ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE, including the Charlie Kirk extravaganza?!?

I return to posting from my recently instituted three-day weekend off, when of course, I was hoping to relax. Ha! Even more than usual, I have found myself roiling, furious, upset, constantly stunned by the enormity of what appears to me to be a tsunamic psy-op of the worst kind, aimed to get us all looshed up.

This cultural/political moment reminds me of the global rollout of the covid con, back in 2020-21, when I instantly found myself unable to go along with the massive global unrolling aimed to instill FEAR (False Evidence Appearing Real).

Same here, though I do find myself wavering more this time. Because Charlie Kirk — who was completely invisible to this nearly 83-year-old until the sudden internet explosion over his apparent assasination, and who, I would agree, after reviewing a number of his speeches, was an extremely bright and historically literate, strong, full-hearted young man whose life purpose included traditional Christian family values to set an example for youth who he was insisting uncover their critical thinking faculties from the indoctrination of schooling.

I’m drawn to foolishly attempting to actually absorb and understand this stunning cultural phenomenon, an apparent American “tipping point” equivalent to the JFK assasination, or the 911 event, that is way way WAY over my head, and yet, as usual, one which I seem to be unable to drag myself away from. Because it’s inside my body. And my body knows.

So here I go:  One more rabbit hole. The curious Alice part of me just can’t help myself. Or can I?

I can’t.

Well, I’d say, yes and no. I am determined to crawl my way out of the rabbit hole each time I go down it.

To me it’s necessary to both know about the insidious perfidy of our current “reality,” and meanwhile, to hold fast to a larger, higher “dimension” where all this broohaha fades into irrelevance, the mere play of maya.

I find that vibration with animals, and plants, and on my daily walks, during my daily practices (yoga, chikung, taichi) — and especially, whenever I greet, and even meet, another, eye to eye, soul to soul. “Strangers” or not, more than 9 times out of 10, for at least one fleeting second, we both dip into that spacious, mysterious zone wherein all the detritus of the material world, all the greed, all the gaming, does not count.

Does not count. No counting within a space that continuously floods and waves and courses through as whispers of the divine.

So. Back to the rabbit hole, which, as usual, I allow myself to fall into while attempting to remain centered — or at least, remembering to center myself, whenever emotionality threatens to overwhelm:

In other words, while appreciating the body’s extreme sensitivity to truth and lies, I also aim to take control of at least my own reactivity to any seeming fraudulent external situation with my critical mind.

Both. Both critical, logical left brain with intuitive, heart-centered, gut-biome centered, right-brain. Integrated. The corpus callosum serving to bridge this all-too-human divide within me. For how can I help heal the increasing division within the collective? Answer: I can’t. All I can do is keep on working to center myself within my own dynamic, oppositional, contradictory nature. And to the extent that I am able, I direct myself to express that loving unity into the world. The world around me.

Here, locally.

Okay, here goes, finally; down the rabbit hole.

Yesterday’s Memorial for Charlie Kirk, which reportedly captured the actual physical presence of 200,000 people, including luminaries from the Trump administration, and apparently bringing Trump back together with Elon, felt staged to me. Just like the “assasination” felt staged, whether or not Kirk  was actually killed. Whether or not Trump is in on it, or Elon, or any of the 200,000 people present.

Likely most of the people, perhaps even including Trump and Elon, are, even though in on it, also of good heart, aiming to help direct humanity to a prosperous future, while appreciating the extreme dangers of this political moment in time.

Even so, STAGED.

Something is up. And we sovereign souls don’t know what it is. All we know is that, though we can’t help but use our critical skills to try to “figure out what’s going on,” all the time we are being herded — like bleating sheep who keep blathering away about what all sorts of seeming “facts” mean, or whether they are “true,” and who to blame, or to exonerate, or to align ourselves with, or to divide ourselves from — to the technocratic slaughter.

Erika Kirk’s part in yesterday’s extravaganza bothered me just as much as her initial statement did after her husband reportedly died. It’s like this: when I look at her public behavior I want to throw up! I can’t help myself. My gut biome just refuses to accept what my eyes and ears are picking up.

While I — of course! — applaud her Christian understanding of the full implications of Gandhi’s  “an eye for an eye just makes the whole world blind,” her own intensely dramatic behavior did not feel genuine, authentic, to me. She felt like a performer. This was a performative act, meant to capture the hearts of all of us and transform those who want revenge into peaceful citizens.

Well of course! Who wouldn’t want that? What right-thinking (or left-thinking, we hope) person wouldn’t want that, above all else?

To maintain the civic order, or, I should say, to attempt to return to it before all hell breaks loose.

But the disconjunct between my sense of her feminine wiles and her actual words . . . I just couldn’t get over it.

Likely she was attempting to prevent further violence. And she meant it. But the details of her body language and voice intonation, the full-on to me staged emotionality of her “forgiveness” left me feeling weird, off. Something is off.

And it’s often the disjunction between words and authenticity that  leads to violence, war.

Katherine Austin Fitts: