At a time when it means so much to be proud of where you’re from, an offer comes fresh from the Middle East.
While the Chinese try to build pride on top of their forefathers’ dishonour–enriching the west and enslaving their children–we feel their pain as cameras, AI technology and pharma-terrorism hold them in perpetual bondage–fact.
The Caribs are now proud to be African just because their “all-knowing” ‘masser’ empire turned digital and confirmed it for them on National Geographic and 23andMe. Trust they will; as they proudly boast about their Ghanaian, Scottish, German and Jewish mix in dissymmetric portions, they care not for the hypocrite within. Continue reading →
Today, as I cross-examine my footprints in this puzzle they call life, I realise that problems are ‘one size fits all’ for the inhabitants of earth.
It seems that these problems are so accepted as ‘the way’ that they call it life. In the US we would explain away such complex astro-biophysical dilemmas with: shit happens. As perpetual pain is normalised until we expect nought else, I think worthy of question is that which some claim to exist: heaven, nirvana–paradise.
Being as vague as the Yeti, it laughs at man and his ongoing application for lifetime membership, rejected by his forever-acting brain as (for these banausic frames) it rides the waters of Loch Ness. As I knock on the door of (egoless) knowledge, I now see what the problem always was–it is the disconnection from source. For all the joy and pain I’ve seen, at this sensitive time underneath the cosmos, I have to insist that, my friends believe in God.
I should say ‘trust’ rather than ‘believe’ as it’s more explicit than today’s guilt-retentive, ‘Jesus campaign’ of the God salesman. But that model makes the sane depart, leaving only ‘believers’ who rarely come to ‘know’. Now, mention of such a beautiful word as God, serves the orator the same sentence as an AWOL physician who spoke against a copious pharmaceutical shield. Today, the deaf ears that this refinement falls upon can only be blamed upon the soteriological Bible seller that may not know God as well as she may think. In such cases, it’s like the bottom of the sea trying to describe the air to the land, and so the listener concludes the wind a fiction.
The truth stands as a lone pillar, as a minority in each community that it discovers. Bothered not by external support for verification, it is certainly the outcast that I choose to align with. In the words of Mark Bolton: ‘I’m Spartacus’ and it’s too late in this story to care if my ‘I’ will become a ‘we’. Seeing smoke coming from the engine, we endeavour to save the plane but being seconds from impact, all I can see is a parachute with my name on it, so maybe this scrawl is a ‘my condolences card’.
What if I told the believers that Jesus said, he ‘couldn’t make it and ordered that they go it alone’–would they blame me, trust him, or cease believing? Or would they finally become Christ the individual who, squared by just four, would change this world kerfuffle in a day? Can they not imagine a land of Christs–we can, hence our bold expression of God without apology?
Immediately my blasphemous spellchecker answers the question for them in red underlined binary, it refutes pluralisation of Christ–only ‘Godzzz’–the many god’s they utter.
But then there’s you–my friend–with your disbelief who the believers call a sinner–well isn’t that the kettle calling the pot white? You who accepts cookies from deceitful strangers, in your haste to consume with no care what, why or where, seeing no danger in the brain food that you scoff. Such worshipful, agnostic dissonance is only proof of the inner conflict from that ‘solar detachment’.
But amongst ‘they’ there are those that gno; and they know that both of these disjointed faces that claim to believe (or not) orphaned their hearts to foster the brain, this they have in common. And mid-verse, that sweet spot in-between is where God lives inside (not out). Although sometimes seen outside strolling hand in hand with in, the heart doesn’t give in to the silly suggestions of the floozy brain. So it reasons not with that which can never produce symbiotic flow and so, in the name of rhythm, man remains forever for her and her for he–and all debates on gender die right there in that sweet spot called flow.
But the disbeliever and the believer both share the same offbeat timing. They reason in the brain that society (that is now clearly mad) is part sane and so, in such a mind, a pet fish, a caged bird or a dog are not quite slaves. While they fight to free only their own kind, society it seems is sharing a brain in the name of diversity.
We know their external needs; it’s to fit in, to belong and to make right of wrong and while at it ‘wrong of right’ and if it means to be accepted as part of the bigger clan, who cares? We do, we care to remind you that Hitler only suggested the abuse, the ‘civilised’ community saw it as fit–69 million of them.
But the one who knows within is abstruse, walks alone and is odd to even those of the church that do not. She marries he who she innately loves, knowing the infinite joy of ‘pure’ love over the temporary pretence of companionship brought on by an earlier undiagnosed pain. No, she knows the discomfort of wearing two left shoes as much as she wish it be hale. She refrains from her mind presenting a sister as her mister, thoroughly induced by distain for her significant other. She also doubts she’ll make a protective mother because she couldn’t keep her own (inner) child safe from the blue monster that forced his male privilege.
Science says the abused will abuse again … some bring proof that it isn’t always so, while the knower completes the sentence for them … “even if it be thine own self that they abuse”. The knower says: those who love not themselves will ‘never’ love another and the bible: “… you pay for the sins of your fathers”. But they see not the remedy in the ‘whole vision’, just a bearable fragment that gives the blind a temporary fix, paroling the molester while enriching the surgeon’. They know the inane task of fitting the soldier’s foot in the stiletto and the mother’s foot in the steel toe; it’s her socks that are blue and not her testis. And such illusions will suffice until the truth hits harder still, maybe when one finally matures and thinks just one sovereign thought at home-alone-at night.
But those who know, live mostly in the heart and feel first before they become the victim and make those outer suggestion into an inner desire, engaging the overtaxed brain into action. The brain that takes on all forms of nonsense as true for lack of that sweet spot called ‘soul’. And all that need to placate ‘the majority’, for the lack of autonomy. And the numb (Homer Simpson) community advise her to abort ‘her’ milk supply and stick grafted pieces of skin to replicate a crane that will never fly, very much unlike one that only the supreme architect could design. But they say that ‘copying is the best form of flattery’, while replicating God’s design, who clearly does not exist. And in such absence of sensitivity, both the surgeon and the saved are paid on commission.
Meanwhile back in the hill, my aunty ‘Christ’ begs to pray for me, pray that I let Jesus save me with her holy words, barely moments after I gave the shoes off of my feet to a homeless stranger. My bare feet in the rain interpreted by her brain as ‘sinner’.
I also noticed that the very moment my goose bumps faded, after I gave the poor man my ‘lonely’ dollar, Seymour turned up to accuse my virtue.
I know that the very week that I had to bury my mother, Paul relapsed and blamed me for not supporting him in his struggle with drugs and not abandoning my own issues.
I know that minutes after my uncle’s diabetes was confirmed, Courtenay came with iced-donuts. And just as this live-thought landed on the page, Lee tempted me to come outside for a walk away from God.
Mostly these figures in their colourful all-sorts, being ‘lost at see’, miss God’s land on this defining day. To them, all is defined in the sensory where they find their reasoning, ignore signs, empathic feelings, impulses and the unseen subtleties that emphatically drive this whole damned fabric.
In a sense, it’s not their fault that they talk numbly of the paranormal and will never conceive the fact that: 99.999999 % of that which appears before them is held together by (what they would call) nothing–empty space. That sweet spot that we know too well is where they could find the harmony that they seek, if they could just slow down and listen. But they want more speed–7 G if possible.
As I maintain: I insist that my friends know God by experience and her timely perfection. If you want to know this mystery called God that evades even those who think they believe, at least first know the devil and his timing before a dissed believer gets you into another mess in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I imagine for the life of this post you may have ventured within for a brief moment but as you go back without, into the world of non-sense, maybe you’ll commit the thoughts to mind before you exit, as fade will these unverified, unpopular, yet true words.
At this precise moment I’m questioning my place on this selfish planet. After, once again, having my heart ripped out (almost) by the one woman I share my last waking moments with, I have to ask the question–where is my tribe; or is there even one on this condemned rock?
Frankie Bones & Lenny Dee’s, As long as I got you, is playing in the background on my room-filling Bose speaker. The classic house tones lead my thoughts into another lane.
It’s not that I’ve been completely divorced from those original thoughts of loneliness, it’s just that, if God is talking to me in 5d again, this time it seems to be an appeal to trust her ‘alone’.
My pending divorce from humans pauses in my mind. Maybe wanting God more means me ascending to dependence on none but her for my food, shelter and inspiration as well as entertainment.
But I know you humans too well: when I say her, you think of my female counterpart and not–her my God. Should I then say ‘he’ and exchange the furnishing essence of creation with masculinity, abiding tradition?
Should it be that I label God a coloniser, a conqueror with a desire to penetrate and control, rather than a concurer, a mother, a feeder, a bosom with a gentle hand that feeds the soil?
Yet today our mortal (she) man also says ‘he’ in reference to God, disrespecting of her own essence while also confirming of her amnesic mind.
Even those who did awake out from this matrix, only awoke to use ‘goddess’ instead of God, much in the same redundant way that others utter ‘black’ together with ‘man’, unwittingly offending their own intelligence.
And so, the cart leads the horse and oh, what a bumpy road it has been, without the guidance of the angel, elected to guide.
But for a moment, imagine being devoted to something that has no tangible features, a popular yet esoteric entity that you cannot actually see or identify as a single object but only multiple experiences within a typical day within a typical adventure on earth.
It seems like a cruel joke in some ways yet in another, a wondrous beauty of a connection with everything that resonates the entire astral plane. One must also imagine, at each point of domestic dissonance, feeling a deep loneliness that cannot disappear under any circumstances; one that abates only when the egoic eye is closed and the heart opens to seeing the many, many faces of God in each situation.
Her presence can be overwhelming, not blaming what is outside of self. All issues, laid down by you, for you, to you, because of you so ‘you’ can see and remember what you are being within the grip of pride; albeit beyond the pretense of Big Brother’s reasoning.
In some ways it’s conformation and an experiential understanding of the fact that: all these figures that we see: partners, parents, children, brothers, mothers sisters, assailants, lovers, governments and friends, are all just expressions of God within, acting without.
I guess the ultimate understanding is that nothing is real apart from that which the mind creates and attracts towards having the ultimate experience of glorifying itself.
We all want to be right and we all want to have an idea of what life is before the ultimate departure, yet chances are most will never quite reach or meet anybody that fully gets it–∂nyone that fully understands this ‘stage’ besides the universe’s studios in California.
And so we find ourselves eventually departing from the physical journey while blindly continuing the apical sojourn, reaching towards the heavens for timeless truth and, she being historically the ultimate pinnacle of understanding, gives us Pluto in Aquarius.
The, largely misrepresented heavens are tired from being prostituted by penal religions, yielding their swords at simple feathers in space that pose no threat but to maybe think a uniformed thought, absent of NASA’s imposture of innocent space in the name of exploration, all just to find justification to shag her leg, knowing there’s little chance of her inviting him in.
And so today these faint memories return, in super-OLED, back into the custody of ‘we’ the questioning, TV-less minority, with perfect timing as we witness France losing its shape once again. With America following, (comically as well as karmically), we observe the duas of crushed souls made by women and children as the pointless debris of corporate gain, resonating the heavens, appealing for urgent changes that point westward.
But I could also say that the various types of drugs, placed in society, aren’t bad at all but only reasonable steps towards ultimate realisation: yet the point is somewhat obscured. Addiction seems to be, the real problem of choice, playing the permanent tour guide until the journey’s end.
The one resonating theme is that the trippy addict each time, fails to leave cookies along their path–their temporary paradise, so that they can gain access later without the vice holding their hand.
And so, amnesia causes the vice to remain as tour guide offering a lifetime membership for a temporary service, knowing that the sojourner will not store the directions but return to dependency on he, rather than she.
On this journey, we find ourselves forever dependent on vices: cocaine, Doctor, iPhone, partner, pastor, politician, weed–any reason not to store the experience and finally learn but only discarding it on arrival, like a carpenter throwing away his plans after each job. He closes his right eye with regret and his left with an inkling as his own building crushes his skull now demanding his final breath.
To this we say (as the Christ must also have said), learn what’s possible through the experience, then discard the vehicle and walk there without props. You will build your own home with your bare hands, for you are of spirit not matter and as these tools disappear, be sure to remember how to navigate through memory–not messengers as there is none worthy but she that reminds you through whatever means.
But Christ knew it (as we do too), the addicts, rather than ascend, will continue seeking a saviour at every opportunity, never attempting the miracles that had been revealed, without focus on the messenger, who also had learned to depend only on ‘the vine’–God. This is evidenced today by a whopping 2.2 billion souls waiting on a christ before they can walk free.
As awaiting salvation, aliens, Trump, Gates a world government or a cure appear to capitalise, the addicts see not ‘her’ for she is without form and thus they reject the kind offer of a ‘crystallised body’, free for each person that sheds fear once and for all–I welcome Aquarius as I finally ‘kick that habit’ of fearful dependency.
Use of the word ‘we’ does not constitute ‘My self’ in a manner that makes Me complicit in the issue/subject but is used only as a formality and effort not to violate writing tradition. Even though it may appear that my use of ‘we’ means ‘us’, I reference only My self as ‘we’ in respect of the overwhelming shared sentience of the masses, of which I am but am not of, in respect of My unfamiliar peers and their ignorant acts antonymous to My autonomous weighs. I, just as all corporations do, hold My self harmless from the collective wrong that society willingly partakes and I take personal responsibility for all things that I willingly, clearly and openly consent to by clear (non-tacit) agreement, without force, duress or coercion.
I Am.
It’s now 2023 and as we step into this great unknown, I must say that ‘ignorance’ is a choice.
As abstract as it seems, knowledge is not the property of schools of education but readily available for all who genuinely search for it–the reward of the seeker. It’s just that most would rather collect pointless data steered by either peer-esteem, likes or something of the egocentric nature. This is despite the fact that, over the decade, all that seems currently unknown was previously (widely and openly) available and easily accessible to all via online. That is at least before the colonisation of the Internet in 2012 (New Hampshire RSA 193-F:4.).
The result of this pathway to policing dialogue and searches, hiding behind cyber bullying, is comparable to a mass book burning and the resulting chaos. With today’s corporations learning algorithms, our search engines can guarantee failure as we try to stick the salvaged pages back together again. This colonising of websites and the heavy concentration on child censorship, made way for key information to be available only in select jurisdictions. Even though tangible location is somewhat of a fiction in the online world, we ignorantly opened the doors to communist ideals.
I am not a lawyer, I am not an advocate of law and this is not legal advice so do not be advised by any of the following or act upon it. In fact, maybe just skip to the next article if you are uncertain.
I hope this serves as an admonition of non-admonition to the reader. And I also hope that it pleases those who are paid to turn simple words into time served in a cell for the authoritarian business called justice. This is just my private thoughts for consideration.
This is really a prod in the brain for all those that consider themselves British and free in this land and also feel that they are above the constraints of prejudice regarding colour: race, religion, and class; in truth, none are. Even assuming so is the key reason why rights are taken away, allowing ‘assumptions’ to become your law.
In many ways, this is an invitation for us to seek a deeper understanding of three things: law, religion, and science but the intricate details are a whole other story so we will simplify it if it is possible. Maybe an example is needed.
In the world that religion recognised before it became a swear word, there was a duty for people to believe in the unseen. Of course, today that sounds like looking out for a bearded man descending from the heavens on a white horse while striking people down for violating the Sabbath. But if you can momentarily bridge your mind and put prejudice aside, you will actually see that seeing the unseen is simply referring to mentalism – a validated science.
Our reality actually does all begin with the thought, then the expression of the spoken word to form the material world. Today, for us, that word is Brexit. And out of NOTHING came all of this. Continue reading →
In the spirit of my Dandy partner’s last post and the contrasting light-hearted wisdom and in light of the super full moon and all that it means to our expressions and communications, I suppose a thought – a consideration that the words ‘I’m tired of… and I’m sick of’… create somewhat of a curse of poor health upon the individual.
Not all but many are becoming more conscious of the power of these vibrations and how they bring to earth experiences in direct reflection to those damning words (read English for Spelling’, by Angel Lewis). Therefore, instead I shall replace these words with ‘I am inspired by’ especially since I’ve arrived here with this inspired rant.
I am inspired by the fact that I’m searching in the Kings College building, the strand, for an event that doesn’t exist; well not in that building – not today anyway. That’s after being directed here by their neighbours at Somerset House who’s helpful receptionists swore that I was misinformed, so inspiring.
Oh, so it’s the Nesta building, according to my email invite, about twenty minutes from the building I occupy . How inspiring is the fact that I walked in a full circle due to information overload, the curse of abundance via modern technology and man’s ability to email and email and email until there’s such a plethora of shite in one’s inbox that one cannot tell which are relevant and which are not? Continue reading →
…and let’s start with preserving our mental health.
It’s 2019 -:¦:-•:*'”*:•.-:¦:-•* *¨¨*:•. and it sounds like the celebrated 2020 is upon us. It seems a great way to begin the year is by becoming aware of our actions regarding our health.
Meditation is one of those words that have a very personal definition, based on our tailored experiences. However, the word itself is quite revealing as to its definition outside of our fancy. It’s quite obvious that the prefix ‘med’ is related to middle and medium, etymologically speaking. The ‘tate’ bit…well, I guess it could mean many things that I’m not able to go into here but the key is medium, which is to be ‘between’.
The medium is a go-between for the spirit world and the physical/animal kingdom, connecting an understanding beyond the tangible or physical proof.
As a medium and advocate for the end of strictly physical standards as qualifying measures just to live, here’s a lengthy piece of common ether transference that you’ll have a very hard time proving and hopefully a much easier time feeling.
Did you know that our cells are all connected within by a type of liquid in something called an extracellular matrix structure that behaves in a connected way that we have consciously forgotten? Well, that’s what I was told by Delbert Skeet, the Bowen Technique practitioner, who helped wake up my body’s cellular memories, giving me back the keys to my vehicle.Continue reading →
‘Those who would give up Essential Liberty
to purchase a little Temporary Safety,
deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.‘
Benjamin Franklin.
If I were a little more ignorant, this writing would have been entitled Big Brother or something as clichéd as that but I find ‘Big’ is too large a word to attribute to a mind that thinks so small. It’s a mind that would entertain the petty ambition of extracting information from those who are unaware of the consequences of giving it, under the guise of convenience.
It sounds like the mischievous ‘little brother’, so-called by the native Americans, who were also duped into giving up information for convenience in the 15th century–that didn’t end well at all.
I pick up my phone to call a friend, I’m trying to tell him that I’ll be late. I automatically look for an envelope or some other red or glowing icon on the phone menu showing a possible missed call, something or other. I see an unfamiliar yellow caution sign, I’m thinking maybe the battery needs replacing or there’s a serious software issue. Naturally, I explore and the alert reads ‘Enable Google Play services.’ Really, I must? I thought I’d ignore it but it kept coming back. After spending precious time that I did not plan to, I still couldn’t disable this icon. Totally frustrated, I eventually gave in to the pressure as I realised, not that it wouldn’t stop but it can’t stop, it’s an alert that’s not designed to be turned off. Does this sound like a typical event in your smart (er than you) phone life?
Nowadays this type of android-human master-slave interaction gets me more and more frustrated. When I think about the number of details I’m forced to provide just to open an online trading account: email verification, card details, text verification messages, addressed utility bills and passport scans, I often think about who’s collecting all of this information. Behind the request, there is no name, no face yet we have come to accept this. We send verified personal data to unknown sources, every day.
With the ever increasing take over of North Kensington real estate by the socially detached, we’ve seen learning facilities invade our community that are not even close to home-grown.
Not so with The Lloyd Williamson Schools. It’s probably the most local private school in the area with most students living within a mile or two of the school. On observation, it seems to express more of an interest in the teaching of ethics, cultural diversity and also, equipping the students to tackle the changing world, with an entrepreneurial spirit of open-mindedness.
I find their strict mobile phone rule fascinating. As insignificant as it may sound, I can say with confidence that you will never see anybody neglecting one and other distracted by a mobile phone, neither staff, parent or student. I don’t think the reason needs an explanation. For those who realise the distraction that devices have been on children and adults, you will be thankful for this little policy in your child’s surroundings, rest assured. The unique way that kids of all ages gender and race interact is very Montessori-ish, though it is not a Montessorri school.
Lloyd Williamson open days Wednesday the 14th March (10am to 7pm) and Friday the 16th March (10am -3pm).
If you’re part of the North Kensington community and would like to participate in growing stuff (lawful) there is a program just waiting for you.
If you can get yourself down to:
The Argan Tree Cafe under the Westway, Maxilla walk, on Tuesdays at 2:00pm
Your skills will be welcomed to give back to Mother Earth. By tending to her skin and watching the fruit of your labour blossom you will surely feel at one with yourself.
All zen, calm people with green fingers welcome. Contact details below
Urban Dandy London 
