Reader Rose has turned me on to a new website: The International Reporter. Interesting. Not sure what its overall bias is at this point. But she’s right. The following piece, by William Engdahl, a repost from NEO, just cries out to be read. The title itself speaks volumes.

China Dumps GMO, Turns to Russia for Real Food

My own discernment process often involves watching a site for a good while before I think I can sense “where it’s coming from.” Because every site is coming from its own point of view. There is no such thing as objectivity. There are, however more or less interesting points of view. I tend to read widely, across a number of spectrums (oops! should have said “spectra”), and then to nose my own way through the various shifting cross-currents of contradiction — following the wide rolling river of human imagination through portals to infinity.

A contradiction itself, what left-brain logic views as “that beyond which one cannot go,”  “because otherwise, anything’s possible, ANYTHING!” — this was my logic professor’s actual sputtering remark, when, as a graduate student I asked in all innocence, “But what’s wrong with contradiction?” — I view as itself an opening. Contradictions as nodes, locations where, if we can see/feel them from close to, open into spaciousness.

All of which reminds me: this morning puppy Shadow and I visited a good friend who is in a care center. Her husband, who lives in his own room down the hall, was present in his wheelchair during my visit. I stayed only a few minutes, as she had just fallen and was feeling weak. I stood by her bed, held her knee and spoke quietly, encouraging her not to judge herself for falling, told her I’d return tomorrow, and turned to go.

I looked at him, said hello, and smiled. Surprisingly, he spoke up! I’m used to him not saying a word to me. However, he has just undergone a hellish two years of medical torture — and has emerged, still alive! In fact, I’d say now that somehow, the prolonged torture transformed him; because this morning he felt very present and approachable.

So. On my way out the door, when I turned to smile and say hello, expecting the old, usual, rebuff, in response, he remarked: “I’m trying to discern the differences in my fantasies, what’s real and what’s not.”

Huh?

I paused . . .

“For example, I had a vision of you and a friend of yours buried in the ground up to the neck. Is it real?” His question seemed urgent, as if he had to know. I was of course, stunned. “No,” I answered. “Really?” he continued. “But it was so detailed.”

“No” I said again. “Not in this reality.” He looked somewhat dumbfounded. I added: “I have long had the sense that anything that can be imagined is true in some reality or other. So though what you saw is not true in this reality, it may be in some other reality.” This kind of response is not what someone of his background was expecting. A retired I.U. mathematics professor, prior to his prolonged hospitalization I have a feeling he would have not just scoffed at my remark, but the thick bias of his scientific consciousness would have felt so intimidating that I wouldn’t have said such a thing in his presence. Why “throw pearls before swine?” Or more to the point: why invite ridicule?

But today, he was listening. I went on: “My husband,  a mathematician like yourself, used to say to me, “Just remember Ann, we’re making it all up!” He would say this whenever I tended to get too judgmental or sure of my own opinion. Since his death, nearly 15 years ago, I have become much more comfortable with the ever-expanding spaciousness his consciousness was immersed in. Indeed, I feel that I seemed to have taken this banner up; that in his dying, he handed it to me.

So now, with the husband of my friend this morning. Amazing that there we were together — him in a wheel chair, me just about to turn and go — inside  a mutual spacious presence, chewing on what 3D and scientism would call absurdities.

And now, seeing how this beautiful being is transforming, I take back everything I’ve ever said about “medical torture.” Who knows what anyone needs to open fully to his or her own soul’s promise in this lifetime? Even torture might be in order, depending on how stiff and unyielding our brittle point of view.

Truly, this retired math professor feels like a much more spacious being than I remember. His Asbergian tendency is simply GONE.

Miracles abound.

Walking home with puppy Shadow, intensely grateful to be alive.