Over dinner I usually watch a documentary.
This week’s subject is The History of the World.
Do you know that that documentary has simply gone from one battle to another, one empire to another, one cataclysmic rupture in human relationship to another, throughout our history.
I’ve said that from memory but this particular series shows it in living color. And it’s all presented so matter-of-factly. A tsunami of people “died” in that documentary. What on Earth have we done?
The latest world war that the cabal planned would have wiped out all but 500 million of us, the survivors to be used as slaves. Or so it was planned.
I keep having to turn the program off. And then I skip ahead but it doesn’t help.
Why is it that people have continued to fight each other since the dawn of civilization?
When I look within myself for the answers, I see hatred arise. Hatred seems to me to be the fuel for all these wars.
Yes, I know about the manipulations by the elite of the day, the king of the castle. But the rest of us have to go along with it. And what would have me go along with it is someone mobilizing this vein of hatred that I have deep down. (1)
Matched against it is my mother’s upbringing which is more than enough to inoculate me. But this is something I need to look at anyways.
Continuing to look, I see that it’s just free-floating hatred. If you asked me for a reason, I’d make one up. It might be true or not. The feeling is there first and then I build a story around it.
The second thing I see is a sacred pact entered into among all the elements and components of what I call a “self” that we will, under no circumstances, let blame attach to ourself.
Sociologists call this the self-serving bias. Our sources call it service to self and other-responsibility. Sages call it the ego.
So, when I act on this, I become this self-serving person filled with a subterranean vein of hatred, waiting for someone to tap into it (blame Al Qaida, “terrorists,” the Taliban, etc.). As long as that person does not blame me, I am open to being manipulated.
Then there is the other side of me, nurtured by my mother, that knows what love is – that is going about the Divine Mother’s work, unconcerned about my fate. When my mission is up, they’ll let me know. Until then I work happily away at it. (2) That side easily outdistances the first.
But never mind all the calculations. What do I know I can count on so that I’m not manipulated by any side in this propaganda war? …
I end up here so many times. This is getting quite predictable: What I can rely on no matter what is (I’ll give you a chance to say it first) …
All the other divine states are different flavors of love. So I’m just using the one word to encompass all the divine states … because love does.
Love is the only thing – given the limits of my experience; I’m not clairvoyant or clairaudient – I know I can rely on. Some people talk to the Mother or their archangel. I’m thrown back on my own resources from one day to the next. I need something tangible I can rely on, 24/7/365.
Gimme a sec. Lemme look. Lemme do one more check.
No. Totally not. I see nothing else than love and its multitude of offspring as reliable.
Michael has said that the truth must come out and must be universally known so that this can never happen again on Earth.
What a tightrope I walk. Tell the truth with love. Challenging when one is dealing with people who wanted to kill most of the Earth, including oneself.
Anyways, I walked a tightrope for eight years in my refugee hearing room. I can walk it again here.
From a place of balance, stability, and groundedness, a wide variety of subjects can be addressed and many disagreements resolved.
The question that I wish to address in my submissions to you, Mr. Beckow, is: “What does love say?”
Ask yourself that question when reflecting on a matter, Steve.
Feel the love. Let it flow up from your heart, through you, and out to the world. From within the space of it now, what does love say?
(1) What tribulation will I have to go through next to release this one?
(2) I’m not as smug as I was before I lost my computer. I don’t just brush off the extent to which I can precipitate damage or ignore danger any more. I lulled myself to sleep on security matters. I’m not quite the hotshot I thought I was now. That’s part of what I meant when I said I felt as if, to use my Dad’s phrase, I’ve been taken down a peg.