I can’t help but notice the sickening dread in my stomach as I contemplate the projected path of Irene, right along the longest, most congested megalopolis corridor in the U.S. (in the world?) An exact fit, the one mapped onto the other. Is this just because that’s what hurricanes do, stay along coasts? But they don’t. Is this just an accident? Or “the hand of God”? Somehow I don’t think so.
Wow, hey, this means FEMA can ramp up again, tell us what to do again. Lock people in stadiums, or spray them with chemicals, or ignore them if they’re poor. It means the military gets to gear up with fancy new stuff that we paid for involuntarily and then show us its stuff, moving around, prepared to “save” us from ourselves again. It means the complexifying edifice of our intensifying police state can condition us even more dramatically to need it desperately, for our own survival.
I do a cursory google, “Irene and weather wars” and aside from comments on blogs, all I can find is a single article on the Alex Jones site, infowars. I check out dutchsinse, his esoteric readings of weather maps and HAARP. And yes, he shows, over and over again, first a blinding white flash followed by a deep red flash that he says indicates a massive HAARP ring inside Irene, and that the ring’s effect will be directed to either mitigate the effects of the hurricane or to intensify the weather, 24-48 hours from now.
The projected path of Irene hugs the east coast from the Carolinas to New England, along which, from Washington D.C. to New York City, are controlled most (all?) of the economic and political levers that systematically fuel and entrap just about everyone on the planet, in one way or another. And that it would occur just after a rare rare rare rare rare powerful earthquake in Virgina?! Huh?
Ah! And now I see that the financial district in New York is in the potential flood zone. And that the banks will declare a bank holiday on Monday. How convenient! But for what?
And astonishing: that the hurricane should direct its force along the crowded east coast of the U.S. precisely during a perigree new moon when the tides are the longest and strongest!
And, of course, like a any good and fiendishly clever series of false flag moves, the earthquake/hurricane took the heat off whatever truth was beginning to be uncovered just prior to it. What was that truth? I can no longer remember; nor do I have the energy to turn around, go backwards, find out. What’s the point? Our 3D reality timeline is rushing ahead at such an accelerating clip that yesterday’s news truly is history, a phantasm from the dark ages, totally disconnected from what’s happening now. NOW. The only connections I obsessively draw now are the timing and location of the hurricane with the Virginia earthquake, the synchronicity of the east coast map of the U.S. with the projected path of Irene, and the perigree new moon. Sound simple-minded? It is. That’s what I’ve been reduced to. Casting about for clues in the deepening mist, flailing in the emotional muck of the collective unconscious, mired in fear and terror, calling out for mercy. Hearing soft, trolling bells, far off, obscured by flashing lights and staticky images from everywhere, all the time, no rest, no stopping any of it, all I can do is relax into the flow. But how? How? And . . . and meanwhile, to wonder about the links between this hurricane affecting the lives of 50 million people — many of whom do not possess “get away” cars in an evacuation of 350,000 without public transporation — and the earthquake that demonstrated, in 30 seconds, just how fragile are the massive, ceremonial stone structures that symbolize what used to be our democracy.
Ah yes, and one final synchronous note: the Martin Luther King memorial, due to be consecrated today, has now been indefinitely postponed.
What brilliant, dark, maniacal mind thinks all this stuff up and directs its complexity with such mastery? For it sure seems that way.
I sit here in the heartland of America and ask that my heart remain open. That my heart open wider, even wider to allow in all the suffering, all the confusion, not just my own, but all of ours, all. I practice tonglen.