Freedom From Tyranny 2027...part # 4

How wonderfully comfortable! The crook in this old Hemlock seems to have grown in anticipated of my form. Such apparently synchronous relations always invite me to ponder; how many others may have sat in this very spot, legs dangling, thinking the same thoughts? The evening is sultry, a casually entertaining bank of cool fog gently rolls off the dark Pacific Ocean. Breathing deeply, I excite an olfactory rush of blended rain forest scents magnificently arranged to design a fragrance one could easily label "Natural Perfection". Soon, this refreshing blanket will entirely embrace the city of Vancouver in its peaceful, calm equilibrium. Sounds of wildlife gently blend with the odd murmur from late night city revelers, who, like myself, are too stubborn to give in to sleep. Adding to the surreal nature of my evening perch, I can hear the odd fog horn bark a deep rhythmic bass which echoes across the distant harbor. Ever engrossing is the approaching visitor; within moments, this entire escape will be visually and tonally muted. I have always loved the fog, it makes me feel like nature has chosen to single me out for an embrace. She caresses my senses, while managing to touch me in an individually personal manner.

Have you ever noticed how the fog encourages us to slow our pace? Pessimists will suggest it is a normal reaction to limited visibility; this may be so, however, I do trust they miss the deeper motive. It is my contention, we slow in an unconscious effort to accept, even revel, in natural communion. When another being reaches to offer us a loving embrace, do we not slow our pace to capture the moment? The closer humans come to love, the more we are compelled to slow. Show us a startling sunset and we will find ourselves at rest. Two hours hence, the morning sun will slowly peak over the horizon releasing its force upon the subservient night. Solar love, dispatching our cool visitor, will offer us the splendors of a new day. What tremendous joy does this new sunrise offer? We all will wake clear of mind, in accord with our true identity, embraced in unconditional love.

Most of us can easily recall darker days of yore. Times, not long ago, when our collective perception lacked the grace to accommodate, or even entertain, an ethos of loving unity. This new glove we wear fits so perfectly today, it is hard to imagine a mere fifteen years past, humanity precariously teetered on the edge of self annihilation. Quietly perched in Mother's throne, I smile as I touch upon how the fog, along with its imminent dismissal, illustrates a most beautiful metaphor for humanities path toward self discovery. By example; our perception of reality in the year 2012 could have easily been compared to living in a fog of illusion. Looking into the material tapestry on this eve, I find it difficult to discern the nature of the landscape. So thick is the fog, it is nay on impossible to verily establish what might lie a mere ten feet ahead. I know from past experience, there should be parkland greenery ahead (we should all love each other). Ocean waves cascading upon the shore, rhythmically announce their presence (we are a singularity). To my left, city streets and tall buildings whisper and murmur unnatural sounds which gently expose a liveliness of existence (in Lak'ech, I am you). Right of me, as well behind, there should be a stately forested walkway formed from a blended mix of conifer and deciduous trees, their open arms bring joy to all who visit (time, space, death are illusions).

Back in the year 2012 my brethren found it equally impossible to describe the philosophical landscape of consciousness. If pushed for a description, some would fumble, while most would utter ambiguous impressions of what might, or should, be. Incapable of accurately defining the self, we were forced to accept Darwinism and materialism as fundamental aspects of the human condition. Does the imagery of a foggy night now remind you of yourself fifteen years past? Bereft of philosophy, none of us could fix a point of reference by which we could define the singularity of being. Duped by our senses, we were incapable of discovering unconditional love. Left with a limited scope of reality, humanity easily fell prey to corporate greed and dastardly elite bankers cleverly adept at yanking the purse strings of corrupt government officialdom.

Living under the fog of illusion we replicated the hell on earth needed for expansion. How were we to know all paths are cosmically designed to induce evolutionary consciousness? Today, our retrospective perch affords us chance to maintain; imperfection does not exist, therefore, our world never needed changing. The lesson imposed upon us may verily be; life is just a ride, hang on, have fun, when the fog clears, everything will be just as it should. How did we transcend the coils of outrageous fortune? What path did humanity secure in its march toward freedom from the tyranny of malevolent leadership? Was humanity responsible for its own emancipation from slavery, or did we mercifully tumble upon the currents of a river whose path invariably leads to the sea?

Experience emphatically teaches us the nature of motion is such that all change occurs upon a hinge of transition. Toss a ball in the air, you can calculate the exact moment its path yields to gravity. Observe the cycle of a failed relationship, with careful reflection you can deduce the definitive point in time where divisiveness exceeded bonding. If we apply this simple reason in search of the precise point humanity arose from despair, we can undoubtedly refer to Mayan time masters as chroniclers of the exact transitional moment. Some of us may recall the stir created early in the twenty first century by the mainstream unveiling of the Mayan calendar. Conjectural debate reverberated in professional and lay circles alike, countless interpretations were rendered, each illustrating how the ancient time piece should be interpreted . Many suggested, the calendar represented an apocalyptic end of days prophesy, whilst, a strong following anticipated it foretold of a new evolutionary beginning for the human species. Having the benefit of hindsight; some feel we can now laugh at the foolish doomsayers, however, the diametric opposition of the pundits seemed plausible back then, especially to those who merely glanced at the information. Offering a more sympathetic chord to the end of the world campaigners; we can certainly illustrate that at 11:11 on the morning of December the 21st, 2012 one civilisation died, thereby giving rise to the birth of a new age. Although the transitional point of evolution proved to represent a more benign material impact than our fear mongering brethren might have anticipated; esoterically speaking, it did certainly highlight the complete and utter destruction of an ethereal world. Do you remember that time? Can you recall the turmoil of 2012?

Syria had been invaded by a U.N. backed Turkey. The Israeli and American elections had just ended, most people assumed Mitt Romney and Binyamin Netanyahu would soon make good on their promise to slap the petulant Irani leadership into submission. Doomsday revelers were apoplectic in anticipation of their long coveted biblical end times. Placard carrying sycophants, parasitically fawned their John 3:16 warnings far beyond the streets of New York. Television carped on, highlighting experts who deliriously painted countless portraits of inevitable destruction. WW III gone wild, get your front row seat, don't miss the really big show tonight on C.N.N. H.D. prime time television! For those of us who thought main stream media could not become more surreal, we were soon to discover their seemingly effortless capacity to eclipse old benchmarks of inane banality. You may remember; as the world danced on the cusp of utter destruction, the media machine extended voluminous coverage to the murder of Angela Jolie. Instead of tracking the latest in peace negotiations, the question on every one's mind was, could Brad really have done it, or, was he framed?

Just as we thought things could not unravel further, we were visited by the mass confusion of the infamous December 21, 2012 calendar date. Like wild dogs frothing at the mouth; the inhabitants of the world all appeared more than eager to pounce on whatever change should come to pass. Collectively, we insisted upon a shift; each of us had unique and personal reasons for this emphatic demand upon the universe, we knew change was essential. Whatever change should befall the human race, we felt confident the wheel of time would not let us down; this infamous date would somehow be gloriously etched in the history of humanities evolution. I clearly remember the sun rising on the frosty morning of the twenty second of December. Excitedly turning on the Internet, I discovered a blended mix of tragedy and hope. Reports depicting countless suicide cults, riotous mayhem and wanton destruction flickered on the white screen. The world had not ended, which offered delirious relief to many, however, the lack of the anticipated rapture caused untold grief to those hopeful souls counting on a reunion with their beloved master. Questions riddled the minds of people everywhere, tormenting our peace, breaking our will, making us weak in the knees. Where was the change we had all anticipated? What would this, apparent non event, portend for the future of humanity? Does this mean we will succumb to the will of our elite masters? Will humanity fall farther into the trenches of poverty, despair and global war? Who, if anyone, is left to carry the banners of hope, peace and love. The party had ended, the star guest Jesus Christ was a no show, many empty handed revelers were left without recourse but to end it all. Early numbers suggested over one million had committed suicide during the night of December twenty one, in fact, we were later to define the final total had exceeded three million lost souls.

Adherents, who had been devoted to change, found the monumental task of picking up the pieces almost unbearable. Littered across the Internet, were countless vacuous beings more than happy to revel in the vindication of their predicted non event. How they laughed at the expense of others, never realising the rumblings of an imminent tidal wave would, within days, sweep the globe. The smallest of stress cracks in a dam can never be seen with untrained eyes, only an engineer of skill can foretell such dangers. Such was the case on the Internet that fateful day. Cracks in the elite dam were slowly yielding to the inevitable force of humanities will. However, discerning the stress points was a task best suited for those with a sympathetic eye for unity and unconditional love. On the twenty second of December, one such fissure in the dam played over and again on countless main stream and alternate media sources. The infamous audio/video byte first went viral in the alternate media, it consisted of a one minute and twenty two second video clip captured on the cell phone of a C.N.N. cameraman. Few people today can forget the impact of Anderson Cooper's off camera conversation with his illustrious guest, Mitt Romney. For posterity, we do ourselves a service by illustrating the content of the infamous exchange, as well, it must be duly noted the time imprint on the video clip ominously read 21/12/2012 11:11.

Anderson Cooper: "The cattle have no hope mister President. It is finally time to bring them to heel."

Mitt Romney: "They never had a chance Anderson. Resistance should be minimal, less than one hundred thousand dead, maybe five or six million in the F.E.M.A. camps." 

Anderson Cooper: "They will never see it coming sir. By the time I am done programming their tiny minds; they will be begging for martial law."

Mitt Romney: "We could never have done it without good people like you Anderson. Trust me; gated communities will be a thing of the past. Once the U.N. are finished with the global vaccination program, our slaves will be tagged, pacified and lucky to string five words together."

Anderson Cooper: "How long do you think it will take to globally dumb down the masses?"

Mitt Romney: "Two, possibly three years. With that said, what the hell do I know Anderson, we just do what our masters tell us, right!"

Anderson Cooper: "Time for the big show mister President. Hey, I like those loafers, where did you get them?"  

The video content was posted anonymously on You Tube the twenty second day of December at 10:30 am; as expected, it went super viral almost instantly. Within six hours; the video had counted over 26 million hits, by the end of the day, estimates suggested over 3 billion people had viewed the file. Main stream media tried to quell the reaction. However, the bottle was smashed, the Genie was free, there was no turning back. Within a few hours, Internet streams were abuzz with footage of riotous protesters. The C.N.N. building was pillaged and burned, they went offline shortly after 1:00 pm, never to resurface. Much to the chagrin of the invading force; Anderson Cooper and President Romney had already been whisked away to safety. By three o'clock that afternoon; every major city in America was under riotous siege. Unlike the relatively peaceful protests of the past; the vast majority of militants were armed. Teenagers used their cell phones to capture footage of furious gun battles between police and rioters. The Internet was flush with an endless flood of brutal videos, the carnage was incredible, unbelievable. Desperate to restore order; the U.S. government brought out heavy artillery, fighter jets, drones, attack helicopters and tanks. Reports began appearing on the Internet depicting the use of novelty enforcement weaponry. Videos of people writhing on the ground in obvious agony, all the while, the footage offered nothing to indicate the source of their pain. History recorded that fateful week leading up to the early days of January 2013 untold atrocities occurred in cities across America, as well, around the globe. The poor buggers fighting on the revolutionary front line never had a prayer.

Shortly after one in the morning of December twenty third, the Internet, television and most media went dead. The only surprise was how they could have allowed it to remain functional as long as it did. Within fourteen hours, America  had descended into the greatest tragedy in its short but storied history. The death toll of troops and civilian rioters was to have exceeded 325,000. Estimates suggested as many as half a million were injured. Global reaction was no where near as fierce as in America; none the less, the streets in all global cities were flooded with protesting masses, some armed, most not. The masterful veil of media mind control had been lifted; peoples of the world had peeked behind the wizard's curtain just long enough to confirm nothing could or would ever remain the same.

Governmental control fell quickly, January second 2013, televisions in America started to crackle with messages from the people. Without stains of marketing, mind control or lies, average citizens offered the world a clear message to government and their corporate masters.

We are united and organised! 

We are Free! 

Lay down your arms! 

Government offices in America from the smallest of local communities, to the white house itself, had surrendered. Weeks later, it was discovered the American coup d'etat had been facilitated by the military and police turning against leadership. Due to the infamy of the Romney/Cooper tete a tete, the penny had dropped for everyone, tides had turned, a new world order had begun. Shortly after the phenomenally quick success of the American revolution, Chinese leadership lost control of their regime. Broadcasts from the far East started filtering in over Internet and mainstream television alike. Images of an unimaginably large mass of people extended outward from Beijing's Tiananmen square. Video footage from above offered an awesome spectacle extending over 20 miles in radius. Estimates maintained the freedom march included over 75 million revelers. Revolution had become globally ubiquitous, the dam had burst, a flood of unity had taken everyone by force. In the words of French revolutionist Victor Hugo "On resiste a l'invasion des armees; on ne resiste pas a  l'invasion des idees" ("We can resist and invasion of armies; we cannot resist an invasion of ideas") Having captured the concept of emancipation juxtaposed to inevitable enslavement, peoples of the world responded to what they sensed was the ultimate call of freedom.

Along with the demise of government; banking and corporate rats were literally pulled from underground bunkers. Angered masses carted them to detention camps where they awaited trial and sentencing for crimes against humanity. During the course of 2013 the entire scenery of modern society had shifted. New charters of rights and freedoms were drafted, thereby enabling society the first steps toward societal equality. No longer would people be forced to "earn a living", all humans were guaranteed the right to food, shelter, education, health care and a hopeful future. Equality centers were formed throughout the globe with the sole purpose to redistribute wealth. Assets from the banking elite, in addition to the odd royal coffer, proved much more than was needed to ensure every inhabitant of our world was content in knowing they would never need beg again. Within five years, humanity finally came to the realisation money was truly the root of discontent. Society replaced money quickly and easily; a base living standard was established which insured every human was entitled to what we would have then called a middle class standard of living, $60,000 per year. It was agreed the minimum standard should entitle the citizen to a gloriously comfortable life of leisure. If a citizen wished to entertain more wealth; they could choose to work as an employee for the people. Workers would be given additional purchase credits from the village or city in which they lived. Millions of jobs had disappeared when we abolished money. To name a few; bankers, doctors, investors, salesmen, lawyers, administrators, as well as, all kinds of paper pushing pundits found that, for the most part, a consciously loving society does not demand their services. Little work was actually required to maintain society, therefore, most citizens chose to commit to a leisurely 10-20 hour work week. Ensuring society remained in co harmony; it was decided to cap wealth credits at twenty times the base living standard, thereby eliminating harmful imbalances caused by gross opulence or avarice.  

During that first revolutionary year, the matrix of deceit completely unwound. By 2014 television, which had once been an agent of mind programming, had been completely transformed into a tool of higher learning. Slowly, people of the world woke up to the depth of enslavement orchestrated by the cabal of elite. The more people understood the extent of manipulated degradation, despair, soft kill, and poverty, the more compassion they were prepared to offer their brethren. Compassion soon became love, which naturally led to understanding, trust and a unity of the heart. Knowledge quickly became the greatest commodity of the day, however, we ensured it was free, ever present and extremely accessible. Learning became fun, for young and old alike; we all reveled in the new knowledge of spiritual truth. We were shocked to learn what illusion of physicality meant. When we determined our identity to verily be God, we collectively wept in transformational bliss. We were truly all children experiencing a new playground, soaking up one tremendous experience after another. Programmers, who once chose to force us to consume products, were now dedicated to using their creative juices to spread love. How powerful this little box in our living room can be, when directed to educate instead of deceive. It did not take long to eradicate ignorance, stop injustice, and set the course toward unconditional love. Darkness no longer had a place to hide, without a cloak of protection, fear biased constructs like; church, government, money, power, lust, greed as well as many other conditions of ignorance, fell away. In the hearts and minds of people everywhere; there could only be only one logical path, that which leads to absolute solidarity.

Prior to the revolution, we accepted nothing could be done to right the ship. We assumed the world was a dark and desperate place where each person should and must fight for survival. Adjusting to a world free of a survivalist ideology was strangely easy. Even our wealthy brethren, who once believed in competition, money, power, and the many trappings of avarice were shocked to discover their lives did improve when they no longer needed to struggle for golden rings. How we changed as a people was even more amazing. Without the need to work a 40 hour week, we found ourselves socialising much more. People no longer kept to themselves hidden at home glued to T.V.'s and computers. More often than not, we would be found in parks or gardens smiling and talking to each other. This was our destiny, this was mankind's new beginning, the age of Aquarius, a time for love.

Environmental challenges we thought insurmountable proved to be the easiest to solve. Countless new forms of free zero point energy emerged so that by 2020 fossil fuels were almost completely eradicated from society. Shortly after the revolutionary days, government science facilities, hidden hundreds of feet underground, unearthed technological wonders which boggled the mind verily transforming our material world. Humanity, we discovered, had been deprived of countless inventions which would have revolutionised our lives, while at the same time saving the planet ecosystem from the destruction wreaked by our consumptive diet. Corporate megalomaniacs kept hidden all kinds scientific advancements, merely because innovation would have interfered with their ever advancing machinations of profit. Gaia, whom we considered doomed, proved herself adept as healing all scars. Cessation of damaging practices like; fracking, mining, drilling, chem trail spraying, to name a few, certainly helped Gaia reinvigorate herself and us in kind. Within a mere decade, technology had converted society from an age of darkness to a brilliant harmonic expression of loving unity.

Over the course of ten years, countless revelations, inventions and administrative models were used to affect change in society. However, no tool promoted change more readily than the winds of spiritual awakening. Change was inevitable, we never realised it back in 2012, however, we do now. Consciousness, expressed as a duality in the material form, relinquishes control to cosmic cycles. Humanity then rides these winds through ages of spiritual darkness which are imminently followed by ages of spiritual awareness. The Mayan people understood this truism; their foretelling of a new age clearly reflected this cosmic understanding. They had prepared their message as a beacon to light a path for humanity, thereby giving us hope, so that we may prevail through the trauma of birthing a new age. Stepping away from the elite mind programming machine, unveiling details of slave masters using religion as a divisive sword, or the many other steps toward emancipation were merely material reflections of how cosmic winds blow consciousness to and fro.

Change, inevitable as it was, came only when we began learning how to steer clear of material illusion. Elite masters had always been privy to many spiritual tomes which clearly highlighted paths beyond illusion. However, like the technological advances, it was certainly in their best interest to hide such revelatory information. Three words are all that is needed to illustrate the ultimate plan of slavery, "DIVIDE AND CONQUER". Division is the key to control; the more we see each other as entities, the easier it is to control, as well as limit, our expression of consciousness. Now, even young children comprehend the nature of reality. Children know the material world is illusion. They know time, space, death, birth and life are illusion. This was not the case in 2012, when less than one in a thousand people were capable of seeing beyond the manufactured lie. How bizarre it must be for children today to try and wrap their mind around the concept of humanity almost entirely living in darkness. My grand daughter who is only six, is not altogether sure if my tales of yesteryear are true or fairy tale. "It is so hard to believe, how come no one did anything to wake them all up Grandpa." What a very good question; well, some of us did try to help, however we were ridiculed, laughed at some of us were condemned as insane fools.

Two decades of my life was spent in a mind controlled stupor, my existence then was barren of love.

Two decades more I dedicated to searching for love. Clawing my way free from yokes of enslavement and manipulation caused me to rail against elite slave masters. Moving farther toward truth showed me paths beyond illusion.

For ten more years, I stripped away illusion like layers of an onion. Each layer brought me closer to loving those whom I had blamed for my ignorance, fear and unrest. In the end, I discovered my true identity is the totality we call consciousness. I am the slave, as well, I am the slave master. I am the assailant, as well, I am the victim. I am, that, I am.

My entire life was spent learning what my grand daughter already knows. This is beauty, this is the fog, this is perfection, always was and ever will be. How gloriously comfortable is the crook in this old hemlock, how beautiful is the fog.

In Lak'ech, bethren... God... I Am... You...    



     

                

Being Canadian...

Namasate brothers and sisters, this representation was an e mail I sent to a great Canadian freedom fighter, Mr. Mel Hurtig. You do not have to be Canadian to consider the social issues presented in this post. Please ponder this topic and share with us what you perceive to be the good or bad elements of  nationalistic fervor in your country?

Mr Hurtig, having listened to CBC radio interview you the last couple of nights I found myself awakening to long lost feelings of nationalism. Such emotions are foreign to me of late as I have done everything in my power to disassociate myself from Canada which is my country of birth.



I remember sitting in my grade school classroom watching the 72' summit series against those dastardly Russians, how proud we all were of our nation, strong and free. Feelings and emotions of unbridled pride filter through my memories as I recall a young child excitedly learning of how earnestly we fought the two great wars. Moving beyond the smoking guns of war, I recall other aspects of Canadian greatness; U.N. peacekeepers, social responsibility (in contrast to our US neighbours), inventiveness, cleanliness, strength in unity, let us not forget the bilingual acceptance of our Quebec brethren. Eloquent, albeit spirit induced, speeches from John A as he drove home the CPR thereby uniting our great land. Unlocked doors, open hearts and minds, compassion, caring, love, these were the imprints left upon myself as I defined, in my heart, what it meant to be Canadian.

Listening to you on the radio caused me pause to inquire, where have those feelings gone? If I were to choose two words which would emphatically illustrate the change in my step, it would have to be "Free Trade". I recall the anger I felt as a young man standing in front of the C.N. tower, placard in hand, desperately urging Canadians to reflect upon the great loss this agreement would represent. I always hated those bastard conservatives (John A and John Diefenbaker excepted); I knew in my heart they would bend over to corporate greed and the might of Americanism. Where was my Pierre, his finger eloquently raised in defiance to anything which was not truly Canadian? Free trade represented for myself, and possibly for my countrymen, a loss of innocence. No longer could I deny my country was lead for the benefit of corporatism irrespective of the well being of our citizenry. What are we Mel, if we are not a nation of united peoples?

How naive I was to think my dear Liberals, given the chance, would have chartered a course less demeaning to the rights and freedom of Canadians. Free trade opened a door to which a slippery slope awaited my presence.  For the first time in my life, I was compelled to investigate deeper the machinations of our true north strong and free. Uncovering the tapestry of the politic Canada caused grief, anger and dismay. My beloved John A, the bastion of Canadiana proved to be a puppet of the great Rothschild empire. Masters of banking empires steering our country from the comfort of leather clad chairs across the Atlantic. Two world wars deliberately constructed on the back end of false flag terror, elite paymasters roiling the globe in the spirit of profit, loss and global national debt. Canadian men and women sacrificing their lives, not for freedom, rather, to line the pockets of insatiable elite banksters. U.N. peacekeeping, surely that cornerstone of Canadian righteousness would prevail, look now to what the REAL u.n. represents! United Nations, wager of unjust war, atrocity, countless crimes against humanity. Canadian boys and girls rendering their lives under U.N auspices for the benefit of corporate opium and oil profiteering. Oh Canada, how great, strong or free are we who stand idle as our prime minister cheers the death of a great Libyan leader whilst sending Canadian jets to bomb innocent children. This group of jackals dressed in compassion whilst dripping red to show their true colours.

My Canada, dear sweet beautiful, where is she now Mel? She lies spent, ravaged, raped, another sorry statistic in the garbage heap of global fascism. Child poverty unabated, murderous child molesting church officialdom unaccounted, inequality of wealth, a destroyed social safety net, illegal banking structure, illegal federal taxation (against the B.N.A.). The list is endless Mel, tears freely flow down my cheek as I ponder the destruction of a young boys dream. A dream it was sir, the substance which encouraged our national resolve, merely a hoax, fabrications of mind programming. Media, following a concentric path to singularity of ownership, has diluted truth to a farcically embarrassing level. Do they think we fools, unable to research truth juxtaposed to corporate programming. Silly rabbits, missing the elite's blatant term "programming" used to defined mass media. Yes Sally and little Johnny, they call it "programming" for a very good reason, keep away it's not safe! Don't get me started on the Bank of Canada, fractional reserve lending, debt servitude and the veracity of what it means to be a 21st century slave.

We have just hit the crux of the matter Mel! Debt servitude, that is why we fought two world wars, that is why democracy was only a facade to hide the real agenda of fascism, that is why corporations run our country. You like to research Mel, check out the way dictionaries of the world have redefined the term fascism, tell me the bastardisation of language is not by design. Debt slavery has arrived in Canada Mel, our children are literally starving, one mid to low range (30-50) income can no longer sustain a family. Health care, and the entire social safety net we so proudly admired, is almost gone. We have been colonised by the insensitivity, uncaring, nature we once labeled as hideous avarice. Some say our times represent the Americanisation of Canada, this is not accurate, it is corporatism which renders the souls of all nations void of value. We Canadians continue to allow our great country to be raped, no different than the metastases of unaccounted cancer. Reprieve, and a calling for sanity, can only arise on the backs of a destroyed middle class, we may think that impossible, however I beseech you to consider it inevitable.

Leaving the subject with a hockey metaphor may be most apropos. We are down a goal in the final minute of the third period. Wayne has just been butt ended in the corner by the I.M.F. Desperate to hit the slot with a pass, Frank fights for control of the puck but the W.H.O. counter. Gordie, elbows up in front of the net awaits the pass whilst the U.N. stand fast in goal. Frank drops the puck back to his brother Pete who fires a laser to the net,  The Bank of Canada blocks the shot and passes the puck to the B.I.S. who clears it over the blue line. Seconds are ticking down, time to regroup boys, this is a Canadian game!


Knowledge has always been the key to emancipation, alas, it is such a shame Canadian brethren rely on corporate media to program their sense of self and country. You Mel, have been a great skater for the Canadian side, I admire your nationalistic resolve, however I ask you consider what nationalism truly represents? Standing apart from my Canadian heritage does not represent my giving up on change, nor does it suggest I have forsaken my country. You suggest I cast a vote for change, but you fail to see I have been given, nor will I ever receive a viable or sane choice. Choosing to separate myself from Canada, in my mind, reflects the ultimate statement of awareness.

I stand against the separation of men!
I stand against the evils of fascism, destroying my country!
I stand against the inequity of our human expression, the inability of Canadians to attend the needs of all our children!

Yesterday, I spied a little song bird, bright in colour she probably migrated from the south. No one asked her for a visa, I.D., nor did they tax her travel. She is free, she has the right to make her home, feed her offspring and live in love. I see in the cartographic lines which represent our border a greater paradigm of separation which can only lead to manifest fear, and in turn, diminish what we represent as a collective and as individuals.

I have always taught my children the two most important words in any language are "I AM". Whatever we feel in our heart represents the manifestation as our imminent reality. I am Canadian has a beautiful ring, much like there is sweetness in the sound of our name, we too find equal pleasure in the sound of our country. Canada, rings in our heart as a most beautiful word Mel, not because of her borders, rather, it is the emotional unity of peoples that marks us Canadian. This unity of which I speak cannot be limited in nature. We must seek to eliminate all borders, we must further the bond of humanity. Education, sex, sports, nationalism, religion, politics, colour, race, are just a few of the many constructs used by the elite to keep us from unity. Those thieving corporate bastards feeding on my brethren are using wolves in sheep's clothing designed to tear us asunder. The 21st century slave can gain freedom, first we must educate ourselves to the point of seeing the chains so cleverly hidden.

I would love to travel the country speaking to points of sanity, alas, I represent the impoverished lower class. Having been college and university educated, I failed to ascend corporate ladders. For some reason, I never could find a place of comfort. Tis' not sour grapes my brother Mel, rather, it was a choice to seek knowledge, justice, to stand firm against fascist opponents hell bent on raping my Canadian and global brethren. My refusal to participate in the federal system of illegal taxation has made it impossible to attain a mortgage, health care, U.I., or enjoy the many other benefits of a faithful tax paying participant. Standing against all government, I have chosen abstinence from voting as civil protest against atrocity home and abroad. If I had availed myself of T.V. or other media programming I would have learned of, and voted for, your National party. I see vision in your dreams Mel, I hear love in your voice as you speak with passion to what it should mean to be Canadian. Canada is like a hot pie fresh out of the oven, it smells and looks so very tasty. Much as I would like, I cannot advocate my brethren eat of this fine desert, the ingredients are poisoned by GMO substitutes. You sir are champion to my cause, you represent a vehicle of  knowledge all Canadians must heed. My views could never be carried on the wings of the corporate media machine, alas, I am so very pleased yours have. You cause me pause Mel, you have revived sentiments long lost and buried. I must ponder your stance, credit your resolve and see value in your tack. Possibly I can hold our flag high whilst still seeking global unity. Perhaps I can revisit my conceptualisation of being Canadian so that once again I may embrace my country.

In Lak' ech, my dearest of brothers, reaching for Canadian unity....

The Hidden World of Slavery, freedom is your choice...(Part I)

Namaste Brethren, as many of you know I have been busy writing my trilogy of books. I find it difficult to squeeze a blog in, so I have decided to invite you all to share in the rough draft of the chapter I am writing on Joe the twenty-first century slave.

Some of you may remember the seed of Joe being incubated in a blog I posted last year. I feel the subject is important and worthy of your consideration. I suspect the blog will run six instalments, I hope you learn a little, think a lot and possibly even make some choices toward a better future. This post offers an introduction, whilst the second instalment will cover the framework of elite enslavement. I will then illustrate many aspects of modern slavery, mind control and subjugation. Wrapping it all up will be "ponder this", a series of observations, conclusions and solutions.


"The Hidden World of Slavery" freedom is your choice...    

Consider what type of person you might have become if you were not enslaved?

Pardon me, you mean to suggest you are not a slave?

I can understand your sentiments, not even ten years ago I would have expressed much the same opposition.

Slavery began with primal Homo Sapiens whereas wounded and captured survivors often were enslaved by conquering tribesmen. Progressing through stages of societal development, we find villages grew to become cities, and in time, great nations formed. Keeping to scale, history suggests limited tribal conflict morphed into a regional conflict, which in turn paved the way for the development of full-scale organized war. Conquering heads of state reap the rewards of victory by harvesting nations of people like one would a field of wheat. Slavery soon became so ubiquitous the mere appointment of weakness in a human, community or race translated almost instantly into a life of servitude. Slaves of yore knew their place in society, resistance was futile, and their fate assured. The physical reality of chains, beatings and repression was very apparent. Knowledge of one's servitude naturally gave rise to aspirations of freedom.

Moreover, it is this prospect of freedom which demanded the slave master maintain vigil over his property. Like a cork submerged in water, a constant pressure must be exerted to keep the cork from rising to the surface. This archaic form of slavery meant the master must deflect the continual pressure exerted by the natural drive for freedom. History provided great leaders with countless lessons in human husbandry. The management of slaves became a study of psychology as much as a manifestation of physical power.

Two hundred years past, it would have been easy for you and me to identify the enslaved from a group of free peoples. Shackled, and chained, beads of sweat form rivulets which dance down dark muscular bodies. Master, whip close at hand, snaps orders under threat of bloody violence. Framed by the guise of emancipation, history yields more than its fair share of yellowed, dog-eared photographs, prevailing as steady reminders attesting to the depths of our collective depravity. Bygone veins of cruelty, whence exposed, leave us questioning the unchallenged viciousness of the beast within. Focusing on our distant future, what information will we have captured on metallic memory discs? Moreover, will the tales of today be faithfully rendered by historians tomorrow, or will history continue to be penned by self-serving agents of deceit?

I can envision a twenty-fourth-century teenage girl blowing dust from an archived disc as she painstakingly researches slavery. Our young lass, recreating history for her grade ten class, speaks to the many components of slavery's final expression. She explains, to her mind-boggled classmates, how public pressure forced the nineteenth-century slave master to transition away from chains of physical bondage. 

History tells us great wars, gilded with amazing acts of heroism, painted the portrait of freedom. Surely battlefields laid bare sacrifices aplenty, however, it was the pen, not the sword, which paved the road toward emancipation. Freedom, from any form of tyranny, can only be attained when the concept has won favour in the hearts of the average citizen. Our student describes humanity closing off the nineteenth century united as one voice faithfully rallying against the master/slave paradigm. Physical torture, detainment, and enslavement were reflections of the thinking humans of the New World would no longer deem acceptable.

The masses may have rebelled, however, slavery, wielded as a common tool, no different than the plough, could, and in the minds of the elite, should prevail. For thousands of years, dividends of slavery gilded the banquet halls of the corporate elite, monarchy and church alike. By the reckoning of moguls, titans, kings and priests, the chains could be removed, but slavery itself must remain, ad infinitum. Slavery just needed a makeover; apply some fresh lipstick, and this little pig could smile again. More palatable terms of engagement were obviously required. From this point in history forward, slavery would be forced to transcend the viciousness of physical bondage.

Solutions, hammered out of the need to resolve inadequacy, often result in a refining of processes. Lesser men, dropping their collective heads in defeat, see failure in the challenges they face. Titans of industry are bred as predators; challenges, in their world, always disguise opportunity. True history, as told by our young student, reveals the elite transitioning from physical enslavement of a small segment of the global populous, into mental, physical and spiritual enslavement of all humanity. Appeasing the cries of the masses, elite masters removed all chains as promised. However, as the twentieth century unfolded, the elite were well on their way to developing new revolutionised forms of slavery. Representing a few of the new, invisible, tools of entrapment we find mind control, soft kill, taxation and usury debt.  Slavery had metastasized into a bigger, stronger, more comprehensively predatory rendition of control. New battle lines were drawn, and terms of engagement were more grievous. The spoils of this war provided the elite with total domination of the collective heart, mind and spirit of humanity.

Proceeding confidently with her impeccably prepared project, the young girl spins into a tapestry of changing social paradigms which inevitably lead humanity to our present-day rendition of slavery. Twenty-first-century humans are meticulously described as being best characterised as a blend between chattel and cattle. Chattel, speaks verily to nations, cities, towns and individuals crumbling under the horribly,  immoral, illegal, and evil, pressures of usury debt, taxation and fractional reserve lending. Cattle, appropriately and faithfully represents how mind programming successfully kept us from defining self and environment. Behind locked boardroom doors, we discover dastardly scheming from an elite cadre who contemptuously dominate humans, forcing us to express their version of reality enslavement.

How do you feel about what our fictitious student has to say? Is it remotely accurate to consider yourself chattel cattle? Is your mind presently being controlled? Are you enslaved by a fractional reserve banking system which greedily feeds on the spoils of debt interest?

I believe our world has become a battleground. Fear, distraction, and separation have become the catalysts of untold destruction within and without. We have all been pitted against each other, victims everyone! If you cannot presently see the deception, control and enslavement, I challenge you to consider this information with an open mind.

The next generation of slaves lives now; humanity is addicted to the great lie. Visual and sound bites of media madness force us to insist freedom and democracy prevail.  We have united in rebellion before, and we will again. The first step every chronic user must take is to admit their addiction. Will you take this step with me? Are you prepared to label yourself a slave? Let's insist we be brave in the face of adversity. May you have the courage to awaken yourself and others to the truth.

Before our journey commences, it is important to assess our present state of mind. Seldom do we touch base with our feelings and emotions relative to our unfolding reality? For example, when was the last time you pondered the impetus of poverty, violence, war, corporate greed and generic government corruption? If, by chance, you inquisitively open yourself to the insanity of our world, you soon discover it becomes impossible to turn away. I remember my first rabbit hole visit. My partner had been unveiling all kinds of nasty darkness on the internet. I would arrive home from work to find my dearest all worked up over yet another horrific injustice. Possibly, my reaction represented much the same feelings and emotions you currently struggle with.

"This stuff is madness, it does matter to me, but what the hell am I to do about it?"

"I would just as soon not know about all the ugly stuff in the world. I have enough problems of my own to sort out, let alone getting in a tizzy over what is happening halfway around the world!"

My aforementioned flip responses to my partner's nudging were not well received. All disagreements are a function of conflicting perspectives. Finding myself at odds with my partner always forced me to define her views juxtaposed to my own. Having settled upon an honest appraisal of my predicament, I realised lethargy had completely handcuffed me to the couch. My life had become a robotic routine of functionality. Amidst the chaos of everyday living, I had somehow lost the will to look beyond my own backyard. 

Excuses, justifying my ignorance, were very easy to conjure. Following a hard day at work, a relaxing evening did not include investigating why humanity stinks like a bag of week-old salmon guts baked mercilessly in a backyard trash can. I pathetically reasoned, "Even if I were inclined to awake from my slumber, there would never be enough time to affect much research." Respecting work and family commitments, precious few hours were left in a waking day. Toss in a three-hour sports match on the television, or a movie, and the evening would be written off. Each argument, sounding hollow as the one preceding, left me no choice but to man up and admit my apathy was inexcusable. Think of it this way; if your head is stuck in the sand, how can you expect to sort out what just happened to your ass?      

Deciding to change my lifestyle to include investigative discovery was much easier and far less painful than I believed possible. Before long, I found myself starting a blog post, uploading videos, and sharing information with the world. Years have passed since I first relented to my partner's pressures. Many personal epiphanies have surfaced, however, the greatest single leap toward taking back my reality was reflected in the choice to completely eliminate television from my life. No longer would I fall prey to incessant mind programming, as an added bonus, three hours were opened up each day for constructive, self-empowering research. 

My perception of the world dramatically changed, everything I thought was true, turned out to be a lie. Alice, falling down the rabbit hole had nothing on me; my new world order revealed on a small rectangular computer screen, contrasted vehemently with the big screen rendition provided by big-brother. Rarely do any of us ponder upon the glue which binds society into a mindless mass of consumerism. Whence the beast has been revealed, we find it difficult, neigh on impossible, to look away. Presently, I consider myself a full-blown humanitarian activist. Many label me a conspiracy theorist, however, the information I disclose reveals fact and not theory.

Imagine I hold before you the same gift of an enlightening consciousness bestowed upon me. This gift I present is a jigsaw puzzle box of one thousand pieces. The title on the box, meant to be an eye grabber, reads "The Hidden World Of Slavery" Discretely placed below the title is a rather evocative subtext suggesting, "Freedom is your choice..." 

As bearer of this gift, I assure you each piece will indeed fit snugly together thereby defining our world as a prison for the mind. Chains of evil, once hidden from our view, will become readily apparent when we distil the bits of disassociated data into a single cohesive photograph of the beast. 

Take a seat, I've just dumped the jigsaw pieces onto the dining room table. The first order of business will be for us to establish the outer border. It is always easiest to make the border appear; the straight unbroken edge makes it a snap to find a corresponding fit. Observing the assembled outer rectangle will enable us to confirm the pieces of our puzzle do indeed fit together. This is no small feat; most of our brethren will never reach the point of pulling themselves away from televised distractions long enough to even open the puzzle box. Having a framework for the puzzle also makes it much easier to determine each piece verily has a common bond, in so much as all components of the puzzle speak to a conspiratory advance of wealthy authors hell-bent on maintaining control.          

Sleeping masses of the world always seem to identify the word conspiracy as an offence worthy of derision. Ignorant people, compelled by indignation, feel righteous as they cast stones. Unannounced to them, we stand accused of merely trying to identify, for their benefit, the role they presently play as an ignominious slave. Fantastic irony, speaks of the truth seeker diligently trying to offer aid, whilst those she serves laugh and spit in her face. Imagine someone fighting for their life in a burning building, amidst the cacophony, a fireman crashes through the door in a gallant effort to save their life. Instead of cooperating with the rescue attempt, they bash the hero over the head with a frying pan. Recovering his wits, the would-be saviour slowly rises. What do they do? Whack him on the noggin again, informing him, "I am not going anywhere mister, and you will have to pay for that broken door!"

When faced with adversity, I often think of Hamlet. My grade eleven English teacher forced us to memorize and analyse the thoughts and feelings of Shakespeare's Hamlet as he recounts what is arguably the single most famous soliloquy in recorded literature. Borne on the emotions of Hamlet's words is the constant reminder that we must face our oppressors, persevere in the search for truth and never succumb to tyranny.


To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The Insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The Undiscovered Country, from whose Bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Then fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard, their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

My heart aches, I watch brethren suffer under slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Who of us should bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, or the proud man's contumely. Not I dearest brethren, not I. Hamlet conflicted with thoughts of suicide, exposes how ferocious the deep-seated pain of injustice can be. Despite great suffering, Hamlet decides to soldier on. Is it his fear of the afterlife which keeps his desperation in check? Or, is it because he feels compelled to stand firm against all tyranny? As you shuffle off this mortal coil dear brethren, be all thine sins remembered. I ask you now, is there a more grievous sin cast upon yourself and your child than to accept the branding of a slave?

I charge you with the task of awakening from your slumber. Open your mind, still your beating heart, this is your world to command, not theirs. In honour of infinite love, unity and equality for all; whilst standing in the face of elite tyranny, I offer you the story of Joe, the twenty-first century slave.

The Hidden World of Slavery, freedom is your choice...Part 2

Framing Slavery:

Aspects of slavery, although ubiquitously reflected in the mundane machinations of modern-day society, are rarely recognised as harbingers of domination. The primary reason for this enigmatic lack of response is our limited concept of what constitutes enslavement. For this chapter to have its intended effect, I need you to indulge my wishes in taking a few quiet minutes to reflect upon slavery. The purpose of the exercise is to gain your own personal perspective of the thoughts, feelings, images and emotions slavery invokes. Please close your eyes and begin, I will be attending your return.

Thank you for catering to my wishes, now let us focus on your results.

What images raced across the darkened landscape of your mind?

Most people will imagine men and women bound by chains, possibly our would-be slave victims are on a trader boat, walking down a dusty road under the guard of a whip, or maybe your slave is to be found toiling in an old Virginian cotton field. Was your slave a black man? Was he about 30 years of age, muscular, resilient in appearance, with close-cropped hair, topless with filthy pants. Observing his demeanour, what do you find? Abeyance, calm, determination, pent power, humility, fear, loss, hurt, pain, idiocy, wildness, strength and possibly even a touch of pride. How was your slave treated by his masters? In your mind's eye; was he captured and taken far from his home? Is your slave being whipped within an inch of his life? Perhaps he is standing on a sales box being prodded, inspected and assessed for value. Is he cowering under the deck of a trader ship, scared, confused and bleeding?

What gain is realised by encouraging you to envision mental images and salty adjectives depicting slavery? Why should I ask you to interrupt your reading to take these few moments of ponderance?

Taking a moment to define slavery with mental images qualifies in your mind what it would take for you to consider yourself enslaved. Elite slave masters understand the importance of pigeonholing humanity into a very narrow definition of slavery. Feeding us a false impression of slavery builds in our minds imaginary mazes from which we must navigate before regaining freedom. Self-imposed limitations defining slavery paint us a picture of the average person convinced slavery was abolished in 1783, shortly after the American Revolution ended.


Failing to cast a new mould to identify the characteristics of a modern slave will inevitably result in the promulgation of servitude. Billions of souls cannot discover freedom merely because they do not see chains on their ankles, feel the pain of a whip, or find themselves toiling in sun-baked fields for no just reward. Crazy isn't it, the fox was eating all the hens! The hens freaked out when they found a fox in their house. The sly little fox obligingly changed into a hen's clothing. Voila, peace is restored in the hen house. Secure in their ignorance, our little hens cluck happily as the fox continues his nightly feasts. Soon the nasty little fox, engorged by fine dining, rises to develop into the biggest hen in the yard. The other hens gawk with admiration, all dreaming of how wonderful it would be if they too could grow to such grandeur.

How do we rid ourselves of the proverbial fox in our global hen house? Prevailing winds suggest emancipation can only occur if one of two events transpire. Either we invent a new word to define modern slavery, or we instil in the hearts of humanity a significant expansion of how we define slavery. Considering the repugnant state of our quickly dwindling English lexicon the development of a new word might prove too formidable a challenge. This invariably will leave us with the task of redefining slavery.


To assist us in this lofty endeavour and to provide a little flavour, we will frame the task of discovering aspects of modern slavery through the eyes of the average Joe. The door slowly opens to Joe's bedroom and we observe he has nodded off to sleep. 

Stepping into his dream, we find Joe seated in a court of law attending to a diatribe from the prosecution. Our timing could not be better, we soon learn Joe has convinced the prosecution to charge the Illuminati with multiple crimes against humanity. Painting the landscape of modern slavery apparently rests on Joe's shoulders. Proceedings are about to begin so let's settle down in the juror's box for a small segment of Joe's address.

Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable James T. Kirk, representing the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the court is now in session.

Illuminati versus humanity.

Charges:

It has been purported by the peoples of the world; that the aforementioned cabal of influential elite have conspired to enslave the minds, bodies and spirit of all humanity. Further allegations suggest; that the exploits of the cabal, known simply as Illuminati, represent a grievous trespass across all crimes against humanity as defined by the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.

Court Officer:

The prosecution calls to the stand Joseph Palooka. Please state your full name for the benefit of the court.

Joe:

My name is Joseph Thomas Palooka.

Court Officer:

Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God.

Joe:

Yes, I do.

Court officer:

(gesturing to the prosecution)You may proceed.

Prosecution:

Joe:

A couple years back you visited my office to establish charges against a cabal of elite conspirators known as the Illuminati. Your supporting argument, compelling enough to warrant further investigation, has led us to this moment. Can you please elucidate for the court's benefit your perspectives and findings?

Joe:

I remember very well the summer of 72', sitting on a grassy knoll with my best buddy Lyle Richardette. Cars, rumbling by, would encourage us to casually described in order, the year, make, model, engine, intake and drive train.

"She is a beaut', 67' Chevy Nova SS with a 396 cubic inch big block. He's feeding her with the hot-to-trot Holley 4150 Joe. Ya gotta know Lyle, that twelve bolt 411 rear will have him drop a patch longer than one of Father Brown's Sunday sermons. Did ya hear that intake when he kicked her down Lyle, bet ya a dime to a dollar he has a high-rise kit under that Holley quad pumper."

Happy, carefree moments of our youth can afford us a point of measure by which we may determine how quickly meandering passions of society have sucked innocence from youth. Each memory sharply defines a point of assessment lending to casual reminders of the way things were. Passing years invite change, we arrive at a new destination wondering, how did we get here? Annual movements invoking a change in the demeanour of society are often hard to discern, by example; imagine how difficult it is to detect the loss of 1 ml from a one-litre beaker? Stepping back from the little picture, we discover time expressed in chunks as great as a decade or half century, make it much easier to highlight the direction and pace of humanities social evolution. Growing up in a small Quebec town, the only thing we children worried about was who would win the afternoon game of shinny hockey or whether or not the fish were biting in the old Richelieu River. Times were good, even with the Vietnam War raging, optimism was found in the hearts of most youth. Bread, if it was on sale cost one dollar for ten loaves. The average three-bedroom house was still a tick under $ 20,000, and the aforementioned hot rod Nova SS sold for about
$ 2,300 new. 

Those fortunate to have lived through the sixties and seventies can recollect, with fondness, a time of loving freedom. In the good old days, communes popped up all over the land to accommodate hippies who were only interested in freeing themselves from the constraints of a universal blight commonly referred to as "The Man". From the hippy perspective, The Man, represented oppression, greed, war, lies, destruction, government, law enforcement and divisiveness. Masses revolted against authority; millions of young adults burned their bras, cut up their neck ties and donned the uniform of love. Tie-dyed tee shirts, blue jeans and sneakers became symbols of a youth movement connecting to simplicity, mother earth and virtue, all in a last-ditch desperate attempt to emancipate from the stifling oppression of corporatism. Visionary hippies, spreading their wings in search of love, freedom and unity, nothing could be more beautiful. Flower power swept across the land mainstream media depicted images and sound bites of "The Man Battling the Love Child".

Hippies are deemed, by elite masters, to be a blight upon society, a cancer slowly eroding justice and the American dream. The Illuminati knew something must be done, delicate efficiency was required to insulate the public from the empowering messages of love, unity and freedom. In my mind, one staggeringly important image can be placed upon a razors edge as the ultimate expression of a country at a critical cross roads.

The iconic image I allude to was captured by Washington, D.C. native, Bernie Boston. History tells Bernie was quite a colourful character. After gaining fame as a photo journalist, he came out of the closet, took on the stage name Hibiscus, and formed a gay themed transsexual troupe called "The Cockettes". Moving past the interesting aside, Bernie tells of how he found himself near the Pentagon as National Guardsmen were called to attend one of the many 1967 student riots in protest of the Vietnam war. Guardsmen, shoulder to shoulder, had formed a semi circle in defiance of the shouting protesters. The atmosphere, boiling to a crescendo, lent the impression mayhem would soon follow. Just when all hope seemed lost, a young man with a handful of flowers slowly made his way toward the defiant troops. One by one, the youth placed a small daisy in the barrel of each Guardsman rifle. The statement being made was shockingly powerful, images like that had a knack of quickly changing a nation. Excited with his photo journal from the day, Bernie presented the local Star newspaper editor with his images. Bernie maintains the famous picture was never used because "the editor didn't see the importance of the picture". Respecting Bernie's opinion, I must maintain, he could not have been more wrong. In my humble opinion, the editor most certainly did see the power and importance of Bernie's photo essay, which was exactly why he chose to keep the rebellious image under wraps. Cream always rises, Bernie entered the now famous snap in a variety of photo contests where it almost always garnered a first place prize. Brief exposure to the photograph proved all that was needed for America to fully embrace Bernie's image as representation of hope, defiance, love and peace.

Researching Bernie's photo from internet archives brought back memories of yesteryear which quietly reminded me of the many battles fought and lost against The Man. One simple click of a camera, froze in time the quintessential moment of America being forced to choose a path toward love or war. If I were a member of the Illuminati, this one image would have scared the hell out of me. The last thing in the world I would want, is a thinking, compassionate, loving, non violent society who believe all people should be treated as equals. Imagine how threatening equality would be to the elite masters who own trillions in wealth while millions of their brethren starve. After all, if not the rich, who is capable of feeding the poor, housing the homeless, and caring for the weak? Love, peace, freedom, equality and unity are curse words in the dictionary of slave masters.

The fall of the hippy movement began the moment Bernie's snapped his now famous image. Prior to his photograph, hippies represented a relatively benign aspect of society, easily maligned and ridiculed as useless, dirty, drug abusing, boils on the collective ass of America. In the mind of the elite, fringe elements of society, like the hippy movement, come and go with little or no lasting affect on the ultimate form and function of elite slave society. In fact, elite masters understand the lid sealing the pressure pot of society needs to vent its pent up steam or costly blowups inevitably occur. Bernie's photo changed the tone of American society. Spurred by Bernie's talismanic image, hippies made it very clear their voice would be heard. Contrasting the clamorous voice of reason, elite masters were dedicated to ensuring dirty hippies, with their long hair and foul music would be permanently stamped out of the fabric of modern society.    

The battle between The Man and the hippy, after raging for more than decade, ended in the summer of 73' when Richard M. Nixon withdrew American support from the Vietnam conflict. Hippies, having won their battle, did in fact change the course of America. More importantly, they proved to the elite, their influence was truly a force to be reckoned with. The Man, left with a bloody lip, felt the sting of Hippy love deep in his pocketbook. What was once considered a quaint diversionary movement of youthful vinegar, had somehow managed to develop into a disturbing blood sucking tick behind the ear of elite masters.

Returning troops, who may have expected ticker tape parades, celebrations, and pats on the back, quickly discovered America had transformed. Failing to win the war had stripped America of her bravado, confidence and innocence. From the perspective of a young Canadian boy watching the evening news, I could clearly see America was deeply hurt. She had changed significantly; the loud, obnoxious giant I had enigmatically grown to love and hate, had vanished. In its stead, a punch drunk warrior appeared who, by all accounts, desperately needed to move past the shock of an unexpected loss. Compelling as war images are to a young boy, nothing compared to the awesome spectacle of watching a great nation change before my very eyes. The insanity of a country being torn in two directions was broadcast nightly on our old colour console television. Our family sat on the settee nightly entranced as  Harvey Kirk and the CTV nightly news team depicting a pall of dysfunction sweeping across the land. "Did you see that dad, how come they were spitting on that soldier?" I remember being confused by conflicting images, there seemed to be two kinds of soldiers, the good guys in clean well pressed uniforms and the hippy soldiers with long hair, blue jeans and a battle fatigue jacket. Big stars, like Jane Fonda, as well as, American heroes the likes of Martin Luther King, sided with the hippies. However, most Americans hung on to what they knew best, the clean cut soldier with the square jaw surely could be relied upon to win the day. From my vantage point, America was a country in flux, a return to the normalcy of apple pie and homespun values would prove a daunting challenge for soldiers and non combatants alike. Without any doubt, a fall guy was needed to deflect the blame for America loosing the war. Elite masters quickly set their media spin doctors to task of labeling the hippy as the ultimate reason for Nixon being forced to bring the boys back home. Tie-dye tee shirts, and the statements they conveyed, came to represent a nations failure. The dirty little family secret, carried on the back of the prodigal son, would be the essential catalyst in the hippy movement being relegated to summer rock festivals, beatnik beach huts and seedy smoke filled dens of inequity.

Eradicating of the hippy, moreover the freedom symbolised by the hippy, was affected by four primary attack vehicles. Stigmatisation of the movement, destruction of the apparel, demonisation of the musical message, and a strong corporate shift toward materialism. Stigmatising the movement was easily managed by pitting the clean cut soldier as survivor, whilst the hippy represented the drug abusing, fragging, miscreant responsible for every imaginable trouble besetting America. Bernie's photograph had already laid the ground work, as did the hippy movement itself. Clean cut soldiers easily fit the role of the peoples representative. Every good American knows, supporting the troops, translates into defending freedom, democracy and the American dream. Over and again, main stream media pit the free wheeling, long haired, hippy against the wholesome, clean cut American soldier faithfully serving his family, hometown, country and God. Blue Blue jeans and tee shirts took on a sleek designer cut.

Classy dinner jackets, a la Don Johnson, completed an ensemble niftily accoutred with a flashy BMW sedan. We all remember the wonderful music of the hippy movement, how could we not? Stirring tunes of love, unity and hope were mixed with equally compelling songs of resistance, determination and revolution. The music industry pushed hard against the hippies as corporatism swept clean all semblance of music as a tool for constructive social criticism. Network giants used T.V. programs like MTV to warp the message of music, whilst pushing the industry toward sex, violence and destruction. Music was carefully whittled down to two primary genres, the sex symbol or the screaming unorganised anti society revolutionist. Many youth of today would disagree with my assessment. Every generation they say is carried by the momentum of their music. Likewise, history suggests older generations naturally rebel against youthful changing sounds. Misunderstood messages from the 'next' generation never seem to be absorbed by their distraught parents. However true these paradigms of transitioning music are, my issue with the music of today far transcends the like or dislike of the sound, or for that matter, even of the message.

What troubles me about today's music is that love, compassion and tenderness, have been replaced by sex, domination and violence. Is it just me that finds it appalling to see young girls in their underwear lip syncing while gyrating their hips in sexual innuendo. I love the sound, rhythm and beat of hip hop and rap, but do we benefit from children glorifying the financial gains of drugs, prostitution and gang banging. The message is obviously destructive; women are Ho's, men are their Bangers, to hell with who gets hurt, its all about me, my image and my bling.  Listening to what today's children call music leaves me scratching my head as to how effectively the message and wholesomeness of love has been torn from our society. Prophets of unity, compassion and love were slain left and right. John Lennon and his likes did not go quietly into the night, they sang with all their heart as they watched each other being silenced by drugs, discredited by scandal, pushed from the spotlight, or suspiciously found dead in the prime of their life. Materialism, pushed by main stream television, is no different than a heroin trafficker cooking a spoon for the glazed over junkie. Forced idolisation of rich and famous personages represented the most powerful gun aimed at the hippy. Contrasting the squalor of down to earth commune living, the elite proliferated T.V. shows like Dallas and Dynasty specifically crafted to create an artificial need for the hottest trends, toys, clothes, widgets and do hickeys. Images of the hippy rejoicing in love prevailed in main stream media for a few more years. However, as the eighties unfolded, peace signs and cries for justice were relegated to archived memories only. Why have we allowed, even encouraged, corporate miscreants to advocate materialism to such an extent it foreshadows a total destruction of everything we hold most dear?

Can we afford to accept business as usual when everything we cherish, is presently being devoured by the insane avarice of a few demented individuals? Are we able to keep up to changing times?  Do we even comprehend the messages our youth are sending us? As depicted in the photo right, I doubt we hear or understand the level of  rebellion, confusion, and cries of our children.

Was the hippy movement just another victim of changing times? Did the gross transition toward materialism occur by natural means? Or were elite deviants pulling our strings, enslaving our minds and forcing the will of humanity to bend to the desires of a few wealthy titans. The Illuminati agenda colours the tapestry of our society black with fear, ignorance, greed and hate. Puzzling together aspects of modern slavery is difficult. Glancing half a century into our past has allowed us to discover significant change has in fact been manufactured at the behest of elite masters. Without a historical perspective to frame the impetus of change, we tend to inadvertently attribute change to the naturally shifting tenets of society, this, however, is not the case. The natural course of American history would have seen society move away from war, corporate materialism and banality in favour of love, unity and peace. When an entire generation stood against the machine while trying desperately to take back freedom in the name of love, where were you? When The Man, stomped on us, ate us up, spit on us, and shit on our collective push to freedom, was your voice heard? Did you mean to surrender, or were you programmed into complacency? Our past is a valuable vehicle which, if we choose to be objective, can transport us to destinations we normally would not discover. History, used as pieces of a puzzle, do emphatically illustrate the tone and direction of our society. We are the caretakers of this planet, it is our responsibility to forge a legacy for our children. Having etched out a pattern of enslavement, a challenge rests upon our shoulders to delve deeper into the mechanics of modern slavery. The puzzle border is framed, and a very complex challenge begs assembly. I see what looks like the making of a banker's head, lets sift through this mess, try a little harder, and see if we can find some matching pieces.

Debt Enslavement:


Interest-laden debt, a malignant cancer killing everything in its path.......

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat upon a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Threescore men, then threescore more, can not place Humpty as I was before.

Place me as I was before, as I was before, was before.

Pieces of me scattered throughout the land. Pray tell, what sordid tidbit is this I hold? Do I stuff it back in its proper place? Does it later become entitled I?

Who is this "I"?

Inauthentic barbarian, casting shadows upon a peaceful respite in the sun! I am Sun, how are you brother Moon, sister Gaia? What dull ashen pallor this impostor doth offer thee. Angst, carried in a wet linen sack, spills melodically upon thy shoe. Drip, drip, drip, dancing to this tune, I wail for scales of justice to tip. Wait! In whose favour shall mother justice lean? What sense of reason, truth, or love is meant to pour from her bent chalice? Wicked is this beverage, playing itself as wine, tasting of acetum.

Drunken, spent, sated with fear.

Swirling, cream cuddles into a cup of illusion, darkness embraces the light. Haunted by memories of glory unknown, splendor denied. Doeth this specter follow in the night as charm or curse? Apparitions of the true self, keeping pace as this mortal coil unfolds.

Quietly she treads, nary a trace be discerned. Skillfully woven veils of deceit keep her hidden from my brethren. Silken lies touch us daily, torment inflicted, fear rampant, opportunity lost! Whence we see no red, we assume no injury has befallen us. How then do we account for these hardened scars?

Masses cry I cannot see! She is coveted by scant few, known to a pittance, in sacred commune with none. Standing radiantly, a wallflower in wait, her card unblemished, wisdom untapped, love unbridled.  Holding my hand, she whispers the truth.



 "Folly lies grievously with desire."            



"Brilliance is a choice, not a reward."

Take this balm brethren, be brave as you walk in darkness.

In Lak' ech, tomorrow is ours....