Alt-Epistemology: Plodding down my long winding road

January 15, 2024

 

 

Up until late 2010 I actually subscribed to the print edition of the New York Times. Then I threw it away, and began to search for myself many sources on the internet, plus set up the now-an-archive website exopermaculture.com.

Even before that, actually way before that, with the Kennedy assasination oon November 22, 1963, I knew something was up, that things were not as they seemed. But I was young, with two children, a lousy marriage, and in graduate school. So yes, I tried not to notice. The next total mind blow was Cathy O’Brien’s memoir, Trance Formation of America, which I read shortly after it came out in 1995. That book sat deep in my subconscious mind for two years before I finally dared to wrestle with it consciously.

I used to follow truthout.org, truthdig.org, activistpost.com, and other left-leaning but hard-hitting websites. Then something changed. Not sure what or when. I do remember that though I did not vote for Trump in 2016 (consciously threw my vote away on Jill Stein instead), within months I was entranced by this extraordinary man’s capacity to deflect whatever his vociferous critics hurled at him, plus his over-the-top attitude, especially towards foreign policy and America’s forever wars, which he wanted to stop. Period. And bring the troops home.

I also very much appreciated that as president he aimed to end child and human trafficking. That though he had been associated with Epstein, at some point he forbade Epstein to enter Mar A Lago and actually was the only person to help the Florida prosecutor when he arrested Epstein in 2008.

Remember how Trump had the audacity, when running for president back in 2015, to call MSM “fake news”? At the time it seemed over the top. No longer.

At this point, my daily “trusted sources” for what is called news are very few in number. They include Ariel, Dom Lucre and BioClandestine on X. I also check Telegram every day; lots of possibly trusted sources there.

Here are recent posts from Ariel, Dom Lucre and BioClandestine.

BTW: Ariel didn’t mean literally that Vivek is Soros’s brother, as he pointed out in a twitter/X comment below the above.

Ariel is also currently calling out Liz Crokin, a courageous independent journalist who has long focused on the pedophilia scourge. He claims she associates with Richard Branson, a likely pedophile. That’s hard to take, for me. He’s calling out others as well, whom I did tend to trust — Lara Logan, for one — but now not so sure, since I trust Ariel more.

Dom Lucre:

On Martin Luther King day:

BioClandestine was the first person to point out the enormous number of bio labs in Ukraine back when that war began. He  recently reposted this famous post that shows the real Donald Trump, despite what, for example, Benjamin Fulford, said about him recently, that Trump had been a number of times to Epstein island. BULLSHIT.

My other go-to platform at this point is Telegram. A number of interesting people posting there.

Got to keep on discerning true from false/fake. Not that I ever “know” for certain, but that I do thereby enlarge my field of awareness and inquiry to include more and more possibilities while remaining centered, grounded, loving, and reaching for the stars.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On this morning’s -18° F wind chilled walk, I bow down in gratitude

January 14, 2024

 

Walking this morning, without puppy Shadow, except for.a brief foray for him to poop. He was way too reluctant, in this extreme cold, -1° F, with wind chill plunging to -18° F.

But me! I relish cold, especially in brilliant sunshine, like today, and especially dry cold, which this is, more like Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where I used to live, than the typical, bone-chilling wet cold of south central Indiana.

And the brilliant sparkles on the newly arrived inch of snow! Sparkles like a thousand diamonds, with every blink of the eye. And the body, tall Keen boots protecting ankles, revving up to speed, relishing also this rhythmic muscled stride up and down hills, across humpy meadows tunneled with critters, noticing where deer tracks cross, where birds and squirrels  leave their traces, the usual extraordinary branching of bare trees that remind me of the circulatory system of the human body, of nature’s creeks and rivers — all struck bright by the southern sun at 9:30 on this mid-January morning after literally weeks of drippy, cloudy depression, nature’s extended pause as she rests, still, silent, quiescent, in wait  for spring’s’ emergence.

On and on, mile after mile through brilliant wind-chilled sunshine, protecting my gloved thumb and forefinger that threaten to numb themselves into oblivion, alternately blowing on them and holding them tight in down coat sleeves, or thrust into pockets, checking on nose, no, it’s still okay, crunching face enough to make sure circulation still there . . .

I remember standing by our pond in the middle of summer one day, stilled into mystery, when all of a sudden the Soul of the Earth rose up from below and nearly overpowered me, struck me down in thunderous wonder. What is this? Where is this where I, a single embodied sovereign soul, am so privileged to inhabit? What wonder, what mystery, what miracle?

Standing still in summer, or in rhythmic motion in winter, I bow down in gratitude.