And the darkest minds.
We were warned. We’ve not done enough. I am witness. Here it is, the great collapse. No matter what you believe, we are dropping in free fall like the metaphor the three Trade Center buildings, may those who died rest in peace. Sometimes we act suprised when we see the shadows of greed work themselves out in lives. We carry war and World War in our genes. We can change. Not the politics of Change, that is proving a suck on the loose change. Every Bright Mind wants to whip us into shape.
I’m no stranger to whipping. My father rivaled Pappy Bush in bravery in war, no, excuse me, with the Multiples of metals my Father earned, he did a lot more in the Army Air Corps view. Pappy went to be a President, Daddy went the way of Junior’s past and drank himself to death. The meds’ said it was cancer of the kidney; let that be a warning about Cobb’s Mill Scotch. I could always tell when Dad’s income was tightening because he drank more of it than the irish whiskey, or gin and tonic, any excuse — he taught me well, that’s all I really know. Maybe George went home and cracked himself a cold one on the ranch. I wish them the best, they performed their part admirably. And you have to hand it to the system, they have kept our greedy fantasies alive. So I guess what I am saying is that having had a father who whipped me like mine did, I can well imagine how junior got “handled” as a child, especially with his ADD problems. I see it in everything done. Of course I can only really know my experience. I survived my father. Torture is in our culture. Has everyone forgotten the “Middle Ages?”
Deep tribal animosities have been driven into the cultures around the worold ( I like it). The Worold wound is deep and unhealing like that of the Fisher King or the Crucified Christ into who’s wounds Thomas placed his fingers. I had an employee Thomas who I’m convinced was looking to find my wounds right up to the day I fired him. He was doing it at a time when I had generated my fidelity and eagerness to perform, and attracting a wonderful opportunity of General Contracting in San Francisco, and the hand of illness passed over my body. He took advantage of me on a day I had a demanding test at the Hospital and was sent down the road. I would soon learn about deep tribal rifts in America, even though San Francisco thinks it is Boston, it is in and near Boston where I am deeply loved and accepted as myself. Believe me, I am one of the more iconoclastic individualistic anacronisms of Saytr people. That’s Saytr, not Seder, Honey. Boston is a whole continent different now. Once upon a time the sailing ships of New England clippered the Horn before the canal. The railroad took its place and still to this day hauls many tonnes over the hills to New York. If you can get a grip on how large our commercial system is, adopt the sounds, sights, feel, and appreciate the connections, hubs, lines, geography, you will soon be frozen in what to do next land, and that is always the place where we revert to those deep wounds and defend them like angry wolves. Vision, the concert attached, comfortable chairs, emmensely fast cars travelling around in circles are what some America likes to zone out on. I just saw a play golf ad. Could we possibly contemplate giving it all up? Why not? I just had to. Luckily my love trail, that pesky thing people yawn and criticize on lists, feel is trite, that I was born in the Love Generation, has me able for now to be in a soft landing. I managed not to have ended up in the tent city in California, not that I would have been there, I would have been — or am — being made aware my back-up in California wasn’t able to pull it off, so the value of the space didn’t warrant the payments. I’m glad my back-up didn’t spend the money, the landlady got many goodly thousands from me when we were building a business leaps and bounds up the bubble, and she can accept some squeezing in her life, its been done to me as a landlord so karma is quickening. I hope they all forgive me, I am doing what I know must be done. I have known the Great Plan and the Big Lie. You could go to the crew who built Mr. Kenney’s house, ask them what my mantra was, at the time of an eclipse in May about 1993, and it was The Big Lie. I countered every argument Rush Cheezy Limbaugr, with a short one liner and “The Big Lie.” We like to believe the Big Lie, we Americans. What is The Big Lie? Its gotten so big … you can make up your own, now. In the end, California began to squeeze me in the Tribal wounds that make San Franciscans who they are and New Englanders who they are. I was born where the Mohawk meets the Hudson and then immersed into Soutwestern Connecticut where my mother’s sister alum’s family had a murduring jealous child running loose for years before he tripped himself up in his own evilness. I probably played sports against him as a rival school. I know I hung out with real “Tony Soprano” type children. Their fathers made sure they got their wounding, too. I put my elder through a super hot sweat lodge and sent him on his first Imran to Reno NV. When he got there he wounded himself with a nipple ring and an oath spoken. True Knight of the family.
The wound that doesn’t heal never lets you go. I have to let go of my wounds, but those stubborn wounds that won’t let me go, follow me like barking biting dachunds and sometimes like persistent hyenas. There are four faces of the astrological wheel which can give us a clue. The Bull, the lion, and the Eagle. Many people get confused with the eagle sumbolism for Aquarius. Think egg. The three fixed signs Leo the Lion, Taurus the Bull, and the eagle for Aquarius, leave the fourth for Scorpio, usually portrayed as an Angel or the Face of Man. Think about this egg, feel the watery whites, see that golden yellow yolk, marvel at how it all becomes a splendid bird like it was poured out of the pitcher of the sky. Eagles mate the highest up of any bird, sometimes eliminating the stupid of their breed during the fall. The first thing we must do with wounds is bath them in water blessing, and swiftly like the eagle. To be like the Lion, and tear away the dead carrion of our wound, will serve us now. Then to the persistence of the Bull, we must work to heal the wound that doesn’t want to be healed. In this way we can find the Angelic Center of who we really are.
Some people feel the need to be and have their very own religion. Some people are happy to accept the religion their parents gave to them. Others go off and be converted to another religion after finding themselves completely without a clue about their parents religion but they still want someobody else to tell them how to do it. That leaves another group who just think religion is silly, and make a religion out of good human behavior, which changes depending on which Pol Pot or Uncle Joe Stalin decides to take control. I’m not letting Popes, Rabbies, Immans, or Brahmins off the hook either. The Dark shadow was admitted by Dick Cheney, I remember well his glint and candor when he spoke “sometimes we have to use the dark side.” especially when our friends are being hansomely rewarded at the expense of the people who just want to watch the cars go around, have a few greasy corn dogs, sip a brew, and prove their manhood in front of their Honey. Does it matter that the whole thing is causing the decline of the real honey makers? Maybe bees are sipping up too much adulterated corn sweetener and carrying it back to the hive. they sure appear to be dying of the pollutants we so far are surviving. Except, as a witness, I have seen the the breakdown in us. We are getting less and less able to heal the wound that doesn’t want to be healed and chases us to the extremes where those four groups I mentioned above. become elevators to the dark side, collectively, darkly dark, forgetting the lessons of the vision of light with the orchestrated love feel of a beautiful chair at the end of a long day messing up the world. We’re going to eat the planet right down to the nub. We can’t stop. I see this from my work of 44 years. I have written and held back from wider publication because who am I to grind up trees for my point of view? Sometimes I feel like I have hidden my light under a basket. maybe it’s my wound that won’t heal. So far amongst my businesses, I keep gravitating back to construction. I’ve worked and tried promotion of solar technology, simple style, much the way my Dad came home from the war with a great big wound and didn’t have the heart to make me or himself President. He trusted Ike, and Kennedy, and never said a word about any other politician from that point on. He knew something, being on inside circles provided by my mother. “Everybody knows the dice are loaded,” sings Leonard Cohen. We have chosen to hide behind the wound that does not heal, down with the infidel. Our problem now is there are so many infidels everyone is pointing that tribal wound rift outside their own. Please don’t smash the egg of Iran, it is from there i expect the Muslim Women’s revolt to flower. Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe it’s really the Lovers with Light in their Hearts that is the Human Face and the evil, being equally spread across the world, exists in the Men who want to repress. Repress with weapons, repress with facsism, tribalism, greedy paws ism. I’ve said it more tha once, women can say no tom men and stop the breeding tomorrow, or can they? Nope, i bet not, because women have the wound that will not heal, so do gays, transgenders, and Saytr people like me. we’re going to eat her down to the nub, and the rains will come and wash our lion’s share away.
Forgive any clerical errors and remember to think about Love and your Mother-Father.