I believe it was Dr. McCullogh who affirmed that shedding from the shots is a real phenomenah. Physics affirms that our DNA is forever being exchanged by proximity to each other. See Luc Montagnier. Nowadays our DNA has a new protein, made of medical investments and gain of function, and it is being shared everywhere with everyone. It is reminiscent of ice nine in Cats Cradle by Vonnegut. Once ice nine is let loose, theres no putting it back in the vial. Everything freezes in the end.
Shedding is defnitely a thing. Even before the fraudulent vaccines were let loose upon us, it has been known of an exchange that occurs in every meeting. In every passing encounter we are sharing DNA and unseen elements amongst ourselves.
In a dream, I am watching an advertisement on a screen filled with the recognizable boxes of a zoom meeting, a huge screen, filled with countless boxes. The voice over is stating the increasing numbers of people who are waking up from the covid catastrophe, the disturbing nightmare of a whirlwind epoch that whipped most folk into a malestrom of medical madness, believing in leaders, sold out scientists, and corporations that in fact have next to no regard for our lives. I watch as deep red blood makes way through each box and every person. A digital image, the blood is in pixels, entering each body and moving on to the next, jumping the edges of boxes into another, and another, and another.
In a cult, when the leader aims to increase the numbers of his flock, proximity is a primary principle. Sharing what crosses the barriers of skin and aura becomes essential to ensuring dependency and cohesivenss of the group. Daily communion between cult members ensures that influence is continuous. By eating together, partying together, camping together, traveling together, and the endless hours sitting together at the foot of the (counterfeit) master, the exchange of energies is assured. It has a distressing effect on the mentality of the individual who is strapped in to the well defined rendering of what is acceptable or not. It is brainwashing with the added effect of physics, or what my artificial master called proximity. It promised the benefits of osmosis, as if we could be infused by sacred spirituality just being close to him. We would be safe and we could be sure. We were infused with what tapped our trauma driven habits to fawn and bow, to please at any cost, and to do what was suggested but never outrightly insisted upon. With wannabees, no insistance is required.
It may be a measure of what intention a spiritual teacher has, if their promise of a spiritual feed insists you arrive on site and stay close. That person is collecting followers and numbers are more important than revelation or contemplation.
My fake teacher and his business of proximity overreached propriety and entered into an abuse of power. If I sat in a circle of women from the cult, I knew that some had been imbued into his flesh and his flesh imbued into theirs. Our womens circles were alive with sexual energies that were strictly contained inside a developing philosophy that was worked and reworked to satisfy his sexuality and his controls. His sexuality was not to be spoken of ever, but the sense of it moving through the followers was ever present and conversations about our own sexuality held sway in any gathering.
Secret liasons, secret trysts, and secret meetings deemed celestial or spiritual were considered transmissions of an ancient kind, delivered from him on high. Everyone knew it was occuring but secrecy was the mandate. Even if one was not a direct participant in clandestine meetings with his naked highness, the possibility of it took hold of men and women alike. What could be imagined became more substantial than what was actual. Fantasy ran amok in the unseen context we moved in. The only words we could consciously give to it were his, the ones we heard day after day. If not directly from his person, it came from his support team churning out audio and video at a dizzying rate. Some followers began their day with his product, many put themselves to sleep each night in the unmoving light of his videos. We were inundated. It was almost impossible to have an original thought of one’s own. If someone did express anything original, it was quickly absorbed into his lexicon and language. It became his property and product.
Let’s talk about our sexuality said the hostess in our womens group. Without hesitation the declarations were spoken out around the circle, one woman after another describing their experiences, consumated or not, it was always of the leader, from him, about him, around him. The words fell out like the old-time late-night television commercials, long winded and repetitive. If they spoke of glory I dont remember. If it was real I sorely doubt. But on the second going, I had heard enough of what sounded, to my ears, a bit too dreamy, a bit inventive, a bit self-aggrandizing, and essentially distorted. How to describe what was said, what I heard? It was a mix of personality, intelligence and the experience of direct knowledge, meaning an actual sexual encounter with the make-believe master, or the indirect experience we shared through our proximity and shedding. Im making much of the expression and little of the meat of the matter. That reflects the sphere we lived in. Its pointless to revisit the litanies that were everpresent. Once I stepped out of those circles, the spiritual jargon disappeared like dust in the wind.
Back to the circle. It was just after hearing from a woman, small of stature but large of confidence, speaking out into the clouds above about the way sexuality moved her. Obviously one of the chosen, her telling was saturated with the sacred, the divine, and the otherworldly. Celestial it was said, again and again, a tag word from the cult leader, likely picked up from a tea bag label. Her sharing sounded particularly holy but when it got around to me, that supernatural languaging had landed like nonsense inside and what came out of me was profane and impure, as if it was up to me to balance out the sacred devotions of this avowed high level sexuality.
Call a group of women together in a circle and let them share the meaning of their sexuality. It could be profoundly bonding, so genuine and heartfelt, but circle up a bunch of women who have given themselves to a cult, a circle where half were having sex with the self-styled teacher and the other half reaping the chaff of proximity, the words sounded illusory, dreamed up by dreams, and soaked in the codes of persuasion.
So when it came around to me, some dark thing that always waits, dark and damp and unseen in the depths of me, sat up and roared and from my mouth I spoke about my sexuality. I just want to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck, I said. Which is not true for me, but that dark thing inside had had enough of the magical thinking that justifed our being in a veritable sex cult, with only one recipient of the fair ladies charms, the man with a fuck schedule, organized by his wife, a different fair lady every night to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck. It wasnt real bad, said one woman, it just went on so long.
I dont want to think about it, but the shedding happens despite my resolve. The anger mixed with self disgust, the shame mixed with secrets and deception, it shed all over everyone, men and women, husbands and wives. No one was immune. We shared a false belief in a concept of spirituality that was only a cover for an addicts unresolved pain and depravity, his projections onto us, damning us in some parts and love bombing us in other parts. We were split through and through wherever his axe of core-splitting deception landed. What compassion can be shown for him, the reaper of shame and self disgust, but to shut him down and cut him off and force him to quit his crimes. Indeed, the laws forbid his activity while women continue to consent and carry on with his misinformation, as if they were free to discern. How to discern in the containment of coercion? How to see beyond the lies our leaders tell us?
A well-designed storyline weaves itself into a tight carpet that binds people together. Each disclosure of some dastardly activity is quickly normalized after the initial eruption. The weave gets tighter, a grander lie becomes essential to success. Revist Fargo for an outlandish example. Secrets dig deep into the psyche. The mind begins to split and deterioriate under the pressures of maintaining the fiction. Deep down there is a reality that is most denied and most true. It is the truth that has become dark and heavy and hardly moves inside. Suddenly, when we are finally fed up with holding up an invention, it rises up to be heard. It sounds profane, or like a conspiracy theory, and very far outside the accepted culture.
Leaders need a lie to control us. It splits us in two, one part knowing what is most true about being human, and another part being carried away on a tide of fear and anxiety. Mass psychosis is reaped by a world wide web of lies. On the surface we believe what we are fed by our captors and leashholders. In the deep of us, we sense the coercion, the uneasy feeling of being taken by a desire that isnt our own.
Meanwhile in nature, honesty has no opposite. We can rest there. The dark damp heavy parts within can come out for some air, at home in natures reflections. Returning to the car, belting ourselves in, and heading back to the thicker parts of civilization, all of us so tightly woven together, one false threat in one manipulating part can spread like a virus. In the corona times the fear of death and disease manipulated masses of people. In the cult, the promise of a world beyond and a supernatural power transmitted sexually persuaded us to stick together, to believe we were special, and to fear that maybe we werent.
We return to nature and it cradles us, we swing low and spin in that cradle until an edge in our lives becomes a new center and the geometry of living makes passage all over again. The natural world is a renewal and a rest. Out there we are shed upon by creatures and growing things that have no agenda outside of what is self balancing and perpetuating life, without any conscious need to repress or control to obtain something more than what is essential. You will say there are parallels between the patterns in nature and the patterns in humanity. Why not? Are we not grown up out of fauna and flora? Are we grown up if we continue to only lust after what is meant to be cared for and cherished? When may we grow up?
While the destruction and rape of our natural world persists, it heaps more and more uncertainty on our internal sense of stability. What is happening in our world is denying us the earthly places where we are able to deeply relax, places where we can go to simply know, I am human. I belong here. Let’s cherish this life.
Jess, I am a touch in awe of the surgical precision which your scalpel words have to reveal and cut the chords of the structured paradigm that was at once wholly and intrinsically believed without question but is now dust in the rearview mirror, not as close as it appears.