Updated within one minute of posting. See postscript.
Well, well! Just after I put up my first and only post of this day — trying like hell to “figure out” what’s going on “over there” in a place I’ve never been by people I’ll never meet, to others whose great misfortune was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time for reasons (or stupid mistake) that I betcha not even the fabled 1% controllers know the full extent of, much less the ultimate consequences and meaning, though they’re trying like hell to pin it on Putin — my friend Keith stopped by. Again.
He’s been stopping by recently, and more and more I seem to be giving in to this one-to-one human interaction that touches on subjects of which we are both so fond — from permaculture, to ETs, to conspiracies of all kinds, to the possibility of “Near Term Human Extinction” (a la “doomer” Guy McPherson), which happens to be a group on facebook that you might look into for yourself. It’s very interesting on that page, with others who aren’t afraid to look the unthinkable in the eye.
Reminds me of a story that I hadn’t yet gotten around to posting, I think suggested by someone in that group:
I ask Keith how he thinks the permaculture community is reacting to the idea that possibly, we are all headed off-planet in one way or another. “Ascension,” a la all the channelers? Or just plain individual and mass “death” in the old-fashioned sense? Or a split in worlds (and dimensions), the Ascensionistas and the damned? — who knows! He says in his experience local permaculturists don’t want to go there (to the possibility, even probability of near term extinction), that they all think we can “do” something.
And of course, since permies (like me, like Keith) all assume that if there is hope for the world, then it will have to come through permaculture, then thinking about the possibilities of limits to the human capacity for shifting “possible near-term feed-back loops of all kinds as they begin to spiral out of control” is just not something they’d like to put in their pipe to smoke.
Of course, we can’t blame them. Especially those with children. How can we even bring children into the world, if we assume that by 2030 or 2040 or so, there won’t be any world for them to live in? And yet, as I said to Keith, I admire them enormously, for defying the odds, those who know what we’re up against, and still choose to reproduce. And I look upon these children in wonder. Who are they, that their souls would choose to come in, here, now?
On the other hand, we both agree that we really don’t know what’s going to happen, that all we can do is bow, every day, to the Great Mystery — which then took us first, to our common childhood experiences of what I would now call “Presence,” and then to how to act in the face of possible impending planetary catastrophe; i.e., what are the “Extinction Protocols,” as I like to call them! “That’s the name of Guy’s and Carolyn (Baker)’s new book!” He exclaimed. — Oh wow, wouldn’t you know, a phrase that’s “in the ethers,” that invisible realm that holds all our thoughts and mirrors them, morphs and spreads them in unforeseen ways.
Did I put that phrase there? But what’s “I”? And how could any idea be said to have a single maker? We “pick up on” things, we don’t invent them. Once we realize that, our egos start to whoosh down, like punctured air mattresses that no longer cushion our bodies and souls from the astounding intensity of sheer swooping Presence on our beloved Mother Earth.
We agreed that we need to learn how to “do” with no expectations, that it is our “expectation that the world will end” that tends to stop all “doing” in its tracks — but that it need not. We can still garden to our heart’s content (and yes, this phrase, “heart’s content” is deliberate, for connection with the soil and plants does make our heart content . . .), no matter what our minds are up to. And we must.
Because what if we’re wrong? And even so, what if we really have no idea what’s going on on any comprehensive level? Though, as Keith says, even ETs can’t save us; indeed it may be that in fact a lot of them are here for their own self-serving purposes, while they watch us or even control us, pulling our strings into blindly continuing to consume our way into the oblivion of human-caused runaway ecological nightmare —yes, even that; and even so, still, what do we do in the meantime? What are the extinction protocols?
Which had us seguing into the idea of “suicide,” ala Mike Ruppert, offing ourselves before things got too ugly. Well, I said, I’ve long thought that I want to leave when I decide to go; and not because I’m depressed but just because I’m done, my service here is over. And to do this, I want to choose a non-violent manner: no guns or drugs or plastic bags, rather some kind of meditation technique that will help me breathe my way out. That is my life’s purpose, ultimately, to learn how to observe and engage in a conscious deathing process.
We discussed the possibility of getting a little group together for these kinds of personal conversations on extreme topics, not just on facebook, but eye to eye, soul to soul. Let’s see now, anybody else in Bloomington who dares to go into this largely uncharted territory?
I thanked him for coming. We both realize that we are making time for relationships more now than we used to before we thought about Near-Term Human Extinction. — Even though Keith and I have always felt like lifelong odd ducks, knowing that this nightmare ending was there as a looming possibility, or even probability. For me, I was so certain that the “world will end in my lifetime” that my dark vision separated me out from my childhood. Nothing like looking collective death in the face to stop one from jumping rope or playing dolls — until, of course, one learns to play without expectation. So I’m kind of an expert on this, after 71 years of practice.
As soon as he left, my brother-in-law John called, from Seattle. Another one-to-one communication started with a man who calls frequently and wants to talk on this same level of reality and intensity. This time our conversation moved to the level of current events, especially this SERCO business, which, did you notice, was in the Washington Post this morning?!?
I didn’t understand one of the posts I put up on SERCO, it felt like gobbeldy gook to me.
John thought the same, but dug deeper, and the way he explained it led me to exclaim, “So SERCO is the Mycellium of the Matrix!” Whoopee do. What a great phrase, maybe that one will go viral. Meanwhile, Reader Rose sent me this link:
— with her commentary:
Serco Group is a British global ‘information and management’ corporation that ‘services’ governments worldwide. Serco Inc. is a subsidiary of Serco Group and operates out of Reston, Virginia providing ‘information and management’ services to the US government. (I will forward a Washington Post article that exposes a fraction of the scope of lucrative government contracts awarded to Serco.)
Serco has been implicated in the recent Malaysian 777 airliner crash and a ‘connecting-of-dots’ exposes highly sophisticated blackmailing of elected and appointed government officials worldwide.
This article relates to the story that American diplomat Chris Stevens was in the process of exposing
an international human-trafficking ring at the time of his murder in Benghazi and Serco’s possible involvement in the tragedy.
We truly are in a time of ‘revelation’.
BTW: If you want the skinny on current running news from alternative sources re: Flight 17, please go to the Jean Haines site. Once again, hers is the go-to place for all sorts of wild and not-so-wild perspectives funneled in her direction. Thanks Jean!
Just then John had to get off the phone. We’ll continue later today.
Once again, human relationships are beginning to take preference over my screens! Whoopee! And I’m hardly even thinking about it, I just do it, make time, am glad for the time with friends and family rather than impatient . . .
If I could only be like my puppy Shadow, who all this morning had been waiting patiently for his Mom to get off the couch and take him for his walk! So, at noon today, we finally got in the car for InDiana, on a day when finally, after eight days of recuperation from “fever” and associated sore throat and so on, I felt my energy return.
It was not there when I got up this morning. After, however, time spent in extended, actual one-on-one personal conversations, that mysterious energy that circulates through the universe had found me, once again, a clear vessel for its beneficence; I was up and rarin’ to go.
Headin’ up the light-dappled Griffy Lake hill trail —
Mostly, Shadow helped me stay present. But I couldn’t help but segue back to my conversations this morning, especially the idea of near-term extinction, and how Nature ustilizes the rot of one dead thing to fuel the growth of another —
Besides these usual philosophical Sagittarian thoughts about ultimates, I actually did pause long enough for my eye to see, in great particularity, a daddy long-legs(!) —sideways, slightly above the midline of the right side of the trunk. See it?
If the photo is a little blurry, please forgive me; I’ve developed the “Kreilkamp tremor” in my right hand. In fact, that tremor is what got me into tai chi in the first place, 14 years ago, which may be why it hasn’t gotten any worse.
Oops! Out of the woods to the lake, with geese, some upside down, in the water. A blue heron wheeled away before I could grab my iphone to capture it . . .
Okay. Done. Now which black Prius is ours? Oh yeah, the one with the bumperstickers . . .
Postscript. Right after I put this up, I see a note from Keith . . .