POST-FLU: Move Below BeLIEf, Below Language, and the WORLD OPENS

December 10, 2022

 

My vaxxed 66 year old housemate got sick one day before I did. Did we “have” the same “dis-ease?” He “had covid,” so the hospital ER told him, when he went in there, scared. And with that one word, all the programming kicked in.

I never called my dis-ease process “covid.” It never even occurred to me. My disease was specific to me. It sprang from my own body/mind/soul, and I knew it. The point was, to use this occasion as Nature intended: DETOXIFY. Detoxify from many years of accumulated poisons — in air, water, food, collective psyche, the mass psychosis of F.E.A.R (False Evidence Appearing Real) that the group mind is still partially immersed in, paralyzed by, for going on three years.

My own toxicity was also, in part, due to egocentric identification with being right, coupled with contempt for those who buy the lie. Contempt is never healthy, for me or any of my relations. It holds me within, separated from others, supposedly “superior,” in inner secret judgment. Or, if I allow it expression, well then watch out, as all hell breaks loose. For example, I could have talked with my housemate, or with Marita, also vaxxed, and a total dear, who took him to hospital (and did not “get covid” from him!), about that dang PCR test, that trumpted up diagnosis of a “virus” that’s never been proven to exist. But I didn’t. Instead, I held my tongue, knowing any outburst from me would worsen his situation.

And besides, I was about to “get sick” myself.

My “sickness,” let me emphasize, was necessary, as a way of purging myself from too much identification with my own ego. I had to eat crow. Had to discover that this philosopher who sees herself as “above it all” — can get sick. After 12 years So, 12 years of detox due. No wonder it was intense.

I thought to do a long post on the relationship between human language and human be-ing, on how the former cuts up the world beyond the self into forms, compartments, with names given to all. Plus, when “logic” is added, to identifying linear chains that are then deemed “cause and effect.” The problem is, nature does not live as cut up, enchained bits and pieces; she is one, an undivided, ever-flowing, interpenetrating whole.

By singling out a set of “symptoms” and labeling it as a “dis-ease, we call an idea into material existence from the ethers, and then perpetuate it as a named “entity.”

In the case of “Covid,” the list of possible symptoms is remarkably long; which vitiates that way of identifying a disease. That should have alerted us right then to the fraudulent, MK Ultra Programming ploy the PTW drummed up for “Covid.” Should have made us realize that we were being conned. That the point was not “covid,” the point was F.E.A.R. Make the populace afraid of even their own bodies, and you’ve got them by the balls.

Even so, there are so many silver linings to the collective nightmare we have all been going through that it takes the breath away. Among them:

“Experts” of any kind can usually be rebranded as indoctrination pushers, since they themselves are programmed to beLIEve what they push on others.

Everything we’ve ever been taught is likely a lie. Which wipes out education, science, and academia.

Big Med, Big Pharma — they goin’ DOWN!

Plus, the real weirdness, for me: I simply couldn’t predict who, of my friends and family, would succumb to the Lie. Unfortunately, most did, and are now vaxxed. Will they die suddenly? Will I ever see any of them again? Do I want to, given the canyon that divides us?

On and on.

Meanwhile, we’re in “the dead of winter” here. Looks bleak outside. And I’ve lost my desire to write a philosophical post. Besides, I already did! See Nature Is My Religion, plus a very provocative video on “the science” modern medicine is based on: germ theory.

 

https://annkreilkamp.net/2022/06/04/nature-is-my-religion/

https://truthcomestolight.com/steve-falconer-on-the-death-of-germ-theory/

POST-FLU: Peering into Past and Present

December 9, 2022

 

 

I woke up this morning and knew it was time to clean the floor of all the strewn, jumbled boxes of medicinals that I had hastily, feverishly pulled from their high shelves in the middle of that first night, seeking relief.

Above:  the final sort for flu and cold meds, from as far back as over two decades ago. Likely some of the tinctures (from Jackson Hole) are no longer viable. Just watched a video to tell me how I’d know. Luckily they’ve all been made with alcohol and stored at a relatively stable cool temp, in the dark, high in my closet. Going through them was, for me, a trip through time, much like going through old photos. I am amazed at their variety: astragalus, echinacea, of course; but had to look up the medicinal uses of some of them: usnea, red root. Other boxes contain first aid, stress relief, deep cleanse materials, Plus lots of essential oils, homeopathics, etc. Archeological traces from five decades of beyond allopathic healing.

I look back on myself as a younger woman — of any age, she’s always “younger! — and am once again struck by how my view of myself has changed. I used to look back with disgust, grumbling to myself internally, “You were such an idiot.” Now I look back with fondness, as if on a fledging, who was just learning to fly, and of course, would stumble, fall, pick herself up, and try, try again.

 

Though it was only four days long (three really, in terms of fever), it’s as if there was a ME before, and now a ME after, with those strange four days constructing a thick, fuzzy border between the them. I wondered: was it always like this when I got sick? I haven’t been actually sick in bed for at least 12 years. This amazing feeling of renewal, rebirth? Well, likely. The painful process of detoxification lightens the load; as if disembodied, I easily move through space.

This morning, on my first walk with puppy Shadow since I went down, I thrilled to the utterly familiar rhythm of walking, deep breathing, flowing through space and time. Daily walking that I have done, without fail, ever since I was a teenager and discovered that if I walked home from my boring summer job (retyping a nurse’s manual on a manual typewriter stuck in a room by myself), it actually defused my pent-up fury.

Walking, day after day, year after year, decade after decade, on trails, hiking through forests and up mountains; walking city streets and sidewalks, around country square miles, inside villages in Turkey, Peru, Greece, England, Thailand; walking through city, state, national parks and wilderness;  on and on, I never tire of this daily ritual which, more than any other single practice, has not just held me together and grounded me into Mother Earth, but uplifted my heart throughout my long life. Walking with a friend, deep in conversation. Walking alone and meeting strangers, soul to soul, for a brief instant, a “hello!” The swoon of roses and lilacs; the whiff of baking drifting from a kitchen window, or a restaurant; meeting birds, as they flow by — a trilling songbird, a murmuration of crows, a single, staring hawk, perched haughtily on tree branch above. Trees wave their greetings, clouds, sun, even stars (when I’m walking early on winter mornings), all blessing, warming, winking, hello, hello: We Are All One.

On this morning’s walk, absolutely nothing internal hindered me. My friend Dan was walking with us. We both could tell that Shadow was thrilled to be walking with his Mom again, and that she was feeling better. I thanked Dan for the stew he sent along (I finished it for today’s lunch.) As I had thanked Marita for faithfully walking Shadow for four days; and Colin, for supplying me with anything I needed purchased until done. And my heart and my gratitude go out to the countless friends and readers here who also sent their best wishes, and to the dear friend who sent Reiki for the entire time, telling me, on the fourth day that “I can tell you’ve been fighting something big because of how the Reiki keeps flowing.”

 

In that same email exchange, I detailed her the following:

This is unlike anything I’ve ever gone through.

Extreme, but not unbearable pain on the second day in digestive tract, up and down for a few hours. (And this was when I had eaten nothing.)

Third day. Extreme, but not unbearable leg pain, making me stir restlessly in bed, again for a few hours. This one brought me back to being in bed as a teenager, same leg pains. Years later I wondered if I was unusually sensitive to the atomic tests they were doing in Nevada which at times blew over southern Idaho.

Fourth day, today. Lying in bed this am with severe but not unbearable pain in liver. Again, a couple of hours.

In each case I knew, even with the first one, that the pain would dissolve in a few hours.

Also, the whole time, tremor worse, which may have to do with hardly eating.

One cup miso, so far, two tangerines, one apple and one pear this morning. I did try stew Dan had sent over, but stopped after about one third cup, yesterday.

Also, have been drinking perilla tea, which grows abundantly and wildly around here.

Due to lack of energy I’ve not been walking or doing my practices. Need to begin again before entropy sets in.

Being Ill at 80 is verrrry different than earlier.

 

I will have one more post-flu post, tomorrow, before resuming on Monday with my bewildered reflections on what seems to be going on in the world.