Spraying our hands to the digital wall

With the censorship and shadow-banning that seems to be speeding towards us, I’ve had to think long and hard about my work in writing books and putting out videos which I hope will help people become sovereign and enlightened.

I’m aware that my material is the very last thing the controllers of humanity want out there … and yet I sometimes sense that there are controllers above them that are currently giving my material a pass … but it may not be for long, and I cannot depend on it. I am a guest in someone else’s home.

In working out my path forwards, I realised that when you zoom out and look at history, you see that what we insist is our right to freedom of speech just did not exist at all until relatively recently. We may believe that freedom of speech and expression is a permanent, God-given right. But the people who have run this planet for the past thousands of years invented the God they want us to believe in, and he is more authoritarian than Justin Trudeau. Just look at the 10 Commandments .. nothing about freedom of speech in that list of “thou shalt nots…”

The controllers only began to allow the idea of freedom of speech to start to grow when most of us were born, if we are Babyboomers. They had found way of weaponising it for the upcoming information war, and it is now a weapon currently creating the world that we are seeing coming towards us under the guise of the Great Reset.

They use the media and the internet to seed our minds with their own ideas, and flatter us into believing they are our own ideas … and so we shout and rage self-righteously with our “freedom of speech” to bring down our own governments, hate our own race and defund our police.

Everything we are using on social media is their’s … not ours. We don’t pay for it, and so without a bill of sale, we have no rights. This is their cyberweapon to do with as they like, and once they feel they are gaining dominance, the window of free speech they gave us will start to close … it already is, and we see the worst of it currently in Canada.

And so why do I keep writing and putting out videos when I’m aware that I could wake up one morning to find that the whole lot had been deleted from the internet? Well, I realised that what I create will only be of lasting value if it helps people to grow in their hearts.

There is a sort of Library of Alexandria in the heart that remembers everything, and so when we put out that kind of material, we are seeding our own messages into its rivers of blood or DNA for future generations – no matter what happens to us, in the here and now.

Even if every single book I write or video I make is, one day, wiped forever from the internet, those rivers will still carry those messages. It is why our ancestors wrote their wisdom teachings in stories in the stars, so that no matter the comings and goings of kings and princes on the world stage, those eternal truths would always be available to future generations.

If you can touch just one person’s heart with what you write – or dance, or paint, or sing, or cook, or carve and so on – then that touch is written in indelible ink, and it will last forever.

That’s the polnt of view I’m coming from, anyway, and it’s why I keep going. I will happily continue to put out my material for as long as I’m allowed to … and after that, I hope I will happily retire to the forest, content in my gratitude at being given the opportunity and the knowledge that my job is done.

This poem Hollow Bones, says it all. It was composed by Amara Bronwyn MacEachern, and she kindly allowed me to use it at the beginning my book Stories in the Stars. I was so keen to have it on those first pages because it encapsulates in a beautiful brown nutshell what my book is all about.

We locked up our wisdom into our bones

And swallowed the keys

They sank in our Rivers of Blood,

And we forgot the maps

Because we had to forget the Mysteries

To keep them safe.

We wove our hair into brooms

And swept over our paths,

And then burned the earth with our rage.

We didn’t teach our children;

It was the only way to protect them,

we thought.

But in them we planted seeds, seeds and keys

And told them stories and riddles and songs

With no roots, just tangled threads

That would take years to unwind,

Just enough time

For the rains to fall again

and put out the fires,

For the dams to break,

For the rivers to flood,

For the paths

to be walked again,

For the soil to breathe.

And as the old bones crumble

Deep beneath the rubble

We find we’ve always had the keys.

Our stories and our maps,

Our paths are revealed to some,

And the seeds grow again

The threads are unspun

And woven again.

Amara Bronwyn MacEachern, Hollow Bones

A good friend of mine, who interrogates spreadsheets of data, told me that he feels the same way about his work. He said: “My efforts these days are not for me but a legacy for those who’d like to one day turn a stone and understand the dance of numbers for themselves. I am spraying my hand to the digital wall.” … Hence the title of this post.