SUNDAY RAMBLINGS

7th August 2022

Very rarely I take a break from research and reading by watching some You Tube favourites like Takis Shelter and other animal rescue channels. I also pop into Netflix and scroll past a ton of bland uninteresting mind warpery before exiting unimpressed and reconsidering, yet again, whether to cancel my subscription there.

This week I have found something which I liked. I know - SHOCK - HORROR! 🤣😂

Anyway, I thought I would ask you all to give it a whirl and see what you think.

Here is the link. It is a series called The Sandman and, at first, I was very standoffish, thinking “WTF is this? More comic book hero shit?” but I warmed to it because it is beautifully produced and some of the acting is superb. I am always a bit distracted from storylines by backdrops, clothes, artwork and props. For this reason I love period pieces. This series begins in the past but advances at a good pace to the present.

Episodes 4 and 5 had me rivetted because they deal with the subject of honesty.

They made me think….

HONESTY

If everyone was brutally honest, what would our world look like?
What would my life look like if I were unswervingly honest all the time?

I like to think I am an honest person but deep in myself I know I am not. We all speak fat fibs without even thinking about it: “Hi there! How are you doing?” when passing in the street or making a phone call. “Oh fine! You?” is our standard chirpy response. Only our very closest friends might get a response like “Totally fucked off actually!” and an explanation beyond that.

I could write a hundred pages about the lies I have told to placate people or to divert a conversation or to cover up my emotional turmoil. I have lied to protect others, to preserve my privacy and to appear totally sane when I was, in fact, going off the rails with exhaustion or despair.

The episodes of The Sandman which illustrate the value of lying are profoundly impactful. It shocked me into a realisation that I have not considered before…..

When things were tough for me I would say to my closest friends or family: “Sometimes I think I have died and gone to hell but nobody has the heart to tell me!”
Other times, I would relate my experience when being hypnotised which told me that, during a previous life, I had vowed to reincarnate in hell “until every last blade of grass passes into heaven before me.”

THE MISSION

So where is hell exactly? Is it a physical place or a state of mind?

After being regressed through very many previous lives I could not help but notice a running theme when I heard the recording.

Firstly, I was always a man. This totally shocked me at the time because, for some reason, I thought my essential self was feminine. Clearly not! That was one illusion busted.

Secondly, the circumstances of each life were dire. Much fighting in wars. To tell the truth, every single life was a tragedy of being an unremarkable soldier or seaman and dying very young in blood-soaked chaos.

When I listened to myself reeling these snippets of lives back under hypnosis I was stunned. Where was the glamour? The happiness? The success? I didn’t appear to have lived much beyond 25 or 30 at any time since I made the fateful vow to reincarnate in hell.

For years after this experience I would occasionally fall into thinking about what hell really is. The Tibetan Book of the Dead taught me that hell is anywhere exclusively materialistic - so I had a small clue to follow.

Suddenly, one day when I was particularly deep in a meditation, I realised that I had been born into hell, as vowed, without fail ever since I made the commitment.

IN THIS LIFE…

I was born in University College Hospital (UCH), bang in the middle of smog blurred London UK, in March of 1952. My mum came from a hard-working humble family but had a hole in her heart and so the doctors had decided that she would have her baby in the UCH operating theatre under a packed viewing gallery and glaring lights. The idea was to give students an opportunity to view an emergency operation on either my mum or myself if I was born with the same heart defect. My mum was tougher than anyone thought. All her life she had been treated with kid gloves, denied a normal education and physical exercise because everyone seemed to expect her to keel over and die at the least little shock. She was a copper headed, white-skinned, freckled and fragile looking girl of only just 20 when I was born.

The birth went without a hitch and everyone crammed in the gallery was disappointed. There would be no open heart surgery that day. However, the doctors still insisted that my mum rested well and I was whisked away from her immediately.

When I was given back to her, she took one look at me and said “That is not my baby! My baby has red hair!” My father was stunned. He knew that I was his child, he had seen the delivery and had noted that, like him and his mother before him, I had dark skin, dark hair and deep purple eyes. My mum was not convinced. “She looks like a Pakistani baby!” she cried and rejected me completely. Thankfully, my paternal grandmother was called in to resolve the problem. She turned me over and looked at the base of my head. “There!” she said, “That birthmark is the same as mine and her father’s! She is just like him, Joicie! What you saw under the bright lights was blood on her head at birth!” Somehow my mum accepted this confirmation and I was finally fed from the breast, but a sad distance between us began that day. I never felt close to her.

So…. Is London hell?

I would say it is.
In 1952 some pretty evil things were happening there. While the long-suffering working people were busy cleaning up bomb craters and piles of broken masonry after WW2, the intelligentsia were scheming and planning for the next cull of humanity. I cannot tell you how often 1952 leaps out from the pages of history to tell me of dark undercover operations and wicked agendas. The two world wars had revealed the poor state of British health and so the NHS had been founded in 1948, but don’t be thinking that this was some sort of benign gift for the people of Britain! Oh no. It was a cynical attempt to categorise, examine and, only where necessary, upgrade the population for the sole purpose of being fit for future wars.

Even the National Insurance numbers tell the tale. You must have noticed that they always end with a letter A, B and rarely C.

A is for male cannon fodder.
B is for female cannon fodder.
C is for invalid.

If you are a Brit you have been categorised for your viability purely in service to your country as a warrior. Appalled? There is so much more.

I went in search of an article I deep researched and wrote about 5 years ago. I wanted to link it here. It has disappeared from Hive blog and Steemit, so you will have to take my word for it. The NHS has never been all it was cracked up to be. It is, from foundation, a huge deception, a national lie of such magnitude that few dare speak of it for being disbelieved.

What about the other London lies?

My goodness, what a list I could make! You only need to read some of my previous work to familiarise yourself with some of my deep dives and doubts about what is truth in this life.

BUT

It is Sunday and I don’t want to ruin your day, so I will leave it there.
Please watch Sandman on Netflix if you can.
Tell me what you think in comments.

I am only Human by Rag’n’Bone is appropriate at this juncture!

ONWARDS! xx