y después...

Checking in from Oruro, Bolivia, where Cap and I have just experienced one of the wildest carnivals one might attempt to imagine. Carnival Diablada involves an endless procession of exquisitely costumed dancers and bandmembers, parading around town for no less than 24 hours. Things were already in full swing when we crawled out of bed Saturday morning and found our grandstand seats at about 1030. This morning, we could still hear the singing of horns and fireworks at noon. Absolutely wild. Cappo took a picture with a girl passed out on the street when he went out to get lunch. I was still in bed nursing my violently upset stomach. Gotta watch out for the carne de la calle. That is all the detail I will provide about this aspect of my day.

One interesting side-note to add here: our friend Miguel, a Mexican from Texas, got arrested today for exposing himself to a police officer. He, along with the rest of us, raged it last night, but what separated him was his intent to slam 6 cervezas first thing this morning, and was thus stumbling about, attempting to make international phone calls and, having already dropped his trousers in front of our little tour group, seems to have done the same for the viewing pleasure of the Bolivian policia. They, apparently, were not so pleased as he might have hoped, and he is now in jail for the next 24 hours. This problem is compounded by the fact that his passport is back in La Paz. I truly sympathize, but am rather thrilled that it is not I who will be waking up from a drunken stupor in Bolivian prison.

This group that we came down here with is a collection of mostly Aussies and Scots. They are rowdy to say the least. I am attempting not to be too judgmental with them, suffice it to say that there is a serious lack of travel savviness in the group (they were shocked that they were expected to have their passports with them), as well as a serious lack of respect for the house where we stayed, and a complete lack of conscientiousness about the impressions they left on the locals.



Cappo and I have been discussing this phenomenon a lot, how the ugly-American stereotype most often applies to those gringos not actually from the US. There were many events where if it had been an American saying or doing the things that these people were, there would have been an uproar, but then, for example, last night, Cappo and I were shocked at the outrageous cover charge to this dance party we attended, and were attempting to negotiate a discount. We met with resistance, and the Aussie dude who was with us immediately undermined the whole process by calling us out for being cheap, and Americans with a sense of entitlement. I was wearing my Canadian flag t-shirt.

As if we didn't stick out enough, we had neon green t-shirts.


But still, party!

Note the poncho. There really were water balloons flying everywhere. Children and old ladies were not necessarily targeted, but they were certainly not spared.

Okay, but before Oruro we were in the jungle. We flew from the airport in La Paz (the highest in the world) to Rurrenabaque, a little town tucked amidst jungle-covered mountains that might have easily been featured in Jurassic Park. Our plane was just a little guy, with one seat on either side and no separation between the passengers and the cockpit. We chose the 45-minute sketchy-plane ride over the 20 hour sketchy-bus ride. So we take off, and I glance out the window to find a huge, snow-capped Andean mountain staring me in the face until we rose into dense clouds. Comforting. We landed on a strip of dirt in a clearing in the middle of the jungle. We truly enjoyed this.

Because our flight had been delayed, we missed the Sunday-start tour we'd signed up for. This turned out to be a blessing because we were then able to spend the afternoon hiking through the Amazon with a guy named Nelson and his two-toothed friend. After a trip up the river (scenes reminiscent of Apocalypse Now; I'll have to compare notes with my brother, recently returned from Vietnam), we trekked up into the mountains for maybe two hours, seeing ayahuasca vines, strangler figs, and chocolate fruit. Our two-toothed amigo somehow found a baby tarantula hiding in the depths of a cone-shaped leaf and provoked it to lunge out and attack a twig.


Eventually, we reached our destination, strapped on our harnesses, had a brief safety briefing, then clamped on to the wire and went zipping across the top of the canopy. This was brilliant, some of the best fun available as far as I can tell. The guides even gave us their super-fast sliders when they realized that the new ones we were using were crap.

Then we watched the Super Bowl in the Moskkito Bar. We had an average pizza and fruity drinks and played frustrating games of pool while we watched Peyton make but one crucial error. Towards the end of the game, a German missionary came and sat with us and asked us questions about how American football works. For various reasons, we chose not to trust her.

Next day we found our tour, and set off on a three-hour ride down a bumpy dirt road in the back of a Landcruiser outfitted with bench seats. Our group consisted of one Portuguese guy (who found it acceptable to ride up front while one of the 'guides' rode in back), two Israeli's (a guy and a girl, not dating), and three Chileños (two girls and a guy).

I will now attempt to summarize this three-day, two-night tour as succinctly as possible, in order to remind myself of stories I can delve into greater detail with later. Lunch involved a monkey, two little dogs and a cat, a huge stork-looking bird (not actually a stork), and melted popsicles to drink. We got out of the car to transfer to the boat, and we were introduced to our guide by a different guide, saying ¨This is your guide. He doesn't speak English. Help him load the boat.¨ No English is not a problem, as Cappo and I enjoy practicing our Spanish, but our guide apparently knew only two words in any language: Vamos? and, Tortuga! We spent most of the three days cruising around in our long, skinny boat, outfitted with folding chairs that flip down from the side. It was actually very comfortable so long as you had enough sunblock. So, we were in the pampas, which is basically a monstrous swamp, full of monkeys, toucans, turtles, alligators and river dolphins. The trees have taken root 5 ft under water. We swam with the dolphins (fun, anti-climactic, and dirty - there is a lot of motor oil floating in that stagnant water), hunted down an anaconda (asleep in the roots of a tree), and went looking for alligators at night.
These activities we did, but with perhaps half the success of the other groups, due to the profound incompetence of our guide. Whereas the other group got to pick up the anaconda, we went traipsing off on a wild goose chase, tromping through tall grass on a mission which, it was clear to us all, had no chance of success. Whereas the other group found many alligators, and even scooped a baby out of the water to hold and photograph, we failed to even see a single pair of red eyes glowing in the dark. We only got to see a sloth on the last day because we followed the other group. Sloths are awesome.






Anyway, no big deal, we still had fun, had some cervezas at night watching the sun set over the pampas. Again, I have pictures, but have yet to find an internet cafe able to deal with the upload. We met a Korean-Australian-Christian girl (part of the other group) who tagged along with us back to the Wild Rover in La Paz. Over the course of several meals, we had some rather intense discussions surrounding religion and eco-politics. Turns out what she was espousing was not quite Christianity, but do not under any circumstances tell her that.




The most exciting thing that happened back in La Paz was vindaloo. There's a little restaurant called Star of India, and they boast ¨the most dangerous vindaloo in the world¨, made with special Bolivian peppers from the foothills in the north. There is a t-shirt available only to those who finish the famous vindaloo, ie not for sale. Given this implicit challenge, Cappo and I had little choice but to accept. We took very different approaches, but ended up in the same place. Cap got the chicken, and scarfed 3/4 of it down without letting it touch his tongue (or chewing, far as I can tell). After that it was a matter of will-power to finish the little bit that was left. His biggest challenge was the amount of food, for it really is a sizable bowl of curry. I had the vegetarian style, and took the tortoise approach, complementing my vindaloo with naan and white rice, and really trying to enjoy the full flavor. My biggest challenge was the heat. I don't know if the meat soaks up more spice than the vegetables do, or what the issue was, but my lord, there was plenty of flavor for us. Two smoothies made of milk, honey and peach aided me greatly, as did a bit of agua con gas right at the end. Long story short, Cappo and I have new t-shirts. I will spare you the details of Revenge of the Vindaloo.

So now we're in Oruro waiting for our bus to Potosi. Potosi is an old mining town, where all the miners are self-employed, keeping whatever they find. Apparently the tours of the mines are not to be missed, and we can blow up our very own sticks of dynamite. We plan to be there just one day, before making our way further south and west to Uyuni, where we find the salt flats and many multi-colored lakes. This is supposed to be spectacular. After that, we have one week to make it to Buenos Aires. Looks like we'll go through Cordoba, and skip Mendoza this time around, planning to spend some quality time there on our way back north from Ushuaia.

I wish I had less stuff.

Estoy Aqui

It was a bumrush to La Paz. Flying into Arequipa at sunrise provided one of the more spectacular views an airplane window could ever hope to offer. I tried to take pictures but like usual, failed to do reality justice. The city is set in the midst of three enormous volcanoes (only one of which is active). On this bright and clear morning, they looked close enough to just step out and take a leisurely stroll to the top. This is one of those awesome airports where they let you off the plane, down the ramp and you walk across the runway to the baggage claim. I don´t know, I always loved that. Claimed my big green backpack, and wandered confidently into the cab pool, where I picked a cabbie on instinct. He spoke to me in slow Spanish and pulled over so I could take great pictures of the mountains in the morning (greatness of pictures yet to be determined).

So, Taxi > bus station > .50 soles to use a sketchy bathroom > wait until 830 am until boarding the bus to Puno... At this point I was at 24 hours without proper sleep. I hadn't slept on the plane from Atlanta to Lima because the in-flight entertainment was so entertaining. I watched This Is It, and was dancing in my seat, saw an episode of The Office I'd never seen (Jim and Pam's wedding, rom-com of epic proportions) and Funny People, where Adam Sandler is a dying comedian and tries to find meaning in life or something. Stupid but funny. Anyway, the point is, I didn't sleep. This will catch up to me.

Beautiful busride from Arequipa to Puno. About 5 hours up into the mountains, along windy roads with steep drop-offs. The driver took the corners with very little hesitation, which I liked, as I felt it showed confidence. Plus, our lane was hugging the mountain, so we were at least 5 feet further from dramatic death than the cars coming at us. And then you come around a corner and there's Lake Titicaca sprawled out in front of you. To say it is beautiful is expected, understood, assumed, but what is less tangible is the sense of magic surrounding the place. Can't say what it is, just something radiating out of that water.

The town of Puno is cuddled in a bay on the southern side of the lake where big jagged hills slope down into the basin. The town itself is not exactly attractive. The streets are tiny, the traffic uncontrollable, and many of the streets are dug up (presumably under construction); its picaresque location is Puno's grand redeeming quality, and it more than suffices.

So I got in at about 2 pm, and scheduled a tour of the Uros for later that afternoon. As I soon found out, the Uros are floating islands that indigenous people live on. I'll try to post some pictures, because it's hard to explain (and I´m getting impatient with my own writing; it's cocktail hour for chrissakes). But yeah, very cool. Six or seven families live on each island, maintaining it with grasses and fresh clumps of dirt that float by. They eat fish and keep chickens, and very rarely (if ever) go ashore. I met one lady who introduced me to her 92 year old mother who had apparently never been to shore. (I was later confronted with rumors that they don't actually live there, that they hang out and talk to tourists all day, then row home at night. I am in no position to either confirm or deny this, but I will say that upon reflection, the hut that I stepped inside did seem suspiciously clean.) They all had solar panels plugged into their thatch huts, so they had stereos and TV's. Good for them?




After the tour, I proceeded to walk about town and get quite drunk with some lovely Australian folks I'd met at the hostel. (For a country of 20 million people, Australians make up about half of the population of all the backpackers hostels down here.) Being at altitude, I was aware that the booze was going to kick in quick. So I started slow, was careful, and worked my way into a jovial state of mind. No problemo, right? Right, until the next morning. I was in bed at 330 feeling dandy, and awake at 6 carefully observing as my internal organs appeared to all be slowly shutting down. I had to walk half a mile down the hill to an ATM before I could buy water and check out. This was pure torture. I can only imagine the policeman washing his truck was pretty impressed with my appearance.

It seems an appropriate time to mention that this last paragraph begins about 8 hours after the last ended. I will explain this when the time comes.

Wait, okay. So. Down the hill, no biggie. Up the hill at 630 am, at 12,000 ft, more hungover than I knew was possible? Only one way to learn. Check out; taxi al Terminal Terrestre; OH and so I already had this ticket booked, so they knew me at the desk and were happy to take my backpack, tag it, hand me the sticker on my ticket, but then it disappeared and I said Oh, okay, I trust you? So I ask a series of questions in my ever-less broken Español, a que porte, y hay un tax de salir (para mi pobre Americano)? (Parentheses not actually spoken, no shit). But so yeah, pay the tax, get out Puerto Numero Dos, y there's seis o siete autobuses sitting there, all apparently going where I want to go and for the first time, there is not a conveniently (read: blessedly) placed individual there waiting to tell me precise where to go. Moment of Panic. Where is my bag? Where is my bus?

Okay, found it. Uncomfortable bus, fine. Forced to switch seats three times, okay. Fed to the head of the line at the border for being an American? Not as great as it sounds, since they only wanted my sweet sweet Dollars (no longer so sweet, I'm told). Novente dias en Bolivia costs us $135. (Already worth it).

So we walk across the border and re-board the bus for another 2 hour cruise to Copacabana, at which point we disembark, and half the gringos race to book their tickets to Isla del Sol (can't say I blame them), and the other half don't know whether to get back on the same bus or to grab their baggage and stand around in the mid-day, atmosphere-unimpeded sun for half an hour until someone wanders along who actually knows what the F is going on. (The latter won out, obviously). Board the new bus, and am surrounded by beautiful women. Seriously, on all sides, call it 8 of them, surrounding me, and all I can manage to muster is a meek Hola, buenos tardes, que pasa, que un dia tan bonita, no? And then the girl in front of me sinks her seat all the way back so here head is practically in my lap, and all the other girls giggle as I make a big show of taking a deep breath and smiling and use her chair (now trapping me tighter than a rollercoaster restraint) as an armrest.

Halfway through this ride, we disembarked once more in order to cross el Lago Ti Ticaca at a thin point. After the kind young lady left, I erected the seat in front of me in order to escape the confines of my seat, but have no fear, she reclaimed her reclined position just as soon as we had cruised across the skinny stretch of lake and found our bright white bus again. Deep breath. Tryambakam mantra x 3. Consciously create a cloak of white light around the entire bus. And send the prayer to she who confounds you: May you be safe. May you be happy and healthy. May you live with ease. Smile and try to sleep. But again, we were whipping around cliff-face roads pock-marked with grave-stones or memorials marking spot where one vehicle or an other careened off the cliff. I stayed awake and watched Titicaca rest amidst its protectorate cliffs, verdant in the late-afternoon mist.


Um, then what. Oh, okay, got to La Paz. The girl once again neglected to put up her seat, so I waited until everyone else got off before I was able to extricate myself from my cozy little ahh but it's fine. Found a cab immediately, brought me right to the hostel, they were expecting me, got a bottom bunk on the quiet side of this monstrously amazing building, wandered around in search of Cappo until deciding he would find me napping in my bed (which, by the way, is one of the most comfortable hostel beds I've ever known: Wild Rover Hostel, La Paz, owned by an Irishman, proper fun, tell ya whut).

And so he did. After half an hour of pure gratitude for my horizontal orientation, Cappo comes in, jolly-as-all-heaven, telling me about these people I need to meet, and soon enough about the soccer game we might>could>will>need to attend. So let´s say it's 7 pm at this point. Wednesday. How many hours of sleep have you counted? I give it 6 at best, but 3 of those necessarily came crook-necked on a bus, and the other three were in Puno where the alcohol negated any possible benefit. Whatever, what am I going to do, NOT go to the soccer game? Exactly.

Long story short, we bought tickets from the first scalper we met, who sold us perfectly legit tickets, but to the youth game that had happened an hour earlier. So we got ripped off for $1.50 US. Not the point, it's the principle of the thing. Found proper seats, front row of the balcony, and absorbed the atmosphere that only a South American country can create for two teams who, in all honesty, would benefit if they would let me start recruiting for them. Not to say I could have played (I could have), but I definitely know folks who could step right in and start scoring multiple goals a game, no questions asked. There were obvious runs unmade, lazy striker play, sloppy ideas followed by sloppy touches, and an infuriating lack of conviction when it came to finishing the football. Game ended 1-1, whatever. Good time.

Then I slept for 16 hours. Woke up after 8, continued to believe I might die, went back to bed. Got up, chugged water, went to an ATM, brushed my teeth, slammed some multivitamins and had a salad heavy on the avocado, and the world was brand new. All of a sudden there were wonderful people around, from all over the world, who already knew and loved Cappo and were excited to meet me, and well, it has continued from there. Most likely, I imagine that my mother does not want to read about the details of what has transpired over the last two days, but suffice it to say we have booked a 3 day trip to the Amazon, in Pampas, Bolivia, leaving this Sunday (so that during the Super Bowl we will be deep in the jungle, far from any mention of Brett Favre's future, or lack thereof) north of La Paz, and booked our tickets from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, leaving on the 3rd of March. Also, we have tickets to see Paul Van Dyke in BA on the 27th of Feb. I'm imagining this to be an interesting event, to say the least.

That's all for now. I'm free to sleep now, and my body is greedily grabbing these hours of rest whenever it can, since it is now alert to the fact that they are on premium. Hope all is well where ever every one is.

Love and Light.
Dabeed

Plans

Okay, so here's a brief rundown of my itinerary so far as I'm aware to this point. Monday morning, the 1st of February 2010, I fly from Minneapolis, to Atlanta, to Lima, arriving in the Peruvian capital right at midnight. I then have a 4 am flight to Arequipa, arriving in plenty of time to find breakfast before my 08:30 bus departing for Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca. As it turns out, the 2nd of February is the main day of the 18-day Virgin de la Candelaria Festival in Puno. From perutravels.net:

"The festival gathers more than 200 groups of musicians and dancers to celebrate the Mamacha Candelaria.
On the main day, February 2, the virgin is led through the city in a colorful procession comprising priests, altar boys, the faithful, Christians and pagans carefully maintaining the hierarchy. This is the moment when the troupes of musicians and dancers take the scene, performing and dancing throughout the city.
The festival is linked to the pre-Hispanic agricultural cycles of sowing and harvesting, as well as mining activities in the region. It is the result of a blend of respectful Aymara gaiety and ancestral Quechua seriousness."

Good timing, I guess. So it sounds like I might have to delay a few days in Puno and enjoy the festivities, but I have a sense of urgency about getting to La Paz, Bolivia because that is where I will meet up with Cappo. We're staying here: http://wildroverhostel.com/ It might be fun. Not sure yet.

So then the plan gets a bit more vague from there. There will be Spanish lessons involved; we plan to see the salt flats; but basically we'll just do what feels good, as that is the number one rule. Eventually we'll make our way down toward Buenos Aires. I would like to stop and see the Iguassu Falls, right where Paraguay, Argentina and Brazil come together. I've been told they make Niagara look like a leaky faucet. Only one way to find out. I also intend to find Mendoza and drink as much wine as possible, but that might have to wait until we head back north and west.

According to an email I just received from Cappo, it sounds like we'll fly from Buenos Aires down to Ushuaia, the southernmost city on the continent, sometime in early March. It looks spectacular down there, so we'll go as far south as we can, then work our way back north by bus.

That's all I've got for 'plans' so far. Of course, I'm planning to improvise, as always. I imagine I'll keep this space somewhat updated as events progress.

Take It Easy People

while technically correct, some of these labels suggest a more sinister intent on the part of the designers than i believe is necessarily there.

point by point:

"annuit coeptis, novus ordo seclorum" is often pointed to as a reference to a 'new world order', and that this is something we should oppose, when in fact, this is evidence of our founders oft-stated and (in my opinion) enlightened intention.
they quite openly were hoping to establish a secular order in the new world. secular, as in, not governed by the Church. there is no cause for fear of Latin.

on that note, “E Pluribus Unum” is sloppily translated here. “From the many, one.” (as opposed to "One of many") is more accurate in its implications, and again, reflects a rather high-minded ideal that America has in many ways come to embody. we have 50 states represented by each and every variety of human found on this planet, and yet we are one nation.

this concept corresponds to the upward pointing triangle in the Star of David, the masculine principle representing knowledge or wisdom. The wide base angled upward to meet at the apex tells the story of man aspiring to an ideal, or god-like state.
(the downward pointing triangle then, of course, corresponds to the feminine principle, the all-embracing, nurturing concept of “as above, so below”). in fact, this symbol is displayed right above the phrase E Pluribus Unum, consisting of 13 stars. This is so carefully pointed out by the skeptical commentary pasted on the original picture.



Thirteen (13) is an incredibly significant number in a wide range of traditions, including but not limited to the Masons (obviously), the Mayans, Judaism, Hinduism and numerology. it is a number of completion, of ascension, of re-union with the divine. the idea that it is an unlucky number is a purposeful distortion intended to obscure its true power and importance.

there is obviously a lot to be said about the pyramid, but I’ll try to hit the relevant points. first of all, the pervasiveness of the pyramid shape is a result of its relationship to our current 3-d world. based on sacred geometric principles, the pyramid acts as a stabilizing force, conducting etheric energy and helping the earth maintain its delicate balance.

this is one reason why you find massive pyramids all over the world (even on ocean floors), built by otherwise ‘unrelated’ civilizations who apparently had tapped into this esoteric knowledge and understood the importance of this form.

there is some great Russian research around pyramids, crazy stuff like exposure or vicinity to a large pyramid reduced violent crime and increased IQ. you can do your own google on that. this also helps to explain the purpose of the Egyptian pyramids. the open sarcophagus in the kings chamber of the great pyramid was a superconductor for spiritual energy.

David Wilcock, among others, have described the process in which the initiate lies in the open tomb, and the living power of the pyramid channels massive amounts of ether, or prana, light-force (or whatever you want to call it) directly into the body, significantly raising their vibratory frequency and sending their consciousness deep into astral realms and beyond on a life or death journey.

If they are able to successfully confront their demons and navigate their way back to human form, they would walk the Earth as a fully ascended master, with serious worldly powers (think levitation, instant manifestation, etc). But if they got lost, oops, too bad, come back and try again next time.

These were the Pharaohs. These days I'm convinced they either openly were, or were given profound guidance by, varying entities from non-earth-bound realms.

oh, okay, so anyway, the Masons (the Founders) are clued into this ancient knowledge, as their lineage is said to stretch back to Atlantis, the enlightened survivors of which are the forgotten sources for the founding of the ancient Greek societies (Plato is the earliest, and a significant source of info on Atlantis) and on down from there.

However, we all well know that a mass of worldly influence does not necessarily correspond with any moral or spiritual discipline or purity. Thus, the initiates of this lineage are capable of 3-d magic tricks but little more. They are trapped in a dimensional cage of their own creation. They been hoping to keep us locked down too, under vibrational control, but we are at liberty to transcend them whenever we are collectively ready.



Calling the All-Seeing Eye that is the missing capstone of the pyramid the "Eye of Lucifer" as they do is a gross simplification, and almost qualifies as fear-mongering.

The replacing of the capstone is rooted in the symbolism of the second-coming of what is known as the Christ consciousness. When the metaphorical capstone is returned, a long-prophesied Golden Age will be upon us. The difference is that this time the Christ comes not embodied as one man; the Christ consciousness is sweeping over the Earth even now, inspiring people to live Truth, to become those who Christ himself said would do still greater things than He.

The time is now. We are the One.

The human capstone is your third-eye, your pineal gland, just above where your nose meets your forehead, reaching straight back to that nob at the back of your skull, the little ledge at the top of your spine.

"When thine eye be single, thy body shall be full of Light"... right? Where's my intern to fetch me my precise and properly sourced quotations from scripture?

Yes. Meditation. Invite that Light to invade your Eye. I believe there is also mention of certain Ears to Hear, Eyes to See, no? Same topic, from the same Source.

As it is, the pyramid is becoming less and less central to our worldly situation. as we arise through the densities, different, more complex geometries become more efficacious, shall we say. (google ‘cymatics’, and see how things change as the frequencies increase).

Oops I did it for you:



This is also becoming true in terms of our power structures. currently, the world’s power is set up in a pyramid, right? with the greatest number at the bottom, ruled by a little group at the top. your classic ‘pyramid scheme’.

This is changing. we are transitioning (or need to be) to a more holographic political, economic, etc system, so that each separate piece contains and reflects the whole. Symbiotic like all divinely-spiraled organisms.

I do not know what this imagined society looks like. Yet.

Yet I myself am quite unsure of just what to do about it. Talking about it is all I ever seem to do, all I seem capable of. However it seems that simply sitting in silent meditation aids every other venture. Now I am devoted to the how, not the what; I will continue until doing dishes is ecstasy, juggling a ball joyous, and sleeping in leads to serenely lucid dreaming.

I can only pass on what I have seen. The sources on this stuff are varied, and jumbled in web-browser histories so expansive that I'd rather just wait until we can plug into the akashic records directly, find out what truly happens. In any case, we have little choice as a species -right now- in terms of a more holistic existence. Fully conscious Self-creation will save us. Coming soon, we hope.

anyway, I’m way off topic here, but it’s my rant and I’ll digress if I want to. the biggest point I want to impress is that far more than words do, symbols rule the world. symbols speak to us on deeply sub- and meta-conscious levels.

like any tool, they can be employed in the service of the full range of intentions, from total-dark to Source-light. the tool itself remains inherently neutral.

Tt is only when we become aware of the power of symbols that we can realize their influence upon us. As we become aware of ourselves within the thick atmosphere of archetypal (Platonic) symbols - man's shadowy dream of day and night inhabited by mere dense manifestations of a tragic and playful Spirit - we are surrounded at every turn by lessons we have somewhere wisely chosen for our own personal soul-growth. So be nice to strangers.


And study your Manly P Hall, and remember that the phoenix must die in order to arise anew.

For further reading, see:

http://www.divinecosmos.com/

http://www.wanttoknow.info/

http://vigilantcitizen.com/

http://benjaminfulford.net/

http://www.mayanmajix.com/

In Response

Jane:

Mr Wilcock is definitely an influence, but I like to think I draw more of my understanding from the Law of One material. Wilcock also draws prominently on this material, and I find that it just resonates so strongly in me that i cannot ignore it.

paradoxically, this influence has inspired me to try and shed as much exterior influence as possible, to learn to trust my own experience and intuition. there is no such thing as good information or bad information, just info that is more or less useful to you at that time. so i love to listen to Jordan Maxwell and David Wilcock and Esoteric Agenda and all these things, but I try not to invest them with undue authority. it's hard, and i'm obviously not perfect at it, but it's a process of recognizing the full force of my personal power and investing that into the free will which is my and your birthright.

in my day to day experience, the Law of Attraction is unquestionably the way things work, and upon reflection, i find myself undeniably guided along a path, so that seemingly random events led me to be at this one place at that one time that led to this and that and woah, man... it amazes me daily. in short, the world continues to unfold before me with abundances of joy and opportunity. and i am not alone in this. every little choice i've made in the past has led me to NOW, and considering how blessed i feel in this moment (and in many moments. funny: the more often i check in, the more often i find that feeling), it seems to suggest that i'm doing something right.

so i suppose i agree with you, that 50/50 odds for humanity are probably about right at this juncture. but the most effective strategy i've come across for increasing those odds as much as possible, is to stay focused on the positive, and work towards bringing my own being into balance, because that has quantum effects on the consciousness field and hopefully makes it just that much easier for someone else to feel a spark until it reaches a tipping point and then...

...i don't know what happens then. but i have unshakable faith that we have all been blessed celestially, and that we will be shown the path that provides the lessons we require. i just hope not to have to repeat the third grade again, ya know?

i will google The Secret Covenant and get back to you. thank you for being a tireless provocateur, providing a forum for me to spout off my improvised personal philosophy as it arises off the top of my head here.

Bless the Executioners

Bless the executioners. Without them we would not be awakening at this rapid pace.
they have done nothing but play a role we collectively requested of them. they are the real-world manifestations of our personal shadows put together, that part of ourselves that many (most) repress and prefer not to acknowledge as part of them. the fact that more and more people are becoming aware of their presence is amazing! it portends of a purging of that darkness which is no longer necessary.

their plans will not come to pass. they are already behind schedule. these elites painted themselves into a corner with the derivatives market. they no longer create anything of value. they will soon (very soon) be forced to release the free-energy technology they've kept suppressed so long in order to survive financially. the current collapse of the financial system represents a complete neutering of their influence. just wait until the dollar falls apart completely and the Fed is dismantled! this is already in process! does this not thrill you?

these 'evil' men (and women!) and their diabolical deeds are but catalysts for our growth. thank them. they provide us the opportunity to take responsibility, to make a different choice, to finally stand up and embody our full human potential which has lain latent until this prescribed time. it seems this world will continue to polarize until it has no choice but to SNAP back together, creating unity once more.

indeed, the Law of One material states that, in general, the greatest opportunity for the piercing of the veil exists between to polarized entities.

does anyone else see how exciting this is? would you want to be alive at any other time? after incalculable births, we have earned this opportunity to combine all our lessons, take strength straight from Source, see all others as sisters and brothers and be reborn as our true selves. i can barely contain myself as it is!

be patient, keep hope. these are meant to be frightening times. the birthing process is often traumatic but it need not be cataclysmic. we do not need to experience 'purification by fire' as its called -- unless we decide we deserve it! so embrace your shame and hatred, show it the love it's been chasing all these years. with open arms, turn and face the evil force who pursues you in your dreams. apply the law of forgiveness and release this dark and heavy energy so it may be recycled in Light and reintegrated into existence at a higher vibration!

awareness of these secret societies and their plans and supposed 'power' is a positive, for they are like vampires: they feed on our fear and can only operate in the dark of night, shriveling at the first Light of day (isn't funny how we are all of a sudden obsessed w vampires as a society). but please discern between healthy fear, which acts as motivation, and the Fear that provides you further excuse to project your personal shadow onto others for a little while longer.

the beauty of this existence, as proven by quantum mechanics, is that the world quite literally becomes what we expect it to be. so please join me in expecting Eden.

om shanti.
namaste.
love and light.

note: in my mind it's a war of consciousness, not conscience. the idea being that there are factions out there (in here) fighting for influence on where we place our attention and how aware we become. obviously there are those (with little conscience) who would like to see our consciousness remain restricted to what television tells us, and then there are plenty of entities attempting to help us snap out of it. in the end we're all one and embodiment is a big virtual reality game for us to learn our lessons, but it comes down to us deciding as individuals and as a species, what kind of game we want to play, what will we choose as the nature of our experience? right?