It’s not a surprise anymore to find people on this timeline, most identified as the year 2025, that have a conspiratorial sense that something is afoul in the structure of social organization, culture, and governance. The inconsistencies and incoherence of reports from around the world, as well as, progressively more suspicion regarding history initiates and drives this sense. When that sense crystalizes into understanding, a reconciliation of terms becomes an issue and a challenge. Why are so many elements of our lives so mixed up?
If it were just mixed up, that would be one thing. Existence in the terrestrial realm is under threat. So whether your medical treatment has intensified, your education confusing, your environment contaminated, swamped or incinerated, or some missile has just hit your neighborhood threat is manifesting. It’s spread like wild fire. It’s near impossible to miss, and the initiation of the threat is sourced. Earth is, and has been, threatened by predatory beings. Shameless parasitic beings that have leveraged a key amount of informational and linguistic twists to mind boggle the human race so severely that we’re actively participating in suicide on an installment plan. The last bastion of survival instinct is manifesting as a sense of conspiracy. There can’t be any compassion in the drivers of this destructive programming. In my view, the state of affairs would never have reached this point, could not have reached the point, if the agencies pushing it were capable of stopping. The predatory class will not stop pursuing its mission until everything is wasted. Period.
The spiritual force pushing this movement of unwell ness, domination, and harm feeds on conflict. This is a spirit entity that has no regard for fact or truth. It doesn’t care about wrong or right, as long as there’s a fight. The predators feed off conflict and fighting. I realized a way to infect the systems of hurt with a love virus… I have been in perpetrator space.
Innocently enough, I found myself in the home of an international banking conglomerate family member. I hadn’t previously had any idea who these people were. There was no opulence in this place. It was a cluttered, dimly lit, musty place. It was also modest and surrendered to the kind of housekeeping you might think of as a type of forsaken lazy. There’s not a lot going on here. The homeowners are off to one of their other homes. The man of the house stops by occasionally to use the local airport at which his plane is parked. The home itself seems to be a repository of once used domestic artifacts, and an abundance of tchotchkes. All these knick knacks everywhere create cheesy cheap feel. I’ve been hired by this burly contractor to work on this place. The home is in state of can’t be bothered overall neglect, and needs improvement, repair, and maintenance. Now I find myself in this cluttered room with a task to do. The boss is off somewhere, and I’m trusted to be in here by myself. No problem. Just got to make room to get to the inside of this window that needs replacing. This little table with these little foreign land figurines needs to be moved. I do the next out of order thing. Rather than clear the table and then move it, I just grab it and try balancing the stuff on it while I move it. Of course… tip, spill, fall! Two of these little eastern looking figures hit the floor. They both break.
Now what!? After beating myself up for having been negligently lazy, a plan began developing. Fix them… The fix it plan was juxtaposed with the more responsible thought of telling the boss. These two thoughts volleyed back and forth as the broken pieces were gathered on to a paper towel. All in all, the two figurines that broke added up to the size of two matchbox cars. They were two of thousands of little statues that were placed all about, in every room, stairwell, and hallway. They were everywhere. The final shot of the thought volley landed in the wrap it up and run court. The wrapped up paper towel holding the pieces was placed safely in the back seat of my truck.
On the kitchen table back at my house the figurines underwent a type of emergency layman’s kintsugi. With a little extra Crazy Glue gilding over the fracture and some blended water color paint these items were ready for return. The next day they went right back into the original location from which the handy man had so carelessly moved them. Life goes on. There they were left in hidden posterity with only the wonder about whether or not they would fall under the kind of scrutiny that would reveal the repair. Who knows?
Years later it stuck me that these pieces were ‘out there’ somewhere. What if either one, or both, are still in the space shared by members of this banking behemoth family which is so often credited with the kleptocratic monopoly activity that glaringly seems to be running the world down? I’m imaging an access port; a quantum access port. Through these figurine kintsugi fractures is an entry way. A means of making a quantum incursion. Ah ha!?! Without having to trespass I will intentionally stream a love signal into the space about the figurine. Let love work its magic. I mean them no harm. Any influence that relaxes the determination of this “stop at nothing” monopoly quest seems welcome to me.
We’ve all got our own inside work to do in terms of reconciling the intense violence suffered in the modern world, and I would prefer to do that without this protracted down pressing by these corporate kleptocrats. There is more than likely an abundance of prayer and intention driven love and healing energy flooding the ether in effort to stop the proverbial bleeding. The kentsugi crack love drip is one person’s life by the drop contribution to a more just and relaxed world.
When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.
-Jimi Hendrix