Tuesday, April 26, 2022

"The Outcome is a Testimony to The Journey. Life Itself Arranges and Accommodates To... and Around You."

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

People do not understand the reach, the implications, and multifarity of blessings that attend Gratitude. Gratitude is also a shield. It is a protection against all sorts of unfortunate states that manifest when Gratitude is not present. If gratitude is not upwelling, you will become a desert within yourself and soon your environment will reflect this too. By desert, I mean emptiness. Hell is the absence of Love. Love is an interior state that radiates. If you can radiate no Love, what does that portend for you?

Everything in life is a form of trafficking between worlds. Our thoughts, words, and deeds lead us into the world that shapes around us. We are always changing it, but often that is simply a routine repeating itself, like a reflex that is unnoticed. Whatever gave wings to the heart has flown away, What is that thing they call the sweet bird of youth?

It is the heart, however, that rejuvenates your being. It is the fountain of youth or... it is a barren plane. We people our existence. We enter into conspiracies with the lies of others, which leads to death and destruction. It DOES NOT have to be like that. It never seems to start out that way. Like the song says, the road is long, with many a winding turn, that leads us to who... knows where, who knows where

The outcome is a testimony to the journey. Life itself arranges and accommodates to... and around you. This speaks of great good fortune or... who knows where Very often, what did not seem important at the moment, turns out to have been very important in hindsight. Pray without ceasing!!! Seriously... and whether it is a sincere upwelling of extemporaneous celebration, mirroring the angels on high... or a simple chant that is attended by invisible waves of devotion, it is like having The Almighty at the helm of your life.

People who become bitter, and hard, are in desperate need of the lubricating agency of Love. It's a form of self-torture, this bitterness that comes from having been self-serving. Those who give themselves away, walk in the footsteps of The Everlasting. If you do not see angels in your life then you have banished them. They are never far away, but we are far away within ourselves. One attracts angels the way a flower attracts the bees. There is a flower that grows in the human heart; can grow in the human heart, and it exudes a perfume that attracts the angels. Dark passions of the lower nature attract a different kind of companion.

We populate The World we occupy. This is how The Kingdom of God is brought to Earth. One carries it with them wherever they go. Some lives are attended by the flames of Hell. We all have our attendants that go where we go and either see to our needs or feed upon us. Everything is food for something else. It is up to us who we offer ourselves to. If God consumes you, you are a living particle of conscious light within his being of conscious light.

When I eat, I seek to feed the higher nature. I visualize this while I am consuming the food. It is like tossing coal into the furnace that powers the ship; that used to power the ships (and still does in places), BUT... you do it with a song in your heart. You let Gratitude and Devotion speak to your motives and intentions. It will lift you right up out of the tawdry ruins of a life in the shadows. It will bear you away into worlds of light. YET... You will STILL BE HERE!

Remember Jesus Christ and the lepers? Here we had two very different life forms in the same life form, BUT... what a world of differences between them. As I have often said, I am an avid watcher of people. When you become capable of narrowing your focus, you can see into the very lives of those who parade before you. You can see what they suffer from and aspire to. You can see their direction. The envelopes of their appetites pulse and vibrate around them. They are in a dream, and they just don't know. They think they do, however, and you must watch what you say to them.

In the course of a day, you can see so many examples of human nature, in its struggle for decorum and control. You can also see those who have given up the contest, and submit to being nothing more than vehicles of appetite. The IMPORTANT thing for you to remember... AT ALL TIMES... is that Everything is under control and that your thoughts, words... and deeds have put you exactly where you are, and... can also take you A-N-Y-W-H-E-R-E!!!

There are those who have gone ahead of us, and who wait at different Stations of the Cross, to guide and inspire the wayfarer. Some of them shimmer in iridescent bubbles of vibrating light. For the most part, they dim their lights, lest the fearful come in anger to the castle walls. People are EASILY led by fear, and those who wield this force against others have a strong advantage in The World... for a time... until it turns on them, as it is certain to do in Times of Apocalypse.

The hucksters and hypocrites, the Satanic engineers of transsexualism, the race-baiters and sanctimonious skells, who have had their way in recent times, are now under the shadow of their own backwash returning on them. God moves mysteriously, in and out of everything. He is the force in all engagements of whatever kind. Before your eyes, you see The Purpose of Demonstration, which is history being inscribed on the moment as it passes. Each generation comes to its window of influence, propelled by old feuds and grudges out of memory; desires and hungers aplenty, BUT... remembered, nonetheless, in the outworking of life... fixed in its tracks, on rails laid down in another time.

One of the greatest poets I ever had the good fortune to read, and some of whose works I memorized in my pedantic era, was T.S. Eliot. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” is a testament to the western understanding of Karma;

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”

If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”

I removed the pretentious Italian verses from the beginning of the poem. I think that is a kind of virus he picked up from his mentor, Ezra Pound. How I loved poetry. It was the breath of life to me. Then time passed and I saw much of life that had no poetry. It has taken me round corners, through alleys, over mountains, and down to the sea, by mysterious courses, which I cannot remember because it all disappeared behind me. This is what we have of memory, fashioned and shaped by our perspective; a form of colorizing.

So... in real life, Eliot was a banker, proving that God has a sense of humor. Is it possible to have a wider gulf than that between poet and banker? When I was a child I read so many biographies. They used to have these collections in the library, these orange books that were about the lives of influential souls. There seemed to be an endless amount of them, BUT... as is characteristic of me, I probably read all of them. Such a quality can be annoying to others, early on, BUT... it can become exceedingly useful when one learns to hold their tongue later on. I learned powerful lessons about why some succeed and others fail.

I think I have mentioned this before, after meeting The Man on the Beach and having the most profound experience of, “I don't know,” over following time... I came to realize that, in fact... NOBODY knows. They are just giving you their impressions of what someone else told them, reworked and personalized for their use and dependence upon.

I was able to detach myself from The Argument (always taking place somewhere) because no one knew what they were talking about, and it was THIS... THIS... which made them all so angry. Deep within, they knew that they knew nothing. You don't want to be the kid who goes around telling The Emperor that he has no clothes. I know this up close and personal. It's a little like Cassandra and Diogenes on a date. How did they get Diogenes Syndrome from Diogenes?

Okay... I've rambled on like a marble in a Matchbox-model, Chevy Geo. I'm sure there's something else I can get up to now. Let me leave you with this image; all force comes from God, so... everything that happens is powered by God. What gives it specific presence is whether the motivation is coming from The Lower Nature or The Higher Nature; keeping in mind that there are many levels of low and high, AND... it's all on The Dial. Mind how you turn. In every case, one is either resisting and hindering or NOT. Let The Divine play through you. Who's going to be able to do anything about that?

End Transmission.......

Some links=

Via libsoftiktok@Twitter
Isn't IT lovely? isn't IT wonderful!
Living one's own truth on the banks of the Okefenokee Swamp sector of the human mind=

Via libsoftiktok@Twitter
There are some...
hosting dark entities from the infernal realm=

Via TODAY.com
well... this checks all the boxes, does it not?=

Via reallygraceful@YouTube
Oh, and it makes you wonder=

Via The Real History Channel
I don't know if it will be the next big name to go down, but I get a serious spidey-sense of Howard Stern's world crashing down around him=

Via Breitbart
Those whom the Gods would destroy...

Via ZeroHedge
What's going on in here?=

Via The Real History Channel
Inarguably... this is true=

Via Neon Nettle
Wow! Just WOW!!!=

Via The Daily Wire
And... uh... heh heh. I don't know what to say about this=

Via Gateway Pundit
Well, you scheme and you scheme, and you push and you push. EVENTUALLY, something you did not want to happen... happens. Watch for it=

Via Top War
Obviously, the translation software is not of the best, but it gives real insight into what is happening in the world of currencies=

Looming financial troubles

Via revolver


Anonymous said...

"...We people our existence. We enter into conspiracies with the lies of others...".

Not a trail of bread crumbs to follow, not merely food for thought... that's a Roman feast of contemplation.


M - said...

"One attracts angels the way a flower attracts the bees."
Beautiful, Visible. Simply beautiful.

"Earth's crammed with heaven." - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Love To Push Those Buttons said...


Illusion, lies, inconveniences, often the victim of circumstance. . .yeah; which were planned out by our retarded, masochistic selves to 'grow'. There's also a demand on your time, and you gotta do obnoxious things to continue to exist here. (I'd rather eat a person than a pig. Yes I would If I only could I surely would. . .Gotta finish that song slaughter one o' these days. I don't know if I could give Weird Al a run for 'is money, but I can try.) The list is a lot longer.


Akashic Knowledge, no need to injure anything, self-containment, telepathy, instantaneous travel and manifestation if you care, nose hair coats, riding comets to the ends of the nose-iverse if there is an end, no goin' on the rag; not that I do that any more (At least not in the messy way.), more colours that don't register here to our senses, and the music leaves even the best stuff down here in the dust.

The list goes on for both here and there, but y'all gets my drift. From a pragmatic perspective, me thinks the Cathars had it right. Don't feed the realm of the demiurge by breeding.

But I've been here a gazillion times. I'd like to know why? What's the appeal on the Otherside? I mean, we should know better.

Oh yeah! The 'heroin addiction' factor. A bad drug you get hooked on until you detox.


Which reminds me. Local Grocery Outlet ran outta Maslo Ekstra butter. I got the last bar. If they don't get some more, I might not survive the withdrawal.

See if I'm still posting in another 6 or 7 days. If not, well. . .you know the story. Ekstra addiction is worse than fentanyl, adrenochrome, and nicotine combined.

Guy Reid-Brown said...

Best poem in the language!

Visible said...

A new Smoking Mirrors is up now=

"These are Very Tense Moments on The World Stage. May God Be Merciful to Fools Who Know Not what They Do."

brian boru said...

I read your book, 'The curious case of Ash and Whine', a few years ago and found it a very satisfying tale. That was because the really bad guys, who rarely are brought to justice in real life, got it in spades. I wondered whether you had some inside knowledge about whether there are actually people like Ash out there in the world who dispense well-deserved justice to characters like Wrathsmelter and his ilk? We could do with the services of an 'Ash' now!

Visible said...

Ash is an attribute of The Avatar.

Things move more slowly in the realm of Time. The Future is a done deal higher up the ladder of planes. Occasionally, 'one of us' rises up the planes.



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