Monday, 15 March 2010

The Countdown VI: The Latest Years - To Date

Oh, alright.; since you insist. And like a river having gone through various stages of its life, and drawing closer to the sea, mine has settled down to a more even flowing aspect; like the Moldau in its later stages; for real, and captured in music. Which realms actually are both very much alike. Alike in kind; just differing in degree. In degree of torque.

And isn’t it interesting, the relationship between the word ‘torque’ and the name for a particular person, ‘Torquemada’. Torque, in this context, like a torture instrument...

...and perhaps we are being tortured, too, in our less than perfect alignment with the true harmonic of Oneness - or with Oneness Itself...

Just a little blip in the smooth rippling there, like an underwater boulder, beneath the pacific surface of maybe there’s still a little adventure left in the trip after all. The trip-like adventure of

My Life and Times
VI - The Latest Years
To Date

This was - is - harvest time in my life. A lot of pieces of information started coming together in this stage for me, including my own inner sense, of time and place, and role. And ‘role’ as in the acting out of parts on a stage; in this case, the very stage of life. Where the play’s the thing; until it’s time for the Director to call Time, and have us assume our more direct roles, for a time. And place

But there’s still plenty of role-playing time on the historical stage before we get there.

Just not, perhaps, as much as some people might be led to believe, in the stark realities of the moment.

Of where we’re at on our historical time line. And in the universe itself.


I started off my life in the community, in the dead of winter of 1975-6, helping to renovate its new purchase, Cluny Hill Hotel now College; the former 4-star hotel which Peter and Eileen and Dorothy had been managing some 13 years previously; applying spiritual prlnciples into daily life. Theirs was a path of practical spirituality; and that appealed to me immensely. I wasn’t much into ritual; and definitely wasn’t into dogma. There was none of either in the community, except daily communal meditation time, both in the mornings - starting the day on an inner note - and in the evenings. And even all that tailed off somewhat, when Peter and Eileen (Dorothy had left the community by my time there, to go back - at the same time as David Spangler - to North America and take the spirit of the community out into the world, via workshops, writing, etc.) began traveling more, themselves too taking the message of the community out into the world;1 and when the cat is numbers began to dwindle at the two sittings a day. But still, most members showed up for the morning meditation. That was a very substantial part of the daily rhythm of life there. And still is, to this day.

The purchase of Cluny had been a typical ‘Findhorn’ story. (It helps, in the telling of this story, if you know that Peter titled his autobiography, written some 20 years later, ‘In Perfect Timing’.) A potted history of the community, to set the scene:

Peter and Eileen and their Canadian spiritual partner, Dorothy, after being chelas to Peter’s second wife (a woman named Sheena), started out in life on their own, and, thinking of what he could do to earn a living while they uncovered their spiritual work together, Peter hit on the idea of applying for a job running a hotel. He had been an RAF officer in the Second World War, in the Burma Front, responsible for some 250 catering officers to the troops; and figured that, with a little application of Will (for which he would become rather notorious, or, some might say, headstrong), he could talk his way into a managerial job in the hotel field. He almost fell at the first hurdle when, during the interview, conducted by a (similarly strong-willed) woman named Mrs. Bruce, he told her - after her querying him over his lack of experience - he would be operating it under spiritual principles; that if things were right on that level, they would be right on all levels, including the financial. Something about this strange man spoke to her, and she gave him the opportunity to prove his theory. He did (with the help of Eileen’s ‘guidance’: the voice she had started receiving messages from some years before, whilst in a private sanctuary in Glastonbury, England). Within three years they had raised it from three-star status to four-star, and trebled the takings within the same period of time. All was going swimmingly - except for Peter’s occasional clashes with Mrs. Bruce and the board of directors of the hotel chain, when he would order, and accept, ‘only the best’ in equipment - when Mrs. Bruce asked them to move to another hotel in their chain, and turn it around financially the way they had Cluny. By then, they had found a strong spiritual connection with Cluny, and its physical setting (including what some called a ’power point’, the hill behind the grand Victorian building, from which it got its name), and didn’t want to leave, feeling this was the right place for them to be (as attested to by Eileen’s guidance; at least to the extent of its being ‘a part of My divine plan’ for them). But leave they had to, or they would lose their jobs.

So off to The Trossachs they went - a hotel in the Borders region. On paper it was a promotion; but it wasn’t the same on a spiritual level for them. It was lacking, dead, dark. They insisted on coming back to Cluny for the following season; and partly as a result of their not doing what the Board wanted them to do (and partly to do with some nepotism, a nephew of one of the Board members wanting the managerial job at Cluny), they were sacked, and had four hours to return to Cluny and pack up all their belongings and leave. Consternation. Peter asked Eileen to get some guidance on this shocking turn of events. I don’t recall the specifics of that part of the story; but knowing Eileen’s guidance, I presume it was something like, “All is very, very well; this is all part of My divine plan for you”. Some plan: They ended up living in a caravan park - “cheek by jowl with a lot of other people,” as Peter had remarked sniffily once to Eileen as they passed the Findhorn Bay Caravan Park on their way to the small fishing village of Findhorn. ( “Imagine living in a place like that,” he had begun his offhand remark. Well, imagine living in a place like that; indeed...He said later it was ‘a dark night of his soul’. There he was, a grown man, responsible for a wife, their close friend, and three small boys, out on his ear, and reduced to living in (what turned out to be) a former garbage dump corner of a caravan park. You can hardly get any lower than that. So it was a real testing time for him.)

Years pass. He and Dorothy initially tried to get employment - they wanted to stay in the area, because there was always the chance that the Board of Directors would come back to their senses and hire them back to run Cluny - but were blocked at every turn. That was when Peter started a garden, right ouside their little caravan, to raise some food for their table. They were existing solely on the dole - three adults and three small boys. No work in the offing. Not looking good. And then Peter had the bright idea to ask Dorothy to get some idea in her meditations of what he could do about the gardening problems he was coming up against. (The particular bane of his existence was the carrot root fly. Most probably many gardeners, from long experience, will be able to appreciate his predicament. ) These were the circumstances when she made her connection with what she was made to understand was an angelic realm that she called the Devas, a Sanskrit word that she knew from her Sufi background that meant ‘angel’ or ‘shining one’. With the help of her messages - both practical advice and spiritual commentary (“We welcome this connection with the human kingdom. Together we can redress the imbalances that you have incurred on Earth...”) - and putting into practice his/their philosophy that ‘Work is Love in Action’, he began getting the remarkable results from his garden that resulted in word spreading primarily through gardening circles of ‘that amazing garden up in the north of Scotland where they grow forty-pound cabbages...’

People began being attracted not only to visit, but to stay. A community was born. Eileen‘s guidance confirmed this curious turn of events for them. (“You are a garden community on its way to becoming a village on its way to becoming a vast City of Light...” What?! Stay tuned...) During the ensuing years, Peter would occasionally ask Eileen to get some guidance about Cluny; he knew they (or at least he) still had unfinished business there. At one point she came back from the public toilets (where she would go in the middle of the night to get her guidance, away from the chaos of life in a small caravan and with three rambuctious boys) and told him that his answer was: “You will return to Cluny soon.” Soon turned out to be thirteen years later, when, with the community having grown to over 100 people, and getting better known, by word of mouth, on the New Age circuit, a professional PR man (for some female guru of the time; this is now 1975) came to visit and nosed around and asked to speak to the governing body of the fledgling community. (Peter had by that time relinquished total control over things and created a ‘core group’ of trusted community members to help him run the place.) The man pointed out to them that Paul Hawken’s book ‘The Magic of Findhorn’ - which had just been published - was going to be coming out that fall in paperback, “and you are going to be inundated with hundreds if not thousands of more guests who have never heard of you before - where are you going to put them?”

Peter immediately thought, and said: “Cluny!” and got the permission of his core group appointees (I doubt it went quite that way...) to ‘let’ him have the community’s solicitor call the hotel chain’s solicitor the next day and see if they just might be interested in selling it. So the man placed the call; and the reply from his counterpart was, “Either you have a spy on our Board of Directors or you’re psychic, because we just this morning decided to sell.”

The reason they had decided to sell was that they had been losing money on Cluny over all those years after the Caddy’s and Dorothy had left; also, because new fire regulations for hotels had just been put in place, that were going to force them to have to pour £25,000 more into what was, by then, for them, a losing cause. They were ready to sell at - somewhat literally - a fire sale price.

The community bought it (albeit with some hiccups involved, but that’s another story); and paid off the bank loan for the purchase (by then, the community had proven to its bank that it was creditworthy; so that was another factor that was needed in the equation) within six years - because the PR pro had been spot on: that following summer, the summer of ‘76 (when I was there), was the beginning of larger numbers of guests coming to the community, because of the power of One. In this case, the power of one book.

Never underestimate the power of the Word.

Oh. Also, take heed of your own guidance: Another time during those intervening years, Eileen had received another bit of guidance for Peter, who, somewhat uncharacteristically, apparently wasn’t listening closely enough; quote: “Cluny will go down and down and down until it hits bottom.”

With guidance like that, you can take it to the bank.


After working in the community for several years in various jobs - first at Cluny in its Maintenance department, then in ‘Pubs’, the Publications dept. over at The Park (five miles away, in the Findhorn Bay Caravan Park where the community itself had begun when Peter, Eileen and Dorothy moved there in the fall-winter of 1962 after losing their jobs at Cluny), first as the printer (we printed all our own material in those more simple days) and later on as a sort of assistant manager, whence I then moved to the Guest Dept, helping to run the community’s basic educational programmes (as opposed to various workshops we offered, on specific subjects) - I felt drawn to ‘take it out’ into the world.

I have told previously in this chronicle, this ersatz symphonic poem of my travel through life (but then musical themes are like that, they come and they go and reappear in different forms)2 of my time in New York City working for an NGO called Planetary Citizens; the job landing, In Perfect Timing, right at my feet, to help get off the ground an international educational and activist project called The Planetary Initiative (‘For the World We Choose’). Feeling my time there done after a year - with considerable, if not full, job satisfaction - I returned to the community. Worked in a couple of educational roles that winter and spring (this is 1982-3), and then got the urge again to make even more of a difference. (Story of my life.)

This time it was in the form of a couple of film script writing ideas that had begun to percolate for me (actually, first during my time at PC). Precisely in Perfect Timing, I was asked by the group that held the focus for the community’s retreat house on the lovely island of Iona,3 who were looking at ways to raise money for its badly-needed renovation, if I would like to be the house person there that summer, looking after both the house and the guests who be offered it as a place of retreat after having done programmes at the Foundation.

Would I...

I loaded up my gear for the summer, including my typewriter and a ton of scratch paper, and headed off for Iona that June. I was a year short of 50 at the time, and was beginning, I’m sure, to feel the cold breath of age creeping up on the back of my neck; or like a racehorse, feeling the need to make its move, coming into the home stretch, and hoping that its jockey would just get on with it, dammit.

The itch that I needed to scratch (to load up as many metaphors and similes as I can in this description of the time of my serious beginning of writing; excluding the film script that I had written many years before, whilst living in Southern California, which still occupied a place of honour in my piles of papers, read ‘files’), consisted of two ideas for films; the first was more potentially ‘commercial’, the second I felt would be my magnum opus, and so would take a little longer to get down.

The first was about a Hollywood film producer - a sort of Columbo character; much more savvy than he looks, or affects - who is having a mid-life crisis, feeling the need to make a film that he could really feel good about, before his golden chances passed him by. Due to circumstances in his life beyond my need to detail at this moment, he learns about ‘this spiritual community’ in the north of Scotland, called Findhorn, where the people were drawn to live there to help ‘make a difference’. On the way he engages in a quick prep read of the book ‘The Magic of Findhorn’. Magic; the magic screen, the magic lantern of film-making...there he finds inspiration, and returns to his life, determined to - altogether now...

But life is not as easy as it appears often on the silver screen, and it is not an easy road for him, into more job satisfaction. The difficulties involve his marriage, his daughter, and his compadres in the business. As it turns out, he does get an Oscar, but not for the kind of film that he would, really, have liked to have made. Bittersweet Fadeout. Life.

The second will take a little longer to chronicle. But it’s worth it. (Well, I would say that, wouldn’t I.) Get a cup of tea, or whatever works for you.

Before I get into ‘my’ story, I need to refer to the historical story going on at the time, or at least one aspect of it; the aspect I was most deeply observing. That was the war in the Middle East, that had started the year before, in June 1982, with Israel having enough of provocations and going into Lebanon, after the PLO and anybody else who appeared in their crosshairs. This was of major concern to me; for more reason than I was consciously aware of at the time. The deeper reason had to do with the Bekaa Valley, in eastern Lebanon, and mysterious, ancient ruins there, known as Baalbek. I won’t go into that in detail right here, except just to ask: Have you ever heard of Romain Gary’s book ‘The Roots of Heaven’? It’s about a French dentist and his ‘mad quest’ to save the elephants of Africa. It’s supposed to be a metaphor for the struggle to preserve freedom (the dentist, when he was a prisoner in Germany, and his mates were ‘saved’ by this “image of immense liberty”); but I took it all as a sort of metaphor of man’s connecting with his essence, his ‘spirit’; which includes the quest for freedom, yes, but in the context of his spirituality; hence the appeal to me of the idea of Roots of Heaven on Earth. It turns out that Baalbek may well have been a landing place for rockets from space - from our progenitors, the Annunaki, aka ‘ancient astronauts’. This all has to do with the series of books written by one Zecharia Sitchin, who studied in immense detail the records of the Sumerians; the ‘apparent’ first civilization on Earth, as seeded by their great gods. Not to go into the detail of that ’take’ on Middle East matters; just to point out the value of those ruins to humankind, as evidentia of their (allleged) connections with an important part of their story, and makeup.

My take on the whole matter, in this context:

The UN is having trouble coming up with a new secretary-general. The various factions put their candidate names forward - the Developing countries want a man from their ranks in there; the Developed countries want someone in there that they can rely on to look out for their interests; China is not about to bow before the American choice, as they start taking over a hegemonic position in the world; etc. - but no one is getting sufficient backing to break the impasse. They decide to start all over again, with a new list, and think somewhat outside the box this time. In the course of this search for new names, an investigator for the U.S. Mission to the UN visits a man who has a reputation for fairness and morality and is respected by the other factions in the UN (this character is patterned after Donald Keys, former head of the NGO Planetary Citizens, whom some had referred to as ‘God’s secret agent in the UN’): He himself is admittedly too old for the job, but does he know of somebody who might ‘fit the bill’ - fair, moral, and respectable by all the factions?

He does indeed; and we next see the investigator - a woman - waiting to interview the head of the Publications Department of the Findhorn Foundation comunity in the north of Scotland. The man comes into the room - David Carson - and the look on the woman’s face is that of the waitress reported on by A.E. Hotchner in his memoir about his association with Paul Newman. Before Paul made it big in Hollywood, he was trying out for a TV part, and they were talking the matter over. Some director had said about Paul that he didn’t think he carried enough “sexual threat “. The waitress had come to their table to take their order, and had said to Paul, who ordered burgers for them, medium rare, “Any way you want it, sweetheart.” When she came back with their orders, Hotchner asked her, “Do you think he’s a sexual threat?” “You betcha!” she replied, in her Americanese that predated the coming of Sarah Palin by over half a cenury. The look tells us all we need to know, at this point.

Carson’s name is put into the hopper, we see with the enthusiastic support of the U.S. Mission’s headhunter (shamelessly sexist, yes yes, I know; but you must understand, this is the middle ‘80’s that we’re talking about); the MONTAGE CONTINUES WITH shots of the various teams continuing their winnowing process, considering and rejecting names, starting to be crossed off lists (with a SHOT OFa headline from the New York Times saying something like, ‘The UN Talking Shop is Still At It’, with people starting to get bored by the process, like that of the ‘hanging chads’ affair of the Bush-Gore Florida 2000 drama); and finally we are near the completion of the arduous process. Which is marked by the Chinese delegation bringing a piece of paper, with a single name on it, to their superior; who looks at it inscrutably -

and next we see David Carson arriving in America, at JFK. Waiting to greet him (besides some mysterious men filming the whole thing, unobtrusively) is a UN delegation. Prominent among them is a tall, handsome black man. We don’t know his nationality until he speaks, which gives him away as an American, too. We do, however, know something about his feelings about this man arriving to take the job. And it looks very much like Carson has beat him out of it. So: Intrigue right from the git-go...the welcome is formal, with a touch of frost. Carson senses it; but says nothing at this point...

He settles in to his new job, with the black man as his First Deputy, wouldn’t you just know. This is, after all, the ’80s; with the blacks starting their move...

I won’t bore you with the details immediately to follow. Suffice it to say that Carson and his deputy have an intriguing relationship, that on the surface looks like a grudging admiration beginning to build by the black man for his superior. At one point I let ‘slip’ in the script that for David, it feels like, or at least is similar to, the relationship between Alexander and his right hand man, Hephaestion. (Whether I build in a twist, with it turning out that I’m reallly setting up David as the Hephaestion character in their past lives, is not dealt with in the beginning. Or, for that matter, at the end. With a sequel to this film indicated by its end...)4

Before their relationship clarifies further, a crisis hits the world scene, and thus the UN: a war, very much like the war in the early ‘80s between Israel and the PLO, dragging Lebanon into the melee. Only this time it’s worse; the feeling, on both sides, like, To hell with it, we’re going for broke. Enough talk and inaction; it’s showdown time. It escalates quickly; Russia, with a non-aggression pact with Syria, is about to enter it on the ‘other’ side; Israel is threatening to use its nukes...

and it turns out that Carson has been all ready to go, if such an event occurred; with a secretive military team in place, and another team starting to set up a site, in a bombed-out hotel in downtown Beirut, for - of all things - peace talks; around a round table. The head of the delegation insisting it must be a round table. “Why?” the hotel owner pleads.

Why, indeed...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Carson has summoned representatives from all sides of the affair to his office, at the top of the Glass House (referred to in Hopi legend) on Riverside Drive. His office personnel watch the delegations go in, all bluster and ego; and watch the clock, ticking away. Tick...tick..tick.....

Elsewhere, a small group of men have gathered at the home of one of them, and are cheering the war on, seen from the comfort of their living room (“Bring it ON!” one whoops; for all the world like the Slim Pickens character in Dr. Strangelove, riding ‘The Bomb’ backwards down to glory, glory, hallelujah)... -

And David Carson, somehow, buys them all time.

The second half of the film is taken up with the peace talks process. There’s still bluster going on around the table itself. But an inquisitive journalist - an old dog at this sort of thing, tiring of the Repeat, and thinking it’s time for humanity to get a new script, finds out that there’s a room in the building where small groups of people take turns ‘manning the flame’ - meditating, around a simple single candle. He is, finally, sucked to the flame himself, takes his turn...

Other things are going on. There is a team of people in the basement of the UN Building, who are busily plotting, on a huge map of the world on one wall - like a military Situation Room - with returns coming in over their computers, the turning on of small lights all over the world, which, it turns out, mark groups of a certain size who are ‘manning’ designated meditation sites, with the grid beginning to appear - out of the background seemingly chaotic/at-random lights - as forms of dodecahedrons. Reference is made, to a visiting reporter, of ‘the Network of Light’. And on another front of the offensive, we see an unmarked military vehicle, somewhat like a tank, sitting silently near the edge of Beirut (during the war itself we had seen it quietly making its way thrugh the carnage to its location, and then seen an antenna being automatically extended out of its protected top). Then we CUT TO a shot of a line of artillery (the feeling is that these are Syrian troops), with the command then given to fire. Immediately we CUT TO the inside of the ‘tank’, where a couple of people are sitting, watching screens, and eating sandwiches and drinking coffee. One of the screens lights up. The designated operator says, “Oh-oh. Naughty naughty,” and touches the screen with a ‘magic wand’ gizmo. We CUT BACK TO the outside of the vehicle. Nothing. But then we CUT BACK TO the line of artillery, where those operators - with their guns having fallen silent - are hopping around, holding their heads, actually ears, in agony, like they are being attacked by a swarm of inner-ear bees. Their commanding officer appears and orders them back to work. Some say, YOU do it, and drop their gear and leave, still in pain. One crew grudgingly obeys orders; loads another round; hesitantly fires it - and immediately start dancing around in the same sensory agony. The commanding officer looks on, around, stunned, mystified; then sure he has figured it out.

Those clever Jews, up to their old - now new - tricks?? But we have been able to put together some pieces by now, dating from the earlier stages of the story, where David at one point had gone on some mystery mission to Long Island, to see some sort of inventor, with a garage full of electronic gear, who showed him something....

Another touch of detail of this brief report of the script : When the first round of artillery fire had landed near the Peace Talks hotel, and people started diving for cover, one guy about to engage in the same activity looks at another one who keeps on with what he’s doing, and makes a wordless query of him. “It’ll stop in a sec,” says the guy in the know; adding, with a smile: “They’ll be doing their peace dance by now.”

Another touch of detail, before I move on: During the time of the talks, we observe a couple of American military-appearing types in a jeep, having gone out to the site of some remarkable ruins. This is Baalbek. They get out, and start walking around, the passenger taking pictures, the driver observing him. “What are we supposed to be looking for?” asks the driver. The passenger shrugs. “Carson just said to come out here and take pictures and see what I felt.” What do you feel, the driver asks him. “Well; it’s sure...awesome.” And we see what he’s talking about, with a shot of them at the base of the Trilothon: three huge stone blocks high up in a massive similarly-carved wall. The passenger reads from a tour book, about the place; then commenns: “This guidebook says this all dates to Roman times. But I dont’t know about that...” “Who else?” says the driver. And they just look at one another.

Carson. David Carson....”Car-son,” the journalist whom we have just met says to himself, in the hotel bar, here off-duty. He is an affable, if somewhat jaded-appearing, old dog at the trade. The bartender inquires: “Sir?” Our old-dog journalist looks at him, shakes his head, gesturing him off from topping up his whiskey. “Just playin’ with words...Car-son. Son of car. Car...That ring any kind of bell to you?” The bartender knows not to bother to comment, that this has just been rhetorical. Bar habitues...he wipes the counter, being courteous, and available, if there is to be another round. The old dog lights up a smoke. “You know, I read a book once, inspired by my travels in the world, to hot spots all over, about the history of some place or other. Where their great leader way back in history was named Sargon. Sargon of Agade; that was it. Or Akkade; or something like that. But it turns out that the name comes - came - from ‘Tsar-kin’. Tsar, t-s-a-r, like the Russian ‘czar’, c-z-a-r, originally meant ‘king’. So it was, ‘King kin’. K-i-n. But what that stood for, according to this particular historian, was Cain. C-a-i-n. Like in the Bible. You ever read the Bible?” The bartender smiles, and says: “Oh yes. I’m a Marion Christian.” Old dog nods, and smiles. “You see? That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about. You’re a Marion Christian. But that also sounds like a Marryin’ Christian, as in ‘M-a-r-r-y-i-n’ ; as in marrying a number of times.” The bartender isn’t sure what he has just said; but he’s the customer. He wipes the counter again. Old dog takes another drag on his cig. “So like I say. That name may well have meant, back in the mists of time, ‘King Cain’. Tsar Cain. Tsar kin. Tsarkin. Sargin. Sargon. Sar-gon....Words are interesting things.” The bartender nods. “Yes. They are.” “...So what do you think ‘Car-son’ means. On another level,” Old dog asks him. Rhetorically...obviously having become curious about this man, who has put some people to meditating in the same space as where the Peace Talks were going on...

There’s more, including a woman named Jeanne, who is terribly impressed with - drawn to - David, and who makes a connection with him at a press conference in the UN building back in Manhattan, where David has gently, patiently told the press pack, yet one more time, that: “The talks are continuing. Progress is being made,” although there has been precious little evidence of that observed by the journalists at the scene. (But they don’t know about things behind the ‘seen’ like how David has secretly arranged for the lead negotiators to meet in private, with the instruction to “listen to each other’s stories”.) David and Jeanne go out for a walk in the neighborhood of the UN building. She asks him what he thinks, of the chances of a breakthrough. He looks at her squarely, as if sizing her up on the inner, and replies: “It’s already happened. We just have to wait for it to make it through.” As in, make it through into this denser medium... and then suddenly, from his beginning to look at her more closely; as if something has just occurred to him - something else that is just waiting to make it through, perchance? - he tells her he has to “get back to work”, and excusing himself, leaves her, to make her way from there, alone. She stands there, looking at his retreating figure, not sure what all that had been about...

What it had been about appears to become clear - for those who have eyes to see - when the breakthrough in the talks comes, and the world begins its riotous celebration. The UN employees and national diplomats cheer David and his right hand man, who has been actively involved in the process, being David’s extension into the nitty-gritty of things. With the strains of an impromptu rendition of Amazing Grace still echoing in his ears (subtly contrasted with whatever it was that caused the artillerymen to down their weapons), David goes out for a walk that late evening - strangely subdued, considering the events of the day, and leading up to it - in the mean streets of Manhattan...where he is knifed in the side (his right side) by a hooded assailant, and left for dead.

He is in a hospital bed, for three days and nights, being looked after by Jeanne, who won’t give up on him, and wants him - wills him - not to give up on ”them”.
And then, slowly, he doesn’t.

(He opens his eyes. Looks around, at where he is. Sees Jeanne, beside his bed. She is dozing, but at that moment opens her eyes; looking directly at him.

“You’re back,” she says, simply. As well as if to help reorientate him, in and to time and place.


What was the name of that film? (And note that I didn’t say, rhetorically: “What did I name that film?’ Everything has meaning on some level. Even a cold.)

- Ah -

Darned if I can remember, at just this point in time.

It’ll come to me, in time.

In time. Got that one.

The sequel, incidentally, has David - with the world, because of his instrumental role in bringing it back from the brink, celebrating his return to them (except for some; some of whom feel that he is the Anti-Christ, others who simply resent his threat to their superior positions on the planet) - become the president of the United States, with Jeanne his consort, and his UN sidekick (whose name I can’t remember either, right now; but it had some meaning, of course. Jeanne’s had to do with genes) become secretary-general of the UN. And though they have a good karmic connection, it also has unresolved aspects of it, and they end up on opposite sides of many issues. Including the main one, of the UN asking its member nations, in the nicest way possible, considering it’s with arms twisted behind their backs, to surrender their nuclear weapons to it. David balks; doesn’t want America held hostage to anyone. The drama begins again...

...the drama of humanity not quite getting it, quite yet.

...with an element of Star Wars in it. And not just in the context of the Rebels and the Empire. But with a real ET factor.5


Back to the surface story, continuing.

This will be brief. I’ve kept you up long enough. You are still awake, aren’t you? Hello? Hello?....

Pretending it’s of any relevance,6 I’m moving right along, to my continued life in the community - engaged mostly in its various educational programmes - until I met a woman. Well, actually, before that eventful happening, I can mention another one, when I borrowed the money to join a fairly large group of us going to Russia, to see what ‘perestroika’ and ‘glasnost’ were all about; would the changes initiated by Gorbachev last? It seemed that they would, and were indeed a breath of fresh air blowing through the system. Although as a footnote, not all Russians were enamoured of the change: Upon our arrival, in Moscow, the Customs man, in looking through my suitcase, spotted my copy of Gorbachev’s book ‘Perestroika’ (I think it was titled; it has gone with the wind), and, frowning, said to me: “Brezhnev is better.” Whatever you say, comrade.

La femme. She entered my life about the same time as the Berlin Wall came down. My own resistances to anything approaching entangling alliances came down with it, figuratively, and, one thing leading to another, I ended up moving to Australia to explore with her my first real relationship in life. (Well, there had been another particular woman before her, at the community; but that liaison had been rather brief.) Actually, and for this chronicle, I will mention that, during that personal focus of attention in my life, and before my move Down Under, I also was visited with feelings about the first Gulf War; sufficiently to cause me to end up in a Peace Camp in the desert between the two warring entities. Well, not quite between them: the camp was one used by pilgrims on their way to Saudi Arabia and Mecca to do Hajj, so it was off to the west some. But we were enough of a concern to the Iraqi authorities - who had allowed us anti-war protestors to be there; and who in the event didn’t want to run the risk of having our blood on their hands - that when ‘hostilities’ broke out (we could hear the B52s going far overhead at night, and so knew that that was it), they came for us in the night and moved us en masse to a hotel on the outskirts of Baghdad (the Al Rashid; nice place) before sending us back to our home countries via bus to the border with Jordan. (There were many countries represented: Brits, Indians, Americans, Dutch, others in smaller numbers; about 75 of us in total.) It may have been quixotic, but it was what I felt I needed to do, to make a statement: that we just simply could not go down this road anymore. It was far too risky, now with nuclear weapons - and my especial bete noire, biological and chemical weapons. What a disgusting state of affairs we had gotten ourselves into, as a race. As the human race, folks. On a finite planet. A beautiful being. We were fouling our nest, terribly. It was time for a change.7

My change to Australia went well. I enjoyed life there. But it was in the nature of an interlude. Down time. And in 2001 it was time to get back to my work. Where I returned in the first week of September. And where I was, when 9/11hit.

The best I could do about that was to hold a special meditation in the Cluny sanctuary (which was packed for it, as, horrified at the images on the TV, we gathered solemnly to do something), blessing those in transition, and sending the qualities of love and light and peace and healing into the ethers of our hurting world.

And I vowed to do something more about it.

Right timing, and place, permitting. And role. Best, role.8


I have been in a retirement capacity since June 2008 here in the community, living in my cave of a room upstairs in warm, friendly, generous Cluny (more accurately, Cluny Hill College); where I can look out my window, and see the changing of the seasons, clearly etched on the landscape, of first, mainly, a tree (currently in its state of winter undress), and then the compost heaps of our garden (fitting sight, and metaphor, that, I think, for this educational and living-education centre), and just beyond them, the road that wraps around our hill, and on its other side, the gently winding road that leads up a tree-laden hillock to the local golf course clubhouse and tee-off area (from where cometh the golf balls, like magic mushrooms, that we often harvest, having made their wayward way into the stretch of garden along the road between our courses. And perhaps this is the origin of the myth, of the Magic of Findhorn? Magic sproutng magic mushrooms??). Very soul and personality satisfying, here.

I help out around here according to the needs, and my long and varied experience. (I do Reception shifts; help out in the Dining Room when they’re off in their weekly departmental ‘attunement’ - of time to share amongst themselves, of both a business and personal nature; one of the major rhythms of life in this community - drive the buses, for group nature outings and taking members and guests to the west coast to our retreat house on Iona; do sharings with the guests, in their basic week’s experience here, and also often hold their ‘Sacred Dance’ session: folk dance with a deeper appreciation of how the movements reflect the whole of the life experience. Thus there are dances celebrating birth, and death; weddings; the play of the seasons - spring fertility dances, fall harvest dances, summer and winter festive dances; fulll moon meditation dances, new moon meditation dances; the lot. Great stuff. I know, from the inner, why Shiva is depicted in a dancing mode.)9 It is an arrangement that allows me time to research further in my areas of interest. Which covers a broad range.

And before I continue with that thought, please bear with me a moment. I have just received an internal email that tells us oldtimers here of the recent death of an old friend, member of the community in the ‘70s. Upright English youngish (then) gentleman, with a dry sense of humour, and an arch tongue, sometimes. Who was the godchild of Lord Mountbatten. Quite an interesting collection of characters this community has played home to, over the years...R.I.P., Jeremy.

Be back with you in a minute.


To close with a coda to my (sort of) symphonic poem, with all its clangs and clashes, and rings ‘n things ‘n buttons and bows:

Perhaps the salient feature of my interests in these later years (these Latter Days??) - besides continuing to keep an eye on the machinations of King David Rockefeller and his minions10 - has been the modern phenomenon of birthing humans through a screen. A screening process. (And not for, like, the best roles. Unless your definition of that is of manipulating people to be of best service to you, in the interests of the State that you are invested in.) A screen of the likes of the poisons of pesticides, and fluoride,11 and, above all, of vaccines.

Parents have wondered, and complained about for years (actually , starting around the ‘50s; interestingly enough), Why Johnny Can’t Read. I’ve dealt with this subject somewhat in this narrative before; but a little recap, and addition.

The main blame for this phenomenon, of some - many - kids just not getting ‘it’, and graduating from school wtih extremely poor reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic skills, has been placed at the feet of teaching techniques. But at the root of the question of the techniques is the question of comprehension. Of the ability to comprehend. Of the ability of the child’s brain to process the concepts, and information. And there we get into another area. And that requires us to look at the time factor of this problem, for clues.

The issue, of the inability of so many kids to be able to read sufficiently, or ‘normally’, surfaced, as I say, around the ‘50s. That can invite a look at teaching techniques, indeed: Did anything change around then in that field? Well, yes; to some extent. More schools were beginning to use the new-fangled method of teaching reading, of ‘whole word’, ‘look-say’, and dropping the classic technique of phonics: of relating letters of the alphabet to sounds, and putting the sounds together to form words. Sounds simple enough. And it worked for a long while. And then the ‘experts’ began experimenting with the concept of ‘comprehension’. And what they meant by that, was that they didn’t want children to be able to go out and read just any old thing on their own, rotely, without comprehending it.12 Without being led to comprehend it. The way that the ‘experts’ wanted them to. In controlling the process. In their primers, the kids were taught certain words at each succeeding level. And so the ‘experts’ were in charge, because the kids were being taught to ‘know’, to say, recognize words by their looks (‘You can tell this word means ‘monkey’ because of the tail at the end, like a monkey’s; see? Isn’t that clever?’), not by their sounds.

It’s similar to writing by hieroglyphics, and having to memorize the individual ‘forms’. But in fact - in terms of the context - it’s called social engineering; and it started coming into vogue, at least in the States, around this time, with the philosophical underpinnings of it having been established in the ‘30s via socialists (eg, John Dewey), looking to create a new world; as was happening in the Soviet Union, and in certain circles in the UK (in particular there the influence of the Fabians). I say all this, to ‘give credit where credit is due’, ie, that the teaching techniques did have something to do with the dificulties starting to surface. But there was more; and it continues down to our day.

It has to do with the brain damage caused by vaccines; which had just come into the first stages of mass application in the ‘40s. Harris L. Coulter, Ph.D - arguably the U.S.’s foremost medical historian - put it extremely clearly in his book ‘Vaccination, Social Violence and Criminality’ :

“A Puzzling Feature

“An unexplained feature of autism on its initial appearence was its curious frequency in well-educated families...

“Attempts have been made, but without success, to link this skewed distribution of cases to genetic factors in the middle-class or upper-class population of parents.

“One point insufficiently stressed in the early surveys was the high incidence of parents working in medicine or connected with it...

“Kanner {Dr. Leo Kanner, a pioneer in autism research] noted: ‘Many of the fathers and most of the mothers are perfectionists...The mothers felt duty-bound to carry out to the letter the rules and regulations which they were given by their obstetricians and pediatricians.’

“But these early data showing a preponderance of educated parents have now been superseded; since the 1970s the skewed distribution no longer obtains. In the United States autism is now evenly distributed, with no social class or ethnic groups being particularly favored.

“Hence the conclusion is now reached that the earlier data were mistaken...But is this correct? Was the earlier research done badly, or did the source population for autistic children change between 1940-1950 and the 1970s? This latter possibility has not been investigated.

“A real shift in the socio-economic distribution pattern of autism can readily be explained in terms of childhood vaccination. When the pertussis vaccine was first introduced, being offered by the occasional forward-looking pediatrician to parents anxious to do ‘everything possible’ for their children and avid for the latest wonders off the medical assembly-line, who were the first takers? Not the blue-collar workers, who could not afford these frills...Free vaccination at public health clinics (where today the vast bulk of lower-class children get their shots) was still for the future. Only the prosperous - who could afford private physicians - were in a position to request this vaccine. And these same prosperous and educated parents, especially educated and ambitious mothers with some exposure to medicine, would have insisted on it.

“This explains the skewed distribution of autistics in the early decades...

“As vaccination programs expanded and became obligatory in nearly every state, rich and poor alike could seek the benefits of the DPT shot. The incidence of autism evened out, and researchers assume that the earlier statistics were incorrect!” 13

Sounds pretty sensible, and evidential. His book was published in 1990. Why haven’t you heard about it? Very possibly, primarily because of its subtitle: ‘The Medical Assault on the American Brain’. Oh-oh. Can’t have people thinking thoughts like that. Might get them to start questioning things too much. Things of a money-making nature. And a people-control nature...

The post-natal factors are not the only ones haunting our civilization, in terms of adverse effects on us and our children, like the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food we consume. Pre-natal factors include those resulting in gender mis-identifications and allied physical anomalies. Some of this is due to pesticides in the environment/water supply, where substances like ‘oestrogen mimics’ and ‘endocrine disrupters’ are playing havoc with foetal development. Some of it is due to genetic anomaly, caused by whatever negative environmental influences (DNA is not immutable, is affected by chemical interactions with its environment), so that, eg, a foetus’s hormonal and consequent physical and mental development can be affected by either its mother’s or its own abnormal adrenal-gland secretions. Some is due to ‘stress’ (some studies have shown greater numbers of homosexual babies born in the wake of wars).14 But a large part of the phenomenon can be traced to the use of drugs like barbiturates, prescribed to pregnant women for yonks without sufficient regard to the side effects they may have been having on the foetus. Especially at the early, crucial stage of its brain development. Prescribed, by a medical profession so in league with its pharmaceutical partners in business, providing them with their magical potions and pills, that they have failed to pay sufficient attention to the harm they mutually have been inflicting on humanity. As long as it’s only a small proportion of patients - what; me worry?..

These factors also include pre-natal effects on the developing foetus’s brain via influences like mercury, through the mother’s placenta. Mercury from the environment. Different kinds of mercury, but with similar impacts. Mercury from the mother’s amalgam fillings. From the food she eats, and the air she breathes, and the water she drinks. And from her vaccines. Resulting in other effects. Like ADD/ADHD. Dyslexia. Dyspraxia. The whole range of what have come to be called LDs - Learning Disorders - or Pervasive Developmental Disorders; and PDD-NOS - ie, Not Otherwise Specified. Which range of conditions includes autism. Excuse me; autism spectrum disorder, or ASD. More complexity; depending on which cranial nerve systems have been damaged.15

Wonderful how we can be so thorough in categorizing these conditions. Labeling them, and filing them; and providing some categorized amount of taxpayers’ money for the education and caring of each (seemingly reluctantly).

Education, that results in the likes of Why Johnny Can’t Read...16

There’s something wrong with this picture.

I am here to help change it. And many like me.

The terrible cry of parents has been heeded.

And for a myriad of chronic conditions; like arthritis/arthralgia. Asthma/allergies/full-blown anaphylaxis. CFS/ME. Convulsions/seizures/epilepsy. Type 1 diabetes. Lupus, MS, and other autoimmune conditions - the list goes on.17

But vaccines save lives?

Look at the total picture, doc. And get back to me.


Knowing - or not; most probably the latter, for the nature of your education, based on oil - that there are other treatments for the childhood diseases, that don’t have the damnable side effects to them that the vaccines have.

But then, we know something; don’t we, doc. Some of you. That there are other reasons for giving kids vaccines. Which require there to be no successful criticism of them. Because the PTB need to have a screen created for children to be born through - if they make it that far.

A screen that allows you, firstly, to introduce anti-fertility agents into your targeted populace, of nubile females. And secondly, that allows you to make huge amounts of money on all the chronic illness that you have induced in the populace as a whole.

So you make money on the vaccines. And then you make money on your products, and prescriptions, to treat the side effects of those vaccines.




And not as in baa-baa, anymore.

Don’t believe it? There is nothing new under the sun? We will always have the corrupt amongst us??

Don’t believe it.

Character is conditioned on life factors. And ultimately, anyway:

God will not be mocked.

Well; you can. But since you know the importance of ‘the bottom line’ so well, you should be able to appreciate the truth of what I say. That the bottom line of life - the life experience - is that the universe has purpose, and that purpose is Good.

Not Bad. And not bad...

And to engage with it to your fullest potential, I encourage you to cultivate the art of inner listening. Because there is a change coming through. And you might like to know where best to be, and what best to do, regarding it.

A changing of seasons, in the life of Man.

Carry on the way you are if you want. You don’t have much further to go on your path anyway.

And as for the rest of you, who have been doing your inner listening: let the scoffers be. Pay no heed. Except to let them know, gently - for they are a part of you - that their days are numbered. And give them a word to the wise: To begin seeking for themselves. Because it’s time.

And know, for your own sake, and continued progress, that there are a lot of excellent books, and magazines, and initiatives on the Internet. Seek them out, consciously. And they will be drawn to you, by your actions, and intent.

That’s the nature of achieving resonance.


So: Here, now, nearing the end of the line - the seemingly linear line; read from left to right, in our culture, at any rate; all things being relative - what do I see, and know, on reflection.

i see, and know, on reflection, two main things, like prominent hills (mountains, really; it has taken some doing to get here) on the landscape of life.18

I see, and know, for one thing, that without a vision, the people perish.

And two: I see, and know, that I let Mr Ohlendorf down. But I won’t be letting the Big Boss down.

Because I’ve learned my lessons.

My lessons, in this particular lifetime. And space.

The main one being that I’ve stopped looking outside of myself for the Truth.

And thus endeth the lesson.

For now.

That is to say: for the Eternal Moment.


It has been said, of the Once and Future King, that

‘He shall come, from his cave in the north, in the spring -

In the green month, and the golden month -

And bright shall be the burning of his star.’

My high school colors were green and gold.19

That school, wherefrom I was referred to as ‘a legend in his time’.

It is of such seeming coincidences - associations; resonances - that life is made up.

Because it is all, really, nothing but vibration. Interference patterns interacting. For a purpose.

May you - as the youth say - have good vibes. And thus inherit good vibes.

As the bulk of us move up. To a higher dimension, level, plane of existence.

And take the Play to a new stage.

I can’t be serious? Meaning - with all this litany of darkness - am I, really and truly, hopeful?


Why; with such principalities and powers amassed against you; to say, against the Light?

Because of what you have just said. Well; the words I put in ‘your’ mouth. Can’t dawdle all day; need to speed this thing up a little, this, like, roller coaster car, before the end of the ride. May lose you/your concentration. Just a little bit of time left. Hang in there.

Beg pardon??

I’m saying, because some of ‘them’, once they’ve seen the Light, are going to repent. To try to clear their karma; at least some of it. And that will be the end of the conspiracy.

The...conspiracy?? (insert sounds of snickers here)

Yes. The conspiracy against the Light. But as part of the Light.

Come again?

As the shadow is. The shadow side of everything. It’s still, all, of the Light. Because the Light is all there is, at the end of the day. So to speak.

...You’re having me on.

Come again.

I say, you’re having fun with me.

Well; a little.

No, I mean, you’re poking fun at me.

No. I assure you, I’m not. I’m acknowledging, in my way, that you’ve made it. To here. And now we can both lighten up a little. So to speak...take a breather, from all the - like - pre-med courses. And take a course simply for ourselves. Like, say, a short-story writing course...Which takes on a bit of a life of its own...and come out of it, knowing - truly knowing - one thing.

And what’s that.

That (altogether now)

the universe has purpose, and that purpose is Good.

And thus endeth the lesson.

See you on the other side of the rainbow.

Until then, have a ball. Or an orb. Whatever turns you


The End least of

The Latest Years

To Date


(For this is, after all, not an orchestral, but a written, piece; no matter how ‘precious’ I tried to doll it up, in some loose-robed finery, to make it less flat and linear, and more, somehow, real, than just words marching along in lockstep on a printed page. It is what we have been given to work with, in the way of a communication device. Until telepathy takes off in earnest. And group minds. And such. Until then, though, realise that words don’t have to do that. Just as we don’t have to live by, and be enthralled by, money. It’s just a custom, that we have become accustomed to. Soar! By lyrical! Etc.)

Looking back, how do I feel about that particular life? Well; this life, still; but still...

I feel fine about it, all. I realize that I knew, somehow, early on, that I had a different row to hoe than those around me. Was somehow different from the herd. And that would work out however it would. And now has, for the most part.

I was struck by this just today when I finally caught up with an article in the Guardian’s ‘family’ section from 20 February. (It is now 9 March. That’s in the year 2010; as reckoned in the prevailing calendar of the Western world.) I don’t normally look in that section of their Saturday paper, with all of its weekender sections - I am more often than not pressed enough as it is to keep up with the main section (of which I have many, still sitting in a pile on the passenger side of my bed, waiting for a culling from them of the articles I have already earmarked by page number at the top of the front page for inclusion in my files, on various subjects particularly dear to my heart, ‘AIDS’ and ‘Alzheimer’s’ and ‘Autism’ and ‘Banks, The’ and ‘Big Brother’ and ‘BrainSex’ and ‘Cancer’ and ‘Climate Change’ and ‘Colloidal Silver/MRSA’ and so forth, down through to ‘Vaccines, Misc.’) - but the cover story caught my eye, for a later glance at. In the event, I have just read it through, in detail, and have been well touched by it.

Titled ‘My single dad and me’, it is the brief chronicle of a man, now novelist, whose father had to become a single parent to him and his older twin sisters when their mother died when he was nine, and how well the man, then 51, rose to the occasion, as it were, with typical British plucky spirit. It was the summer of ‘64, and the family had grown up through the lean, rationing years after the Second World War, learning to make do with what they had; the mother making their clothes and curtains, the father out in the garage making their furniture and a model railway, and so forth. I won’t go into the details of that story - it was personal to him, and his sentiments (name of Peter Grimsdale; worth a read). But it brought up thoughts, and feelings, for me.20

To say, briefly: I never sang for my father. Or my mother, either, for that matter; being so busy looking at what was going on around me in the world that I didn’t pay much attention to what was right in front of me, immediately to hand. No matter, now. It was what it was.21 But I do understand, now, if I didn’t fully then, what this ‘life’ business is all about:

It’s in the quality of the life that you lead. Otherwise the Truth - that we are all One - hasn’t landed very well. Still has a ways to go, in, and through, you.

It’s all about - in sum - getting civilized. Getting touched by the hem. And growing from the experience.

Becoming - in a word - family.

So if we go through it more than once - as, we go through it more than once - it pays to honour each slice of the cake. As if it were the last.


Regrets, I’ve had a few. I’ve mentioned the saga of La Paloma, for one: that I didn’t give a better account of myself for the sake of Mr. Ohlendorf, and his sales pitch to the Long Beach Schools System. (Very much in the spirit of the lady whom Meryl Streep portrayed in the film ‘Music From the Heart’, here these many years later. What goes around...) And there have been some other hiccups along the way, for which I feel a need to apologize, to some extent. But in the main, I did it my way; and I don’t apologize for that.

It has been what it has been. Time to move on.

So: to Mom and Dad, who brought me into this lovely and exasperating world: thanks. With no children of my own, I’ll see myself out.

Just a short while to go, now.

Could be a lifetime...

And speaking of the quality of the time that we have left to turn things around:

Do I, really and truly, have hope?

Unlike Woody Allen, who is reported to have said, “I felt a lot better when I gave up hope”: Yes, I do. Because of what I indicated above. Because of one particular factor, about us, and life itself: Because we are, by nature, holotropic beings, and however we are planted, we will, sooner or later, turn out faces to the Light.

Join the crowd, of, like, a host of daffodils, turning to face the Sun; at this springtime. Of the green month, and the golden month, of our lives.

Of our lives. Here. Now.




1 The ‘message of the community’ I have touched on already. The essentials: ‘Work is Love in Action’; bring your best into all that you do, because you’re reflecting spirit into matter; co-creation with nature; help bring about a transformation of consciousness on the planet, for the birth of the New Age. The latter note isn’t sounded quite like that these latter days, since the term has taken on a rather glamourous meaning/colouration; so we just refer to ‘transformation of consciousness’ for its own sake. Which is what it is, anyway, really. But we do still talk about our being a Centre of Light , among many centres of Light around the world; helping to manifest a Network of Light.
We’re getting close here to the subject of the true energy aspects of the Earth, with its latticework of energy fields, through a physical buildup of certain geometric solid patterns, like a crystal. But perhaps more of that, anon.

2 As for music, and my feeble attempt to give some substance to my style: I took a Music Appreciation course at Stanford - after having received word of my acceptance into their medical school, so I could relax a bit, and enjoy other aspects of the mental exercise of life at university (and wondering occasionally what my father would have studied, if...)2a - and I was one of but two of us in that quarter’s MA classes that didn’t recognize a sonata form piece in our first written test. To give some credit where some credit is due, I thought it was a sonata. But then, I had second thoughts: No, this is too easy. There’s a trick in here. He’s trying to catch us out. Look beneath the surface, boy. They’re tricky, these adults. You can’t always trust them, to be doing what your’re led to think they’re doing. There’s a sting in the tail there, possibly, somewhere...Funny, how our growing-up experiences can colour our lives, sometimes in the most unexpected - and even unobserved - ways.

2a He was still trying, years later, when we visited them - his newish wife and their baby daughter - the summer before the end of that little summer ship-out arrangement of mom’s (but yes, for us, too, to have some contact with our dad). He took my brother and me with him one day to the University of California while he checked out enrollment procedures. (Two l’s there, because we’re talking about a U.S.subject. I may not be consistent herein with the differences between British and American spelling; but I’m sure you can live with it; if you’ve even noticed. It helps convey my sense of being a dual citizen. Of the tribe of Joseph and the tribe of Manasseh, or whatever the other one is. Coming back together, after their sojourn in duality, to unite as one; as part of the One return as well. To start a new Wave, in this dimension.) I don’t recall anything ever coming of it. He had trained as a chiropractor - which was where he met his wife, in its home base (at least that of the Palmer Method) in Iowa - and was doing that while we were visiting; but apparently was not totally satisfied with it.2b A bit of a wandering star, my dad. He died in his 50s of a heart attack. His father always blamed the (huge) X-ray machine that dad used in his chiro work. Who knows. People die. Except sometimes it‘s premature; and we need to search out those causes, and change them. Any halfway healthy culture would. Unless it’s one where the PTB want the people to depart the scene. Especially if they’re considered ’useless eaters’. And then it’s each man for himself, and look out. Not a pretty scenario, or recipe for ultimate success, engendering a death culture as it does, and cutthroat competition. We are all on this boat together; cruising the heavens, for a purpose. My dad never found his. Maybe it was somewhere where he didn’t know to look.
I hope I can help with that possibility.
P.S. To clarify: I make no claims about chiropracty. I do claim that the allopathic method is limited. Glad to see energetic medicine taking its place in the modern practice of this ancient, and honourable, art form. Being traduced in our day by profit-seekers; mere merchants.

2b What an interesting development it would have been, had my dad gone into medical school, and become an allopathic doctor, whom I might have had to challenge for his blinkered perspective on the medical arts. What an interesting development it would have been, had I gone on into medical school, and was challenged by my dad for my blinkered pespective on the medical is, what Forrest Gump said. Or his momma, that is.

As to my lament for my father’s lost opportunities: I don’t mean to take away from the distaff side (so to speak, cautiously) in life. To say: Not to denigrate, or just simply ignore, the role that women have played for example in the research on cancer. There is a book titled ‘The Cancer Microbe’ (by Alan Cantwell Jr.) that gives credit where credit is due to four women “who pioneered the early microbiology of cancer” (quoting from an article by Dr. Lawrence Broxmeyer in the current/Feb.-March 2010 edition of NEXUS Magazine, itself ttled ‘the Untold Truth About Cancer’). Well done, ladies. And it puts my mother’s desire to want to do something with her life in perspective. It’s just that, while in the role of a mother, they have a primary part to play in the maintenance and evolution of society right there. Not to be overlooked blithely, thinking that there are more important roles to play.
And while in this neck of the neuronal woods, a word about my ‘relationship’, as it were, with Dr. Virginia Livingston-Wheeler, one of the women written about in the above book - the key player in the story, in point of fact. In 1972 I had flown down to L.A., from my then-home in the East Bay Area (San Leandro), to attend a weekend convention of the National Health Federation at the Ambassador Hotel (or of the Cancer Control Society, one. I had gone to the events of a number of both sponsoring groups over those years, and it’s all a bit of a blur at this late stage. Including one of the IACVF - the International Association of Cancer Victims and Friends, of which the CCS was an offshoot). There I heard, amongs other fascinating speakers, Dr. Livingston-Wheeler (as she was then known; she had various surnames at different periods of her life) share about her findings of a mysterious shape-shifting (pleomorphic) microbe, that she dubbed Progenitor Cryptocides - as in cryptic - more than associated with cancer, as a secondary factor or bacterial contaminant of slides, but of a primary causal nature. This was all extremely interesting; but it was up against, delivered from the same podium later on, the assurance, of one Dr. Ernst Krebs Jr., from his research perspective (and that of his father),2c that cancer was a result of a nutritional defect, like rickets or pellagra or beriberi; so what was a poor layman to think.2d I left that convention keeping an open mind on the subject, and determined to investigate the matter further, as time allowed.
In the event, I left the Bay Area and returned to live in Southern California - as I have reported on elsewhere in this whatever-it-is; this word-association exercise - and somewhere along the line I obtained a copy of Dr. Livingston-Wheeler’s book, just out, entitled ‘Cancer: A New Breakthrough’. I read it thoroughly, and was impressed with the integrity of her search, and research. So much so, that when my mother soon after came down with cancer, and was recovering from surgery and chemo, and the prognosis was not looking good, according to her husband (a fine man; she fine-ally did well in life in that area, thanks be), I sent down to her, where they were living by then, in an exclusive area inland from La Jolla - where, as life would have it, Dr. Livingston-Wheeler was living and continuing her research by then, and treating patients - a copy of the good female doctor’s book; encouraging her to read it, and look into this more natural approach to treatment (via an ‘autogenous’ vaccine; not an anti-cancer vaccine per se, but a modality to help stimulate and improve the patient’s own immune system). My mother’s response was to say that she would stay with her conventional medical treatment; and in any event: “Why should I listen to you. You didn’t go to medical school.”
She died not long after. And not long after I accepted that I could do nothing for her. It’s a funny old world, sometimes.

P.S. An intriguing - to me, at any rate - footnote to this story is that I had ‘met’ Dr. Livingston-Wheeler some years before all this, as well; when I was living in Hollywood, and got a brief job at a local TV station during a strike there. Doing flunky work behind the cameras (wanting to be exposed to the medium, to get a feel for the production of shows on it; what could be done technologically speaking and what couldn’t), I watched an interview on a talk show one evening where she was sharing about her work. The interviewer - a male - asked her why her work - her theory, her research; whatever - wasn’t more accepted. She looked at him. And I don’t recall what her reply was; but one senses, in reading the literature on this subject, that a truthful answer would have been to paraphrase, nicely, what the men in charge of this sector of scientific scrutiny might well have said amongst themselves, when these four women - and others - were reporting their findings; and I quote, roughly: “These women. They’ll be the death of us yet.”
And an answering grunt of a response: “Too right. Royal Rife’s damnable microscope is bad enough. But women. They should stay home and have babies.”
And presumably be barefoot the while, too.
I had worked in Sloan-Kettering Memorial Cancer Hospital in New York City for a short while during my year’s stay there (1955-56), at a time when these women were doing formidable work elsewhere in the country. I was an Operating Room Orderly. My duties on that floor were varied. One day I was called in to one of the operating rooms to take a ‘specimen’, from a tiny little bird of an old lady on the operating table, down to a lower floor for X-ray. It was a funny-feeling package. While waiting for the elevator, I felt it bend in my hand. It was the leg, the complete leg, of the shriveled little old woman...Now I don’t blame her for wanting to hang onto life as long as she could. I blame the men in her life - in our lives - that let this situation, about ‘cancer’, come to this sort of result.
I just wanted to set the record straight, here, about my complete attitude towards women in other than homemaking roles. Women have played important roles in uncovering important facts about cancer, for just one area’s example. When the whole story comes out about the cover-up by the Cancer Empire, of long-suppressed aspects, their role should be not only acknowledged, but roundly applauded.
They did their best to bring the truth out.
Men did their best to keep it under wraps.
As in, the wraps of a ‘specimen’ in the hands of an innocent-to-the-world’s-ways young man, just starting out in life on his quest for Truth. And not realizing, that sometimes it’s right in front of us. Like a little bird. Wanting its freedom. To fly. Or even just walk. Just a little while longer; please...
It’s not much to ask.
Along with another question; to wit: Is this the best we can do?

P.P.S. The establishment medical authorities say they have been unable to replicate Dr. Livingston-Wheeler’s findings. Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they...Let’s have an independent investigation. Fully independent. And we’ll see. Which is better than seeing only what you want to see.
For example, in this case, there has been a basic mindset in establishment medicine against the idea of a microbe being involved in the cause of cancer. The idea that a mere bacterium can be causal in cancer is considered preposterous by the ‘priesthood’, the ‘religious’ authorities of our day. But TB is, eg; and the bacterium that Dr. Livingston-Wheeler found was even similar to it. Why one accepted, and not the other?...
Keep looking, docs. This story is not over yet; even if Dr. Livingston-Wheeler herself left it up to others to carry on, in 1990. At the age of 83. R.I.P., thou good and faithful servant of the Truth. Wherever it leads; and whatever it results in.

2c The Krebs team, of doctor father and biochemist son, were the pioneers of the positioning of a substance they called Laetrile (aka amygdalin; aka vitamin B17) as a natural treatment for cancer, based on a chemical from nature called a nitriloside. A cyanide-containing substance (locked in until released via a particular enzyme process, being selective to cancer cells but not to healthy ones), it was found in various grasses, beans and berries (thus the Krebs’s reasoning why animals in the wild didn’t get cancer, but did when put under the control of Man, as in zoos) and particularly in the kernels of the likes of apricots, plums, peaches, prunes, apples, cherries, and ‘bitter almonds’ - the form from the East, before they were bred into the sweet version most familiar to westerners. Laetrile itself was (is; is still available, mostly in cancer hospitals in Mexico, having been outlawed in the States) compounded from apricot kernels (thus the presumed main reason for the Hunzas of Tibet being so healthy and long-lived: the apricot was prized in their culture, used in many ways including the oil for cooking). Formal studies were about to ensue in the U.S., with the issuance of an NDA (New Drug Application) number by the FDA, when the medical establishment got wind of it, and started a process of suppression. But not before a cancer research team at Sloan-Kettering in New York City began to get positive results with it in rat studies; which were then announced to the public as worthless. Well, yes; to them.
Check out G. Edward Griffin’s ‘World Without Cancer’ website and book for more detailed information about this cover-up, and why.

2d They did agree on one thing: diet/nutrition defiitely could impact on the body’s defense systems.

3 ‘Scotland’s holy island’, off the mid-west coast, so named because an Irish monk named Columba landed there, with some of his followers (he was a bit of a renegade to the established order of things in Ireland), in 563 AD, and started a monastery, from where the monks spread out and brought Christianity to the surrounding warring tribes, Picts and such, and where ultimately an abbey was built, which became the burial place for many Scottish kings over the centuries. Our community was gifted a house on the island, by a woman who had moved there for her own spiritual reasons, and ‘built’ a sanctuary upstairs in her wee hoose, which the community ‘built’ on, energetically, in our era of stewardship, which continues to this day.

4 To clarify any question there may be at this point whether I believe I’m a reincarnation of Alexander of Macedon or not, the answer is no. I just have an affinity for him, and his story, acted out on the world scene. I’m sure I wasn’t actually Alexander in a past life, regardless of what and how I often feel (I feel I would have solved the Gordian Knot conundrum the same way: One quick chop, straight through. That’s the ticket to success. No horsing around. Unless you have a partner in war like Bucephalas),4a if body odor has anything to do with it, in carryover between lives; like a birthmark. (And I wonder what Gorbachev had gotten up to, in his past life that left such a mark on him, and on his psyche, that caused such a prominent birthmark?? Or maybe, sometimes, ‘a cold is just a cold,’ as a healer in our community once said, to give us a reality check, in our mutual tendency to think that everything that happens to us has a meaning.) Alexander was reputed (I think I read it in one of Mary Renault’s books on him, and his times. His times) to have a lovely scent. Apparently as part of his makeup (a little jest there), and mystique, as a demi-god. Me - forget it. My socks used to stink my college roommate out of the room, sometimes. And as for my underarm space marker, well, the less said the better. I’m a lot like JFK in that department, whereby, it has been reported (in some book about him and his times), he would take showers and change his shirt a number of times a day. Of course, that might also have been because he had a hot appointment waiting in his bed. Fiddle or Faddle, or some other piece of - fluff.

And no, I’m not going to get into the Marilyn Monroe thing here. It’s not specifically germane to my chronicle, and not enough of a world event to remark on.


- no. Best left untouched. At least for now.

Except just to say: Power corrupts.

It bears repeating.

And that is to say, as well: Check the energy signature of someone before giving them your allegiance.

You’ll know.

4a In this day and age - verging on ascension as we are, to a higher level of consciousness and thus of civilization - the answer would be to withdraw the linchpin, and not bother with the knot itself. It's so yesterday.

5 I submitted the script in a competition run by Ted Turner (still then with CNN) for film ideas ‘to help create a better world’ or some such inspirational selling point, run around the mid-’90s time period (as near as I can recall; it may have been earlier); so they might still have it in a file somewhere.
The winner - who could have a sequel and a prequel financed as well; which I happened to ‘qualify’ for already, had ready to go - was a story of a great ape which, strike that (in the circumstances) who had philosophical talks with its (I give up; the limitations of language) interlocutors. (Nothing waas ever heard of it again, let alone a sequel and prequel.) Which reminded me of the great film Planet of the Apes, especially where the dominant species there dont have the hear tto tell the space traveller, played well (also to say, woodenly) by Charlton Heston, the truth, until he discovers it for himself, in the form of (WARNING: Look away now if you haven’t seen the film and might be likely to; KEY PLOT DISCLOSURE AHEAD) finding the toppled Statue of Liberty on the water’s edge - that area, between land and sea, that I knew so well, from my life’s journey.
‘The truth’: that, in the words of the poet, we often? can? end up where we started, and know it, to say see it, as if for the first time.
The First Time. Zep Tepi, to the ancient Egyptians. Of whom there are a few around, I think, in our day and age. To help in the transition to the new Zep Tepi. (Which may happen in 2012 after all. After all the bogus New Age hype has run its course, and we start getting to the true bottom of the matter.)

6 It might have been to my mother, to know whatever happened to me. If I ever got my head out of the clouds...
My mother. I discoverd that motherhood is not a given. Maybe it used to be, when it was simply passed down from generation to generation, mother to daughters. But not once they have taken on minds of their own, so to speak un-PC-like.
My mother’s idea of being a parent was to give us things. There was a puppy that suddenly appeared one night, in our room in the basement of our house in Payette, Idaho, when we two kids were both still quite young (I would have been in the 2nd grade; my older brother 3 years ahead of me). We had to promise to clean up after it, now. We soon found out what that meant.6a I’m not sure how good a job we did on housetraining it; all I know is that sometime later - I don’t recall how long we had it; not very - I came home from school one day and my mother announced that the puppy was missing, and that she had heard a shot in the neighborhood, and so it might not be coming strange is that, to tell a little kid?? And later, in our (first) house in Long Beach in southern - Southern - California, she came back from having been out for the evening, and dropped a kitten on our beds.6b It was beginning to seem as though, when she out at nights, she went to places like puppy farms, or kitten whatevers That kitty didn’t last long, either; one day it was just, simply, gone. I can’t remember what her excuse was, that time. Maybe we didn’t do a very good job of keeping up its kitty litter box, or whatever they’re called.
But then a pet did take. Duke, we named a black cocker spaniel. At least I think we named it. No, that’s not quite true. I think mom named it, actually; though we were given a choice in the matter. But it seemed, in retrospect, like a foregone conclusion. As in telling a child, ‘Now do you want to eat the peas or the carrots. How about the carrots? Yum.’
Duke lasted until our last summer up north, staying with our dad. When Mom came with the sheriff to the house, we were abruptly called in from playing nearby, and bundled into the police car without time to find Duke off in the neighborhood somewhere. Years later, my brother, who had a habit of following up with our roots as kids (he even visited Grandma Coble in Boise, Idaho; who, he reported, remembered us kids, among the others she and her husband had taken in for a living), visited that neighborhood, in Richmond, and somehow traced down the family that had taken Duke in; finding him wandering, alone, with no collar to identify him. (That was not such a big thing in those days.) My brother said that Duke - who had obviously been spoiled by his foster family, he was so fat - didn’t recognize him. Fair enough; the whole thing. He might have ended up disappeared, anyway; like all the others. Or like the leftwing youth in Central and South America, who were disappeared by the ruling authorities in the years to come from my innocent childhood days; growing up in Southern California, basking in the sun, with not a worry in the world to cause a cloud to hinder my enjoyment of the moment.
By their very nature, moments don’t last. But while they’re there, my sense is to live in them. Fully. Because you never know...

6a Mom was big with the euphemisms, or even the lack thereof. Later on, when I was in the Cub Scouts - that would have been in my 6th grade year, so around the age of eleven - I asked her to help me with a series of questions in my Cub Scout manual, about my life in general. One question that had me stumped was, How many times a day did I have a bowel movement? She asked me how many times a day I went. I told her, Oh, about 3 or 4. With no response, that seemed to be the answer to put down; so I did. How does a kid know what a ‘bowel movement’ is unless its parents tell him or her?? Maybe that was something that fathers were supposed to tell their boy children about. I missed out on that. Or later on, when I had a wet dream...

6b She did that a lot. Go out, I mean. This was after she kicked her husband out of the house, because she had been out one night while they were still married, and he got drunk, and when she came back, she accused him - it was a big row, that we heard from our bedroom - of being “all wet”, I remember (wondering what that meant), and pushed him out of the house, to drive somewhere, anywhere, but stay out of the house for the night. That was the end of that marriage.
She married again, years later; and that one held up well. How did I feel about all this? I didn’t really feel much about it, to be frank. I guess I never had much in the way of feelings. That was all just the way life was, I reckoned. Messy.
At least it gave me one thing in life. Non-judgmentalism. Maybe two things. Tolerance. Many years later - in my adulthood - when I joined the Findhorn community, and found out more about Peter’s background - all the marriages he had been through (five, by the end of the line, I think it was) - I hardly batted an eye. Not very upstanding. But that was the way life was, sometimes. And best not to judge. Because you never know...6c

6c To give my mother her dues, she did some good works in her life. (For example, she used to send CARE packages to some family in India, where, she pointed out to me, they didn’t even have Kleenex tissues. She was always ready to nip my nascent liberal tendencies in the bud (“What do you mean, FDR was a good president. He was a socialist”), by pointing out the ‘virtues’ of the free enterprise system, and the ‘vices’ of those horrid Democrats, always ready to spend other people’s hard-earned money. Her, hard-earned money. She, who knew what you had to do in life in order to make your way, earn a living. But I’m getting a little sidetracked here, from my original point...What else. She used to hire blacks - coloured people, then, or just plain old Negroes - from the Coloured part of town to clean the house and supplement my meager attempts at groundskeepling, a high-falutin’ word for lawn mowing and tidying; pointing out to me that they didn’t have it very good in life, that her hiring them wasn’t about being superior, or in our modern terms, ‘racist’; a word/meaning that wasn’t much in vogue at the time. Just the unspoken kind. Like, their kids were never in my classes at high school, but were certainly present there (eating by themselves at lunchtime). I played sports with a lot of them. Did I ever question why they weren’t in my classes? Not that I remember. It was just the way things were. The way the world was. Nothing to do with me..but about my mom:) She just didn’t know how to be a mother.
Fair enough. I wouldn’t have known how to be a father. I had other work to do. Have, other work. Still. To do.
That I was a little slow in life to wake up to.
But I’m getting there.
Contrary to what it may look like, in this chronicle. This meandering river, picking up themes from the countryside that it flows through...
As to that ‘theme’: I suppose I shouldn’t digress off into associated thoughts and memories just willy-nilly, like side streams off the main river body.6d I’m aware of the principle enunciated very well by Will Durant, in his History of Civilization, wherein he observed: “Inhibition - the control of impulse - is the first principle of civilization.” (I came across this comment at the time of the ‘Free Speech’ riots at Berkeley, curiously enough, when I was living right next door, in beautiful downtown Oakland.) But I’m also aware that the Beatles said: “Yeah yeah yeah.” So what’s a poor fellow to do. Take your pick. I’ve made mine. Typical, in life: a fudge between the two.

6d Or like tributaries coursing their way through the landscape in which they are embedded like neuronal filigrees, laying down seemingly random signals, but also making near-instantaneous connections with ‘thoughts’ of a similar frequency; like resonating with like. Like the immune system recognizing proteins of a similar molecular weight as the ‘foreign’ proteins in vaccines, subject to attack! attack!.
But I digress. (Well; yeah. And even Yeah Yeah Yeah. See below.)

7 I continued my anti-war stance with the leadup to the Second Gulf War, joining a huge demonstration in Glasgow. (My hand-lettered sign read: Violence Begets Violence.) And feeling that this was getting ridiculous. My hackles were beginning to rise. How long could I hold onto a Gandhian notion of the best way for achieving a favourable outcome? The best outcome, for humanity??
I was being sorely tried. Humanity just wan’t getting it.
...but I knew, quietly, underneath my personality responses, and those of humanity, that they - we - were getting it. It was just taking a while for it to make its way to the surface. But damn....
...maybe there was something to this 2012 business after all, besides a misunderstanding?...

8 And as for 9/11: What do I think of this seminal event of our era?

My perspective is the perspective of those who have studied the matter. Correction: of some of those who have studied the matter. There seem to be two main camps amongst the skeptics of the official version.8a In both camps, Osama bin Laden was, and most probably still is (if he’s even still alive; remember that visit by the local CIA agent to him in a hospital - the American Hospital - in Dubai with a severe kidney ailment?), a CIA asset. But let’s start looking at the story, piece by piece (and this is only a brief summary of the info; the ‘truther’ websites, and books like those of David Ray Griffin and Jim Marrs, go into it in much further detail).

* the towers falling neatly, symmetrically into their footprints, at near-freefall speed (as near to freefall as need be, to know that they were being unimpeded in their collapse, not pancaking, floor by floor);

* WTC7, not hit by a plane, doing the same thing later that day - and evidencing, by a couple of uncontrollably-independent video shots, the tell-tale crimp in the middle, identifying it as due to pre-set explosives in a controlled demolition. Not to mention insurer Silverstein’s “let’s pull it” remark capturedf on video. And speaking of WTC7:

* the BBC female correspondent announcing, to us over here in the UK, its fall 20 minutes before it actually fell (seen still intact in the camera shot behind her). Question: Who knows something before the actual event?

* the reports, particularly by the firemen at the scene, of explosives being heard - “bam bam bam bam” - before the towers collapsed;

* the various TV commentators, asked for their opinions, solemnly intoning, over and over again, the name of Osama bin Laden. That, early on, caught my attention.

This thing is coming off too neatly, I muttered to myself, instantly suspicious. (Even Dan Rather couldn’t break through the growing consensus story, in trying to draw comment from his TV network’s parachuted-in ‘expert’ on the pre-set explosives- look about the collapses. No-no. Nothing to do with anything other than OBL and al-Qaeda. Let’s stick to the script here...)

Other pieces of the picture, slowly unfolding:

* the curious business of the several war games exercises going on that day, providing convenient cover for the real thing, and thus being fatally compromised. Who could have had the inside power and electronic ability to arrange all that?

* truckloads of gold taken from the subterranean levels surreptitiously; reported on briefly, and then never heard about again. Who would have known about that, to arrange all that?

* the pristine-pure passport of one of the alleged hijackers, just happening to be found on the street and handed in to the FBI, unsinged from the inferno it would have been enveloped in and would have had to come back out of, to fall conveniently to the sidewalk...

* at least one of the black boxes from the planes, reported at one point as having been found, and then later that little matter denied, by the FBI, and forgotten about, buried in the rubble of facts coming out ...

* the ease with which the nominal hijackers obtained their visas; and the subsequent lack of proper supervision over them - except, it turns out, by Israeli agents, shadowng them; which leads to

* the dancing Mossad masters, across the river, videoing the whole thing as it unfolded: what was the Mossad’s role in all this...

..and on, and on, and on.

Questions, not sufficiently addressed by the 9/11 Commission -

itself fatally compromised by its executive director being intimately associated with the body that was in large part being investigated: the Bush administration.


The more I looked at the images, at the time and over and over on the internet later, the more I thought, There’s definitely something wrong here. Steel girders shooting way out to the sides, like massive javelins ejected with great force? Pulverization of concrete into dust? And speaking of that element of the picture: pyroclastic displays, as if from an activated volcano?? What, about the nature of fires from jet fuel, can account for all that???

My answer. The answer: Nothing.

But it took a while to get there. In the meantime, questions about the official story began to mount: So I kept looking into the matter. And got angrier, and angrier, the more I discovered what all had been uncovered.

* Evidence of thermite at the scene. Thermite is an explosive. A very powerful explosive. (And what caused such havoc so far away from the towers themselves, where cars were overturned, and destroyed in curious ways, as from a force field of some kind??)

* People in positions of responsibility that day not only not demoted, but promoted.

* A CIA front organization making money off put options on the stock of the airlines involved.

* The CIA - the ‘Secret Team’ that L. Fletcher Prouty wrote so clearly about - involved in a payout to a high-up member of the Pakistani ISI that ended up going to one of the lead ‘terrorists’ of the day. And speakng of the CIA:

* A former CIA man sitting in the chokepoint, the catbird’s seat in the central FBI office, failing to act on various reports from its field agents, trying to do their job...

Speaking of jobs; by now, a truth needs to be faced: 9/11 was a setup job. The only question was whether it was totally an inside job or a hybrid; MIHOP or LIHOP - Make It Happen on Purpose or Let It Happen On Purpose.8b MIHOP seemed to be the favourite scenario for most 9/11 truthseekers, given the Bush Administration’s ostensible control in this situation over the key elements of any crime: Motive, Means and Opportunity Motive: to bring about the “new Pearl Harbor” referred to in the material of the Neo-Cons (the Project for a New American Century),8c as an event that might well be needed in order for them to persuade the American people to give them the wherewtihal, in military spending and psychological support, to gain hegemony over the Middle East and its oil.8d Means: the ability - the money and the power - to control all aspects of the caper, including the war game exercises going on that day, as cover for the real thing, and to cover up their traces in the aftermath.8e Opportunity: Who had access to the WTC towers ahead of time that would allow them to pre-plant the explosives used? To say, in effect: Who was in charge of the security arrangements of the buildings? There, and at the airports that allowed the supposed perps on board those airplanes that morning??8f

Many of these factors lead ineluctably to the Bush administration, and its minions in various executive-branch agencies, like the CIA and the FBI. Bush family relatives, eg, were players in the security company involved in both the WTC complex and the airports. (And the WTC towers were mysteriously closed down the weekend before 9/11, in what was purportedly an electronic infrastructure upgrade. But it also afforded the company involved an opportunity to do other things as well, with the CCTV system conveniently down for the time period.) So - case closed?

But wait - there’s more. There’s also the value, in these sorts of shenanigans, to apply another good bit of advice; ie, to ‘follow the money’. And in ‘following the money’, some people who call themselves ‘forensic economists’ have uncovered a trail that leads to another set of prospective perps; a cabal, a nest of vipers, who want to take down the established order, both economically and politically (actually, economically, politically, and socially), and had their own Motive, Means and Opportunity on the day. That den of thieves (there’s some cross-pollination here; some players obviously hedging their bets) involves reinsurance behemoths (playing a deadly game called ‘dead peasant life insurance’), global investor groups, insider dealing (especially on the Climate Futures Exchange out of Chicago), radical environmentalists (particularly including Maurice Strong and Al Gore), mafia types (based in Montreal, and so conveniently out of reach of the U.S.’s RICO statutes), a lesbian network, Chicago shady shysters (including the lawyer firm that Michelle Obama worked for, and who is not an innocent bystander in any of this; nor is her husband, for that matter) and other assorted players in this damnable drama (including, notably, the Clintons). Go to for more information on this whole gang, which also involves access to the types of planes involved, to set them up for remote control - and explosive charges built in, for blackmail purposes. Appalling, atrocious, outrageous stuff.

So: it’s complicated. (Including drug trafficking, and consequent money laundering. And. And...) But the truth - the whole truth - will out.

For them - the whole lot of ‘them’; everybody involved - to have a chance to tell their side of the story. Ultimately in court. And not a court controlled by ‘them’. A court controlled, mostly, by The People. In the court of public opinion, at the very least.

And in the meantime, I would say to ‘them’: This is my country you people are screwing around with, ladies and gentlemen and everything in between. Hands off.

8a And no, I don’t believe, for a minute - didn’t, after the initial shock had subsided - the conspiracy theory of the Bush administration regarding it. The official story is an insult to our intelligence. It’s absurd. It’s the emperor’s acolytes, telling the public that what they see before their very eyes is a finely woven costume, of the finest of fabrics; an outfit, better referred to as a fit-up, or a fabric-ation. ‘Ooh,’ they marvel. And yet, the little boy is not taken in by the elaborate charade. Come with me, as that little boy, looking at these images again. And remember: all they are are images. And images, by their nature, can be faked.

8b but in both/either scenario(s), there was one question more, and that was, and is: What did they know, and when did they know it.

8c with links to such an agenda even further back in time than that. Consider this quote from David Ray Griffin’s ‘Christian Faith and the Truth Behind 9/11’:
“During the Cold War...the United States, working through the CIA and NATO (and hence the Pentagon), supported various kinds of clandestine operations including false-flag terrorist attacks, to prevent the rise of any Communist government in Europe. These operations were part of a much broader strategy aimed at extending the American empire.
“Planning for this strategy started, in fact, within weeks after World War II began in Europe in 1939, at which time the Council on Foreign Relations, in collaboration with the U.S. Department of State, formed a committee to devise strategy for the war and the ensuing peace. Laurence Shoup and William Minter, who refer to this committee as the ‘imperial brain trust,’ say that it ‘worked out an imperialistic conception of the national interest and war aims of the United States’ that ‘involved a conscious attempt to organize and control a global empire...’ etc. (Shoup and Minter, ‘Imperial Brain Trust: The Council on Foreign Relations and United States Foreign Policy’; New York, 1977.)
And the links to that agenda go back further than even this. Back to the instigation of the First World World, and its desired aftermath, the League of Nations, under Anglo-American control. And back further even than that... but that’s as far down this particular history hole as I should go in this sitting. Even I know some limits.

8d never mind how it would support as well the objectives of the state of Israel, to gain power over their enemies in the region. See above for a link with Mossad in all this - whose motto, and M.O., by the way, is ‘By Way of Deception’. (See ‘By Way of Deception’ and ‘The Other Side of Deception’ by Victor Ostrovsky, for a feel for what all that approach and mindset to intelligence matters can entail. And you need look no further than the recent caper that took out a senior Hamas official.)

8e Question: What was behind the action of the managerial superior who took the tape recording prepared by the air traffic controllers of what went down, from their experience, that day, and destroyed it? Who was behind him in doing that, and what evidence was there on it that might have been deleterious to their cause? Questions, questions...

8f I say ‘supposed’ perps because it seems obvious by now that ‘they’ - whoever ‘they’ really were, with the confusion over their names that arose afterwards, with obvious stolen IDs involved; and how did the FBI come up with their IDs so fast anyway?? Research has shown that at least some of the names were not on the passenger manifests - were used as patsies. There is considerable evidence that the planes were controlled remotely, by technology shown to be available at the time. With the Comptroller at the Pentagon at the time - who presided over trillions - trillions - of missing funds, as announced by Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld at a press conference the day before 9/11, and so which eminently newsworthy item got conveniently buried in the aftermath of that terrible event (‘a new Pearl Harbor’, indeed) - being involved in a company working on just such technology. And this person? A dual citizen. With which country? Israel.
And not just any old israeli.
A Zionist; tried and true.
Go figure.
And with an Israeli company in charge of a major communications network in the U.S. (see Fox News multi-part story)...
...and involved in airport security; so that they can control those chokepoint checkpoints...
...and Israeli ‘art students’ going around the country, casing various defense operations of the U.S....
There is a lot to come out about this caper, still. We should be getting to it.

P.S. Do I have something against Zionists? I do, indeed. They are forcing the world to give way to their belief system. But that’s all it is: a belief system. Children of a Lesser God, as it were. A simple tribal god fetish. (From another planet, perhaps. But that’s another subject matter.) It’s sheer arrogance. The higher reaches of the Plan of Life don’t embody, or countenance, such qualities (or the allied philosophy that the end justifies the means; the philosophy of tyrants down through the ages).8g We are heading towards Love and Light. Not Hate and Darkness. Force and Power for Power’s sake are what we are growing out of. Not into. They are qualities of our childhood as a race of beings; at the most, of our adolescence.
It’s time and past that we grew up. Especially with the deadly playground toys that we have, now.

8g Which brings up the magic figure of ‘the six million’. It would appear to have a political origin, not an origin in fact (dating from around the time of the First World War, when the Zionists were trying to generate political pressure for a homeland for Jews). And so forth, in the land of Ends Justifying Means. Let’s have the truth of matters, or we will get caught up in the thicket of lies and distortions. Not a healthy state of affairs.

9 I just googled ‘Shiva’ to confirm my recollection of precisely which in the Hindu religion’s pantheon of gods it was that danced. I was right. And I note also that he was known as “the destroyer, also of bad habits - with free wallpaper...” Oh, how the mighty have fallen, in our secular day and consumer-oriented age...

10 He has even admitted, in his autobiography, what he desires, and is up to. What more does it take, for awareness to land??
And see ‘Confessions of an Economic Hit Man’. And Fletcher Prouty’s info on the Secret Team. And the power of the SAIC. And what’s really behind GMOs. And the Anthropogenic Global Warming religion.10a And......
Will people get up to dastardly things with free will?
They will, indeed.
Would I have it any other way??
No. As big of a stretch as it is sometimes to declare that, the point is, that’s the whole point of the enterprise.
Nothing is served, or gained, by forcing people to do things, from the top down. That’s simply to buy into the illusion.
Release the state of separation. Return to Unity. You’ll be much better off. And so will We.

10a What do I think about AGW? I have referred to this before, in my previous chapter of this memoir; but I realize that not everybody has been paying attention to every precious word that I have been uttering. So I will say, but just briefly: Hint: CO2 levels don’t drive global warming. They follow it. What they do drive is a push for global governance. By the power elite. Who don’t have the best interests of ‘the people’ at heart, but their own. As the masters of a new feudal era.
Though not if I have anything to say, or do, about it. And you. And you. And you...

11 The story about fluoride is too complex to go into in detail here. Suffice it to say, in summary: if it weren’t a toxic by-product of industry, we may never have heard of it. I say ‘may’, because there is evidence that it was discovered to be a people pacifier (it is the base of some feel-good pills), and used for that purpose in Nazi concentration camps, as slipped into the drinking water of the inmates. But in America - the home of the big propaganda push for its use as an anti-cavity treatment - its use was prompted by the Manhattan Project , the secret project for the development of the atomic bomb. Fluoride, as a by-product of that process, began poisoning the cattle in the farming land around the manufacturing plant; and though that result was hushed up, under the cover of ‘national security’, it caused the government to go to work to see if scientists could come up with some answer to the problem. That search was also being engaged in by the aluminum industry, as fluoride was a toxic by-product of that process as well. (As it is of the artificial fertilizer industry; and we’re now talking as well about Big Oil, and the power thereof.) The result: this wondrous substance for children’s teeth, because fluoride in nature (although in another form than that of the industrial pollutant, and so exhibiting different properties; but still with a systemic effect, called fluorosis, ie, mottled teeth) was associated with less cavities in hard-water areas, to say, areas where the water was abundant in various minerals. Never mind that magnesium was, and is, a better substance in hard water for teeth than the fluoride; nobody needed to palm off magnesium. The father of the new-fangled science of public relations was put on the job, and presto: the big sell. Men in doctors’ white coats touting it on TV; the aluminum industry sending one of their lawyers to steer the federal government’s Public Health body in the ‘right’ direction; articles appearing in dental was a full-court press. And it has lasted to this day. No matter all the research and studies that have been done to sound clear warning bells. (Fluoride beng particularly toxic because, amongst its properties - like displacing Iodine in the thyroid gland - it is an enzyme disrupter, and so can cause DNA damage as well.) It was an idea whose time had come. And it will be discarded when the truth - the full truth - outs. As it will.
As it will.

12 The same with new teaching techniques for maths. Out went the teaching of the likes of multiplication tables and mental arithmetic. That was ‘rote learning’. Bad stuff. Not the new, improved, preferred way, of getting into the area of ‘comprehension’. Teaching ‘the underlying principles of numbers’. Which isn’t a bad idea, in itself. But at the cost of figuring out how to add and subtract and multiply and divide for everyday use in life? and training the brain to think for itself, rather than the student relying on machines to do the calculating work for them?? Madness.
I remember reading an article on this subject, of this New Maths, where the little girl came home and, trying to do her homework, grumbling because she just couldn‘t get it. (Couldn’t comprehend it; ironically, given its purpose. Its ostensible purpose.) Her father decided to look at what she was trying to do; was surprised at the complexity of the method; and showed her how to multiply. You put this figure here, and you carry the...his little girl looked at him, stunned. “But that’s easy!” she cried, shocked.
Out of the mouths of babes....

13 I came across this book during my nearly 8-year sojourn in Australia, in these near-Latest years. It was an important time for me, in many ways, with the time on my hands - now as a nominal retiree - to go deeper into the many areas of interest that I had developed over the years. But this question of vaccines, and their true relative risks and benefits, became one of the most important. Affecting so fundamentally life in our time as they did, and still do. Their whole story all unbeknownst to the average medical practitioner, perhaps (let alone to the public at large). And perhaps not. For the average MD could have found out, fairly simply, that the DPT shot, eg, was particularly risky; with the pertussis element of it being the “preferred adjuvant” (Coulter’s words) to produce, in animals, for study (of course), allergic encephaloymelitis. Did you get that? I mean, did you really get that?? Not just ‘study’; but how to produce??...
As for the pertussis vaccine, this further comment from Coulter:
“In France, Chile, Austria, Holland, and the Scandinavian countries the first cases of autism started appearing in the early 1950s - reflecting introduction of the pertussis vaccine in this same decade.”
An interesting footnote here about the DPT shot, and its pertussis component in particular, is that it may have been difficult to separate out, in studies (if any were engaged in, by a body that didn’t really want to look too closely at the individual objects in its bag of medical tricks), how much of the damage wreaked by it was due to the pertussis component itself, and how much might have been due to the mercury added to the shot, as a preservative (thiomersal; a major player in the autism community’s suspicions of causation of their children’s conditions. See below). They are both bad-news items. Though apparently the PTB decided that the most damage was being done by the pertussis component - a whole-cell version of the bacterium - because quietly, quietly, an ‘acellular’ version of the pertussis element has been introduced, to an almost completely unwitting public. Thus the DPT shot was extolled as “safe and effective” during its lifetime; and the DaPT shot was extolled as “even more safe and effective”, until it got so established that they could eliminate the ‘even more’ qualifier, and start calling it by their preferred description of vaccines in general; quote: “safe and effective”. Say it three times, until it is so ingrained in your brain that you will be the industry’s model customer. One of the herd. Well done, thou good and faithful supporter. Here. Have a sucker. It’s very tasty. Has aspartame in it. Also good for you.
Line up, line up. Have we got goodies for you.

14 See the book ‘BrainSex’ by Anne Moir, Ph.D and David Jessel. An excellent summary of the research done on this subject to that time. This was published in 1989. Let’s see, that many years ago, now?...

15 The argument of the current kings of the hill (the Primaeval Mound that rose from the watery chaos and created our world of order) appears to go something like this:

(1) Vaccines don’t cause autism because if they did, we would be in deep doo-doo, responsibly and financially;

(2) They don’t cause autism because we can’t have anything jeapordizing the vaccine schedule, which is Good;

(3) They don’t cause autism because we keep coming up with studies showing they don’t; or

(4) Vaccines don’t cause autism because we say so; so stop already with your bleating. You’re rocking the boat, and we will descend back into the chaos of pre-modern medicine if you have your way.

For any of these excuse-ridden reasons, it’s not scientific. The science of the matter would long ago have decided the issue (as in, eg, whether the benefits of the vaccines did in fact “far outweight” their risks, taking into consideration ALL those risks; and which vaccines seemed more risk-laden than others), if it weren’t for the politics of the matter: the double helix of government policy and the medical-pharmaceutical complex power. The two going together like a horse and carriage. A marriage made in the cauldron of hubris: Man placing himself at the centre of the universe.

I might as well address this here, since I sense it forming:

What do I think of the Wakefield affair?15a

I think that if there are some dodgy facts that on their surface don’t look good for the man, it is a travesty for his detractors to be getting away with what they’re getting away with.
Talk about conflicts of interest. The case of his persecutors is riddled with such conflict. From the editor who commissioned the hatchet job in the first place, to the owner of his newspaper, to the boss of the medical journal editor who got him to retract the case study and call it “fatally flawed” (it still stands on its merits), to the relationship of the judge who ruled against the parents trying for Legal Aid in order to pursue their case in court to a party in the demonization, to the Chief Medical Officer and the Department of Health’s chief of Immunization and their links with the vaccine manufacturers, through to the medical body acting as judge and jury, and to the history of its chairperson, with stock in the drug company of record - who are the hypocrites here?
This was never going to be about science. It was, and is, about the established order of things. Precisely like Galileo’s situation. And that of Ibsen’s play, ‘An Enemy of the People’.
And at the root of it all is money.

I’m not saying that the way to get rid of corruption is to eliminate choice. Virtue comes from within - and from being tested. Having the opportunity to be tested. (Hence the fundamental life factor of free will.) I’m just saying that money - the concept of money as has come down to us and is used in our day and age - has caused enough trouble.
It’s time to transcend it, in a more perfect Union. Closer to the essence of who we really are. As the children of a loving God. Who desires us to know, that we can always go home.
No matter what we’ve done.
No matter what we’ve done.

15a Just to clarify a point here, about the posited role of vaccines in causing the likes of autism. The Wakefield ‘affair’ is not about the DPT shot, the original main culprit - sorry; suspected culprit. (Will try to keep this report as ‘scientific’ as possible.) It’s about the MMR shot, and in particular - suspected particular - the measles-virus component thereof. The hypothesis was/is that the measles virus of the vaccine causes gut damage (perhaps in combination with the other viruses of the vaccine, making it more lethal in some way), which then allows toxins, including the measles virus itself (and peptides - protein fragments - getting into the bloodstream via the leaky gut), to gravitate to the brain and cross the blood-brain barrier, resulting in damage to the brain’s cranial nerve systems. The Wakefield et al paper simply reported on a unique form of gut damage to children who then became autistic, and only secondarily indicated, not only that ‘further research was needed’, but that the MMR had been ‘suspected’ by a number of the parents of the children in the study to be involved in their subsequent autistic condition and formal diagnosis. At the press conference announcing the results of the ‘study’, Wakefield mentioned - in reply to a question from the press - that it might be a good idea that, until further research could be engaged in, the vaccine components be given separately.
This is where the accusations of ‘conflict of interest’ come in, inasmuch as Wakefield, already suspicious, because of parental reports, of the MMR, had begun looking into a different modality to confer protection from the measles virus. I’m not going to go into all that detail; it’s available elsewhere, especially in the web sites of the likes of,, and Martin J. Walker’s (an excellent and dedicated investigative journalist). What I want to finish up here with is another angle on the suspected causation factor between the MMR and autism. Briefly:
(1) Researchers (primarily V.K. Singh et al) have discovered the presence of antibodies to something called Myelin Basic Protein (MBP) associated with the measles virus of the MMR in the damaged guts of children diagnosed with autism. MBP is found in the human body; it is the essential component of myelin, the fatty substance that is the insulation for the cranial nerve systems. What would antibodies to this essential material be doing there? One answer - one proposed answer: the measles virus for the vaccine is cultured on chick embryo cells; these cells can be contaminated with MBP; MBP is MBP, regardless of its source; voila: an autoimmune reaction of the child’s body to its own MBP, in its inflammatory reaction to the shot. Which is the intended outcome; not to its own MBP, but to the shot, and, unfortunately, whatever all else is an ingredient of/associated (even if only temporally) with the shot. Thus, an autoimmune reaction can be set up in a child’s body; its immune system treats its own MBP like a foreign substance and attacks it, thus weakening the insulation to the cranial nerve systems; the measles virus, in the meantime, is damaging the child’s gut, thus leaking toxins into its bloodstream, which make their way thus to the brain, and in conjunction with the damaged myelin sheathing: presto. Brain damage. To all manner of nerve systems; and all degrees. To say: spectrums.15b
(2) This scenario is complexed by another damage factor from this particular vaccine.
(a) All live-virus vaccines contain a substance called glutamic acid, or glutamate; as in MSG (it acts as a stabilizer). Glutamate, in the wrong place and circumstances, is an ‘excitotoxin’ - a neurotoxin. (See Dr. Russell L. Blaylock’s ‘Excitotoxins: The Taste That Kills’.) Thus it can wreak its own damage to/in the brain - and especially in conjunction with an inflammatory situation already, ie, the body’s immune reaction to the vaccine.
(b) Glutamate also possesses a property of lowering levels of a substance called glutathione, which is the body’s main chelator of heavy metals and toxins in general. Thus, when the child is subjected to an MMR shot along with other vaccines, which may well contain either aluminium (a major adjuvant, used to heighten the inflammatory response of the body to a vaccine - and an excitotoxin in its own right) or mercury (as a preservative, in multi-dose vials; like the DPT), the glutamate in the MMR could theoretically lower the child’s ability to eliminate the aluminium and/or mercury from the other shots given at the same time. Result: other factors theoretically - ‘biologically plausible’ - in the causation of brain damage.
As well, it turns out that
(c) Some children, diagnosed with autism - a ‘subset’ - appear to have a genetic polymorphism (predisposition) that causes them to have low levels of glutathione to start with.
Thus - you would think - such children should be spared from having to have vaccines that cause them selectively to be loaded up with toxins. Or should be treated with chelators, to help them cope with such medical interventions.
Does this obvious conclusion - one might reasonably think - actually happen?
Do you actually have to ask?
Welcome to the real world of allopathic medicine.

Note: It also turns out that at least some of the genes associated with autism cause the child so disposed to be particularly susceptible to damage by glutamate. So children with those genes - you would think - should be spared a medical modality that introduces glutamate into its body - and especially in the inflammatory setting of a vaccine.
You would think.
Wouldn’t you?
Am I being unreasonable here?
I am, if you are a believer in one size fits all, in regards to vaccines, and we can’t make any exceptions, because that might result in the return of the childhood diseases, and we’ve largely forgotten how horrible they can be, so ‘herd immunity’ is the bottom line. No allowance for individuals in this scenario.
Individuals are a pain. To such a thinker.
And they are in charge.
For now.
But not for much longer.
Not in my universe.
If I can help it.
Which is why I’m here.
And you are, too. Whether you realize it or not.
Realize, that you are acting out a contract, that you made.
With yourself.
To be part of the solution.

Whilst down this tangent, this thread, this theme playing itself out; a little contrapuntal effect:
I know that most if not all of the epidemiological and other studies have not been able either to replicate the Wakefield et al 1998 Lancet report findings, of the vaccine measles virus being associated with autistic enterocolitis, or to detect a population-study signal of any such connection. I also know that you often find what you’re looking for. What’s more, there have been studies that have shown a relationship between the MMR and autism. So what’s the scientific thing to do: add them all up and decide by a percentage? And the more studies you can come up with to ‘prove’ your case, the less signal there is: presto - ??
It’s worse than that. It’s not as if they don’t know. Let’s go to the mercury factor, in other shots, via a preservative called thimerosal (thiomersal in the UK). Even the manufacturer’s MSDS says of it:
“Contains chemicals known to cause reproductive toxicity.” Elsewhere it is said of it, more specifically (I can’t find my reference right now, just the quotes I jotted down at some point or other) :
“Pregnant women should not be exposed to thimerosal for it can cross the placenta and go into the baby and cause mild to severe mental retardation.” Read as well: Brain damage. Examples of ‘mild’: The likes of ADD, ADHD, Speech Delay, dyslexia, dyspraxia, LD (Learning Disorders). Examples of ‘severe’: Autism, Bipolar Disorder, anorexia...the list goes on.
‘They’ say (in this case, a government official with a great deal of responsibility in the vaccine matter), about vaccines in general (thus diluting the outcome), that “these things are pretty safe on a population basis.” Note: (1) “pretty” safe. (2) “On a population basis”. Not on a subset group.
So why not identify the susceptible group, and save them the damage?...Well, we know the answer to that. The basic answer, to do with ‘herd immunity’ targets. But not, generally, the fuller answer. The fuller answer including the desire of our keepers to use vaccines as a vector, in population control, including culling.
‘Oh, that’s just conspiracy theory. And anyway, what about the childhood diseases themselves? Wouldn’t they cause just as much harm - and worse?’
But where was the autism epidemic, and epidemic of chronic diseases, autoimmue and neurological, before the advent of vaccines?...
‘Oh, but they’ve taken thimerosal out of almost all of the shots anyway, and the incidences of autism have continued to climb - get off the mercury canard.’
But at the same time as they were phasing thimerosal out of all but a ‘token’ amount (whatever that is; mercury is still toxic to neurons at even minuscule, to say nano, levels), they added the flu vaccine to the schedule - and included it as recommended for pregnant women to boot.
‘Oh, but thimerosal-free flu vaccines are now available - stop with your alarmism.’
But the majority of them still have thimerosal in them. And the public isn’t warned about its particular danger to pregnant women...
The to and fro on this subject, in general and in particular, could go on and on. It’s time to put it to a halt.
One last point, regarding this mercury-containing vaccine ingredient:
“Thimerosal is accumulative in the body... thimerosal targets the organs of the body, in particular the brain and the lining around the brain...”
Targets? As in biochemical warfare?...

If we were constitutionally committed to keeping an open mind about things, this truth, about the connection between vaccines and a whole host of autoimmune and neurological disorders, including autism, would have been acted on long ago, and reduced to minimal proportions by now. But we aren’t , and it hasn’t. Our ego gets in the way, with its partner, hubris. That’s enough of a screen for us to be born through; we certainly don’t need the secondary screens, of pesticides and plastics and fluoride and vaccines and such - polluters of the environment. Of our environment. Of us. It’s time and past to clean up our act. In many areas. So that we can enjoy life on this lovely planet more fully. And sustainably. And harmoniously.
The latter, above all.

15b And not to imply that it’s only the MMR that that has biological plausibility in relation to such as autism, and other MBD conditions. Read on for the role of mercury in all this, in the form of a preservative called thimerosal. And not even just that factor in other vaccines. The pertussis element of the DPT shot - as I have referred to before somewhere in this mishmash (excuse me; this orchestral composition with subthemes, intricately woven in to create a rich tapestry of sound; and not as in a sound and fury signifying nothing, you lazy listener) - is the preferred adjuvant for inducing allergic encephaloymyelitis in animal studies, according to Dr. Coulter. There is a link here, with what has been going on in us human animals, ever since the advent of the mass vaccination programmes. We are all part of the post-encephalitic generations - visited with an epidemic of what can reasonably be called subclinical encephalitis.
We have heard a lot about bipolar disorder these days, formerly known as manic depression. There is no reason that I know of not to believe that vaccines have something to do with this. As with the whole range of brain damage conditions. Including to serial killers. Coulter points out that the symptoms of such persons are all there, in the literature on MBD conditions. When a number of such killers were interviewed, a profile emerged, common to many ot them - so striking as to be given a name: the ‘homicidal triad’. The childhood traits were: (a) fire-starting; (b) excessive bed-wetting; and (c) cruelty to pets/animals. These are all symptoms of brain damage - damage to the cranial nerve systems, and to the brain itself, interfering with its neurotransmitters.
We are taking too long to wake up to what has been going on in our midst. Coulter’s book summarizing all the information available to that time was published in 1990. Got that? Twenty years ago.

16 I am aware that there are other theories about the brain damage that has been going on in our children, than just from the likes of fluoridation, pesticides (and plastics), and vaccines. I see that recently ‘they’ - the PTB, running things in our day and age - are touting prenatal exposure to alcohol as “the leading cause of brain damage and developmental delay among children in industrialised countries” (this quote from Dr. Harry Burns, Scotland’s Chief Medical Officer). This may well indeed account for some of all of what we are seeing, along these lines, ADHD and autism and so forth. But the other likely culprits - including heavy metals, like mercury, from both our food and the air, besides vaccines (and amalgam fillings, their volatility leaching into the pregnant woman’s bloodstream and crossing the placenta) -should not be discounted. And there is the whole range of such causes, that are effecting regressive outcomes, ie, post-natal. And as Dr. Harris L. Coulter has pointed out, a very strong case for vaccines being a major player in this phenomenon is made from that medical modality’s temporal association with the major beginnings of these brain-damage conditions, starting in the ‘50s, as children born in the late ‘30s and into the ‘40s started school.
I count myself lucky that I preceded the herd. Just in time. To try to keep an unobstructed eye on it all. And make sense of it, all.
And do something about it. All.

17 And conditions like SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). Where the medical ‘experts’ have, over and over, hidden the role of the child’s recent vaccine(s) in a number of such cases, which subterfuge sent their carer of record to prison. How do these people sleep at night??
Incidentally, as for MS (Multiple Sclerosis): It is one of the results of vaccinating newborns with the HepB vaccine. (It at least used to contain thimerosal. That’s a dose of mercury at birth. Doesn’t that worry you? And make you wonder??) Why do they do that in the first place? Hepatitis is something that a person can get from sharing drug-taking needles, or from unprotected sex. The official material I have read about this policy indicates that the point, from the public health authorities’ perspective, is that young people are hard to get to come into clinics for such a shot when they start engaging in such behavior; so it’s easier to get everybody at birth. I kid you not about this justification. And as for that idea: What parents aren’t told is that the vaccine is only effective for about 5-10 years anyway. So its palliative effect is going to wear off before it would be of any demonstrable use...
no. This isn’t about public health. It’s about forcing people to be born through a screen. A screen that weakens them, with toxins introduced into their blood; a condition that can mask other toxins later, and their effects.17a It’s also for psychological purposes: to get the public to accept the ‘ritual’ as normal. Not to blink at the idea. Because it’s a powerful tool, for people control.
And to think I was almost once one of them. These purveyors of the noble science, and art, of medicine...Bleed me quick, doc, before my blood boils over.

P.S. And just for clarity’s sake: What would we do if we had to do without some vaccines for awhile, until they could either be made safer or dropped? We would do what we had been doing before their advent - with better nutrition and hygiene and cleaner water bringing down the mortality and morbidity rates of all the ‘childhood diseases’ anyway - plus what we have learned in the meantime, about their treatment. Such as with vitamin A/cod liver oil for measles. Magadoses of vitamin C for polio. (Google Dr. Fred Klenner ouf of North Carolina. Alas, his approach wasn’t patentable, and so it has been buried. But not totally, from view. Thanks, Google.) Colloidal silver, or chlorine dioxide (aka MMS), for the diphtheria-pertussis-tetanus triad. The list, of more natural treatments, goes on.
Yes, weigh up the relative risks vs benefits of the various vaccines. But they both need to be calculated - and communicated - fairly. Including the value to the individual of getting the ‘wild’ disease, in order for their immune system to be matured, and to give them lifelong immunity; which a female can then pass on to her offspring, to protect them until their own immune systems can start kicking in. A major value, this, which we have been deprived of, by the less-than-full immunity conferred by vaccines. It’s sensitization, really; not immunization per se. A real, actual, danger, that, for its misleading results.

A final note on this subject, at this point.

Ever see the TV commercial where the young boy is eating a breakfast cereal, and reports that it’s okay, “but it’s nae porridge”? Parents report, over and over and over, of the changes that happened to their children after their shots, and their health carers reply that it was due to whatever - something the cat dragged in - “but it wasn’t the vaccines”. How do they know? Because their Bible, of studies, tells them so. “But - but - there he was, doing fine, and then after his shots - “ “Correlation is not causation. Correlation is not causation. Squawk squawk.”
Reports come back from Iraq, over and over and over (AND in the States, from returning servicemen), of DNA damage to their newborns, and the authorities reply that it is due to whatever - something in the local water supply - “but it wasn’t the DU”.
No. It wasn’t - isn’t - DU.
It was - is - Duh.

17a For more on the screen factor, keep reading.

18 Like the double-headed crown of the ancient Egyptian pharoahs. King of both kingdoms. Needing to split, and come back together again; the wiser for the experience.

19 I admit that this sounds a bit like the film ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ where the Laurence Olivier character tries to claim the role of the expected Mahdi because he has a gap between his two front teeth. But in this correlation, of current-time persons, that would be Madonna. I make no such claim. It’s just that it’s enough for me, in conjunction with many other factors in my life - pieces of the picture - at the least to relate to the role.
Test the likelihoodedness of it for yourself. I’m just saying that it’s time, and I am here to help in the transition, in a major role. I certainly feel a royal pain with the way humanity is taking the Creation for granted; am taking it very personally, as though I had a hand in its coming into being.
But then I think we all did. So claim YOUR Christhood now.
In any event: Who do YOU know who is as committed to the enterprise we are engaged in??
Follow him; or her. We will all end up in the same place, anyway.
And knowing it as though for the first time.
The - First, Time...
A new setting of it. Coming up.

20 As did another article in the same section, titled ‘Down with the kids’, about another father and his childhood, in lookng back on it, from the perspective of his children’s experiences in a school hall very similar to his of 30 years previously. I’m going to have to stop looking into these ‘weekend’ sections of the daily paper. I’ll never get through it all.

21 To fully acknowledge: I appreciate that I was left to my own devices to grow up, the way I needed to, not the way my parents might have wanted me to. So I was spared that little drama in life, by having a rather loose rein. Thanks, you two, for giving me that.