Before She Woke

Mom called her and her older sister into the kitchen and asked them to sit down. “I have something to tell you.”

It felt ominous. She got a little bit scared. She can’t remember now if Mom did any more setting up of the oncoming words or not. Maybe she said, “You aren’t going to like it.” She can’t recall but the feeling of remembering included that kind of vibe.

“Santa isn’t real. Neither is the Easter Bunny.”

She started to cry. “Is GOD real?” The little girl asked. Her older sister didn’t flinch.

“Yes, GOD is real,” her mother answered. She sounded pretty convincing but she had just exposed a big old lie. How could she be trusted with any other kind of truth?

She started to question everything. It got her into a heap a lot of trouble everywhere she was. Teachers. Preachers. Friends and enemies. No one wanted her questions. Everyone already knew whatever it was they knew and couldn’t be convinced to think about her questions even the slightest. She felt so all alone.

“Why would a good God send anyone to Hell? Why wouldn’t he just send them to nowhere where they couldn’t come back to life and wouldn’t know they’d left?” That was Hell enough she thought. That thought was certainly Hell to her.

“What would we be if we weren’t? How does something come from nothing? Where can something go once it’s been? It can’t go to nowhere. Nowhere isn’t anywhere.”

She likes to dream now because dreams seem to have the best kind of explanation capabilities.

She wonders what a dream is. Is it GOD telling her the truth?

Almost every day before she wakes she has some kind of dream. Some are good and some are bad. The other day, before she woke, she dropped a little dog down a hole that was too small for her to get through and the dog was too far away to reach — way down what seemed like it was underneath a street. The dog fell right into another hole that was filled with water. All she could do was look on in horror as the dog sank farther into the hole filled with water — certainly about to drown.

What was GOD trying to tell her?

She kept screaming for someone to help. She was hoping there was someone underground since she couldn’t get through the hole and couldn’t make it bigger. Couldn’t someone possibly see? Wouldn’t they try to help a helpless little doggy certain to drown without someone elses help. She was helpless. What was all that space under the road for if not for space for someone else or others to dwell? Where were all the underground dwellers when they were needed? Weren’t there at least some kind of zombies?

It was a helpless situation and something was about to die. She couldn’t bear it. Before she couldn’t bear another minute she awoke.

That was one of the bad dreams. Good dreams don’t require waking up so soon.

 

Header image credit: Pixabay search for “Asphalt

 

 

 

 

 

Days Like Those

The smell of chlorine and baby oil and the feel of a hot sun beating down long enough after lounging for awhile on a towel where jumping in the NCO Club pool was again in order — let’s go back to days like those.

Though now it would be better to be able to jump in a clean, natural lake or pond without any oil on or chlorine in the water and let the sun penetrate the skin — but that was long ago made out of order. Are there any clean lakes left — or ponds?

We called it The Polliwog Pond and couldn’t wait for summer to come so we could wade out, against our mother’s orders, to scoop a few tadpoles up into a jar to watch them turn to frogs. We had our sun suits on and thongs. Thongs in those days were flip flops.

There was a huge field used for growing potatoes. There was a big low spot that must have had enough clay in the desert sand that it could hold water for days on end after a big enough rain event.

“Lets go to The Polliwog Pond!” we’d exclaim after we imagined there had been enough summer rain.

“Don’t get your sun suits wet,” our mother would remind us as we darted out the door. The polliwog pond was less than a quarter of a mile away but to get there we could easily traipse through neighbors’ yards, cross a nearly empty street, traipse through more houses of people we didn’t know or take the dirt road that skirted by the row of houses’ side to get to the potato field where polliwogs might be.

We were three. I can’t remember any friends. Three sisters, that was we and in our hands were little moving bits of gold glinting in the sun, squiggling through the water cupped in our palms. We felt rich. We felt privileged. And we were. We had polliwogs.

Let’s go back to days like those.

Where was not yet known the term Useless Eaters. Where low class felt so high. Where swings and bicycles were quite enough — and hopscotch and four square and monkey bars.

Even then there was the meme Duck and Cover and fear of nuclear war. We didn’t think much about it though, until the Cuban Missile Crisis came along to make our mothers fly around just like the sky was falling. We got the drift. We got a little scared just because our mothers were. We just went and played outside all the while waiting for a bomb to drop. Anxiety went away. The sun was out, there were things to do. We did not have the internet to spoil all our fun.

Someone’s always trying to ruin all the fun.

Why. Why can’t they leave us all alone? All the useless eaters.

We thought it was a lake. It was probably just a puddle. It was deep enough to get our little bottoms in our sun suits wet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Solve Every Problem

“You know those people who like to be victims? You kind of want to wack them in the head to keep them happy, don’t ya?”

Karmella couldn’t remember where she’d heard that comment but she wanted it out of her head as quickly as it had popped up in her memory. No thoughts like that are of any use whatsoever.

“It’s time to quit worrying, Puggles. The people who aren’t purple just don’t want to be happy — not really. At least it doesn’t seem like they do. What do you think Puggles?” Karmella asked.

Karmella was so very happy to be where she was, even being without other purple people. Puggles was enough. Puggles was her love and had been made manifest for that very fuzzy, snuggly kind of love. Oh and the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees — they were great company to her and Puggles and it made everything so beautiful to look at.

Karmella wasn’t sure how she had gotten to the other side, to be inside the safety of the bubble — how she had been so very lucky not to have to live where other purple people couldn’t either. She still had hope and was still on the lookout for the purple man who came and went every once in awhile. She hoped he’d come again and maybe even stay — but it was perfectly okay if he didn’t. As far as where any other purple people might be, she had to imagine they were somewhere in a realm that she could visit if she tried the right way. She wasn’t very ambitious since she had Puggles and everything else that she could possibly need.

The only thing was that she kept sensing some kind of turbulence. It seemed like someone was calling from afar for some help. Karmella decided that they would have to ask a little louder if they really needed her for something. It was simply not possible to hear what they were saying enough to know if she should try to intervene — she wasn’t even sure if she could. After all, Puggles had simply appeared one day without a word. She could only conclude that if someone wanted hard enough to be purple that they could.

It started to rain. Karmella felt refreshed. Puggles got a little wet in the process of dancing back up to the porch from the yard — Karmella had Puggles in her arms. Puggles didn’t seem to mind and just shook his little body a few time to throw it off once she put him down.

“Shall we go inside and have a cookie?” Karmella asked little Puggles with a wink. Cookies seemed to solve every problem.

 

Header image credit: Alexas_Fotos / 21367 images

 

 

 

Beneath A Veil

I remember the first time I saw a video of a robot running and jumping in huge leaps and bounds outside in horrible terrain — an actionable, authentic, manifest, real robot. It was mostly metal parts that hadn’t had anything akin to flesh fleshed out yet on it — but it was clearly something I had no interest in witnessing in person nor did I have any illusions that I could escape or evade it if it had a will to harm me.

Not even with a gun.

That was several years ago.

Someone was trying to tell me something and I took notice.

It wasn’t quite like watching Arnold’s action in Terminator or of the melting cop who chased him — but it was real enough to convince me that it was a serious intention behind an agenda lurking in the background of the reality that was moving forward.

I fluffed it off in my consciousness as being something that likely would not make it to reality in my time — even though I had high hopes of living to be 200.

All kidding aside, I believed in my core that none of us would let that happen. Surely we would all see where it could go and wouldn’t stand for it. There was still an underlying gnawing permeating my brain waves — which may be deeper than a core — because those bells have let me see what is happening now so very clearly.

My core was deeply wrong and I was apparently suppressing fear.

We are being taken over and not all of us will survive.

This is happening now. This is happening fast.

Even indigenous, tribal, nomadic people are wearing masks and buying in. They even put masks on their sheep to mock things.  No one can escape this.

I’m not one to shy away from conspiracy as everyone I know knows about me and why I have so few friends. It is for this very space in time that I have ever felt compelled to share my thoughts to anyone who would listen. It is clear to me now — I had no choice but to try to deliver a warning. Someone has to be the one who speaks out no matter how crazy it may make me seem. This is the very space in time where it becomes completely clear of how important it has always been to listen to anyone talking about the events of 911. They pulled that off and if you take any time at all to really look at it, you won’t be coming out without a change in perspective. That was when there was a pivotal chance to keep what is happening now from happening.

We missed that chance. We can’t afford to miss this one. There will be no taking back any territory after this.

You MUST realize that CxOxVxIxDx1x9x was designed expressly for pulling off this “New Pearl Harbor”. It is NOT what they are trying to say it is. Whatever it is, it is NOT what they are claiming.

You MUST not let yourself be convinced that it is anything more than something by which they can train you and break you and destroy whatever kind of life we have hoped for.

The worst thing will not be that we may die. The worst thing will be that we will be forced to live in a dystopia — which it WILL certainly be if we so easily comply — which, so far, so many have.

There will be nothing like a natural world if we don’t take action NOW.

The simplest of actions you can take will be to share this video with everyone you know.

Call me crazy — I don’t care. I don’t want to live the way they want us too.

Greta is one of their agents.

Global warming is a lie.

We do not live on a spinning ball. The moon is not a rock. The sun is not a flaming nuclear ball — it’s electric.

Celebrities are their agents.

Don’t clap your hands for nurses.

Don’t stand 6 feet apart.

6 feet is about where your electrical/divine aura stops. You can’t touch people with your divinity now by THEIR design. Isn’t that a coincidence.

666

Look at all their numbers. Everything is coded in numbers. They are masonic and it is their obligation to tell us what they plan to do but it is okay if they do it beneath a veil.

They have been warning us for years and years and years.

Predictive programming.

Don’t be “in this together.”

Don’t “stay safe” and don’t “stay in your house”.

Absolutely do NOT let them stick you with any kind of needle. Don’t let them have your DNA.

Viruses are things that work in our bodies to help us. The same with most bacteria. Germs are not our enemy. The elite are the real virus.

Don’t “wash your hands.”

Throw away your cell phone, get rid of anything that has a smart thing. Get wired in. Don’t take robo calls. Hang up, don’t say a word. Don’t do your doctor appointments on the web. Pay your bills with cash and walk in to pay them in person. Don’t go through the self-checkout line. Hoard a little food ahead. Plant a garden if you can. Get everyone you know to do the same. Cross under the yellow tape at Walmart and smile at the guard when she chastises you. Hug someone in public. Talk to people. If someone else is going down or up an aisle against the arrows, send them a signal that you approve or stop and talk to them and give them a “thank you”. Tell the ones who tell you off about going the wrong way to go to hell because that is where they’re going to end up if they obey the rules designed to break us and they will be taking you along.

The way artificial intelligence is advancing is with the every-increasing amount of data that you give them — why do you think they want you in the house online all the time. You’re feeding robots.

Absolutely refuse to wear a mask.

All lives matter.

We all have to be the heroes. No one is coming to help us.

Cinderella, Santa and the Easter Bunny are not real.

GOD is the divine spark that resides in YOU.

Please listen to this video and share it. It’s the least any of us can do:

 

Header image credit: Terminator theme song

The Highest Highs

Nothing is sounding good. Even those who are trying to get to the truth seem to be forgetting to talk about solutions.

It seems to me to be as simple as quitting fear. It’s a drug and, for the most part, not one of choice but rather one that is being crammed down throats.

Fear does happen to be the easiest emotion to arouse because it is so primal.

Real fear is good, like hiding from a mountain lion or avoiding stepping on a rattle snake. That’s what adrenaline is made for, designed for. It isn’t there to be use all day every day and anyone who does is being tricked — there are far better drugs on the market. Love is one. Peace is one. Kindness is one. They can make you fly as high as a kite.

One of the highest highs I ever had was after a job I completed for a client where I had to design a bank of woven shades to go over a string of windows side by side with a million variations of measurements from one to the next. All those measurements had to be exact and, aside from those million variations, there were a million things to remember for how they should be ordered and placed on those windows — how far above the window, how far in front, how much allowance between them, how much more room to allow for the valance. It seemed impossible to get it all right. You can’t even begin to imagine all the gyrations and charts I had to go through and the reams of paper used as the hand held calculator and my mind whirled and burned.

The company I was working for was one of those companies that, if the customer complained, they just made them all again with the fixes in with very few questions asked. They seemed able to throw money away. It was because of that very reason that no one could compete, (and they used imported labor.)

The blame for every mistake was always on the designer no matter what the reason and then the designer got marks against her and didn’t get the praise in meetings that others might — public shaming — another one of those fear mongering things.

I never chewed those things very well and spit them out as soon as the taste was bad. I’ve never been one to play games, especially not for arbitrary merit dished out by people I didn’t much respect. The merit I got was from a job well done — no one need see it but me.

Well that job went in without a single little glitch and I was as high as a kite. Driving home, my mind was in seventh heaven and a cop took notice of my unintended speed — I was in another world and my foot forgot to stop. I was flying.

He was the kindest cop I’ve ever encountered. He let me talk. He asked me questions. For some reason, he asked me what I did for a living — probably due to a car full of samples. He got excited when I told him that I did interior design work for clients as he had a daughter that was going that direction. He let me go with a pass. He looked at the drink in my holder and said, “Every time you pick that up, remember about your speed.” Wise words and generous kindness. My high had been suddenly halted but another one was given.

That’s what positive energy seems to do. I think he got a vibe from me.

The fear dished out on television and all the billions of hand held devices never ever put away are something we do have control of. It is as simple as quitting watching. It is as simple as doing something else. It as simple as doing something good — of making something better — of using imagination.

Creating.

The big bang theory forces us think that we were formed by blowing something up.

Nature never does that.

The creation theory says we came by divine imagination.

There is no such thing as nothing.

Let’s say we were created and that that energy is inexhaustible. Maybe it only ever changes form. So do we want a world of fear or a world of beautiful things that we created?

It seems as simple as that. It’s a better drug to quit fear. Quit fear. Quit fear. Say it three times with me and proceed without caution. The cop in that world hands out tickets of merit, if you need a pat on the back for any reason.

Call me crazy, but I think this plan could work.

And, they’re coming to take me away…to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time…

 

 

Header image credit:  Valentin Saint-Jean

 

 

 

All The Rules

The man looked disgusted at her because she was coming up an aisle she was supposed to be going down.  She noticed the label and looked back up at his gnarled face and said, “I don’t care. Do you always follow rules?”

There hadn’t been another person in that aisle until she’d gotten to the top of it where the ugly-gnarly-faced stranger was standing like he’d been placed there as a sentry — surveillance cameras not enough.

“Yes,” he grumbled, standing there with one giant swollen leg and the other covered in what didn’t look like skin, barely able to walk. He was hugely overweight and his cart was filled with junk. Yes, it did appear he followed all the rules. Later she passed him again, outside waiting for the bus, smoking. What a shame, he follows all the rules.

Rule #1 – “Die as soon as you can.”

What a sad state of affairs that people are giving ugly, gnarled stairs because of an arrow on the floor. What it seems like is that suddenly people have been given back some power that they thought had gone forever. They are now police. What an honor. What a freedom to tell others what to do — it makes them feel big inside — bigger than they’ve ever felt.

She could remember all the times that her power had been taken away:

That time when she was a manager and got fired for trying to manage. Male egos.

Those years that she’d worked so hard to get ahead and costs kept getting higher and more and more and more taxes and fees were added.

Those times she took so much of her valued time to study all the issues for an election only to have the results touted before she’d even made the polls. And nothing ever went a way she wanted — not once.

Rule #2 — Follow all the rules.

What does someone following all the rules get — a seat in the theater of a fake life until finally waking up to realize that that isn’t where real life is?

What is real and what is fake?

Is that man’s leg going to suddenly get better because he told someone what to do. Will he finally lose all that weight and get real skin for his legs? Will he stop smoking and live a little longer because he followed all the rules?

All he’ll likely get is a sense of momentary pleasure that he, (thinks he), is better than someone else. Maybe in a fantastic adventure, he will think about those words the woman spoke and wonder if following the rules is best. Maybe he’ll ponder a little on what she meant.

More likely than not he won’t.

It never hurts to plant a seed. Nature, (real life), always does the rest.

 

Image credit:  Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke