The 11th anniversary of 9.11.
9.11.12. It has a certain ring to it. And where are we?
On our walk this morning, puppy Shadow and I saw no chemtrails, just deep, clear, blue sky. The kind I remember from childhood.
The real story, or at least credence given to one version of the real story, that painstakingly detailed and documented by the Architects and Engineers, on Colorado PBS last week, has now been viewed by countless PBS stations.
Today, Steve Beckow and Fred Burks both feature a plethora of articles and videos relating to 9.11, all of them in one way or another suggesting that yes, a massive conspiracy had accomplished an extraordinarily dastardly series of deeds that day. And for a great compilation of such, see activistpost.
All of which is good and bad.
On the one hand, people can shrug their shoulders and say, well, so what? That was 11 years ago. We must go on.
On yeah? See Zen Gardner on this subject.
On the other hand, most people in the U.S. are still not aware, even with the mountains of publicity, that 9.11 wasn’t what it seemed. Or, wasn’t what they made it seem to be. Or, wasn’t really real. Or was so hyperreal that it put the American public into instant, shocked, amnesia. Like what we have learned to call “trauma-based mind-control.” (Check out Fred Burks extensive archives on mind-control.) That’s Zen’s point of view. It’s also mine.
“What were you doing on the morning of 9.11?” reminds me of the other signature collectively traumatizing event and the same question, “What were you doing when Kennedy was shot?” Oh yes. We all do remember. In both cases, what had just been announced was so far out of ordinary reality that it seemed unreal. In order to even grok it at all we had to grab hold of our ordinary circumstances, clutch the couch, or the chair, or the ground were standing upon, as, obsessively, over and over again, we watched, or listened, or read.
Me? I woke up on that fateful day and was doing my morning yoga as usual when a friend phoned me. “TURN ON THE RADIO.” I did.
And instantly, a deep, deep, knowing, a reverberation in the bottom of my soul, and a dread: “inside job.” This was my immediate response. I knew, I intuitively knew, that our government, or a shadow aspect or parallel government, or some other unknown, invisible “entity” had set up this situation, designed it, and executed it flawlessly. I did not go to sleep. Instead, I switched into hyperalertness.
That evening, at the yurts where I lived in Kelly, Wyoming, I was voicing my feelings about what went down that day to a neighbor. And right then, he said — he didn’t even need to be traumatized further by the Patriot Act, soon to be rolled out from the shelf where it had been kept awaiting the event that would legislate it, justify it, enact it —”I wouldn’t say that if I were you.” I looked at his face. His eyes were stern, steely, warning me against my own instincts. What? This neighbor, a young man in his prime, an extreme skiier and mountaineer, was, I thought, the last person who would have been instantly cowed into submission. My dread ratcheted up another notch.
The next day I was scheduled to take a road trip to eastern Washington, where I would be doing research on a woman’s life for a book on the subject that had been commissioned by Parabola Magazine. She had been a peace activist all her life. It seemed fitting that I would be doing this work now. (The book was eventually cancelled, due to my refusal to change the perspective within which I viewed her life story.)
All the way up, flags. Flags fluttering from pick-up windows, car windows. Flag decals. The Patriot Act, only then being dragged off the shelf, had already inspired exactly what “they,” the cabal, the shadow government, a few evil men, whoever it was that did that extraordinary prolonged series of deeds over a single day with, supposedly, “muslims” steering four commercial airliners into the centers of commerce, finance and the military, wanted. Patriotic fever. Nationalism. We’re the good guys. Let’s go git ’em.
In my hotel there, doing tai chi, watching the towers fall, over and over and over again. The same shots, same videos. As if repetition would make it more “real.” As if repetition would succeed in even hypnotizing people like me, one of the rad-icals who seeks, always, to investigate experience “to the root;” who finds sustenance in my fascination with the hidden sources of energy that power the phenomenal world; who skims over the top of the brainwashed vibrations circling this globe to access the mysteries of the universe.
Nope. Wrong! I’m still here. You didn’t git me. I’m free as a bird. Kicking and screaming and meditating and knowing that sooner or later, “the arc of history,” long as it may be, does “bend toward justice.”
So. 11 years later, and what has changed? Today’s local paper announces that a “ceremony for the devastating terrorist attacks is set for 9 am today.” Devastating terrorist attacks. Yes. But who are the real kingpins of this and other “terrorist” events that sow division between races, nations, religions?
And yet, and yet. In my large family, one brother and one brother-in-law see the world much the same as I do. That feels good. I’m no longer viewed as “too much,” “out there,” “the crazy one.” I’m not sure if 9.11 was the lynch pin that took the wind out of their formerly patriotic American sails, and it certainly wasn’t mine. Though I grew up in the ’50s when “The American Dream” was still holding us all in its gauzy, consumerist illusion and I felt “proud” of my country for its “good deeds” around the world, Vietnam was my Waterloo. As it was for many of my contemporaries.
And yet, so many of them, the ones I call the Pluto in Leo generation (1938-1958) — who had started the revolutionary/evolutionary ball rolling when Uranus conjuncted Pluto in the late ’60s for the first time in 165 years and we grew our hair long and dropped our bras and girdles and fell, headlong and eager, into sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll — had fallen back to sleep. Huh? How?
Well, of course, the wind changed in the ’80s. The world-wind that carries us all, like flocks of birds or schools of fish, in a certain direction and then veers onto another course. Plus, I figure that consumerism got ’em, and/or “career advancement,” or the natural mental sluggishness that comes with advancing age when you don’t take care of your body, and don’t process your emotional issues. And so many of us didn’t. And are now reaping the karmic payback in disease, death, debilitation of various forms.
Okay, so here we are, eleven years later. Eleven years after the bottom fell out of the world. And we turned cynical, or sluggish, or terror-struck into obedience and acquiescence.
Last year’s Arab Spring and the Occupy movement were the first very obvious global signs of life. Or they seemed to be. Actually, many of us have been busy creating a new world under the ashes of the old, the one still smoldering with both the detritus of 9/11 and of the old financial and military systems that, top heavy, are about ready to collapse like those towers did, into their own gigantic footprints that have stomped on us, “the people,” all over the globe. Meanwhile, we go on. Now the eleventh anniversary, and yes, much has changed. We are waking up, all over the world. The “official version” of 9.11 can no longer be counted on as historical fact. At the very least, it’s in question.
Let’s keep our questions coming. Notice how the world opens up when we do. Keep planting our gardens, getting to know our neighbors, solidifying our connections within our families, creating and joining co-ops (guess what? More people now work for coops than for corporations!) Creating and utilizing alternative energy sources (guess what? the new economy is already happening, just not on Wall Street!), noticing, noticing, noticing how tiny plants push up through concrete, how seeds burst open again and again, the life force inexorably flowing up from below.
We are ready. We are here. And we are amazing.