Apple Pie in the Sky

October 17, 2026

I wholeheartedly agree with America First priorities, such as rehoming America’s industrial base after decades of (misguided?) offshoring. But how do I reconcile the resurgence of American manufacturing might with saving the tree frogs, the ancient redwoods, and the Delta? 

Californians tend to elevate saving bits of Mother Earth above the convenience of manufacturing what we need in-state. Think of the ecological harm caused by applying those multi-layer kitchen-cabinet finishes! So toxic. The longstanding model is to ship such things in from states with loosey-goosey environmental regulations instead. (Ours were made in North Carolina, and a darn good job they did, too.)

The need to manufacture stuff also clashes with my hopeful notion that it’s completely unnecessary, or soon will be. What about manifesting our beautiful New Earth into being and Ascending to the Fifth Dimension? Why do we have to build anything in 3D when the Shift/Solar Flash will upgrade everybody and everything?

I’m not 100% sure that everyone claiming to channel higher dimensions is receiving true or clear information, so I’ll allow that such manifestation claims could be somewhat pie-in-the-sky. It seems likely that a more reliable way to create what we need is traditional physical manufacturing (soon stretching into quantum methods, one hopes). 

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Since the juggernaut of the US administration ain’t stopping for nuthin’, new manufacturing plants, and repurposed mothballed plants, will appear. That is a given. 

But perhaps Universe is propelling this manufacturing boom with its tongue in cheek and a slow-lidded wink of its vast eye. President Trump might be presenting almost a caricature of what a businessman/developer/builder would do with a playground as vast as America. Perhaps the president knows full well that something’s winding down: a third-dimensional slog where every nut and bolt must be painstakingly machine tooled, and the only path to physical creation is using human labor and machinery to turn raw materials into finished products.

Is the well-publicized re-shoring of manufacturing a necessary distraction, a sleight of hand while over there, behind the curtain, Elon Musk is putting the finishing touches on the first mass-market replicator? And that sure resembles a med bed, over in that lab. (Hey, Elon just made a car that flies, so…)

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More than ever I feel like the noise and hubbub of the world is like a giant carnival. We bought our tickets when we incarnated here. We go from ride to ride, scarcely noticing the roustabouts and the creaking gears and pulleys that push the physical components of our Earth hither and yon.

The political arena is the house of mirrors. Items reflected are real, but what we see little resembles that which casts the reflection. The midterms in the United States are the roller coaster. Gaining speed toward November 3. Will the cars stay on the track? Will the cog disengage from the pin, and we all careen wildly off into space?

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I find it difficult to give proper weight to outside happenings, to politics, to arguments and debates, filled as they are with spin (and bald-faced lies). Oh, I’ll be voting, all right. I don’t promise to read California’s 176-page Official Voter Information Guide, with its intentionally dense and confusing language, but I will skim it. A non-partisan chat with Grok cuts through the density and obtuse language.

But only I can decide where to ink the dot on that two-card ballot.

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I have some hope that this time, my vote will be counted in California. It’s been noted that US voting machines and software are no longer under the purview of questionable controllers. As much as the mainstream likes to deny there has ever been anything fishy anywhere in any US election, the witness of my own eyes saw votes improbably accruing for a candidate mired in the Loser column during the televised 2020 election results. My well-honed discernment tells me which to believe.

I think I’ll head over to the carnival tent where apple pie is being judged. They’re going to serve pie to all comers once the judging is over – and extra slices if a certain recipe is the winner. 

I’m going to avoid the rollercoaster for now, and listen to the carnival barkers and the Ringmaster while enjoying my pie and ice cream on a bench by the carnival entrance. It’s hard to judge anything accurately when it’s hopping up and down, waving fists and flags in your face and talking much too fast. 

The smoky purple tent with the gypsy fortuneteller looks appealing. There’s no line waiting to see her, and the entrance looks inviting, flickering candlelight warming the darkness inside. I’ll bring her a slice of pie as payment for reading my fortune.