Predictions Have Come True, Already!

People have been predicting that humans will be splitting into two or three levels, paradigms, dimensions or whatever you want to call them. However, these predictions are a bit late – they’ve already happened.

The predictions (prophesies?) are that some people will choose fear, some will choose love and we’ll go our separate ways. Some predictions say we’ll all stay on earth but in separate bubbles, somehow. Some predictions say the Lovers (let’s call them that, for now) will transcend to some other place, while the Fearers will stay here with the insanity they’re comfortable with.

However, the separation has already happened.

Twenty years ago, my Uncle David was sitting at a bus stop in Washington DC, observing homeless people rifling through the rubbish bin next to him, looking for food. Fifty yards behind him, across manicured lawns and gardens, stood the White House – wealth and poverty so close but in completely different worlds.

Same street, different paradigm.

When I was in Cape Town, I was astounded to see shanty town just two blocks from million-dollar homes.

Same city, different paradigm.

Right now, in Britain, people are being locked in their homes, abused on trains and manhandled out of their cars by police, and being treated abominably in many other ways. At the same time, I heard of a friend who had to stop working in London and now must work from home. She is saved the daily pain of commuting and now has the luxury of two-hour country walks every day.

Same country, different paradigm.

We have always lived side by side in different paradigms – rich and poor, violent and peaceful, depressed and happy, dying and living.

20 years ago four of us chanced to be enjoying a late-night stroll through Tauranga, New Zealand – not something we normally did. We were surprised at the violence erupting from pubs and clubs but continued through it all, bemused and unperturbed. People were yelling at and threatening others, some were squaring up for a fight, police arrived to quell the havoc and helpfully aggravated it. A policeman bumped my shoulder as he rushed past to catch an errant youth but, apart from that, we somehow floated through the turmoil, untouched, unnoticed and unaffected. It was as if we were in our own bubble of naïve contentment.

So, back to the current predictions – they might be a little late but they do remind us that we have a choice in every moment. No matter our physical location or life circumstance, we can choose sanity or insanity, peace or fear, growth or pain.

As A Course in Miracles asks, “Do you want to be right or happy?” A simple choice.

So, what are you choosing now … right now … this very second, the next second and the next? Every second of our lives is an opportunity to choose again.

Now, what was your choice?

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How I Change The World

To Me or not To Me

OUT: I have a hunger, an unquenchable thirst, to make this world a better place.
IN: It is a better place.
OUT: But it’s terrible. There’s fear and lies and corruption and abuse and …
IN: Yes, there is that.
OUT: You sound bored, complacent, when you say that. These things are terrible! Unacceptable! I want to change it all.
IN: I’m not bored or complacent. I’m listening. So, you want to make a difference?
OUT: Of course! I want to …
IN: Be like everyone else, huh?
OUT: Well, yes, everyone wants to make a difference!
IN: And you want to be a hero?
OUT: No, not really … well, maybe …
IN: You want to be seen?
OUT: Well, what’s wrong with that?
IN: Who mentioned the word ‘wrong’?
OUT: I can hear it in your tone, see it in your look.
IN: Or project it from your self-doubt?
OUT: Dunno. Maybe. [shy smile]
IN: Look, you see all these heroes out there – people being arrested, organising marches, marching, being indignant and vocal, standing for parliament, doing angry and informative videos and podcasts … people in the pubic eye who’ll likely get medals, acclaim and big funerals.
OUT: That’s nasty. I don’t want medals. I just want to make this world a better place. I want to play my part, to know I’ve done something good.
IN: You are doing something good.
OUT: I’m not. I’m just sitting here, watching it all go by. I want to help, to wake people up …
IN: And you want to do it like the famous people are doing it, right?
OUT: No, not famous. I don’t want to be famous. I just …
IN: Yes you do. Everyone wants to be famous, noticed, acknowledged, agreed with, looked up to … however you want to explain it.
OUT: Okay, famous. Whatever. I want to help people return to normal, to good, ordinary lives.
IN: You want to be extraordinary to make things ordinary?
OUT: Hey, that’s enough! You’re twisting things! That’s not fair.
IN: You want to wake people up, right?
OUT: Yes …
IN: How best to do that, then?
OUT: Hmm …
IN: Come on, you have the answer.
OUT: Okay. Wake myself up, I suppose.
IN: So am I being nasty, unfair or something else?
OUT: You’re waking me up.
IN: We can never be upset at a fact, my friend.
OUT: But I’m not upset. I just …
IN: You are upset. Be honest – you have a grievance against yourself. You don’t measure up to the hero you wish to see yourself as.
OUT: Yeah, okay, I’m annoyed at myself. I’m upset.
IN: But you’re not upset at the fact of ‘what is’.
OUT: What is?
IN: What is happening. The Truth of ‘what is’, right now. You’re sitting at this table, in the sunshine, with coffee and croissant. There’s couples holding hands and smiling at each other, parents playing with children, joggers, old people chatting and laughing, a boy feeding the pelican, someone swimming. That’s ‘what is’. You’re not upset at that, are you?
OUT: Well … no … but …
IN: Extinguish your buts. You are not upset at what you are doing right now, are you?
OUT: Suppose not.
IN: So that’s the fact. What you are upset at is the story.
OUT: Story?
IN: That the world’s not good enough. What you see out there is a reflection of the story you made up inside – that you’re not good enough.
OUT: So you are saying all those heroes – your word – shouldn’t be out there making a stand, campaigning, protesting and so on?
IN: Not at all. That’s their soul-call. If it was yours, you’d be doing it. You’re not.
OUT: Right …
IN: So, there’s another story – you have selected a tiny minority of people and told yourself you must be like them.
OUT: Yeah, maybe …
IN: They’re them and they’re doing themming. You can’t do themming. You are you and no one else can do youing. Only you can do youing.
OUT: Youing? Meing? [chuckle] Sounds weird.
IN: But logical, right?
OUT: Suppose so. But how do I make a difference?
IN: By youing.
OUT: Youing … meing?
IN: What are you doing right now?
OUT: Nothing. Just sitting here …
IN: Enjoying life being okay.
OUT: Suppose so. But …
IN: But people are fighting …
OUT: Yes!
IN: What do you want to fight for?
OUT: Oh, heck, aah … hope, peace and freedom.
IN: Okay, you want to try something?
OUT: Mmm, maybe.
IN: Instead of fighting for hope, peace and freedom, how about being hope, peace and freedom?
OUT: Not sure.
IN: Think about it. As you stop and ponder, you’ll realise you’ve been youing all along. You’ve been wanting to do themming but you’re you and themming doesn’t come naturally to you. Youing does. Try youing for a while longer – stop fighting for what you want and BE what you want.
OUT: It’s that easy?
IN: It’s always that easy. Now, stop smiling and get on with more youing.
[Both smile and chuckle]

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Finding Peace in the Mayhem

Read the following 2 paragraphs, written in 1870, and take careful note of your feelings as you do. There is an exercise at the end of this.

No woman can be a serious thinker, without injury to her function as the conceiver and mother of children. Too often, the female ‘intellectual’ is a youthful invalid or virtual hermaphrodite, who might otherwise have been a healthy wife.

Let us close our ears, then, to siren voices offering us a quantity of female intellectual work at the price of a puny, enfeebled and sickly race. Healthy serviceable wombs are more use to the Future than any amount of feminine scribbling.

Your reaction to this drivel is probably your reaction to the drivel currently coming from indentured scientists, doctors, politician and journalists. Yet many believe today’s drivel, just as they believed the drivel printed in 1870. The world has always been this way – drivel is written, drivel is believed and, slowly (very slowly) the discerning thinkers react and declare the emperor has no clothes, while the majority denounce them as stupid and uninformed.

So, I’d suggest that today’s events are not new – there is a peeling away from the bovine herd’s insipid comprehension of reality by the few and, eventually, the majority believe the minority. It will happen. It is happening.

So, the exercise, my friends, is to become and remain still and centred. We each will do our part in helping the majority to lose their attachment to a ‘truth’ that has passed its use-by date.

The exercise is difficult, amid the lunatic ravings of those in power, but that is what we must do: find our centre/peace and, from there, take whatever action – or no action – we are inspired to take. Action arising from peace is always more powerful than action from fear.

And remember: this, too, will pass. This, too, is already passing and we’ll look back on the current drivel in the same way we look back on the drivel of 1870!

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Colouring Our Thoughts To Stay Here

Imelda Marcos was once interviewed on New Zealand TV: “Now that you have everything – money, power, servants, yachts, holidays, palaces, shoes – what else can you want?”

In her demurely Filipino accent, she said, “Aah penis.”

 It took me some time to realise she meant happiness and I can’t, now, take aah penis out of my mind. Every time I feel happy or think of the word, there it is – aah penis! It’s one of those nice stuck needles in my brain.

I’m sure we all have many not-nice stuck needles in our brains …

… hear a particular word and it takes us back to some drama or person in our life …

… hear a song and the memories come flooding in …

… hear a particular accent or exclamation and a memory shoots through our stomach …

… see a piece of furniture, crockery or cutlery and we’re transported back to an earlier time – happy or sad …

… see a type of dog or cat and we lose our foothold on this present moment …

Yes, we can all look down and see our feet planted on the solid ground of this present moment. We are here. We are definitely here in this day and time – our current stresses, annoyances, mortgages, duties, aches and pains confirm our thismomentness. Solidly, undeniably, definitely here … and yet it only takes a voice, a song, an image, a smell and we’re back in some habitation of a past we thought we’d left behind.

There is, of course, the current fashion to be present, the power of now and all that. We’re supposed to be mindful, as if it’s possible to be mindless! Asking our minds to have no thoughts is like asking the ocean to have no water. Without thoughts or water, there is no mind and no ocean.

So, that’s settled – it’s okay to have a mind full of thoughts. Whew!

The next question is which thoughts we allow into that cavernous, gawping hole we call our mind, wherever it is … no, actually, the most important first step is to remember/acknowledge that we can choose what to allow in. And, having accepted we have a choice, in every given moment, to give admittance (or not) to each particular thought, we can watch.

That, for some people, is a responsibility too overwhelming. And, to others, a huge whoosh of freedom. That choice is, in fact, both – responsibility and freedom.

Then, once we begin to monitor our thoughts … well, initially, we can just watch them come and go, with little control. When we become consistently aware of the passage of thoughts through our sacred portal of thinkingness, we can then start choosing which ones to bring to the front of the queue.

You see, at any given moment, there’s a huge queue of thoughts clamouring to squeeze through, to jump the queue, and you, as bouncer/gate-keeper, get to choose who to allow in.

Another exercise, if it’s too much to stop non-members into your Club of Mind, is to play with colouring them in with your own, new, paints or crayons.

For example, if a particular song brings up a bad memory, play with the idea of allowing it in but only on your terms – “Okay, you can come in but only if you bring a good memory with you!” Choose happiness – aah penis – as the texture of their presence. Or peace, contentment, connection, joy or whatever happy emotion you choose.

This photo is by Marloes Hilckmann at https://unsplash.com/@marloeshilckmann

If that particular accent, food or smell arouses anxiety, depression or anger, play with allowing them in with your expressed permission and your chosen emotion.

By repainting past senses – sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures – with your own palette of colours, emotions and/or experiences, you can retain your hold on this present, solid moment without being dragged back, on a whim, to some dreaded past moment.

Try it. You’ll love it!

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A Little Leaning, My Friends?

We are standing on sacred ground; on the ground of the ancestors, of 40,000 years. We were.

This has changed. Nothing is sacred, now. Everything is owned. We are simply standing and that is now.

The memories of old are extinguished. The past has collapsed into the dust on which we stand. The rocks and pebbles that had so much substance, shape and weight – they have ground themselves to powder as the past and future collide and grind our weightlessness to nothing.

Geological compression takes time – a very long time – to crush rotting trees and detritus to coal and then to diamonds. That was then.

This is now.

The compression of our histories, our memories and our must-bes is occurring quicker by the day. By the hour. By the minute. This acceleration of collapse is beyond our awareness … well, sort of …

We know we’re more stressed, now, as we pore over the black and white photos of our youth. Oh, how simple and free it was back then! We worked hard but it was uncomplicated. Men went out to work and women stayed home. Men mowed the lawn and fixed the car while women cleaned the house and cooked. The picket-fence certainty of roles and rules is enchanting, as we look back.

We told racist and sexist jokes but not any more. We are all offended by everything. We’re too scared to say what’s in our hearts. We have gagged ourselves.

A building permit cost $100, was issued on the spot and we never saw an inspector. Those houses are still standing, smiling solidly 60 years later. A friend told me, yesterday, his building permit has taken 4½ years to date and is still not approved.

A driving licence cost $8, was 5 verbal questions and a 5-minute drive around the block. We’d be given a truck and motorbike licence – without test – along with our car licence. It now takes years to get a car licence and it costs as much as our first car.

We didn’t need permission to dig a well, renovate our houses, cut down trees, use a chainsaw or a gun. We just did it.

Then, in those short 60 years – less than a lifetime – they’ve gone for us. They’ve steadily chipped away at every freedom we owned.

We set up our own phone lines and electrical supply. We grew our own crops, harvested the seed and replanted it over and over.

We disciplined our own children and we accepted responsibility for our actions. We built our own playgrounds and swimming pools.

That has changed.

We must now buy water, power, seed and the advice of building inspectors who can’t lift a hammer. People without children tell us how to raise our own. People without conscience charge us for natural resources that aren’t theirs.

We sell our water to foreigners who never step on our shores while animals and people die in the drought.

I mean not to complain but to simply explain. To remind.

Our lives have become compressed, regulated and supervised. Google knows more about you than your neighbours and family, while the police know your every move, even when your phone’s off … which is seldom, thanks to our desperation for connection.

We have become frightened, distant, distrustful and careful … oh, so careful. Too frightened to offend, too frightened to take a risk, too frightened to buck the system. Some say justifiably so and I say, “At what cost?”

In earlier years our misdemeanours were local and forgotten. Or they became the stuff of local legends. Today’s misadventures are recorded digitally, universally, and we don’t know who’s watching. We’ve shrunk ourselves into obedient fools with no perspective.

 We accept that we must spend thousands on a swimming pool fence while we live right next door to an unfenced river or ocean.

We complain when “idiots” burn down 5G towers because the authorities are upset. The anonymous authorities. Though the burning of these towers is saving lives, we cringe because our lives have become less valuable than obedience to the unknowable ones.

We have chosen to give these nameless ones power over our every move, word and thought and we haven’t complained. Like obedient cows, we complicity bear the whip and the barking dog. We follow other cows up the narrow, muddy path to be tied and milked of our goodness. Then we’re told which paddock we must graze in, never testing the one-wire fence that keeps us from something so delicious and unsprayed, we’d orgasm with delight. But, no, we can’t have the abundance up the road, round the corner, for these nameless ones said we shouldn’t … or that we must pay what we cannot afford to have it. We smile or maybe we daren’t smile – and accept the limitations the insane impose on us.

How did it come to this? Slowly. Grinding slowly. We didn’t notice as, each day, one more little rule, one more can’t-say-that, one more penalty, one more tightening of the screw, crept into our lives.

Bullshit! We did notice! We grimaced as we received a $140 fine for driving with our elbow out the window. We complained to our neighbour and they, good and obedient citizens, castigated us for endangering some unknown creature. So we doubted ourselves.

We objected when the sawdust – that kept our children safe at the playground – was taken away while abrasive plastic was installed. A free and effective resource was replaced by an expensive one and the neighbours applauded that the council cared. No one took note of the higher count of bloody knees and hands and we doubted ourselves again.

In so many ways we objected – often dumbly inside our head lest anyone be offended – and we then doubted ourselves. That, my friends, is how we have come to this narrow, muddy path, today, offering ourselves to be milked of more of our goodness.

No one did this to us. We did it. We knew. We noticed. We objected and then said, “Yeah, whatever!”

So, if we got us into what we don’t like, who might be able to get us out, I wonder … maybe that one-wire fence isn’t as stout and fearsome as we imagine. Maybe, just maybe, we could do a little leaning – slowly, relentlessly, small action after small action … in just the same way we got in, we could get out. Just an idea …

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Forgiving and Thanking Your Abusers

Do you have those days …

… they stop your pension, don’t tell you, don’t tell you why and then you spend two hours on the phone with four pension “experts” who cannot understand or explain the calculations. They say they’ll call back tomorrow. Yeah, right …

… the lovely cat you kept as part of your divorce settlement must go because of lifestyle changes. You reluctantly part with her to a chap who promises to keep her locked in for the first week then texts that he let her out to feed her and she’s gone. Feeling sick …

… the workplace that was so cooperative and friendly has quickly become combative and dysfunctional with the employment of two compliance “experts” who are so ignorant they don’t know that they are ignorant …

Feeling sick at the unnecessary sickness that others seem to be bringing me … then I pull myself up abruptly.

“What,” I ask myself, “is the common denominator in all of this? Not the pension people. Not the cat man. Not the compliance bozos. No, it’s me!”

I’m in all of it and, as the Hawaiian practice of O’hoponopono would tell me, I am the cause of all.

If I am upset by the destruction of the Amazon forests, the sex trade in Russia, child labour in Kenya, domestic violence in England or the degradation of men in American comedies, you might say it’s nothing to do with me. I’m not there. I’m in Australia, not in the Amazon, Russia, India, England or America.

But I am there. Whatever I see, I am the common denominator of. I am the cause of whatever I see and O’hoponopono would ask me to bring the four statements to my lips:

  1. I am sorry
  2. Please forgive me
  3. Thank you
  4. I love you

I say this to the pension people, the compliance experts, the forest destroyers, the sex traders and every other “culprit” I see in this beautifully dysfunctional world.

I apologise for causing the forest fires, I ask for forgiveness from the sex traders, I thank the pension experts, I love the abusers … I do all of that over and over and over till my tongue dries to a frazzle and my brain lies in the dust, exhausted. And I do it again and again till, eventually, there’s a magic tipping point. Something happens and it can’t be put into words.

This something is not the solving of my pension problem, the finding of my cat or the end of forest fires or the sex trade. The world doesn’t stop being the beautifully insane organism that it is. The insanity continues out there but, in here, it stops.

A Course in Miracles says we don’t have to accept its teachings. In fact, we can actively reject them. It just asks that we do the work and the work will work. Similarly, with O’hoponopono, we just keep doing the illogical thing – apologising to abusers, asking forgiveness from forest destroyers, thanking incompetents and loving the cat man … the whole illogical process. I just keep doing it, knowing it seems the most stupid thing to do but I keep doing it …. and I keep doing it and doing it. Then something happens.

No fireworks in the sky, no blinding flash of inspiration, no apologies from others, no magic miracle. This something is more like a softening in my soul. The hard crust of bitterness melts imperceptibly and the juices start to flow again. The blockages to peace, whatever they were (and I don’t need to know them) quietly release their embittered claws and the trickle of joy leaks between their loosening talons, dissolving them. The melting icebergs of resistance slowly sink into the Sea of Peace and that is all I’m left with … a Sea of Peace, a silly smile and a gratitude for all the is.

And another day dawns …

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Finding Justice in Just Is

A coffee, a pad, a pen … aah, what more could anyone else need?

Life has become as naked and naïve as the day I was born – so simple and clear. There is no meaning to it, I discover. No meaning at all and it’s about undoing, I find.

Rather than searching for the meaning – or any meaning – I submit, your honour, that there is none. And I admit, to my eternal surprise, that I was aghast that I hadn’t thought of it myself when it was first suggested.

See, I’ve gathered degrees, certificates, diplomas fellowships and countless other bits of paper. I’ve gathered skills by the truck-load – horse riding, sheep killing, dog training, stock whip cracking, guitar and saxophone playing, singing, truck and bus driving, motorbike racing, counselling, teaching, corporate training, accounting, business coaching, life coaching, yoga, gymnastics, rugby, soccer, hockey, tennis, wind surfing, yachting, meditating, writing songs, poems, novels and non-fiction … yah dee yah and on it goes. Just like you and everyone else, I started naked and naïve and, from there, have added, added and added to that initial simplicity. I became an accomplished human being (or human doing?), a professional with a great family with cars, boats, houses, overseas holidays and activities that befit a “coping” human.

But I wasn’t coping. I was angry. Before I married, I promised my wife I’d never smoke again. But I broke that promise. I broke my wedding vows and was unfaithful.

Beyond anything else, I was unfaithful to myself. In the amassing of all this stuff – qualifications, toys, people, experiences – I thought I was becoming more complete. All this stuff was proof of my copingness, my undeniable functionality in a world I never felt at home in.

But my professional life was a sham. Yes, it afforded the toys for my family and I and I got to speak at conferences and big-note myself in various grandiose ways. But I was pretending. I was defrauding myself.

Right from the start I hated accounting. And it hated me. I stumbled from accounting job to accounting job, ever hoping the next would be the one, like the heroin addict ever desperate for a repeat of that first amazing hit. But I never had an amazing hit to start with. Yes, there were good times being flown around the country, restructuring failing businesses, closing others and, of course, there were pockets of satisfaction when I turned “impossible” situations around for a client.

I was happy when they were happy, my happiness feeding off theirs. But I had none of my own happiness. I was empty.

It took me till my forties to admit to myself that I detested my job. Then, when I did, I found I could slide sideways into teaching which I loved. It was scary, exciting and … well, who I really was. I was not a back-room geek but a performer, I realised.

But all that undoing – that traumatic undoing – was accompanied by divorce and distance from my children, a distance that still hasn’t healed properly.

But I found me and, despite the sadness and confusion, I found an internal smile, a quiet contentment that was mine, irrespective of outside conditions.

Along with teaching I found writing and, again, found who I really was.

I wasn’t complete, of course, as the onion has many layers to lose. I’d found a light in the tunnel and I wanted out of the tunnel and into the full, bright daylight, all the time.

Having found something deep and verdant within, I wanted more, so started running personal development courses to help people find their purpose here … because I wanted mine. I learn through teaching and really should listen to my advice more often!

So, here I am and some say it’s my twilight years but it feels like the afternoon! Less toys, now, less yearning and the constant gratitude for what is. No needing to change the world and I suspect our mission – our life purpose – is not to change the world but to find that ineffable peace in what is. Yes, it’s an insanity we find here but it’s always been that way and it always will be. We can make outward changes to the world but, whatever we do, we’re only substituting one insanity for another.

The change within, however, is our sacred responsibility and joy. To find contentment with what is, strips us of the need for stuff. We can still have stuff, of course, if we enjoy it. But we don’t need it. That constantly bubbling peace and joy, in every moment, is what changes the world. If we step into that every day, it has its own invisible and unaccountable way of seeping into everyone we meet. They may or may not notice it but it’s there, despite their outer circumstances.

That, then, is my purpose – to be aware and grateful for what is … to allow the world to be as it just is … justis … justice.

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The Vicious, Vanishing Virus … that never was!

2028. Yes, my mokopuna, my grandchildren, we are lucky to be living in these lighter, transparent days where we believe the truth of our hearts.

You are lucky not to have lived in those murky days when people believed that nasty greebies were out to get you; nasty greebies that would emerge from nowhere for no reason, unannounced and pounce upon humans to sicken and kill them. For centuries people tried to find, trick, analyse, understand and destroy these vicious greebies. But they were never tamed.

You see, mokopuna, beliefs infect people by constant repetition, not by logic. So listen to your heart, not to others’ stories.

The belief persisted that these nasty greebies could harm people on playground equipment but not on park benches. It could jump between strangers in the street but not between rugby players, sweating, spitting and mauling each other. It could jump between people in meeting rooms but not between people crowding in the streets. They were very tricky.

However, as we now know, these greebies never existed.

What we do know, dear ones, is that we have immune systems which fight off all invaders and keep us healthy. So, when there’s toxicity in our space, it gathers up that toxicity, neutralises it and transforms it into a form that can be expelled from the body – spit, snot, phlegm, sneezing, in our urine and so on. So colds and flus are not the problem – they’re the solution! That’s why we can’t “cure” them!

A mere 110 years ago, in 1918, 1,000 uninfected volunteers had their eyes sprayed with the phlegm of 1,000 who were infected with the Spanish flu. Suddenly, nothing happened. No one became infected.

Twenty four years ago the Boston Medical group injected 200 uninfected volunteers with the snot of 200 SARS-infected people. Suddenly, nothing happened. No one became infected.

Just eight years ago there was an “outbreak” of COVID virus in a meat works in Australia. But, strangely, when those infected workers went home and hugged and kissed their families … again, suddenly, nothing happened. No family member became infected because the toxicity was at the meat works, not at home.

The output of the infected peoples’ immunology – in 1918, 2004 and 2020 – was sterile and neutral spit, snot, phlegm … more sterile than the disinfectants they used to “clean” places. We accept this now.

However, back in those fearful times, people had to draw a ring around themselves – social distancing it was called – and carry a posie, a Programmed Order Separating Individuals Electronically, in their phones, in their pockets. If they didn’t do this, they thought they would sneeze and fall down sick or die.

So, today, we sing the song and dance the dance to remind ourselves to listen to the logic of our hearts and not the fables of fear.

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Is Virus A Verb, Not A Noun?

Once upon a time in Otherland, a stranger arrived on the shore. He said he came from Thisisitland, which they had never heard of, though they had heard of many, many different lands.

As they always did, they welcomed this strange and serious man into their midst, plied him with food and drink and listened to his story.

They loved hearing of other ideas, other inventions, other discoveries and other opinions they hadn’t heard before. They felt never knew who they were or what they had unless they had different perspectives on all matters, big and small. So they loved learning new things, other things, which is why they were called the Otherlanders.

So they listened to this man who told them of his very serious land and they laughed. He seemed to become angry at their laughter which was at themselves for not thinking of things like he did. They didn’t realise he was getting angry, for a while, for anger wasn’t something they were used to. They laughed an awful lot for everything he said was upside down to them – they couldn’t believe they had not thought the thoughts that he did. There was more laughter, at themselves, than they’d ever had and he eventually stood up, his face very grim, and shouted loudly at them. He might have been frothing at the mouth – some thought he was, anyway – and his arms whirled like a windmill and they stood back, fearing an arm might fly off and hit someone.

They laughed in embarrassment then decided to stop for that made him crazier, as he thumped the table. He calmed down when they went silent but he kept waggling his finger at them and prodding invisible things in the air.

They waited till he finished talking, waggling and prodding so they could tell him their perspective. He might laugh at himself, then, they hoped. They waited a long time and wondered if he’d stop telling them different things. Some of them started nodding off, standing up, and had to be prodded awake before they fell over.

They tried to concentrate on his furious speech but, because it was opposite to their perception, it was hard to concentrate for a long time. They started chatting with each other, to help clarify his very unusual ideas and he started yelling, waggling and prodding again. He didn’t seem to leave any gaps in his conversation like Otherlanders did, to allow others to speak. He seemed to deem that unnecessary.

So they stood and listened and chatted and shut up and swayed and snored and woke up and, by the end, their poor little brains were so scrambled, they didn’t know what to think. In fact, many didn’t know how to think – their brains and mouths just shut down while they waited for him to finish.

Their bemused silence seemed to please him for he almost smiled, sometimes, and talked a fraction slower and quieter, which helped their quaking hearts and scrambled brains. They felt a drizzle safer and stayed quiet.

For those with the least scrambled brains, it seemed that this man had come to warn them of a great tragedy that was about to arrive on their shores … a great and terrible sickness that would sweep through their land, killing most of them. Their villages would be ruined forever – economically, ecologically and evolutionary … or something like that. They nodded when he told of this invisible, non-living protein that had swept through his land, causing economic chaos, suicides and domestic violence but no more deaths than normal.

“Now, hang on,” some said to others, “if it caused no more sickness or death, how was it going to kill most of them? Or some of them?”

They were grateful and confused as this man walked off, replaced his face mask, and fell over because of lack of oxygen and he was breathing his own carbon monoxide. They helped him to bed and he immediately put his illness-inducing mask back on, saying it was saving him from the great killing virus … that didn’t actually kill anyone. Mmm, a very interesting man.

They gave him the space he demanded and sat in little groups to review their understanding of staying healthy.

See, they saw their bodies like their houses. When we have dust and rubbish to clean up, we sweep a whole room into one pile and then dispose of that pile of dust. So with the body: when there are toxins about – bad food, bad thoughts, bad vibes in the air – the body sweeps around and pushes all the “dust” into one corner. That corner might be the lungs, the stomach or some other particular place. Then this pile of “dust” is congealed into a state that it can be expelled from the body – phlegm or snot that can be sneezed, coughed or spat out. This amazing collection system they called the suriv and they were really pleased the body made it so easy to rid itself of things it didn’t want.

But this strange man from Thisisitland thought this suriv was a problem, not a solution. He’d said it backwards, like lots of other things he said, and he’d told them that the Thisisitlanders had been trying to get rid of surivs for a very long time.

While this man was talking, some Otherlanders checked Elgoog and found that one of the Thisisitland scientists, Edward Jenner, had tried to prove that surivs were things, not processes – and that people could catch them from other people. Jenner couldn’t prove his theory correct, said Elgoog, so, in 1798, he falsified his findings and Thisisitlanders had believed in surivs as dangerous things ever since.

Though the Otherlanders were open – very open – to other people’s ideas, these ideas just didn’t add up, somehow. They really did try to see the logic of this man’s world, to help them expand their own thinking. But, try as they might, none of them seemed rational. So they worried about this man’s sanity. And his health. They wondered if he had some fever from Thisisitland, something they’d never had but had heard about, long ago.

A small group went back to his room, against his earlier wishes, and stood round his bed, trying to comfort him. After all, none of them was sick so they knew their healthful bodies and minds would infect any sickness and make it better.

But this just alarmed him all the more and he started yelling through his mask, waggling and prodding with one hand and wiping his crinkled brow with the other. The Otherlanders knew that human touch, companionship and acceptance were the best remedies for any ailment so they persisted for a while, hoping his fever would subside. But this just increased his arm-flinging and yelling so they backed off, baffled about what to do next. He calmed down a little and had to keep taking his mask off to get enough oxygen. They couldn’t understand why he kept putting it back on.

What they didn’t know was, while they left his room to confer in hushed confusion, he was texting back to Thisisitland to tell his people that these people were too stupid to take precautions against this vicious virus – yes, he even spelt it backwards – and they needed to be guarded against it.

Well, yes, you know the rest of the story for it was in all your TVs, podcasts and newsfeeds … the Thisisitland army invaded Otherland, forced the people inside their houses – no touching, companionship or acceptance – and were forcibly injected with a fluid that was made by a man who wasn’t a doctor or a scientist – a Mr Setag – and his friend, Dr Icuaf. Ninety percent of those injected lost the ability to think for themselves – or lost their life – and everyone else was so terrified by the panic brought to their peaceful land that they became sick with fear – the greatest sickness of all.

However, no one died from this suriv and everyone at Thisisitland congratulated themselves for a good job well done.

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The Three Perceptions

Which perception are you seeing the world and the virus through?

FEAR – There is a terrible virus spreading like wildfire, out of control and determined to kill millions if we don’t do something. Though there is no known cure or cause for the common cold/flu, we have believed someone who has told us that we can catch this “new” plague from other people. Using that unproven theory, we must then isolate ourselves, seeing everyone else as the enemy. Because of our chosen isolation, we’re predicting widespread shortages of everything. I must grab more than I need so I can survive the coming apocalyptic times of death, starvation and loneliness.

BEWILDERMENT – This whole thing (don’t use the C word!) is a hoax to cover up something else that’s going on – presumably some kind of illuminati mind-control, population-control type thing. Apart from the media, there are many Big Business people making huge gains from this. In the 2019-202 flu season, influenza has killed around 14,000 people while this apparently unique virus has killed around 400. We’re scared of the squirrel when there’s a tiger rushing towards us! It is, in fact, just another version of the common cold/flu that most will recover from  … the common cold/flu that’s been with us forever … and we’ve survived! Witness the people in Wuhan who are now back on the streets, businesses open, life returning to normal. In a few weeks we’ll all be the same – business as usual.

GRATITUDE – This is an earth-cleansing exercise, something quite illogical to us mere humans. We have not heeded Mother Nature’s pleas to treat her kindly. We have raped, burned and desecrated the very home we profess to love … the home we depend on for our very survival. Because of our selfish blindness and choice not to save ourselves, the Bigger Wisdom has stepped in to shake us up, make us listen and to usher us into a new era of respect, moderation and a healthier way of relating to each other and to our beautiful world. We are grateful this virus has swept in to awaken us, to restore sanity and to lead us to a more contented and sustainable state.

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