Let’s see . . . what’s foremost on my feverish mind? Is it the cat crunching on the dead rabbit under my bed last night at midnight?
Is it all the posts I forcibly refrained from writing over these past three days targeting the NoKing psy-op while feverishly biting my tongue?
Is it the two-month water bill for the house next door that I didn’t realize I didn’t pay and found out on Friday and late deadline was that day and their website not working?
Was it me foolishly going on Next Door to object to all the hate spewing out there politically re NoKing?
And to out this latest, marvelous, Charles Eisenstein substack there? How many “got” (I used to say grokked. Until it was taken over. Damn!) the message? So very wrapped up in “taking sides,” as do I tend to be. Eisenstein put a stop to it, likely just temporary. Thank you Charles.
Immigration: The Plutonian Seed of Othering
Is it the old journals I’ve been reading through and realizing that I’ve tried to completely control every lover or husband I’ve ever had? That realization (I’ve had it before, but each time it comes in like a thud) really got to me.
BTW: my last “affair” was over 15 years ago. Now I notice that reading through any journal from that time still “triggers” me emotionally. Hard to believe how decades’ ago memories, when stimulated, detonate. Yuck. And I foolishly think I’ve successfully “processed” my experiences?
I now realize that I have not processed the experiences in my 60s with men that invoked my vulnerability, my lifelong difficulty “being a woman,” given my yang/alpha tendencies. Thank goodness I wasn’t born in the 80s and beyond; thank goodness I wasn’t brainwashed to think I was in the wrong body. What a crock of shit! — says the old crone, clearly dominant now in the psyche.
Humor helps.
Note to self: Find Trump quote on NoKing. Very funny.
Wow. Saved it. Just tried to find it again. “That tweet has been removed.”
Humor helps even if there are times I want to kill somebody I’m so damn pissed off.
Especially at the continuous censorship, the effort to pidgeon hole each of us into a tiny cell warring with all the others.
Because yes, this is the time of rising emotionality on planet earth, and I’m not in any way immune. To think that I would be is sheer pride. Stupidity.
Okay, enough confessional bantering (battering).
I also, over this weekend, got more acquainted with a brand new voice on X/twitter, and find myself utterly drawn in. Or, I should say, Quantum Tumbler is expressing what I have “known” for years, finding various ways to give language to it. An extraordinary contribution he? she? they? is/are making to the cultural morass. And in a very enigmatic fashion, or at least it appears so at first. But as I continue to read these posts, the language resonates. Reminds me, frankly, of the Q posts, their sudden arrival, their enigmatic character. Their resonance.
As I have always known . . .
This morning I found myself replying to Quantum Tumbler, rather than just lurking, as usual:
“Yes. The space between any set of polarities pulses OPEN.”
Quantum Tumbler replied, immediately:
Here’s what appears as another view of the same:
Essentially, Quantum Tumbler, echoed by Monica Anderson, claim that the world is splitting into two, “organic” and “synthetic,” NOW. Hard not to recognize at this point, actually.
https://x.com/quantumtumbler/status/1934351006294540459?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ
But then, who knows.
Stay grounded, Ann.
Stay sane.
Be the tree in the forest, that spacious presence:
roots penetrating deep and wide, in misceliac communion.
Trunk straight, strong, true, reaching for the sky;
branches waving joyfully, weaving;
leaves breathing, in and out,
alive,
conscious,
caring for one and all.
