Vetting Liars On-Line – Heroes in the #Gaza Dust

Call me suspicious by nature, inbred paranoid, or a person overly trained to conduct fairly decent and fair interviews. The

first and last appraisals are nearly semi-spot on. The one in the middle, maybe, if I am fired with fear. The versions and variations of telling if someone is lying to you becomes more complicated when working on-line. The mask of the digital screen in a Skype call is not as revealing. It is what it is – a digital representation and as such the energies emanating or exchanging through an actual conversation are absent.


What we see is not what we get. Reading body language has its thorns. At times, while interviewing people on line, because of the limitation of bandwidth, I am stuck with a written query inside a chat string. The days of sitting down with someone doing the talking head routine while taping is no longer necessary. Green studios and blue screens digitally paste us together and with some clever camera editing, appear like the interviewer and the interviewee are in the same actual place. Nothing is real?


A focus congruent to vetting liars and lying is the importance of truth – honesty with people who become friends within digital space. People can tell you just about anything on Facebook, or Twitter, and all the other social media formats. Even Skype, face to face, screen to screen, can become a liar’s playground.


Perusing predatory men offer many versions of the same lines. They vet me with three initial questions. What country are you in? What do you do? How old are you? To keep my dignity I never answer the last question. Not because I am being cute, coy, or dangling a carrot by avoiding an answer. Sometime ago, I decided if a man wanted to know my age, it was a sure sign shortly would follow his pitch. The pitch being a con to get me interested in them. By not telling my age, I manipulate the situation to verify if this is a shallow come-on, or someone sincere. How many times will they ask me before they throw in the towel and move onto the next female? Surveys are part of my meager endeavor to comprehend and integrate human understanding.


Ahh, you say, how do you determine if someone is earnest on-line? Sorry, you cannot. Sincerity is not available except by meeting the person, in the flesh. I have never met someone on line that blossomed into a romance or fantastic friendship who came here to my hut in the jungle. This is not to say I do not have wonderful friendships in cyber hell. There are a handful of friends, women, and men, of all ages, where a friendship was established and continues to this day. People who reside around the planet I am proud to know on-line and share ideas, philosophies, and caring hearts. They are genuine.


Because my focus is foreign policy, Earth, revolutions, coups, and wars, I chat with people in the worse of circumstances. Recently, this went to the max as I chatted with someone in Gaza while their neighborhood was bombed. In fact, I ended up chatting with two different people, in two different areas of Gaza as their neighborhoods were destroyed. Both keyboarded, “My building is like an earthquake, I hear explosions. More explosions.” As the deluge was happening by the IDF, one of these chat strings ended and the other continued.


The conversation from the other end, as you can imagine, was screwy. The individual deals with death and heals in his day job, an ER surgeon in the main hospital of Gaza. What transpired during our conversation I could never hold any person to because the stress is inconceivable. Besides, war is a far-fetched horror show. The entire reality of chatting on line while bombs are blowing up buildings a few hundred of meters distant is absurd.


CNN trained us when Wolf was in Baghdad as US of Constant Wars invaded. Yet, watching it on the little screen, sitting thousands of miles away in safety, and experiencing it live via a chat string has an inconceivable affect. Alternatively, at least it did for me. It also came on a dastardly personal emotive day, my deceased husband’s birthday. It was the second birthday since Capt. Arthur, Esq., died in my arms from a massive heart attack.

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The set and setting for chatting with someone while their neighborhood is blowing up is a human bonding brand new to me. Sitting alone, my normal mode, and discovering undreamed of feelings of powerlessness? The historical helplessness of not being able to save my husband hobbled to the inability to do shit to save an exceptional man from being blown to bits was a soul bender. Gallows humor became the light.


I cannot speak for the other party. Maybe the doctor has a line up of available adoring females and friendly folks to get through the madness of war. For me, my post trauma is nothing compared to the 1.8 million trapped on the Gaza Strip, still. In particular, it must be unthinkable for a surgeon who sees the worse of what our species does to each other. He sent the photos. They are so horrific I have no idea how the surgeons and staff continue.


The honesty of life is being there for others.


We vet in my line of work, because we are trained to sort through the crap. People literally will tell you anything. Is it the truth to the issue at hand? Supposedly, I am required to have three confirmations. I would say in my case I reach beyond this rule. I have people on the ground to confirm along with raw footage, live feeds, plus still photography provides instantly the visuals of what is happening via the world-wide-web.


When I was in this chat string with the doctor, I was not afraid. I remember I got cold and bundled up. Now, I realize it was shock.


I never ended the conversation. I listened. I wrote. I responded. I was aware of my feelings. I was watchful. It was life changing. I will never be the same because of this experience. I pray he and I will meet, like normal men and women do. It is not my nature to run away or disconnect because an experience is uncomfortable. What the doctor and I experienced was beyond difficult, at least for me. Yet, in this connection was born an innovative awareness – one melded with consideration, concentration, and an attention beyond space and time.


God, protect the innocent. May peace prevail. Selfishly, I would wait at any border crossing into Gaza for whatever amount of time to have the honor and opportunity to meet this remarkable human being, in person. Hopefully, we would be able to carry on a conversation without bombs, burnt babies, and ruined lives. Heroes are never what the media hypes. The real deal champions are humble and shy, with a quirky sense of humor.


My discerning take is the doctor is fully vetted by his higher power. Are you getting my drift boys? My silly stuff is vacuous one-dimensional meaningless compared to the doctor’s love of Gaza, his devotion and amazing deepening levels of kindheartedness.

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A wishful voice inside of me, wanted to wake up the next day in 1990, when my mom was alive – to go back in time to a gentler America before Bush, Halliburton, and the masters wars. To have a giant eraser and remove the killing fields, the murders, the suffering, the pain, the horrors, the grief, the rage, and the insanity.


We, you and me fellow westerners, owe big time. The superman I chatted with is neither terrorist nor protagonist. The doctor, and all souls in Gaza, are in a manmade repulsive circumstance we can alter. Together, in solidarity, we need to demand and receive a call to action – #FreePalestine.

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And da, ba ba ba beat goes on . . .

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The presence of peace is channeled through our deeds and words. This is the teaching I accept, usually, yet not without posting updates. The Creator exists to empower unconditional love, challenge our penny Annie human assertions, and to provide a safety net when we lapse into fear.

Many practice their faith through a religion. The organized methodology to learn love and peace is the educational format needed to become willing – leading to layers of cranky surrender and singing bowls of acceptance. Studying religions is a daily act for me. Here in the fertile jungle the presence of life and its oneness in pattern, energy, and reality moves along without one iota of my nerdy consciousness – this too is a form of religious study. I am the observer monitoring without judgment or calculation.

Nature, the Creator’s lesson plans, constantly provides joy, if we let go of our innate human arrogance. I converse with monkeys, birds, flowers, and other living beings without expecting a considered response or connection. Yet, the communion happens when I least expect bringing into my awareness fresh understanding and wonders. Yesterday, it was an Ocelot crossing my path. Today, I listened to the monkeys chittering and the alpha male howling to protect his family at 4:30 AM. From these happenings I eventually discover, once again, peace, gentleness, and a replenishment of my faith in good.

Living alone is neither a test of my groovy solidification nor an attempt to live like a monk. It is what it is. The last couple of weeks the whole day and night alone is like wearing a scratchy coat, turned inside, as something unknown frantically searches in one’s pockets.

I owe Gaza – weird and weirder. I am grateful for God for this existential crisis of the fractalization of the heart? Okay, have not silently integrated this eye-popper. The #Gaza suffering inventoried, the interviews, the graphic visuals of burned babies and destroyed lives served as a painful oddball way for my shields to drop. What I am calling PTSD in verse. In this solidarity of change, a epic one in my life, much is yet to be revealed in intent or prognosis. The goal is remain open (as advised by the wiser ones), to experience the gamut of concerns, to speak openly without hesitation (read this blurb as such) and to ever more gently let the river flow.

The Creator’s plan for me, and you if you are willing, is far more loving in expectations of compassion and unity. My brain works constantly devising this scenario and that one playing out in my head too many possible scripts. What I refer to as the haunting bane of creative-director-itis (my former career). The irony is of course, none of these imaginations are the exact path the Creator is nudging me along to a manifestation.

I have a dear friend, who fancies the Que Sera Sera statement. I have written about the concept of what will be what will be both as reflective therapist and kinked-up artist. Looking through the slag glass window of one’s weepy soul is an innocent act of cosmic faith? The tooled heart pools the compassion? The over active mind categorizes the truths? The noticed intuition whispers? During these last weeks I touted over and over again Gaza was a watershed for humanity.

Today, August 29, 2014, the tule fog lifts and Gaza is a personal watershed or possibly predetermined waterloo. The emphasize is love. Suspended over the ocean with a bent-up pair of wings and a ragged tail floating in a thermal not of my doing. Free to be me is one more shredded profiled page in the artsy novel of life on the Hospital Planet.

Mythology of Dialectical Materialism – Part One

by BE Macomber

(Originally “Mythology of Dialectical Materialism” was written for a blog requesting an article. Yet when I submitted it my work was found to be “vaguely anti-socialism”, and as such rejected. Shit yea, pilgrims and riders of the purple sage, I am not into any isms). 


Calling #Occupy. Calling #Occupy. Where are you?

A protester cuts up a bank card during the "Occupy Seattle" protest in front of Chase Bank on 4th Avenue Saturday, October 15, 2011 in Seattle. About 5,000 people joined protesters camped at Westlake Park for two weeks. The demonstration was an offshoot of the Occupy Wall Street protest in New York and dubbed as a global day of action by the movement.

A protester cuts up a bank card during the “Occupy Seattle” protest in front of Chase Bank on 4th Avenue Saturday, October 15, 2011 in Seattle. About 5,000 people joined protesters camped at Westlake Park for two weeks. The demonstration was an offshoot of the Occupy Wall Street protest in New York and dubbed as a global day of action by the movement.

Buying into the class struggle theorem is exactly what the empire’s privileged and its oppressing corporatocracy desire. The class struggle meta-lie festers. Its negation of our innate communal species operates to defeat us in too many extents yet its semi-flourishing methodology is unnatural, anti-wholism, and inhuman. The humdrum falsehood is too damn effective obliterating currents of street rebellion or integrated social movements for humanity’s unanimity.


Occupy, the people’s mutiny against the tyranny of the 1%, was straightforward with its harmonization, yet it did not thrive. Occupy lacks momentous leadership. Its premise is suitable, if it was 1962 aligned with those forging the Huron Statement of #SDS. Occupy’s delivery system was weakened by an absence of heartwarming leaders able to embrace the masses beyond those ensconced in tent cities and marches. Our post millennium jadedness supercedes our willingness to survive, free? We seem better attuned to saving pets than ourselves.


Humans do not accomplish much without charismatic principals as much as the cataclysm youth of today’s world would prefer no authority figures lead us to freedom. Directives by ever expanding committees and a multitude of factions, is an impossible task in a globalizing tech-savvy social order sopped with information overload. A small amount of collected facts and data becomes dangerous morphing into gossip and pettiness. Factions splinter off concerned for their specie particulars losing sight of the overall objective – to change the oppression of the ranking establishment. A collective movement to alter the course of operative economics based on sit-ins generates instant media response yet wanes over time as it ages (read not cures) without an underlying body of thought and fresh insightful informatics.


Occupy flounders without a subterranean articulated grasp of pertinent issues and an organized plan of actions. It was infiltrated and in conjunction with mischance was abused by its own commissioned unsaid premise of mediocrity.


Huge mass demonstrations are necessary to identify to the rest of our species the cause and swell the ranks. Yet, noteworthy uprisings cannot be the exclusive foundation to popular change or serve as the primal empowerment of people to act on their own behalf in unity. While some argue they are effective for the moment to allow the masses to vent and say their piece, history tells us required systemic change never happens overnight, or sadly without spelt blood. The toppling of unjust regimes is messy, lengthy and requires well-conceived replacement with a campaign strategy and adept human personnel, otherwise the void is impurely filled.


The people’s universal revolution we subscribe to is out-financed, out-gunned, and out-played yet not out-numbered. FB claims 1.4 billion users[1]. Pacifism is a longer circuitous route yet its intrinsic basis is solid, nearly ego-less, and popularly sustainable. Non-violence is not only a safer route to change it engenders those once perceived as adversaries to align as allies. Hate leads to hate. Peace leads to peace. Backing blindfolded people up against the wall or trapping them in opinionated box canyons is violence leading to retribution violence. Extending a storyline of anima to rivals provides a feasible pathway with bridges over surging fuming moats better leading to collective coalescence.


What makes me a barking dog? The three decades within the tilt-a-wheel America body politic yammering at podiums, being a dissenting Democratic Party committee member, running campaigns, writing white papers, and even stupidly running for office on 9/11 in NY. The discourse must remain open not only for diplomatic possibilities but because unless humankind discovers global common ground our species is f*cked, done in my ourselves, in short order.


 (see part two)

Beware the Cutting Culture of Hatred in Social Media

#Gaza has risen to the unsullied status of a primal initiator of human awareness almost exclusively because of cyber social networking around the globe. Few, even the edgy know-it-all pundits of PressTV, Aljareeza, or AlterNet, foresaw the depth and width of such a collective social conscience tsunami by humanity.


We are subjected, if we chose, to see, hear, and read minute-by-minute, blow-by-blow, of what is happening to the people of Gaza by the State of Zion. The Zionist’s Israel Defense Forces (#IDF) horrors leveled onto Gazans are tweeted faster than the Arab Spring at its peak. The tool of humanity is now an ever-expanding global technology to become friends with Gazans, and each other Screen shot 2014-07-30 at 12.55.08 PMin solidarity. The alignments of those for Gaza and those for Israel is a demarcation line of remarkable height and continues to enlarge and fester within the narrative, hearts, and minds of those hip to what is happening.


Here is my red flag, and it is not a red herring. There is an enormous potential for hatred by our species at our species. Gaza is a watershed for human wakefulness and/or revelation of how close the four horses are to our souls. IF we buy into the us vs. them, we are perpetuating the ancient human odium of difference and intolerance.


A trained adept nosy journalist tells the whole basic story, the good, the bad and the sludge and slime. Sometimes the factual account is compelling and strikes primordial cords of humanity, most of the time it is snews news lasting about ten seconds in an undulating funky universe of reportage. Social media has changed the parameters of news. No longer do we have to wait for the nightly TV show or delivery of the morning newspaper. We can turn on our machines and instantly see what is happening, or not.


In our Orwellian world, we have instant compassion, and instant hatred. Now we review constant accurate current events and unremitting propaganda. Many of us have morphed from policy professors, social psychology thinkers, and political analysts to social news media providers and guru bloggers, Fedbook timeliners, and Tweeters. We post, we comment, we chat and we use Google to offer an ongoing running stream of what is happening shaded by our particular worldviews and techno abilities.


Because we are human, and not merely x’s and o’s invariably egos become larger than life, and writing talent is subjected to little editing as the passion of the moment feeds the relentless human nature of I want what I want now.


Content farms have replaced in depth reporting driven by Twitter with its 140 characters and those who play games on line as if it was real life.


Dating, the human contact of procreation and love has itself been corrupted by on-line connections. Everyday, I receive new friends and followers and every week one more man hitting on me, on line. The fact most of these male cyber friends follow the faith of Islam (or were born to same) is a story for another blog submission.


Today, the focus is uncomfortable and highly tender for many. Our species hates maybe better than it loves and social media provides the verdant fertile soil to grown such endless possibilities.


Frankly, I am an ex-pat American who chose and selected a country to live in with no military and a magnificent biodiversity because my third eye was bloodied from banging my head against the establishment. I earned the right to tell my body politic story through the several decades I served my fellow Americans as Democrat Party committeewoman, white paper writer, campaign advisor, manager, and candidate for office on 9/11 in New York.


My political pedigree goes back when I was treasurer for SDS at San Jose State and UC Berkeley. I wrote a political column called, Why War? Why Now? for the Free Press and constant letters to the editor of Daily Californian including several editorial pieces. My mug was on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper causing my father to go into apoplexy and threaten my career plans to refuse to help finance my doctorate.


Therefore, for the record, I am not a newbie to the politics of reality. Yesterday, is not when I did logged onto my Twitter account or a Faceline and decided to become the latest ‘authority’ on why hate America. I sat in more political meetings than probably most of US Congress. I still can pick up the phone and talk directly to a handful of the politically connected people in America. Not because I am a wise critic with public forums via social networking, rather because these people are personal friends who like me continue to believe in the American way of freedom for all.


Over the years, I observed one pandit after another, they come and go. The specialist with mettle and originality remain in the landscape of political discourse, not because they are pretty faces or write a great line of bullshit. These unique humans become respected intellectuals and foreign policy analysts because they have a glow about them – the truth.


Faceline (Facebook) has about 1.4 billion opportunities for each of us who chose to swim in this ramous ocean. The number in this social network and combinations of it is very astronomical compared to 100 US Senators and the staff Secretary of State John Kerry is allocated. The on-line numbers game is a marketer’s wet dream, yet as always we break down into segments, niches, and even focus groups. It is human nature for those of the same ilk to prefer to hang with their own kind – even in politics.


Those who follow me on Fedbook, or here, or on Twitter, are far more eclectic in their perspectives and certainly not stuck in one particular bag of political manifestation. The message I deliver is hopefully one of a higher consciousness with a twist – I am foremost a peacenik and thumper for freedom, justice, bread, and creativity. My goal is not to attract or attack through hostility or gather up those sodden with detestations.


The trail to my home cabina comes out of the jungle and onto a view spot where one can see for miles and miles. Here one can look way down into the valley below, the jungle mountains to the right and left, and on the widening horizon is the Pacific Ocean. Finca Vigia is a living vibrant eco-system part of the MesoAmerican Biological Corridor known as the Path of the Tapir. The air, water, soil, and other life giving components of the finca are the foundation for my perspectives. We are where we live, in social media and daily lives, played out to the nuances and the Meta changes.


Some would venture I deserve such a reprieve and others wonder how I can afford this luxury point of view. Such an explanation is meaningless. I am here as grace and grief arrived too close together. It is private.


Beyond the mega view opportunities, the serenity of this vital patch grows within me. After seven years, I am semi-content my words and insights are melded.


I am not a projectionist but I am intuitive enough to seek safe harbor before attempting to match my measly might with nature’s oceanic and global forces. Peace is not some sweet word I deploy to con or entice. My noisy spirit is unskilled, gentle, and yet resilient. Anger and loud voices or even too lively debate has lost its mind-bending allure. I do not need to argue to ram it down your throats. I prefer the unshackle sound of temple bells, the windy conversation of bamboo, the elegant mating songs of birds, and the chirts of geckos. In my childhood, I grew up with beauty, wind chimes, hummingbird feeders, with glorious gardens and fruit trees – nothing changed.


Here is an unsolicited sermon. You can click off, or read on and then feel superior, or in sync – this is the purview of social media and human endeavor. Some of us eat an organic apple in the garden and others poison the tree of life’s roots.


As we move forward on the continuum of our ailing species, we each reach tipping points of our awareness even if we are not cognizant of these passages. At certain intervals, choices are made within our psyche. A predisposition is inherent and while academia would like to think they have the upper hand, some of the most enlightened humans on the planet sport feathers in their ash dusted hair and reside in huts in the Amazon.


Making a judgment, generalization, or flailing punt is never my intent. Lately, I am asked my opinion. of this or that. I offer an honest evaluation, not some smooch. Shallowness is not intrinsic in my gene pool and we are adept critics to a familial fault. Writing from one’s heart requires brutal honesty and the removal of ego otherwise what spews forth is more crap, and for shits sake there is enough human caca to fill up Jupiter.


What has come to bear, is in my concerted effort to offer merely one more of my infinite number of personal opinion, after I do so, I get a heave of personal attacks. I stand still, Tai Chi (and other body, mind, spirit lessons) teaches this methodology. Being a moving target when one runs for political office also is its own awareness teacher on how to handle denunciation. My personality is not reactive, nor do I fear. Serenity and sobriety is a gift and a kind of insurance policy for mental health. Therefore, I do not get up on my hind legs to fight back the slams. I mean these people asked me for my opinion, and when I provide it then they want to react. I suppose the way out of this box canyon is to take wing and fly to bluer skies. I dunno. I am at odds at times. Detachment with love is a difficulty I learned – it was not intrinsic. I am not unsighted. I see clearly. Grace and peace within provides one the signature of compassion. When I do not know what to do, I wait. Time in itself provides a salve for discontent and room for a power greater than my self to act. If I attempt to keep my thumb and brain in the equation the sore, the emotional wound, of the other becomes even more tender and painful. Dysfunction is a hunger for same.


Self-loathing arrives in as many forms as the brain of a human can conjure. We see this sadly in those who hate Arabs because they are not Jews. We see this in pundits who cannot decipher the difference between foreign policy and people within the society. They hate Americans, America, and US Congress. I am subtler and maybe because I am an American I find such an all-evasive concept politically lubricious. Yet, logic emanating from the soul, would yelp what the empire delivers is disgusting and down right evil. Nevertheless, the people of the country are not some race of lizards and ignorant entities. At times, the system, the establishment, is unreachable (remember my third eye comment) because the life it has taken on is beyond simplistic reordering. The entire quagmire in America will continue until it needs to – then the civilization of America will come back into a fresher set of balances, yet based on the ole way of seeing.


To those ranting, punditzing, and praying America goes down like a herd of buffalo nuked, you either are piggly wiggly colored or find joy in human conflict. Yes, I hold council with the humanity of America and it is not some off the wall tea bager allegiance. The foundation of the American political system is better than any other on Earth. The fact it is suffering from a proliferation of greedy basturds and numb nuts is temporary insanity.


In politics, you survive or you go down behind your misplaced loyalties and misunderstandings. The art of politics requires delineation from policy and humanity. Just because SCOTUS acts with stupidity does not mean the entire body politic is in line or polluted with such ignorance. The corporatocracy are imploding body more Swiss cheese than solid steel. The economics of the world must change as their fiat money system is on life support. The dirty oil paradigm has brought us to a global precipice.


It is fashionable to hate America and several social media sources feed into this because it drives their own agendas. I do not hate. I find this emotion as self-defeating as it is species defeating. Balance requires being aware of one’s proclivities where the ego takes lead and the spirit is bent to self will run riot.


Within me, or you, is kindness for all living things. If you buy into hatred for any part of life on Earth, you are murdering the very core of our collective. We are not here to hate. Sacred texts teach to love your enemy. I find it conducive to not perceive anyone as my enemy. With this simple act of contrition, I am personally usually released from spinning out negative energy and empowering hatred by giving it recognition.


Those who find it necessary to incessantly compete with me, or you, through words and ideas without the subtleties of harmony are lost in a faked self-importance maze of their own making. Self-assured authenticated humans do not need to activate sense of self by producing reams of evidence they know more than the other. The adage of what is it they trying to proof too intently surfaces. My elegiac goal is simpler. I attempt to be present in the here and now for peace. If you think it is handy or necessary to try to convince me, otherwise you are on a fool’s errand. Serenity is not of my making. Inner peace stems from one connected throughout human time to a collective of compassion.


In addition, believe me, I am not some maharishi of thought or consideration. I inclusively surrendered my fattened ego fashioning horse shit and moved into a realm of calmness kicking and screaming “Nope, not me”. Yet, once there paddling my sleek kayak I discovered a sea as calm as a mountain lake at dawn.


This chic wellspring neither lashes out nor gives someone the boot, yet be assured if you ask for my opinion you will receive a well-honed one based in experiences and who knows maybe even practicable insight. I do not parrot the party line nor do I allow any entity to use me as a messenger of hatred, be they friend, or supposed foe.


America, the home of the free and the brave, will rise again; we have to go down the rabbit hole to get to the inner chamber. Our bottom is close by. IF not, I sit here, as the widow on the hill secure and kind-hearted, like a maiden in honor to grace. It was never my future as divined by my altered state, yet it turns out to be way beyond graceful or merely sustaining.


God protect the innocent.