pronounced “Ally.”  And typos may be lurking where least expected… Otherwise, let’s see what dreams may come.

CONTENTS DELETED.  If you need this section for reference, please contact me via email:  shatara@telus.net

{start of part III}

“I feel so terribly cold…”

Lotharic brought Beanna out of the transition trance and explained: “I took you between worlds and it was your body that felt the cold of abandonment. We cannot travel thus physically. Whenever we enter the astral worlds we must leave our physical bodies behind.”

“Put the sword away, Beanna. What happened here, none of it was your fault, or even your doing. I manipulated your thoughts and feelings to expose your darkest side. It was necessary. Now, together, we will work on bringing out the compassionate, caring, loving Allaya. We will transform you. But again, let me emphasize: you needed to see for yourself; to experience, the depth of evil you are capable of as a human being. What you saw and did today is true for your entire race, or species. It is who and what you are. Some of you, particularly women and children hide it well from themselves, but the “good” among you are the exceptions and your goodness is always artificially produced. You are not naturally good, but rather always bend towards evil. Soon you will understand and fully accept that. The Allay and Allaya knew this fact about Earthians before they agreed to come here. We thought we understood the risks of course.”

{End of Part III – 180113}

Blogger’s Swan Song, or Change of Direction?

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

This is for the few who follow, and participate in, this particular blog.

The title isn’t spurious.  I’ve been doing much thinking about blogging in the last while, and questioning my motives for doing so.  I’ve traveled the “blogosphere” in politics, economics, religion, real life stories, news reporting, fiction, poetry, well, just about every category.  And I’ve thrown in quite a few comments on many blogs, many not exactly popular nor politically correct: I have a habit of challenging and questioning, pushing the envelope, see what comes out.  I don’t accept “stuff” easily, due to a long time of experience and observation on this world of “easy believism” and that has paid off many a time.

Bluntly, I’m tired of reading about “stuff” I already know about, some since I was a teenager (political, medical and banking corruption for example).  I’m tired of reading about global issues I can’t do a thing about, or so little it wouldn’t make an iota of difference even if I gave my life to it.  Off the top: how many people remember Rachel Corrie and Kayla Mueller or why they should be remembered?  I’m tired of reading really great essays, articles and reports on matters I know can only be dealt with by those “in power” and knowing that it is those very people who are the prime movers of the disparity, injustice, oppression, exploitation, environmental destruction that the articles are addressing.  I’m tired of the usual false hope and cautions included “de rigueur” at the end of almost all of them, such as, “the youth are waking up” or “we’re all in this together and we can solve this” or “we better do something soon before it is too late.”

If I decide to continue blogging, I am going to return to my original thought on why I engaged this process.  My idea was that first, the blog being mine, I could express whatever I wanted on it.  And what I wanted was to propose real solutions to what appears to be insolvable, irresolvable and insurmountable social problems of global injustice, war and anthropogenic climate change which affects everyone and everything on this tiny world.  I wanted to address and discuss how people collectively interact with each other, with fellow creatures and their natural environment and propose solutions, or a solution.

I didn’t want to play with tried and failed concepts or solutions.  Anything tried and failed is obviously a non solution.  If it didn’t take before, it won’t take now.  So we need to “source” our particularly Earthian problems to find source solutions.  Then we need to apply those solutions and always remember that any other already experienced “solutions,” if they seem to work, are localized and temporary at best.  We must also remember that the Matrix learned how to defeat such “solutions” in the past and will viciously denounce and effectively attack and neutralize such. We must also remember that apart from the Matrix and its elites, the more vociferous and dangerous enemies of social solutions will be, as always, the slaves of the Matrix, the majority sheeple: the believers, the voters, the patriots.

Yes, the Status Quo, the “System,” the “Matrix,” and its bureaucracies, that power is public enemy number one, regardless of what form it manifests under.

Here are some thoughts my blog was going to address, hopefully discuss:

When you go to vote, or support a particular political party, regardless of what it claims to stand for, you are voting and supporting your enemy, your family’s enemy and your world’s enemy.  There are no exceptions.

When you go to work for a wage, you are empowering your enemy.  There are no exceptions.

When you take out a loan, buy on credit, use a credit card, or take a mortgage, you are paying your enemy to despoil you.  There are no exceptions.

When you go to a church, or a mosque, or a temple, when you pray to, bow down to, kneel to a god or gods, praise them or glorify them or give them credit for your life in some way, you are empowering your archenemies.  There are no exceptions.

The programming that Earthians exist under is quasi-absolute.  Many who escape the clutches of Religion immediately fall into other forms of idolatry such as political ideologies, science and technology, particular philosophies, esoteric ancient or New Age teaching; Darwinism, environmentalism, and hedonism as in the single-minded pursuit of success, health, riches, pleasure.  These are a different sort of idolatry but idolatry nonetheless.  None address the fundamental problem of programming, brainwashing, dependency or reliance on old systems that poisons the Earthian mind.  I have yet to meet one individual who was fundamentally changed by engaging in any of the above.  Repeat: fundamentally changed, i.e., had her/his very nature changed.

It comes down to lifestyle.  To performance.  I have annoyed so many people who have “offered” me solutions to practically everything that doesn’t work by stating: don’t tell me, show me.  Demonstrate.  I want to see it, and I want to participate in your personal engagement to your solution(s) – how much of “you” is in the solution, how little of “you” remains outside of it.  I need to see it work for you, by you.  No assurances, no claims.  I don’t buy pigs in a poke. (Meaning. An offer or deal that is foolishly accepted without being examined first.)

Can’t demonstrate?  Don’t bother with the reams of philosophical and technical reasons why it can’t work “that way” when you claim that it theoretically can.  I’m not interested in excuses any longer.  I’m done with the endless bullshit; with empty feel-good promises.  I don’t care if your particular god is going to save your ass from hell because you say you believe in him or it.  I don’t care if your precious NASA is taking some of you to Mars in the near future, or to the end of the universe for that matter.  I don’t care if you did or did not, ever, make it to the moon; if what the world witnessed on a lying TV system was performed in studios or in low orbit.  I don’t care if you’re about to build the next highest ever skyscraper hotel. I don’t even care if your national debt is in the trillions of dollars or if your entitled youths can’t afford university.  I don’t care if you’re seriously considering blowing yourselves up in a long-expected and hoped for nuclear show down.  If you’re going to do it, do it.  Don’t keep talking about it and titillating yourselves with the idea of spending Christmas at ground zero (and thanks, Weird Al, for that idea.).

All of the above are spurious and detract from the main issue: life on a normal, natural, non-violent, safe, clean world.  That’s what we, as a people, need to not just address, but bring about.  We have the means, we just don’t have the dream, vision, or desire to do it.  We’ll believe any lie by our leaders but we won’t believe what we know to be true for every one of us.

There is a very simple, practical and universal, as well as universally applicable, solution to man’s social problems.  This particular solution (notice I am not putting it in quotes) will – notice that little word: will – guaranteed – end all wars; end all oppression and exploitation of one-another; end all corruption; end every sort of crime imaginable; end lust for violence in race, gender, nation, religion, class.  Most importantly it will end lies.  That is, it will end the brainwashing.  Once people realize they can think for themselves as individuals and make their own decisions, take responsibility for their place in the world, they will change their ways and their world will change accordingly.  All the crap that makes life here unbearable, frightening, scary, horrible, murderous, unsafe and demeaning will turn to fertilizer.

“You” are so close.

The current elitist madness; the need to control national economies; the drive for globalism and totalitarianism world-wide: these are the indication that the Matrix is running scared, out of time and its servants, the elites, are panicking.  Unlike ordinary people you won’t see them in mobs running about the streets setting their stores on fire and killing each other.  You will see them retrenching from the body politic, securing resources behind lines of militarized police and military forces, cutting back on social services through control of governments.  You will see them demanding absolute allegiance from their privileged protectors, smashing the faces of the poor that they find contemptible because they hate and fear them.  They are scared and the more scared they are the more bluster they need to show, the more they need to strut their power, the more blood they need to shed and show to the world.  The Hunger Games, remember that story, you’re now a participant in it.

And, let me repeat this: the solution to all of our problems is simple.  It is the simplest solution anyone could imagine.  Does it work?  Yes.  I know because I’ve tested it and I live by it.  So I know that if it works for me it will work for anyone: I’m as anybody as they come.

What could possibly prevent such a wonderful solution from being lived and applied to current problems by everybody?  I know it isn’t because they aren’t aware of its availability.  It’s because of collective cowardice.  When it comes to confronting their enslaving Powers Earthians are certifiable cowards.  They choose slavery and call it freedom because it lets them exist within controlled enclaves without wearing chains.

They’re afraid of the solution; afraid of its effectiveness; afraid of how it would change everything they believe in and have forced themselves to be comfortable with.  To the average Earthian the solution is more frightening than climate change or the prospect of nuclear war and that makes it the most dangerous revolutionary idea ever.

You know what I’m talking about.  It’s been walking behind you, beside you, sometimes even in front of you, and trying to talk to you since you were born.  And you’ve deliberately ignored it because you have been listening to your programming, to the voice of the Matrix.  That makes you willing agents of the Matrix; accomplices in the destruction of your world, yourselves and your so-called loved ones.  You really, bottom line, don’t care.  You think you do, say you do, but if you did you’d be desperately applying the solution to every aspect of your life, lives.  Why? Because you have nothing else.  Nothing.

So, do I continue blogging, I wonder?  Right now it doesn’t seem important at all.  Right now what seems more important is to look within and make sure that all is well there.

 

Liza’s Invisible Man

[a short story, by Sha’Tara]

For those who know me, this needs no introduction.  For those who don’t know me, I’m the recluse, the quiet one, the dreamer.  I live on the edge of the worlds that have made a pretence of harbouring me, and I do not trust them.  I trust nothing that pretends to be what it isn’t and if life has taught me anything, it’s that everything is pretence.  Fake.  Lies.  Definitely not conducive to trust.

But now, imagine the opposite; that everything was trustworthy, safe, true, real.  Can you imagine the extreme boredom of such a condition?  Unthinkable to me.  And this brings me to talk about Elizabeth, or Liza as she was then known.

Liza was a bit crazy.  Some said it was because both her parents died in jail and that her adoptive parents should have gotten the same.  I only knew the bits about her I got to know during our last two years of high school.  We sat together sometimes during lunch and compared notes.  We talked about boyfriends, well, as I remember she didn’t say all that much.

“C’mon Liza, who is he?” I pushed her once.

“Not that it’s anybody’s business, but he’s the invisible man.  Much too old and sophisticated to be around here.  He’s self assured, rich but not ostentatious.  He can be funny at times.  But I like him best when he’s being serious.”

“Oh!  And the name of this paragon of manhood?”

“He doesn’t have a name.  A name would spoil him, it, the scene, can’t you see that?  An invisible man with a name?  That would make him visible.”

“So who is it? Who?”

“He’s the invisible man.  Why do you want to know more?”

“It’s natural curiosity, Liza.  Maybe… maybe he doesn’t exist at all except in your mind, yes?  Is that why you won’t tell me who he is?  He’s a figment of your imagination?”

“Is that what you think?  That I’m hallucinating a man?  That I couldn’t get one any other way?”  She got up, threw her lunch wastes in the garbage bin and walked away without turning her head, her pony tail swinging wildly as she walked out of the cafeteria.

That was the last time we talked.  She avoided me after that and frankly I was relieved.  That was too close for comfort.  I’m a book person.  Other peoples’ private lives might contain a certain aura of mental interest but not for very long.  Boredom sets in.  I prefer action romance to every day middle class lives of frustrated teens with bad sexual experiences or hearing about their parents’ failed lives.  Jesus, listen to me.  Seventeen and as jaded as an old spinster.  “Oh Jane, you’ve got the brains, the marks, you can be whatever you want.  A librarian?  There’s no future in that, haven’t you heard of computers?  By the time you’re thirty libraries will exist in the cloud and a book will be something you go see in a museum, or in someone’s collection.  Really Jane, where’s the drive?”  It was that line, or similar lines, that followed me through high school.  But what better company can one have but books?

About a month after the cafeteria incident, Monday morning, I came in to an announcement for a general meeting for the entire school in the auditorium.  Bother, I hate these things.  Hired a new business manager?  The grade eleven Physics teacher quit?  The principal got an award for saving a few thousand dollars for the school by closing down the music department? New security measures to be taken?  Whatever it is, it’s the last place I want to go to, but no choice, the hallways were blocked and we were all ushered into the auditorium.

We took seats and we waited, nervously, impatiently and noisily.  I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be there.  Finally our vice principal, Mr. Morgan, came on the stage and asked for silence.  After some time the room quietened completely.

“Students of Eleanor Pringle High, I’m sad to announce that I have some bad news for you, for all of us.  One of your classmates, fellow student, Elizabeth Raynor was found murdered in Sullivan park early this morning.  This news was kept from the media until this announcement could be made.  Counselling services for those close to Miss Raynor are available through the office.  Any of you who wish to deal with this in your own way by taking the day off may do so.  Normal classes to resume tomorrow morning.  Again, the principal, myself and all the staff offer their sympathies for your loss, our loss.”

After dismissal I was accosted by Brian Lopez.  “Hey Jane, you used to talk to Liza at lunch.  Do you remember her talking about an invisible man?”

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“Did she ever describe him, like what he looked like, give you his name?”

“She wouldn’t talk about it, said he had to remain invisible.”

“That’s it, see?  Yesterday around lunch time we met at the Subway in the mall.  We sat together for a snack and talked.  She was excited, said she was meeting her invisible man in the park that evening.”