Before I begin this god-awful piece on the stinking corruption symbolized by the word “Epstein,”  remember, in the memorable words of Zach Bush, M.D.:

Okay, to begin:

Celia Farber, today:

I’m trying to paint a picture, and connect intersecting industries of evil. Stay alive long enough, and they all connect, like a vast interstate freeway, leading into and onto one another, in one continuous frequency of mechanized, virtue signaling sociopathy.

Oh but wait! Let me begin again again! this time with a personal story!— sputters my impetuous Uranian self: 

Yesterday evening, I was in Kroger’s, stocking up on frozen Amy’s Enchiladas (three different kinds). (I visit specific stores around here for specific items, including, besides Kroger’s, Bloomingfoods (spices and sale items), Fresh Thyme (sale items), and, mostly, Aldi! — all within walking distance.)

I heat one Amy’s enchilada package up about once a week, to indulge my one gluten-free, albeit processed meal. Otherwise, it’s fresh, local, all the way, with no seed oils, ans most of it during summer, direct from Green Acres bountiful gardens.

Okay, now that I’ve explained what in hell I was doing at Krogers, yesterday evening I ran into a neighbor at one end of an aisle there, Margaret Menge, a longtime (and now independent) journalist who publishes a wonderful periodical, The Crossroads Report. I love and support all her work, and as she greeted me, mentioned yesterday’s Report that shows evidence that Minnesota’s Governor Walz asked a shooter to kill Amy Klobuchar. WHAT?

Would you kill to be a U.S. Senator?

I then congratulated her for deviating from her original focus, the Covid Con. “Oh, I’m going to go back to it,” she replied.

“Why? It’s so wonderful to follow you wherever your thinking takes you.”

But I’m a “journalist,” she explained, as if talking to an idiot. You just write your personal point of view, but I get evidence to back up everything I do, plus write my posts in a logical order, etc. etc.

She might as well have said that she believes in objectivity. That she can leave her own p.o.v. out of whatever she reports on.

Which, is, I believe, impossible. Everything coming from a human brain is inescapably originating from that very specific point of view, gleaned from experiences, memories, specific personal quirks, biases, etc. In other words, there’s simply no such thing as objectivity. (I wrote my PH.D. dissertation in part to back up this claim, back in 1971.)

But we didn’t go there. We just got stuck on the fact that she’s a journalist and I’m not. That her approach is more rigorous than mine. Well, okay.

But as we left each other, to pursue our shopping, I yelled back, humorously: “Let’s fight about this another time!”

“Okay!” she yelled back.

Okay, time to start this post again, with that same very personal quote from Celia Farber’s new, and very long, grindingly long, substack that begins with AIDs and goes forward from there:

Epstein Was a Symptom; Can we Cast Off the Disease?

Again:

I’m trying to paint a picture, and connect intersecting industries of evil. Stay alive long enough, and they all connect, like a vast interstate freeway, leading into and onto one another, in one continuous frequency of mechanized, virtue signaling sociopathy.

Now tell me, where is the much vaunted “objectivity” in this highly personal perspective , albeit made possible through Celia’s four decades of journalistic pursuits.

Celia is joined by Jon Rappoport, another journalist whom I follow. Jon has a post up today that mentions Celia, and agrees with her. Note: both of them exposed the AIDs debacle back in the early 1980s.

The spiritually dead rulers are the main event. Celia Farber and I are releasing their story

For another, similarly blanket “take” on the Epstein saga, see Joe Lange on X:

It begins:

All the people trying their best to get people to turn on Trump will fail. Again. Epstein is just the “doorway.” Epstein is the doorway to a much larger child trafficking operation involving intelligence agencies, modeling agencies, politicians, the media, the Rothschilds and more.

Okay. That’s enough!

All this exposure of the rot infecting our culture is admittedly painful.

Let us feel our pain fully enough for it to transform into presence.

In short, let us remember, re-member. Let us put ourselves back together again, both internally and with each other

Let us sink below deeply enough so that we may rise high above.

Human brilliance can be used for (devious, greedy, selfish) Evil, or for (compassionate, common, selfless) Good!

Let’s go!

https://x.com/matrixmischief/status/1945169332373266513?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

The post The stinking corruption symbolized by the word “Epstein” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Note: See this:

This afternoon, headed out, on foot, with backpack, to nearby Dollar Tree, Fresh Thyme, GNC, and Aldi.

Of course, I wondered what kinds of fun interactions I was heading into.

At Dollar Tree, I asked the clerk, a polite, athletic looking young man, likely an IU student: “Are you new here? Haven’t seen you before.”

“Fairly new, about four months.”

“But you don’t have a parrot yet, right?”

He laughed. “Right.”

(Inside joke: Another, sweet older man and long-standing clerk, has had a pet parrot for many years. The parrot barks out “I love you” each time he comes home.)

At GNC, after looking around myself, I asked the clerk if they sell NAC. “I’ve got one here, right behind me!” he exclaimed. “Oh good,” I responded, laughing. “Now you don’t even have to put it on the shelf!”

At Fresh Thyme, a complex interaction: First, I run across a clerk who I’ve seen before, remember her because of her sweet smile. She wasn’t smiling today. Looking back now, I’d say she came across as bored and discouraged, while waiting for somebody in line for automatic check-out to need her help.

As I passed by, I remarked that I remembered her, because of her wonderful smile. “Come on, others have said the same right?” She instantly lit up, mumbled “yes,” and embarrassed, kept bringing her hand up to cover her face. “Oh thank you!” she exclaimed. “You’ve made my day.” Within another minute there we were again, talking. This time she asked my name: “Ann.” I asked hers: “Campbell. Cam-P-bell.” “Oh wow,” I exclaimed. “Unusual name.”

I asked if she was in school. “Yes, but I decided to take a gap year. Best decision I ever made.”

Me: “Good for you!” Then dramatically, theatrically: “What am I doing? WHO TOLD ME TO DO THIS?”

She laughed and agreed. I asked what her major was. “Harp. But I want to switch majors out of the music school altogether.” The music school at IU is world famous. Frankly, I was surprised: “Why?” “Because even though I enjoy the harp, I find myself out of step with the other students there.”

So here’s a young woman who’s already thinking for herself. Good!

At this point I was about to try my hand at automatically checking out. Usually I have to ask a clerk for help. But this time I did not. Went through, lickety-split. Felt very proud of myself. Until, that is, I was about to put a second jar of seriously reduced price Vitamin C in my bag. It fell to the floor, with a sickening clatter. I picked it up. Oops. Bottom shattered.

Campbell came up. “Just replace it,” she said. Sorry I can’t leave my post, but I’ll cover for you, let them know you’re not stealing.” We laughed. Just then another clerk came up who must have overheard us, and said she would replace it for me. “But there’s a problem,” I said to her. “I got the last two bottles on the shelf that were seriously reduced. ($18 to 45 cents)! And that’s why I got them!”

“I’ll figure it out,” the second clerk said, and headed back to the vitamin section. Meanwhile, Campbell and I talked more, speaking especially of how the world is actually a much nicer place than “the news” would have it. “Yes,” she said, “there’s a bad-news bias, and it’s awful. Especially social media,” she added, with a grimace.

A few more minutes, and we wondered why the clerk hadn’t returned. Oops! There she is, about to talk with somebody. That somebody turned out to be her manager. She too had noticed that there were no more seriously reduced Vitamin C bottles, and wanted to switch the broken one out with one that was full price. At this point the manager came up, with another young man who I presume also worked there. She started talking, I can’t remember what she said, but then the second man interrupted her. “Oops!” he stopped. “I shouldn’t interrupt people.”

“Yeah,” I countered, “You’re almost as bad as me!” Lots of laughs.

Needless to say, the manager approved the switch. And it wasn’t until I got home that I realized the one she switched it out to was a third bigger than the original.

Oh yeah, and one more interesting tidbit. At Dollar Tree I had debated getting a $5 rug doormat for the living room (because of tracking in snow, salt, etc.). But it was heavy, and stiff; didn’t want to carry it all the way. Hmmm. Maybe come back this way before walking home?

But wouldn’t you know, at Aldi, my final stop, there was a rolled up version of a doormat, easy to lug home and it cost $4.95, five cents less . . .

I love to shop the sales, which is why I make forays out to nearby stores several times a week. And of course, these forays double as occasions for surprising social interactions which, inevitably, are full of fun and good will.

In this troubled world of increasing atomization, let us recognize that each and every conscious interaction we engage in, especially those out in public, can serve as a tiny, potent dose of “alternative medicine” to help bend the world towards unity while lifting our own hearts.

The result, for me, unending JOY.

The post Dilly Dally Shilly Shally #2: Two jewels from this afternoon’s outing appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about what specials Kroger had on sale yesterday, because I would take advantage of them. I had already been to Aldi’s, and Fresh Thyme. This is how I’m adjusting to inflation of food prices: go to several stores three times a week and shop the specials.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself, actually. Yes, it’s bad. All sorts of stuff are bad, especially in the “larger world.”  Meanwhile, I continue to adjust to the onrushing stochastic horror show. Though my daily 3-4 mile walks with puppy Shadow have been moved to 5:30 AM, I discover that this is a magical time in mid-June — the hour pregnant with the pre-dawn sun, the birds celebrating joyously, and, these past two days, overhung by an unusually large full moon. Looking up as it hangs there, like a strange prop in some kind of divine play, I wonder, as usual, if the moon really is a natural satellite of earth? Or, is it hollow, and was it placed there by some alien race, to function as monitoring device? And if so, given how women’s hormones shift with the oceanic tides, was it also designed to do that? Stir up emotional waves in humanity, on a monthly basis?

And then, of course, there’s the phenomenon of the eclipses. How in hell can they happen? How can a body so much smaller than the sun and so much closer to earth, actually line up with the sun or earth on a periodic basis so that one body’s edges PRECISELY covers the other’s??! Huh? To me, this fact — of nature? of an alien architecture, of “God’s” miraculous design? — is the single most astonishing 3D phenomenon of all in this embodied life on planet earth.

Okay, so back to yesterday’s trip to Kroger.

When I came out of the store I had my hands full, and so placed my purse on the hood of the car next to me while I put the grocery sacks in the back seat . . . And yes, you know what happened. But I didn’t. Not until one half hour after my return.

Suddenly, puppy Shadow starts barking. Who’s that? I go to the front door and there’s an effusive and smiling middle-aged woman with her hand out holding my purse . . .

Oh my goodness, what a shock! First, that I had left the purse there, on someone’s car, and secondly, that its driver had returned it to me, going out of her way to do so. Rather than leaving it with Kroger, she had looked inside to find my driver’s license, which gave my address.

Well, needless to say, this astonishing act of sheer generosity blew my heart wide open. I rushed to her with arms open, ecstatic. “I LOVE YOU!” She accepted both my loud cry and the hug; in fact, she was as much in the spirit of celebration as I . Not only did this woman return my purse, but the universe timed it so that I didn’t even have to spend a single second panicked, wondering where I had left it.

Right then and there I invited her to our weekly Green Acres Village Community Dinner, to be held this evening, on the back patio, and told her what I told the Dinner List, that we would have a sprinkler on the lawn, in case you want to run through it like you did as a kid. Because that’s what we are, underneath. We’re all kids. Even those who think they’re here to bamboozle all the others. Their own little kid was damaged somehow, when young, and they never got over it. Never came to terms with it. Did not know, and do not now know, how to process that early experience that left them emotionally paralyzed.

So I’d say, thank goodness for the Moon! The tides keep flowing, and sooner or later, they will wear away the encrustations of even the most hardened of souls — in this life or the next — using the feelings engendered during the biological, instinctive swelling of women’s bodies to lead the way.

Two women standing there, on the porch, hugging. Two “strangers,” supposedly. Not. We are all beloveds of one another. And this, despite the screaming concatenation of horrific “news” events, so relentlessly catastrophic as made to seem like a death march for the human species.

The sooner we realize our instinctive attunement within our own bodies as extensions of Mother Earth’s body, the sooner will we also re-member ourselves as sovereign souls, at one with all.

The “news” is one thing; WE are another.

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