Oh my . . . Here we are on October 1, first day of “Red October,” and the port strike, and weather warfare. The month we’ve been wait for. One month prior to the “final”? 2024 election. False flags and other psyops abound. “World War III” threatens to spark in many places at once, all the while idiots guard the helms of so-called “power.”.
All we know for sure is that the dynamics of whatever simulacrum we’re inside of has speeded up, suddenly, enormously. As if we just hurtled over Niagra Falls — along with all the oil drums and houses and dead bodies tumbled about by Hurricane Helene just about everywhere in the American southeast. Most horrific natural event in 1000 years? Swollen rivers crumbling roads, hills, houses, washing away memories, along with structures, families, traditions . . . and even yesterday, today, this past hour! . . .
I want my nap to be a calming tradition, and it always threatens not to be, since I am still addicted to the internet, via my ipad, when I tune into somebody’s podcast to lure/lull me to sleep.
So yes, I went down for my “traditional” one hour nap today, curious, as usual; I just can’t seem to stop my swollen brain — to drink in the latest Clif High:
WELCOME TO THE MAELSTROM
Let go the rudder
It’s useless
And found myself pulled under into nowhere. All I know is I “woke up” (sort of; still groggy due to not enough sleep most nights and naps for how long now? Ten days, months, years? decades? — and all I remember hearing as I drifted off was Clif saying there was a “timeline.” White board behind his dear figure seemed to confirm. . .
(Oh, I know, I know. He’s esoteric as hell. Stamps our common language into his own unique brand.)
Hmmm . . . seems that his maelstrom timeline is for the next six months. What many of us have been feeling, the lead up to, absorption of, and then reactions to, “the 2024 election,” if, indeed, it occurs. What are the chances, 50/50? Does it depend on which timeline we’re on? Are there two timelines, battling it out, crashing, drowning, sputtering as we careen down the temporal river?
The next thing I remember, after coming out of my flooded flog (oops! fog) at the end of his 56-minute long video, was Clif’s final remark, after dissing “all the channelers” . . . Made me laugh out loud.
We’re in the swirlies.
Hopefully they won’t flush.
And actually, I wish I could actually flush the detritus out of my sorry brain.
I need a brand new, a fresh start, after the buraucratic hell hole that I and my Green Acres Neighborhood peers have endured for the past three months. (See past posts. Don’t want to spend time finding them.)
A fresh start? At nearly 82 years of age?
Yes. About a month ago, I bit the bullet, began to eat only twice a day, with no snacks. Now up to what intermittent (I keep saying “interruptive”) fasters identify as an 18/6 schedule, having started at 16/8, and gradually increased the time between, so that my body could actually begin to consume its own waste products in a fabulous process called autophagy . . .
Yes, a month ago, I started over again in the most basic of ways. Something I have not done, ever.
(It’s astonishing how both my disciplined practices (to which I now include eating besides walking, yoga, taichi/chikung) and my out of control old-lady antics seem to co-exist, and quite easily!)
And BTW: Except for one apple a day, I no longer buy or consume sweets of any kind, even my beloved little rice puddings that I used as comfort food, one a day. Plus, all the other little extras that I thought I needed to keep me going in a life-long habit of basically eating, snacking all the time! Mostly fresh veggies and protein now, preferably meat, eggs, and cheese, with lots of coconut oil, avocado oil, and MCT oil. No “bad carbs” (bread, noodles, etc.). (That one wasn’t hard, since I’ve been gluten-free for nearly 30 years.) Inadvertently, I’m actually “saving money” by no longer indulging in all my little privileged specialties as we begin the long haul downhill into the swirling immensity of chaos.
In chaos, opportunity. Correct?
Do I consciously remember his stream well enough to comment now? Not really. But I do know that, along with other info/misinfo/disinfo I pick up along the way, especially from X, it sits, germinating, fermenting, inside a swirling mental/emotional pool that threatens to focus intense energy inside or outside at the strangest moment!
Such is the life of one near-82-year old, supposedly “conscious” woman, near the turn of the quarter century — a century she did not expect to ever be moving through; the world was supposed to end, said the channelers — in 1960! then 1984? then 2001? 2012! — meanwhile, still aiming to get and keep my own physical body attuned to this climactic period in his-story enough to be able to not only participate in this accelerating cosmic dance we humans have contracted to enjoy/endure, but to help shape it so that my own grandchildren may benefit.
