Puppy Shadow and I found ourselves walking downtown this morning, and ended up staying for the parade. In small town America, 4th of July parades are still a big deal, and Bloomington is no exception. Flags everywhere, of course. That’s not what bothered me. I’m used to this display of myopic “patriotism” once each year. It did bother me, by the way, when the flags were trotted out everywhere, I mean everywhere, waving from truck and high-rise windows, after 9/11. Yes, that did indeed bother me. Sent chills up my spine. Even as the towers went down, I had received an internal message: “inside job.”
So here we are, nearly 12 years later — that’s one Jupiter cycle of opportunity — Jupiter will return to the position it occupied on 9/11 at 11°30 Cancer, sign of home and family and community, in mid-August, this year. Let’s begin again, folks, let’s begin again a new Jupiterian cycle of opportunity, by shaking off our collective PTSD; let us shake off the reflexive, territorial “one nation under God” (as opposed to every other “nation” which our nation, if Empire is to continue galloping up the globe will, with “God’s” blessing of course, dominate!) to “Earth and Earthlings communing with the galaxy.” Something like that.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but is there not an increased “military” presence in 4th of July parades? Rumbling in front of and behind school cheerleaders and local businesses, Scottish kiltsmen and women with bagpipes and the local Hoosier Hills Food Bank truck, gigantic camoflauge-colored tanks or tank-like machines, appearing brand new, with ordinary people in them, waving flags. And always, always, the reflex slogan: “Support our troops!” It makes me gag. Not just that their menacing technology spoils our innocent parade, but that onlookers and other parade participants don’t seem to see anything strange about this military presence. Do they really think tanks equal “security”? Oh yeah, some do! Remember the Boston Marathon, how the entire city was shut down by tanks in order to capture or kill one hapless teenager? How many didn’t seem to mind this overwhelming use of Goliath force after one tiny David?
A cautious estimate puts the percentage of military-oriented parade vehicles at this year’s Bloomington parade at 15 to 20%. I hope I’m wrong.
I hadn’t planned to witness the parade, so didn’t bring my iphone: no pictures. Meanwhile, near the one-hour parade’s end, I happened to find myself standing near a fresh-faced, dewey-eyed young woman, 18-years-old, she told me, from Greenwood InDiana, to start as a freshman at IU on a full scholarship in the fall.
I told her I had been standing there counting the number of military-oriented parade vehicles. She looked surprised, put off. Who is this old woman? But curious, too.
One thing led to another. I probably ended up talking with her for 20 minutes.
Started by reminding her that the U.S. had dropped not one, but two nuclear bombs on Japanese cities in 1945, a country that was trying beforehand, to surrender. Her face started to tense. Mentioned that even now we manufacture weapons of mass destruction and sell them worldwide, for profit. That war is big business. That it’s run by banks, and military industrial contractors, again, for profit. That they supply weapons to both sides. Now her face was seriously melting.
I went on and on. How people are conditioned to believe the rah rah shit, and end up as fodder in endless wars. Yup, on and on! At the end, I told her to go see The Matrix and V for Vendetta. Just to get up to speed. And the throwaway line as I was walking away, “As for television, why do you think they call it “programming”?
Here’s where the light bulb went off. Her face suddenly brightened, broadened. She got it.
I don’t think there’s any doubt: she will remember my continuous refrain. Seek your own mind, don’t believe the garbage you’ve been taught. Told her to be cautious in college, too. Told her about the young woman, an IU senior, who stood up at a permaculture reunion and said that by taking the permaculture course she was finally getting the education she had been wanting. Told her to google “permaculture.” That it was the hope of the world.
Oh yeah, at some point I mentioned that we were probably standing there together so that I could download all this information to her. “Because there are no coincidences, right?” she asked, shyly, ever the good pupil. Already, she was beginning to wake up.
So sweet! So endlessly polite. “Please give me an example.”
So I told her the story of how I had been thinking about changing the tagline for this exopermaculture blog to “Blending Above and Below” from “Bridging Above and Below.” How that thought had been striking my mind and heart. I wondered if it was too soon. Would people get it?
The next day I was taking a walk in the woods. Took some pictures, including one I called “Diaphanous Death” of nearly transparent dead leaves shimmering in the light on a little tree. Put the story of that walk up on this blog.
That night, I read where a reader had commented that there was a “Diaphanous Man” in the photo, upper center portion. I looked at it again, and sure enough. Blending Above and Below! So I wrote another post, with the photo, and the story of what had occurred to make me see the “Diaphanous Man.”
She grokked the synchronicity (though I doubt she uses that word “grok.” That’s from the 60s, and came out of Robert Heinlein’s tale, Stranger in a Strange Land. And of course, for old hippies like me, it’s gotten stranger and stranger ever since!)
If you’ll notice, the tagline to this blog now reads: “Bridging/Blending Above and Below.” I don’t think we’re ready to leave out “Bridging” altogether. We still like to keep our dimensions separate. But it’s getting harder. Before we talked I had been standing in another location, and noticed that when I looked northwest, what I seemed to be seeing was a film screen with a current in the middle rippling subtly against the rest of the grain. Really weird, the wavy effect. And before that. A few blocks uptown, talking with a young mother whose beautiful child, born very prematurely, is now three and a half. I hadn’t seen Keenan since was a precious infant, his life in the balance. Now he eats 40% of his food by himself, and loves spinach. The rest is still tube-fed, all organic. He is cognitively advanced, but walks with a sort of rolling motion, as if through water, which, his parents have realized only recently, is due to vertigo in his inner ears.
Yeah, no coincidences. That I should be talking with the young woman about Diaphanous Man, and that that very morning, had been visited by some sort of transparency in the illusion that feeds this 3D world, as well as discussed the vertigious situation of dear Keenan. The dimensions are indeed blending.
Here, once more, is Diaphanous Man!