A Real Struggle Sometimes

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I was expecting something big to happen on the eleventh of November. Not just from the White House but from my own predictions about the Ritual of the Phoenix. Not that things didn’t happen on the eleventh. Ripple (XRP) tripled in price. This is a cryptocurrency whose founders visited the White House a few months ago.  It’s one of the few blockchains that that has a centralized architecture. In many ways, Ripple is the worst of modern banking combined with the best of cryptocurrency. If there is going to be a new phoenix token, it makes sense to make it Ripple. Overall, the market took a dive that lasted three days. There was no rise like I had predicted. I was sent a photo of an 11.11 Phoenix in the aura borealis caught rising in the dawn. There were some unusually high solar winds reported in Norway.  But I am back on the ground today wondering where we all are. I climb underneath the house where no one can see me as I wonder secretly why hasn’t anything happened more bigly. Down here I can say out loud how much I dislike slogans like “trust the plan.” I have always pushed against the danger of trust congealing into apathy. It makes me wonder sometimes if this is a truth movement or a belief movement.

Before someone demands more patience, please consider that it was impatience that brought us together in the first place. It is a healthy question to ask if we are winning. How many truthers did we send to Congress? How many would stand for JFK? We the people are the most powerful branch of government. But we fight against false narratives that slaughter us every day. I question how much reality is even real lately. Half the people I connect with could be some form of artificial intelligence. My own country’s space agency has forced me to dismiss everything they produce as propaganda. This weekend, over coffee, I considered the legitimacy of energy weapons used for eminent domain in California. I only find comfort in my direct personal experiences now simply because I don’t have to scrutinize their validity. I trust my track record in the quest for answers. But lately I don’t feel like I am winning. The sun is white now, not yellow. History seems more of a mobius strip. I have serious doubts about satellites. I know every book has been tainted and do my best to translate what was hidden. We are awash in a deluge of new information and propaganda. I see us cling to each other’s confidence like soggy refugees. For certain an old reality is drowning around us. We send doves out to look for signs of life. Hope is a necessity now as much as it was the last curse remaining in Pandora’s box. There are so many compartments to the truth movement. It reminds me of how splintered we are as a community. Lies are trauma programming; cruel and systemic gas lighting. Our minds are a thousand plastic cups drowned in the same river. Seeing the truth clearly is a real struggle sometimes.

Today, I am grateful for the truths I know. I am grateful for the truths that are yet to come. I am grateful to be connected with others who work as hard as I do to lift the veil. I will keep working this puzzle with enthusiasm and importance. Truth is my favorite quest. I take deep breaths and remember to be grateful for where we are now. Outside my window the first snow of the season is falling. This poem is from my new book I am grateful to share:

Can you hear the snow’s quiet trumpet?
The silent song serenading the gray.
Cold flakes fall in the ballroom of winter.
As gravity tickles lose their gentle curtsy.
Witness wet chastity dressed for a wedding.
A feathery waltz upon soil’s massive ache.
Her frozen crystal in timeless perfection.
How wickedly jealous the fire must be.

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