As I go about my days, preparing for this evening’s Winter Solstice Celebration by purchasing egg nog and bourbon and candles here, whole milk for the kids’ chocolate there, sparkling cider for those who do not drink alcohol in yet a third location, I’m reminded of how sweet the natures of all those with whom I interact on a daily basis. So very different from what’s going on “above” me: “above” the decent little pockets of civility and kindness that either still exist or are sprouting up, everywhere, “above” the earth’s deep frozen silence of this sacred season, I’m reminded of what I don’t want to look at right now, but must.
Here’s Julian Rose, writing in a white-hot heat:
And of course, part of that duplicity is the refusal to thoroughly investigate rampant global networks of mind control, pedophilia, satanism, trafficking, and murder of children.
Preston James, who calls out Donald Trump, argues that if he wants to heal the divide among the American people, then this is the one way to do it. That only if he takes on the challenge of rooting out this deep, pervasive, long-running cancer threaded throughout the halls of “power,” holding participants hostage via threats of blackmail and assasination, only then will we the people know he’s for real.