Where the river runs free (Portage, part 2)
By John Kaminski Ė May 15, 2007 firstname.lastname@example.org
And once upon a time, in a land called America, the people would come in from their mountain cabins, farms, and mill towns with their young ones to joy in the closeness of community on warm sultry summer nights. The American dream was never about grand mansions, designer wear, exotic vacations, health clubs, silicone implants, Viagra love affairs, fortress malls, boutiques, forever war, the prison industry, or slave labor junk stores. It was about a man being able to make a living for his family. It was about a simple life of small town living, where people congregated on Main Street for the Fourth of July parade. It was about swimming holes, country lanes, fields of corn, teachers who challenged the young to greater heights (not social engineering! ), doctors (not technocrats), marshland songs, a whippoorwill, splashing streams, and woodlands with secret paths. It was about rain washed streets; where barefoot children splashed in puddles, blew magic bubbles, caught fireflies, and played hide-and-seek long into a muggy summer's night. It was about concerts in the park, the clink of milk bottles, and visits to Grandma's house; with her blue hair, flowered dress, and flour dusted apron. It was about the certainty of love with the slamming of a screen door, a child running in flowered meadows, and at dayís end, neighbors gathered on darkened porches, holding tight the wonderment of the day. It was about Hometown. ó Judith Moriarty
Shamash, Babylonian sun god c. 1700 BC, told Hammurabi:
ďBring forth the victory of righteousness, prevent the strong from unjustly prevailing over the weak, and advance the well-being of all people.Ē A lot nicer than this Yahweh chap, eh?
This is a message from that time and place in the future where the few of us remaining will gather and survey the wreckage of what we have wrought.
Whether true freedom will be won or lost largely depends on what we do in this generation. Freedom. Itís at our fingertips, but due to technological advances in subtle mind control propaganda, never further from our grasp.
All of us came here as a matter of fate and luck, somehow escaping the great silence that engulfed the planet in the early 21st century.
Ironically, the great silence made almost everyone deaf by the overwhelming clatter of its distractions and the nonsense of its messages. What made so many unable to hear the voice of our consciences was the cognitive dissonance produced by having to believe in things we knew were wrong, but we believed in them anyway, because we thought we profited from them. In a way, all that is happening now is that we are paying the price for some major items in which we previously believed (e.g., America offering ďliberty and justice for all.Ē)
Most of all, we didnít pay attention. We let ourselves be led astray by those who did not have our best interests at heart, both our leaders and our preachers.
If history has taught us anything it is that corruption may not be defeated in this life, and that only a personal code of honor can prevent us from the harm we cause by whoring after riches.
Much of what passes for civilization is a lie, a perpetual pyramid scheme by which are powered the great engines of the modern world.
The foundation of all society throughout history has been deception and cunning accompanied by brute force, accompanied by cute stories for the people who ultimately pay for these misadventures. Simply PR to justify the constant slaughters. What we are seeing now is only the result of all that.
To reach that point where the river runs free requires rowing against the current, to escape the great silence that now approaches from all sides. If we choose to float along where the current takes us, a sewer with our name on it awaits us. Whatever apocalypse we are about to encounter in our near future, this checklist will apply on the other side.
There are no middlemen here, no brokers. Only principals. A community of humans that values honor and honesty as the foundation stones of the good life, secure with those who love us and willing to listen to all new ideas.
Maybe this is the psychic recolonization of colonial America. We have a chance to do it without killing the natives now, though that prospect appears dim. As a result of that earlier choice, however, we now appear to be killing each other. You can trace this mental progression in the pages of your holy books, especially the ones that say one type of person is better than another. All murderers are really out to destroy themselves.
This is the lesson the world needs to learn. We donít need to be killing our lesser brethren, we need to be helping them, because what we do to them ultimately determines who we are.
Why donít you get it? Killing someone else is killing yourself. But back in the old world, soon youíll have a barcode tattooed on your ass, so it wonít matter much then.
Predation upon anyone or thing without the approval of our peers (with input from all colors) is strictly prohibited. There will be no banker class. It has choked the life out of us. Currency must be randomly entangled, and entrusted to constantly rotating authorities. Money is a poison that needs to be strictly and impartially controlled.
The mystic power of currency must not obscure our labors nor our investments, but simply be as water, immutable as a collectible representation of labor and worth.
It is an ancient law that if a society allows making money off of money, that society will be destroyed.
Let us learn once and for all what the ancients knew: that those who make money off money become a cancer on everyone else that eventually proves fatal to all.
This is the shadow we refused to face, and it destroyed us.
The land beyond the rainbow bridge is laid out much as it was before, except for the obvious incinerations, razings and poisonings that have even jeopardized the planetís oxygen supply.
Common sense seems to be the only rule here. And a strong distaste for violence, which, when necessary, is controlled by a ritual equitable to all and not manipulated by any.
Reminds me of a line from a 6th century Welsh poem: ďthis white town with green graves and blood under the feet of its men.Ē The human epitaph ó if we stayed on the old path.
This is the way it is here. This is the real universe. The real planet we have trashed, or whatís left of it. If youíre in the system, youíre going to hell. Get out, before itís too late for all of us.
Detox of media myths is the most important thing. See the curriculum that you have been fed, and how it has robbed you.
No preprogrammed poseurs, yearning to sabotage and exploit.
Everyone is in charge of their own space. There is no higher authority.
This game is for everything.
If you're not honest, then you're wrong.
Trust who you love, love who you trust.
You only have one shot at this. Thatís what makes it so important. If you believe you go somewhere else, that makes it less important. This is how human religions hurt the planet and all the people in it.
What becomes obvious after partaking of the joys of a life lived well is that none of us can make it without the ones we love, and that eternal principle must become the first rule of the elevation of the human society into a truly just, compassionate and functional community. We canít do this alone.
Else this web of family that nurtures us will be lost forever.
It is now being erased by the perpetual scams of bankers that fashion chains for the worker bees. Maybe our family reunions will be replaced by annual meetings of those from a certain serial number of RFID chips implanted in all newborns. Brave New World is here and then some.
But then, you must know by now. The apocalypse is upon us.
Itís in the air you breathe. Those manufactured clouds contain barium and bloodborne products, which, as they say, are guaranteed to bring you down. Some say they are a co-factor in a plague to come.
Itís in the food you eat. The masses are being predisposed to new designer diseases that increase profits for the health care industry. And supposedly the mad cow syndrome is now percolating in the Alzheimer-bound brains of most of the population.
Itís in the songs you sing, and all the memories you have for at least the last five generations, all twisted this way and that to make money for those who knew how to do it.
Chances are good your baby gets a Hepatitis B shot 45 minutes after sheís born and her health declines from there.
We have no natural human enemies, only those who wish to create them for profit.
You didnít catch up to very many of the scams, did you?
World War II was a money thing, engineered by the same folks who passed the Federal Reserve Act in 1913 and skimmed half the money of the American people right off the top. Those freaks are still in charge, you know. Those are the folks who need to be put in the stocks, permanently.
We are transitioning to a new way of life, and the people in the 9/11 skeptics movement, the Iraq antiwar movement, and those fighting to point out that the last few elections in America have been surreptitiously stolen are at the forefront of this transition.
Because we are the ones who see through this malignant media mindlock, and possess the courage to say so. We are principled and resolute in our statements. And we only wish to be told the truth by the leaders who pretend to represent us about the world in which we live. We only wish that people would live in peace, and would consider absolutely any idea to bring this about. We are thoughtful and polite, but with no tolerance for spin machines or alluring fictions that cater cravenly to our greed or lusts.
But we are resolute because we want an honest world in which our children can grow and prosper, and not be mutilated from cradle to grave with mercury-laced vaccinations, sedatives and poisons in our water and food, and a policeman outside our door waiting to deliver five shots to the face from close range, and never mention an excuse to our families and friends later, just like those British cops did to that poor Brazilian boy on the subway in London last year.
We are sufficiently sentient to realize that profit in one sense is always loss in another. The price we pay for certain things is way out of kilter, not only because of the stress such artificially exorbitant prices may place on us, but with our knowledge of how these perfumed prices damage the world, we know our demented financial system needlessly consigns uncountable people ó most of whom are well meaning, just like us ó to unnecessarily handicapped existences.
We see them clearly in the collateral damage cannon fodder blown to bits, in the sickening shards of bleeding babies in Iraq, a small percentage of whom are our own sons and daughters, the physical manifestation of the perverted life orientation that permeates American culture twisting tighter in our own guts as we speak.
We see the world bleeding because of the clandestine actions of a vicious, sociopathic few, yet realize we might be one of them if presented with the properly phrased pitch. What is the price of your soul? Ask yourself as you indirectly profit from weapons and poisons, or making money with our silence in this Ponzi-scheme economy kept afloat by a nuclear nightmare.
There is no Muslim terror threat. There are a few Cigar Store Indians from Pakistan and other places who say they're Muslim just before they go into strip clubs to watch lap dances and flash their federal paychecks.
But enough negative observations. What do we do about it?
I will speak to our Maker about this.
Once something has name, nothing is the same. That's why the ancients tried to keep the name of God a secret, because he cannot be named. That force is simply too far beyond our comprehension to be named accurately. And, more ominously, the mere naming of said entity guarantees war, simply because the small minds that have named him cannot possibly have done it accurately, and the different neighborhood versions of said entity are guaranteed to collide in the bloodiest of ways.
However, that said, let's examine the actual differences. The poet William Blake first expounded the notion (and he wasn't discovered until a hundred years after his death) that all the gods are one, no matter what you name them, and that all the wars perpetrated in his name have always been sectarian foolishness, merely a holy cover for typical human crime.
Yet this god propounded in all the world's holy books is little more than a reflection of the human personality, a projection, if you will, of human hope tainted by fear. At the center of this pathology is the notion that if you sacrifice your children, as God supposedly did with his son Jesus on the cross, that you will somehow survive death.
While this is an evolutional improvement over the notion that Zeus should kill his father Uranus and eat his balls in the process, it is still insanity. And the condition is clearly reflected in the actions of humanity upon the planet.
Downstream just a little were these rapids that the first few passers-through liked to call Maíatís Mattress, because as you bounced in there, your heart had to weigh less than the feather of truth, or, the consequence was your soul was fed to Thothís dog.
Most of all, at the bend in the river, and all we heard was a great silence. A deafening absence of consciousness that ravaged the countryside with lunatic schemes had deformed many of our relatives and most of the worldís population into barking mannikins.
The beauty of Buddhism is that it teaches us to live this life with the same penetrating exactitude with which we will transit the bardo, that state between one life and the next. In the bardo, we see all the things wrong we did in our life and resolve to correct them next time around.
Well, the world has reached the bardo stage of evolution, in which we must identify the true causes of our misery and correct them.
Care to know the alternative?
Message from a silent future ...
Nobody ever got to the bottom of it, and everybody missed the point. Therefore, the coverup continued. Perhaps it's because we didn't really want to see it, or were simply afraid to ....
To see the truth would mean the collapse of everything we had built. So in order to keep what we had, we had to overlook and ignore some really terrible things. And I mean terrible beyond the normal comprehension of most people. Things you can't imagine anybody you know actually doing ....
And yet these things have been done, and in our name ....
We bear the responsibility for them, because we let it happen.
The world, this Garden of Eden, was destroyed on our watch.
This is the karma everyone will keep. This is the karma of our species. This is the epitaph echo that will wisp throughout the stars when we are gone, which will be soon.
And everyone else, from other star systems, will shake their heads and say regretfully: "They had everything to live for, but they chose not to ... they chose to consume themselves with their own fear."
This is your preview epitaph for that cheery little orb known as planet Earth.
Get in your boat and row as far upstream as you can, and when you finally reach that space where you can relax and take a deep breath, review your whole life and decide what you want to do, I bet you decide to come back and help us make this world a real place, and not one that is constantly being trashed by those who donít really care about it.
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida whose Internet essays have been seen on thousands of websites around the world. PayPal recently closed down his account because of objectionable material about the tribe that afflicts us all. Visit his website
and support his work if you can.
Last updated 17/05/2007