Think about it. Let’s see now, ML #17 downed in Ukraine, when? July 17, 2014. That’s only two weeks ago!
BRICs Development Bank deal signed, when? July 15, 2014.
Israel begins Gaza “land invasion,” when? July 17, 2014, within an hour or two of the plane crash.
Hmmmm. Think the three events are connected? That the first is a distraction for both the second (ignore the BRICs; they have some nerve leaving the World Bank and IMF and establishing their own institutions!) and the third (ignore the latest Israeli atrocity, no big deal, since it’s Israel, with which the U.S. is joined at the hip)? Though of course this second Malasian Air plane event in a matter of months is full of mysterious clues to keep us guessing, and of course is layered with multiple purposes, not the least of which is that it gives the green light to ignite a gigantic boohaha, mostly against Russia’s Putin, the convenient target for the NATO/EU/US/Israel alliance, blaming him and the Russkies for everything that does, did, and will go wrong worldwide.
Wait a minute? Who listens to this drivel? I.e., who wants to relive the past, when America and Russia were in their mighty “cold war” and mighty America, eventually, supposedly, “won”? Old American Republican men who love MSM news, that’s who — and of course, banksters, aerospace companies, mercenary and other “security” companies (think: Blackwater), and all sorts of weapons manufacturers that routinely supply both sides in any conflict.
War, remember, is “good for the economy“.
So now we have alarmists and others warning us that war with Russia is coming.
Meanwhile, we are still perplexed by the plane crash, of course, which started this whole war drum beating, or seemed to; actually, it just “happened to” crash in Ukraine at that odd moment uniting two signature events, a country in which the bad guys (that’s us, our government) had been fomenting chaos for some time.
We may be perplexed, but meanwhile, it didn’t stop our attention from pivoting to the Middle East, and Israel’s stunning, grinding on and on display of brutality on a people corralled and cornered into a bit of land where there is no safe place. We weep over the children.
Oops! Don’t stay too long there, because meanwhile, building, building, the next stunning crisis, the next civilization-ending catastrophe: EBOLA. Yeeks!
Here’s several more pieces relating this this so-called pandemic in the making, this false flag that could turn real, if we let it, if we let fear take over.
Jon Rappoport wrote the first one that I posted yesterday. Here’s his second post on the topic:
Here’s two from jhaines6.com that basically, affirm Jon’s point of view:
This morning my friend Ted sent me the perfect NYT article to compliment this post (of course, synchronicity works).
Oh, let’s see now, where was I? Oh yes, I wanted to talk about what we’re doing here, until I was sidelined by “the world.” Like just about everyone else who is “awake and aware,” my own perceptions tend to be corralled and cornered by these rip-roaring events each of which seems more ghastly than the one before it. Anxious, riveted with a continuous, strange, underground tremor, I wake up each day — if I’m lucky enough to sleep through the night; I’m usually not — usually wake up for about three hours at about 2 A.M., liver time! And I lie there perfectly still, feeling the dread and anxiety sweeping through the world, feel it washing through me, notice it, how it triggers thoughts, scary thoughts, notice the rolling, tumultuous waves of fear and horror; breathe through it, breathe, breathe, — and finally, usually, if I’m lucky, fall back asleep, like I did last night.
Anyway where was I? Oh yes, we wake up each day, or at least I do, determined to soldier on with our thrilling plans and projects to turn this little corner of the world into a green, regenerative bit of paradise. Just now we’re about to complete our water catchment system from the roofs of both houses. And in order to do so I put out a request to the permaculture guild list here for help in design and execution, and within an hour got four responses! Four men who could help in some way. We picked the third one, since he’s got time and is handy already, and has done some of these systems before. Plus, it turns out he’s new in town, met me at a meeting for the Center for Sustainable Living a few weeks ago, and is gung-ho to work with us on all the projects we’ve got going here to turn this two-house homestead into a tiny ecovillage in anticipation of it growing to include the entire neighborhood over time. Whew! And it’s a win-win for Tom, since he just moved to town, and wants to start a green hand-man business. Working with us is his ticket to the kind of reputation he wants to build. On the docket, besides water, is turning the garage into a combination pottery studio and greenhouse, getting the sign for the Green Acres Neighborhood Garden, now finally made —
— up on the fence, getting the arched gate, also now ready —
— into the fence, on and on, not to mention turning every bed into some version of hugelkulture. Here’s the second big one, finally done and mulched with straw.
Here’s are two of our smaller African beds, which have a base of wood chips, and a hole in the middle for making compost from food waste. The first one we built a month or so ago — and the food waste in the hole is already composted! So we dug it out, to make room for more.
And here’s another gigantic one, in front of my house, surrounding an old tree stump. It’s mighty ugly right now, and just about ready for a truck load of composted dirt. I’ll stuff a bit more old paper files from my cleaned out room in what empty holes remain first.
We’re on our way, lickety-split, despite my own split consciousness, between the very very local and the very very global . . .
Oh wow, just as I wind up this piece, I hear the tornado siren go off. It’s always loud and haunting, and aha, yes, it was just a test, conducted precisely at noon . . .