Nature of the Beasties

 

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(Seen above) Some planetary bodies in our shared tiny solar system most humans on Earth do not know exist.

 

As we are glued to our spinning orb, equal in impact and same as effect, an ever-increasing menagerie of our species forges ahead in the name of raging inner issues, turf wars, and blatant self-gain. Biblically these are in the line-up of the seven deadly (7DS) sins. 7DS, no matter if mythologically fashioned, or social psychology of the collective non-conscious, you would agree 7DS is on the thrive curve – going up the bell shape of our human insanity, hatred, bias, avarice, stupidity, and ignorance.

 

I am proposing, as our multiplying-like rabbits population and mega projects (dams, cement cities, and continuous sprawl uglies) are tilting the Earth’s axis, so indeed, does the 7DS. This is not news.

 

My perch does not come up on Google Earth, because it is too remote. The birds (satellites) in their programming rule out the necessity to keep their geo-data current about little jungle Alfombra. When you purposelessly chose to live obscured (unseen by the matrix), advantages and other stuff magnifies. One’s compass realigns with the wild world as endemic nature accepts its newest gentle members into an indigenous eco-system. Costa Rica due to its inherent magnetics, three generations of natives living with no military and vast bionetwork, spits out human undesirables, including three presidents of the country arrested and convicted for crimes against the citizenry.

 

When I first became cognizant the peaceful CR biome as a whole practiced a Darwinian methodology, I laughed. In contrast to my homeland, a country riddled with immigrants, preppers, stoners, and neo-cons, the idea of an environmental consciousness capable of taking decisive action to maintain its wonders seemed ludicrous.

 

Then, in my incessant personality privation to find the underlying cause of stuff, I began to interview non-natives hearing their personal stories how they arrived – to stay – on our section of the mother ship. Another revelation in the data stream popped up. Costa Rica picks its ex-pats, even sorting them into geo-based micro-enclaves based on an essential value criterion.

 

My laughter went up on its own bell curve. As data arrived, the tales of plug pulling leaving behind grotesque consumerism to relocate, on purpose, were nearly fairy tales. Stories told about what happened to become residents of the goat world paradise, if not inspirational, where regularly too cool to believe. Someday, I hope to provide a compendium of these adventures. With the ex-pat accounts, overlaid with the happiest Latin culture on the planet (my theory it’s the altitude and waterfall infused airs), a distinct pattern emerged.

 

Inside this arrant design was a vortex, alive and spinning, with no help from humanity.

 

After too much forced musing, I let go – to allow the concept to gestate in its timeframe, not mine. Meta-ideas (creative considerations) demand space and time, some, more than others, driven by a fundamental inventiveness, or because we keep messing with it.

 

My m.o. is no different than any other intense intellect Swiss-cheesed with a plethora of integral and cranky awareness. We, you and I, plug in the ‘data’ expecting intuition (the third eye) to eventually affect its message of fresh pieces to the puzzle. Occasionally, we begin the voyage with intuition, but normally not. It may sound mechanical in demeanor or visualization, but its 180-degrees from such a dimension. Could be its the healer’s way of mystery through an open heart, I dunno, I am a birdwatcher not a self-proclaimed shaman.

 

Sanctity is the watchword. Inviolability requires its own temple of comprehension and concentration, then once purity is assured it lifts our consciousness – in spite of our rigidity, self-absorption, and everyday bullsh*it.

 

We are human, plagued by 7DS, so sacrosanctity is like a mirage in the White Desert of ailing Egypt. Crossing in our caravan looking for direction much of what we perceive on the horizon are profane fakers of sentience. They glisten and dance attracting our wakefulness but in reality are like a beautiful faux-painted1720 fireplace surround. Until you put your hand on the mantle and feel no stone coldness, you believe it to be made of imported marble.

 

Keep reading, I may save this spring grapevine from heaving pruning, yet.

 

How humanity became geared for slavery ruled by warmongers is a deliberation not reflected in our disseminated history. I know this because I am a student of human heritage from ancient architecture to military coup social re-organizations. I am telling Ya, every historical string from Wikipedia to the library at Yale or the Vatican is maligned to deliver lies to keep us on the plantation.

 

Such a conspiracy is because the Homo sapiens sapiens monkeys on gold rings chase their tails, from generation to generation. Nearly every young person sited in Gaza to downtown Austin, is blindsided by such nonsense, but there are grand exceptions – thank God.

 

Contemplation of matters, creative problem solving, following the third eye’s clue trail can only stay untainted if we step out of the paradigm fed us. Ex-pats, be they in Costa Rica, Brazil, Saudi Arabia, Fontainebleau, London, or Bali, see with an advanced clarity the mogul guys on Wall Street or those sitting in the cop clubs of Cairo neither respect nor seek to know. Such sage insight from thinkers outside the sphere of the empire’s influence if mass interjected into the lying one-dimensional world of more is never enough would collapse prevailing war economics. Social media is the massage.

 

Maturity is our finest honed deterrent to 7DS. The real characters of truth have lived a life beset with immense valleys polluted by a darkness of their own self-loathing. Nevertheless, they crawl backup from the bottom of the Dixie cup hanging from the edge and peer around. With a twisted body, soul, spirit, and mind they see, they truly see with their bludgeoned third eye. They are the veracity warriors and hopefully the genuine currency of our times.

 

The bigga brains and talent of humanity were not released from the womb with golden wings and a pass card to use against the slings and arrows of emotional pain and the abyss of human crap. Each human of excellence in values and compassion I have interviewed, read their words, looked at their art, or listened to their body politic cures for civil society share one specific quiver in their Robin Hood suit.

 

In their sharing, they expose their pain, making us and themselves shed the tears of gratitude. I have stood in front of Impressionistic paintings in museums shamelessly weeping because the beauty energy emanating from such human accomplishments drives a newfound perception into by heart. Sitting in a cove, on a boat, I have cried my eyes out watching marine life play below the bow or behind the transom. Such vibrant creatures send out their vibes while making eye contact shoveling out compassion our species refuses to accept let alone re-establish a channel of inter-species communication. Watching human or goat kids play, I become maudlin because their natural innocence of joy is remarkable in comparison to the havoc we adults wreck on each other.

 

Listening to a man mangled by a lost childhood, then shoot up the ladder of endeavors to be severely maligned by his own doing, then by his peers, and subsequently left to die brings waves of gut wrenching up into my throat chakra. Somehow, as his story is revealed how today he soberly fights for justice against all odds, the immensity of such inner fortitude and God given grace I blink in recognition and admiration.

 

We already have an army on Earth to skirmish with 7DS. Men and women who went down in flames from what appeared to be total self-annihilation only to rise up and become our exemplary miracles. I am not talking about Christ, Buddha, the Prophet or MLK.

 

Right now, on Earth, there is so much suffering, I cannot begin to fathom it, nor can you. It is overwhelming the limitlessness of penetrating human caca we must be attend to, if our species is to make it to the next century. Our sh*t is piling up like global climatic change mountain snowdrifts in the Rockies, in July.

 

How we got jammed up is a complied pile of crap and at this late date is better stepped over than stirred. Each of us, awake and brooding, has directly in front of our world view an opportunity in the chaos.

 

As wistful and impulsive as you and I are, we are the Re-Boot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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