Let us never forget that millions of people in the USA voted for putting immigrants in concentration camps without due process, and helping Israel commit genocide in the middle east. They are now very happy that it’s happening and cheering it on. We live in a scary world.
Meanwhile, the fears that compelled them to vote for this, have mutated into a much bigger threat than before. We now have fewer jobs, higher prices, greater threat of war, a diminished sense of security, fewer government services, and much higher government expenses. We are spending more money on war and less on health care. Women’s rights have been set back fifty years. The chance of dying if you get pregnant is higher. Women are bleeding out in hospital parking lots because doctors are afraid of losing their license to practice medicine for treating a miscarriage.
Freedom of speech is being suppressed. 2A is being threatened. Journalists are getting arrested. NSA computers are scanning every word we type into our computers and flagging our e-mails if we disagree with the current administration. Protestors are being murdered in the streets. Immigrants are getting raped, going hungry, and dying from lack of medical care in concentration camps. How is this making American great?
When has America ever really been great? This country was built on ground that was stolen from the indigenous people by genocide. Enslaved people, who were stolen and trafficked from Africa, were used to build this country. They were treated like animals, beaten and killed. People are now being hunted and sent to concentration camps because of their skin color and the language they speak. What is great about any of that? Old wealth is rooted in this evil.
The American dream may have been great. The idea may have been divinely inspired. But the country itself has always fallen short. Much of the hatred is being generated and perpetrated because the constitution guarantees and protects freedom of religion. Because conservative religious leadership uses scripture to justify, excuse and defend evil. Child abuse (spare the rod spoil the child), misogyny (women are supposed to obey men), racism (if you aren’t one of god’s chosen people), ethnic cleansing and genocide (if god brings you to land and gives you over to them, you must completely destroy them) are cruel ideas masquerading as good, misinterpreted as God’s will. They are man’s interpretations replacing Love’s intention.
The only truly great thing about this country is our constitutional duty to form a more perfect union. And in order to do so we must condemn religious hatred and terrorism. We must refuse to acknowledge that any organization is a religion unless it preaches only love, acceptance, and equality. Should we choose to tolerate the continuation of human suffering, trafficking, misogyny, genital mutilation, sexual assault, and racism in the name of religious freedom, this country will never be great.
Sissy’s great grandfather died at the Alamo. Her father was a Mason. She is an Eastern Star. She was also Mama’s third cousin, best friend, and she was my baby sitter. Mama was ten years older than Sissy. Sissy is ten years older than me. She used to come and stay with us during the summer and take care of me while Mama was at work.
When I was a toddler Sissy sat me on the washing machine while bouncing a red rubber ball to make me laugh. At one point she let go of me for a second to retrieve a stray bounce. When her steadying hand left my side, I fell off the washing machine and the top of my head hit the concrete floor first. It was a hard fall. Everybody was worried about a concussion. There was much discussion about whether I could have brain damage.
Sissy was relieved when I finally stopped crying. Everybody was relieved when I began to speak. Mama said I immediately began talking like an adult. I could speak in complete sentences, pronounce big words correctly, and I use them properly by the time I was two.
Uncle Eddie, Mama’s little brother, was in high school at the time. He enjoyed teaching me new words. He would also encourage me to go tell people things that surprised them and made everybody laugh, often much to the chagrin and embarrassment of my parents.
Instead of being praised for my superior articulation skills, I was frequently shamed for saying things that a child isn’t supposed to say. For example, one time Eddie told me it looked to him like the preacher’s wife forgot to comb the rat’s nest out of her hair, and he was afraid spiders were gonna crawl in the mess and lay eggs in it while she was asleep.
“Go ask Mrs. Heller if she forgot to comb her hair this week.” Eddie encouraged me.
Eager to please Eddie, as always, I hurried to find out.
“When was the last time you combed that rat’s nest out of your hair, Mrs. Heller?” I asked.
She looked at me with an amused expression on her face and said sternly, “I have you know I comb my hair every single morning, and today was no exception!”
“Well it’s a good thing!” I said. “People have been worried a spider might jump out of that mess on your head and bite somebody!”
The preacher and his wife looked at me stunned and didn’t know what to say.
Grandaddy yelled, “EDDIE!”
Mother was horrified. “Do you want me to give you a whipping?” She asked.
Memaw was mortified and apologized to Ms. Heller.
Daddy was steaming and muttering under his breath, “I swear to God I’m gonna kill that Eddie when nobody’s looking.”
Despite all the fun Eddie had playing with my articulation skills, people noticed something was different about me. I wasn’t like other children. Adults said I was mature for my age. Childhood games didn’t interest me much. Mama was always scolding me for letting my imagination run away with me. I had the tendency to be overly friendly, trusting, gullible, and excessively curious about things I was not allowed to know.
Mama knew it was important to keep a close eye on me. She would panic and get extremely angry if she didn’t know my exact whereabouts at all times. I was adventurous and didn’t understand why she wouldn’t let me out of her sight. If I disappeared for very long, there was always hell to pay when she figured out where I went. She would whip me in front of everybody for wandering off and scaring her to death. I was frequently embarrassed by her behavior. It always seemed to me like she was over-reacting.
I am a person who expected other people to be kind and tell the truth. Because that is what I do naturally. When I had yet to realize the usefulness and sometimes seeming necessity of lying, the concept of deception seemed odd and counter intuitive to me. To lie and risk getting caught in deception, did not make sense to me. Erring on the side of excessive trust has always gotten me in trouble. Practical jokers and liars consider me gullible and stupid. How strange that something like trust can cause so much suffering.
I was never very good at understanding jokes, either, even if someone explained them to me. I just didn’t see why some things were supposed to be funny.
“You don’t get that!?” My cousins would say, and try to explain.
“No. What’s funny about it?” I’d ask.
They would tell me again and explain in detail.
“I understand that, I just don’t see what’s funny about it.” I’d say.
“That IS why it’s funny!” They’d try to explain.
“But why?” I’d ask.
They would would laugh because I couldn’t get it, call me a genius, and say it was Sissy’s fault because she dropped me on my head when I was a baby. Everybody thought me falling off that washer was funnier than the jokes they were telling. The story about me falling on my head got told over and over again in my family. I was never quite sure why, but I laughed along with everybody. Not because I thought it was funny, but because I was embarrassed.
The only reason my sense of self-esteem wasn’t destroyed for being the family genius was because Sissy told me that geniuses are a whole lot smarter than everybody else, and that’s why it was so hard for me to relate. People have been calling me a genius all my life. Not just in my family. My friends have said it, too. I always took it as a compliment, until I was in my fifties. I was participating in a discussion on a social media forum when someone I admired and respected called me a genius.
As usual I said, “Thank you!”
“I didn’t intend that as a compliment, geniuses are retarded! Look it up!” V replied.
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what I was reading and immediately looked up the word genius. That’s when the truth hit me. I’ve always been a stoic. It’s not easy for me to cry. Expressing grief wasn’t allowed in my family when I was growing up, unless someone died. I began to stuff my feelings under threat of punishment at an early age. I’m very good at it. It’s a useful skill. For the first time ever, I couldn’t stop crying when I realized that people had been calling me retarded all my life, and I didn’t even know it.
Despite all that, I still love my friends and family very much. Especially Sissy, who was my ally and defender when I was growing up. She did her very best, short of destroying her best friendship with my mother, to protect me from Mama’s “spare the rod spoil the child” wrathful parenting style. Sissy was the one who empathized with me, comforted me, and assured me that I was loved and lovable. Sissy gave me the support I needed to survive being raised by a parent who demanded perfection for my own good.
I always loved it when Sissy came to stay during the summer, even though something terrible always happened to me while she was there. One time everybody was sitting around the dinner table having supper. I was sitting in my high chair and accidentally knocked over my ice tea. Mama jerked me out of the high chair, gave me a whipping, and told me to be more careful. Watching me get a whipping made everybody uneasy, especially Sissy. When my punishment was over, the mess was cleaned up, and I was back in my high chair, everybody resumed eating very quietly and carefully. Sometimes being extra careful increases the odds of an accident happening. This time was no exception. Sissy reached for the ketchup and accidentally knocked over her ice tea, too! And it spilled right in my father’s lap.
Daddy was a practical joker who was always coming up with ways to make people laugh. He sat there quietly for a few seconds, looking down at his lap full of ice tea, thinking about what to do next. Sissy burst into tears and began apologizing profusely. Mama was complaining loudly about having another mess to clean up. Uncle Eddie and Sissy’s sister Suzy were watching with bated breath to see if Mama was going to give Sissy a whipping too. Daddy slowly and deliberately reached over, picked up his ice tea, and dumped it in Sissy’s lap. Suddenly everybody was laughing and having a good time.
This is another story my family enjoyed telling repeatedly when I was growing up. Why they thought it was so funny, too, remains a mystery to me. Apparently they didn’t know I was in shock from getting a whipping and totally numb when the food fight broke out. And the impression that lingered the strongest in my mind was not fun. It was heaving a long quivering sigh of grief when Mama put me to bed after supper that night. Living through that event made me sad. It changed me. It made me realize my fate is to live by a different set of rules than everybody else. I’ve done so with clandestine rebellion ever since.
Another time Mama had a bad migraine headache that was causing her to be especially hard on me. I couldn’t do anything right. Everything I did annoyed her. It was one of those sick headaches that affected her vision and made her throw up. The headache finally got so bad that she decided to take a valium and go to sleep for a while. When Mama was sleeping, Sissy told Eddie and Suzy she wanted to cast a spell of protection over me before Mama woke up. They thought that was good idea, too. Eddie found a piece of granite in the yard they could use to ground the ceremony. Suzy broke a branch off the willow tree to swish around me and cleanse the negative energy in the air. Sissy anointed me with her perfume. They sung the hymn, “A mighty fortress is our God!” Then prayed for angels to surround me forever, and protect me, and give me the strength to be more powerful than the anti-christ on a broom, so I could scare the devil out of anybody who ever intended to harm me. Apparently it worked. I’ve experienced many close calls in my life, but always some how managed to miraculously survive. I do indeed feel protected.
When Sissy turned sixteen, she had just learned how to drive. Mama let her to drive our car to the church and pick me up after vacation bible school was over. On our way home we had a wreck. They hadn’t invented car seats to keep little kids secure yet. I flew out of the passenger seat and hit my face on the dash board. Blood was gushing out of my nose. A lady was standing in her yard watering her flower beds and saw us crash. She came running as fast as she could with an ice pack to put on my nose. It hurt something awful.
They weren’t sure whether to call an ambulance and have me taken to the hospital, or what. I didn’t want the to go to the hospital because I was afraid they would put a cast on my nose. They called Mama and asked her what to do. When she arrived, my nose was no longer bleeding, so we just went home. By the time Daddy came home from work, my eyes were turning black. He laughed and said I looked like a raccoon. Mama asked if he thought they should take me to the hospital and have them look at my nose. He said there’s not much they can do about a broken nose, unless it’s crooked and needs to be straightened. But mine still looked pretty straight to him.
Sissy was a dangerous ally, but I never doubted her love. Sometimes people can’t help hurting those they care about the most, even if they don’t want to or mean to. Perhaps that is how life teaches us to forgive.
Try to imagine with me, for a moment… A band of guardian Angels watching over the souls of the FLOTUS, protecting everybody who enters the Whitehouse, watching over each individual who has ever entered the sacred door, protecting the lives and legacies of everyone who have ever worked in the East Wing, protecting by proxy the women and children of this nation. Can you hear them singing a wail of want for the home that once nurtured the kindness, goodness, and mercy that only women can feel.
May the Love of Goodness bless the creativity of the motherhood wing. It is this branch of government that gives birth to new ideas of justice and well-being for women. And it has no more home. May the power of the office of FLOTUS be transferred to women world-wide. May the truth of the divine feminine blossom into a collective protective awareness. May it give womanhood a new victorious presence on the planet. May it render female power, which is unwavering FAITH in LOVE and TRUTH, invincible, invulnerable, and indomitable. May the power of the transfer be felt in in a way that compels genuine mankind to bow in awe to the Goddess of Love.
May surrendering to the Truth prevent the demons of deception from draining the remainder of life force from the collective human soul. May the power of one hundred percent pure Love paralyze the evil doers and disable everything that evil is doing forever and ever amen.
May the soul of everybody who has ever benefitted from the influence, or by the action of a presidential wife, collectively begin singing a perpetual palpable song of sorrowful grief for the want of a home in which divine goodness may flourish and manifest more fully than ever before.
Please hear the sound of a revelation choir, coming from the cavity where a hallowed east wing once stood. May it hauntingly strengthen, comfort and lovingly sooth the emotions of anyone and everyone who has ever approached the sacred whitehouse in service to the divine with intentions that are in alignment with creation.
Can you see a sadness so overwhelming few people can bear witness to such destructive forces attempting to destroy the profound goodness that once came from the east wing? Can you hear the voices of other worldly restorative wailing singing so winsomely it repels those without pure hearts and truthful intentions, preventing falsehood from pretending to serve.
Knowing it is possible to look in the mirror and see when evil begins to manifest horns and fangs, may with unconscious intentions experience the kind of hesitancy that reveals the things forbidden in heaven. For it is their absence that makes heaven possible. May the realization of evil destroying beauty compel positive changes.
May those who cannot imagine such a thing at this happening begin to recognize their own evil and replace it with good and mercy that follows them all the days of their lives (words borrowed from the beautiful song Surely Goodness and Mercy shall Follow Me All the Days of My Life). May the smell of evil intention compel corrections befitting of the divine. May perfumes intended to hide the stench of deceit only make the smell of lies worsen.
May all forms of evil be purged from the body politic and the land is has been allowed to occupy for so long by nature and the Native Americans. May those who dare to approach the hallowed government grounds with corrupt intention experience the sickness born of evil being being purged from their bodies and souls post haste. May it be plenty, not too little nor to late.
May the corrupt be prevented from returning to serve until they have experienced a profound change of heart and mind making them capable of forgiveness, compassion, empathy, and sanity. May they be completely aligned with the divine or disappear with the delusions the collective human ego has been sustaining. Poof, all gone. What we are left with now is a world we can all love to inhabit.
What does that look like to you? Include impact awareness statements.
A Call for Collective Action to Bring them Back, Please!
I am told many old bells were destroyed, buried, & replaced during WW2. Some say it was to hide the importance of acoustic resonance, but that seems to far-fetched and sinister for most people to believe. What we know for sure is that people were told the government needed to melt them down and make ammunition for war. But the fact that many of them were buried might indicate otherwise.
What people were NOT told is that the sounds those bells emitted, when they were ringing to let people know the time, is a healing vibration. A very important ethereal resonance was being transmitted from the temples & cathedrals that sounded them.
The holy relics of antiquity were not merely for decoration. Everything had a specific function and purpose. Destruction of those bells was a very sad moment in time, whether or not it was done with ill-intent. Those who claim it was a sinister act also believe the same ill-intent switched the musical pitch standard from 432Hz to 440Hz. Others believe all this is just a conspiracy theory. I don’t know which is the truth, nor whether it can be proven one way or the other. But it seems worth mentioning.
What I do believe is this nation could use some healing, and those bells were very important. Without them, we can now see how insane this world is becoming. They did a lot more than just let people know what time it was. They were healing people’s bodies, minds, and the human soul.
I wish our cities and towns would start sounding the bells again, to let people know what time it is. Might it be possible to find out where they were buried, dig them up, dust them off, and put them back to work healing our nation? Could we at least replace them and let the healing commence again? Is it even possible to make bells like that these days or has the “recipe” been lost in time? Who knows? How do I start a movement?
Thoughts inspired by Chapter 11 of A Course in Miracles
The story of a perfect human being who can show us the way to heaven was a beautiful idea that got perverted and used to manipulate the masses for the kings who wanted surfs to work harder and be more obedient. As a result, too many religions have become terrorist organizations that are teaching racial superiority and fueling hatred. That kind of religion is the root of evil.
We need to redefine Religion as an educational organization that teaches Love and only Love is the Way to Peace of Mind and Eternal Presence of Being. We need to stop allowing organizations that justify war and violence by preaching hatred, guilt and shame in the name of religious freedom. What kind of person chooses to place their trust in a God that throws people into hell to burn forever? It is ridiculous. Utterly absurd. Reading the Bible gave me a bad case of cognitive dissonance.
Reading A Course in Miracles cured me. And I am grateful for the clarity. I could not care less whether Jesus Christ was a real man who got himself crucified by pissing off the money changers and turning over tables in the temples, or if that story is pure mythology. I don’t believe he had reached the Christ Consciousness yet when he did that, if he really did it. I never could understand why he cursed a fig tree and made it die instead of blessing it and making it bear fruit, either. And if I asked questions like that when I was growing up, I was told to stop being sacrilegious.
And how creepy is it that millions of Christian Nationalists go to church every Sunday and participate in a ritual that involves eating the symbolic body and drinking the symbolic blood of the only perfect human being to ever walk the face of the earth?
It’s barbaric. It seems more like a satanic ritual. Why aren’t they anointing each other with oil and washing one another’s feet like Magdalene did for Christ? And is it any wonder that the people who like pretending to be flesh eating blood drinkers are afraid of satan worshippers killing and eating babies? It’s all so absurd. It’s projection.
A lady from Russia told me they did experiments over there and found out that human beings cannot eat human meat because cannibalism does something to the brain. Consuming the enzymes in human meat causes people to go insane. Apparently even if it is only done symbolically.
I guess maybe Putin wants US Citizens to believe that satan worshippers are eating babies, and so they do, or something. Who knows WTF is really going on? I’m just glad it doesn’t really matter because we can choose love and forgiveness instead.
A Course in Miracles, Chapter 11, Waking to Redemption, a brief synopsis as it got filtered through my brain…
Resurrection is the complete triumph of Christ over ego. It happens by transcendence, not attack. Learning about Christ Consciousness is easy and involves no strain at all. It is only distortions of the ego that are tiring. We ascend to heaven together. Devotion to Loving on another brings freedom.
Worshipping a god of crucifixion leads to slavery. The god of crucifixion demands that we crucify others. It also demands sacrifice, obedience and submission. Love demands nothing. God is Love. As Love, God’s will is that we learn of our own True Will.
And our will is God’s will because we are created by the extension of Love. Love would have us enjoy peace and the gladness of freedom. Resurrection is a concept that inspires allegiance gladly for it is the symbol of joy and eternal life. We are perfectly free to leave behind everything that hurts, humbles or frightens us. We can choose this by the Grace of Love. Choosing is easy when we are clear about what we want.
Belief in sacrifice, obedience, and submission is worshipping the god of crucifixion. The God of Love, True Creation, and the Resurrection does not will nor cause pain and suffering of any kind. Ask yourself if you are vigilant for Love or you believe in the god of crucifixion.
If you are vigilant for Love, you have chosen the Resurrection. Freedom, joy, forgiveness and mercy are yours. Guard them and share them with others and you will awaken safely to remain surrounded by them forever.
If you are worshipping the god of crucifixion you can know peace by removing the nails and crown of thorns from your self and others. Demonstrate that Christ did not die in vain because his Divine Loving Consciousness lives in you as you. Undoing the crucifixion is the work of Redemption. Everyone has a part of equal value in doing this. If you perceive the Son of God as someone who was crucified, you are asleep.
Begin to share the truth of Redemption with others and you will awaken from the nightmares you are dreaming. A world of pain and madness has never been the will of Love. Redemption from this insanity can be known and recognized as True by sharing Love and Forgiveness with others.
You are saved. Everyone is already saved. All can enter the Kingdom of Love by realizing and knowing the Truth. Begin this journey by choosing to live like you know and refusing to crucify others with shame, blame, guilt, judgment, attack and punishment. By doing so the Redemption will be recognized by yourself and shared with the world.
There is no order of difficulty in Miracles. Everyone has equal value in the Mind that created all and everything out of Love. Because of Love all things are possible. Even delusions of pain and suffering and insanity.
Those who value the consciousness of Love are given opportunities to become more Loving. This is the same as Christ Consciousness, which lives in you as you. It becomes more prominent if you choose to be vigilant for Love. Choosing Love is the most natural and healthy way to live, but most have forgotten. It feels good. It heals the body, mind and soul to experience the Resurrection of Love instead of living your life for the god of crucifixion. Be like Christ in Love.
