Total Pageviews

Saturday, October 1, 2016


Or Why I Am Green As Kermit

I’m used to not getting my way.  My very first election I enthusiastically supported Walter Mondale and first female Vice-Presidential candidate Geraldine Ferraro.

I voted for Michael Dukakis. Ross Perot.

I was fervent about Bernie Sanders.  Voted for him in the primary. 

I am voting for Jill Stein.  And no, I’m not worried about the consequences. 

I’ve survived Reagan and two Bushes.  I can survive Donald Trump.  But Donald Trump is not going to win, mark my words, ladies and gentlemen. Hillary Clinton will win.  Why?  Because this election is rigged.  ALL elections are rigged.  Not just with computers, though that’s part of their trickery these days.  Who are “they”?  We’ll get to that.   

There is evidence that Sanders would have won the primary had it not been rigged. 

"Our publication of the DNC leaks has showed that the Democratic National Committee had effectively rigged the primaries in the United States on behalf of Hillary Clinton against Bernie Sanders.  That led to the resignation of leading members of the DNC, including its president, Debbie Wasserman Schultz." Julian Assange in an interview with Spiegel magazine. 

Many moons ago FDR mysteriously said, “Presidents are not elected, they are selected”.  Which leads me to the issue of governmental shenanigans, period.  Something is rotten in the state of Denmark, a.k.a. Washington D.C.  Have you heard of the New World Order?  It’s time you did.

The topics I’m about to broach are fondly referred to as conspiracy theories.  The fact is, conspiracies exist.  People plan things, either covertly, or overtly.  That’s all a conspiracy is.  A plan. We can all agree to that, while we can only theorize about the details regarding who actually killed Kennedy because people hired to kill presidents generally don’t talk about their gigs.  Although former CIA agent E. Howard Hunt made a statement on his deathbed regarding his involvement in the assassination, executed by the CIA, which was given the green light by L.B.J. himself. 

I saw one idiot questioning Jesse Ventura about this in a TV interview, and poo-pooing the validity of any deathbed confession.  How many people do you know making them? Is there a rash of false pre-mortem confessions I don’t know about?  When you’re about to face your maker you have better things to do than use your last gasp to make up stories.  The moment preceding physical death is the moment of truth.   You’re either in pain,  petrified, or at peace, but it’s certainly no time for playing games. You’re leaving this world.  To what end would you play a final card in a game that’s over?

Rent Executive Action (1973 written by blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, starring Burt Lancaster, and Trumbo, 2015, starring Bryan Cranston, a brilliant film about the man) which outlines what may have happened to J.F.K.  The story rang true to me.  Three hit men are hired  for the job.  One of them inquires who the target is.  “I can’t tell you that” “What’s the pay?” “$100,000”  “You just told me who the target is.”

Oliver Stone’s JFK is one of my favorite movies. It also clearly outlines many possible scenarios, and many inaccuracies (and impossibilities) in the official story.  I’m excited to see his new film, Snowden.

“No one has to direct an assassination – it happens.  The active role is played secretly by permitting it to happen.  This is the greatest single clue. Who has the power to call off or reduce the usual security precautions?”    L. Fletcher Prouty, Chief of Special Operations for the Joint Chiefs of Staff under President John F. Kennedy.

This observation applies equally to September 11th, when the United States security and defense mechanisms failed epically to protect a single flight originating in Boston, Dulles, or Newark, allowing them to crash in New York, D.C. and Pennsylvania.  

The greatest nation in the world with the best military?  Give me a break. This defies the most basic logic.   As does every aspect of the official story regarding September 11th.   Did you know a third building “fell” that day?  World Trade Center building #7 (which housed CIA offices, among other government  agencies) mysteriously “fell” seven hours after the towers went down. It wasn’t hit by a plane, and it was not near the twin towers.  The official story is “office fires”.  A physical impossibility for a brick building.

A former colonel in the US Air Force, L. Fletcher Prouty retired from military service and subsequently became a critic of U.S. foreign policy, particularly the covert activities of the CIA about which he had considerable inside knowledge.  Prouty was the inspiration for the character "Mr. X" in Oliver Stone's film JFK.

The night before the Kennedy assassination, Lyndon Baines Johnson met with Dallas tycoons, FBI moguls and organized crime kingpins - emerging from the conference to tell his mistress Madeleine Duncan Brown that "those SOB's" would never embarrass him again, obviously referring to JFK and RFK, his nemeses, Brown reported.

I’ve read several accounts pointing the finger at LBJ for being the man who gave the green light to the assassination due to his extreme jealousy of JFK, and his egomaniacal desire to become president.  The CIA, which carried out the assassination, was no fan of JFK’s since he and his brother Robert were trying to dismantle the black op octopus.

So, back to the Conspiracy.  What is it?  Who’s in it?  Who are “they”. 

“Since I entered politics, I have chiefly had men’s views confided to me privately. Some of the biggest men in the United States, in the field of commerce and manufacture, are afraid of something.  They know that there is a power somewhere so organized, so subtle, so watchful, so interlocked, so complete, so pervasive, that they had better not speak above their breath when they speak in condemnation of it.”   Woodrow Wilson, 28th President of the United States, 1913

“They” are referred to variously as the Cabal, the Illuminati, The Archons, the Elite, The Watchers, The Deceivers, the 1%, the Annunaki, and the Reptilians.  The face of this elite group includes Henry Kissinger, George Soros, Jacob Rothschild, David Rockefeller, members of The Bilderburg Group, members of the Skull and Bones Society.  Some believe the Masons themselves are the Illuminati, but I have my doubts about that. 

“Their” operatives are our politicians, including Obama, both Clintons, Reagan, the Bushes, and the heads of our mega corporations, such as Bill Gates and Rupert Murdoch. Who has anything good to say about Murdoch?  I hated him when I worked at HarperCollins publishers years ago, a company he bought up with so many others, like a kid scooping up jacks. 

David Icke, a former BBC sportscaster, had a spiritual awakening in Macchu Piccu many years ago, and has been spouting “conspiracy theory” ideas via his prolific writing and public talks ever since.  He sounds both wise and mad simultaneously for many of the claims seem outrageous.  At first.  The more time passes, more and more of his pronouncements have come to pass.  I balked when I heard Icke claim that the Clintons were bad, along with Obama and his wife.   

I, like many others, wanted to like Obama. He said he’d close Guantanamo Bay and assure that no more torture was committed in our name.  He’d stop the war.  I was baffled, but made excuses for him when he voted against the environment, against wildlife, and aligned himself with toxic companies like Monsanto.  

I thought Icke was bonkers, blaming everyone, and it made me then question everything else he'd said which I had agreed with.  I finally came to realize that David Icke was right, that Obama was bought and paid for by the Oligarchy, Shadow Government, Corporatocracy, 1%, Elite, whatever you want to call them.  Gitmo remains open, and Obama’s policies are more militaristic by the day. 

Donald Rumsfeld, CEO of Searle, a subsidiary of Monsanto, which produces the omnipresent neurotoxin NutraSweet, was part of Reagan’s transition team.  Since NutraSweet had proved toxic in clinical tests, Monsanto/Searle needed a “helping hand”.  The very day after Reagan was inaugurated on 1/21/81, he installed a new head of the FDA which promptly approved NutraSweet (with Reagan as tie-breaker in the vote). The neurotoxin interacts poorly with anti-depressants (and the human body generally, being a toxin). The very first thing Reagan did as President was to grease the wheels for the approval of an artificial sweetener?  What does that tell you about our government?  That’s not capitalism.  That’s cronyism, and it’s as crooked as can be.  Our government should be protecting us from poisons, not pimping them to us.

Watch documentary Sweet Misery: A Poisoned World for free here:

This is just one of myriad examples of the close ties existing between government and corporations.  To the best of my knowledge it was John Perkins, author of Confessions of an Economic Hit Man who coined the term, the Corporatocracy.

“The real menace of our Republic is the invisible government, which like a giant octopus sprawls its slimy legs over our cities, states and nation. The little coterie of powerful international bankers virtually run the United States government for their own selfish purposes. They practically control both parties, and control the majority of the newspapers and magazines in this country. They use the columns of these papers to club into submission or drive out of office public officials who refuse to do the bidding of the powerful corrupt cliques which compose the invisible government. It operates under cover of self-created screens and seizes our executive officers, legislative bodies, schools, courts, newspapers and every agency created for the public protection.”   New York City Mayor John F. Hylan, New York Times, March 26, 1922

“The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society. Those who manipulate this unseen mechanism of society constitute an invisible government which is the true ruling power of our country.  We are governed, our minds are molded, our tastes formed, our ideas suggested, largely by men we have never heard of.”  Edward Bernays, “the father of public relations”, 1928, Bernays’ book, Propaganda, begins with the preceding quote.

The government as we perceive it doesn’t exist.  It’s a con game run by a hidden hand.

Did you know that The Federal Reserve is a private entity?  The organization that controls the U.S. money supply isn’t a government agency?  No it is not.  We have no idea what they’re doing in there.  We don’t even have the authority to audit them. But I’ll tell you this.  They’re up to no good.

“Mr. Chairman, we have in this country one of the most corrupt institutions the world has ever known. I refer to the Federal Reserve Board and the Federal Reserve Banks. The Federal Reserve Board, a Government board, has cheated the Government of the United States and the people of the United States out of enough money to pay the national debt.  Mr. Chairman, when the Federal Reserve act was passed, the people of the United States did not perceive that a world system was being set up here and that this country was to supply financial power to an international superstate — a superstate controlled by international bankers and international industrialists acting together to enslave the world for their own pleasure.”  Congressman Louis T. McFadden, from a speech delivered to the House of Representatives on June 10, 1932.

“The real truth of the matter is, as you and I know, that a financial element in the large centers has owned the government ever since the days of Andrew Jackson (1829-1837) Franklin Delano Roosevelt in a letter to Col. Edward M. House, November 21, 1933, as quoted in FDR, His Personal Letters, 1928-1945.

“Today the path to total dictatorship in the U.S. can be laid by strictly legal means. We have a well-organized political-action group in this country, determined to destroy our Constitution and establish a one-party state.  It operates secretly, silently, continuously to transform our Government, This ruthless power-seeking elite is a disease of our century. This group is answerable neither to the President, the Congress, nor the courts. It is practically irremovable.”  Senator William Jenner, 1954 speech. 

“The individual is handicapped by coming face-to-face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists. The American mind simply has not come to a realization of the evil which has been introduced into our midst. It rejects even the assumption that human creatures could espouse a philosophy which must ultimately destroy all that is good and decent.”  J. Edgar Hoover, The Elks Magazine, 1956 

“The Rockefellers and their allies have, for at least fifty years, been carefully following a plan to use their economic power to gain political control of first America, and then the rest of the world.  Do I mean conspiracy? Yes, I do. I am convinced there is such a plot, international in scope, generations old in planning, and incredibly evil in intent.” Congressman Larry P. McDonald, November 1975, from the introduction to a book titled The Rockefeller File. 

“There exists a shadowy government with its own Air Force, its own Navy, its own fundraising mechanism, and the ability to pursue its own ideas of national interest, free from all checks and balances, and free from the law itself.” – Daniel K. Inouye, US Senator from Hawaii testimony at the Iran Contra Hearings, 1986.

Need I go on?  These are not flibberty-gibbets I’m quoting.  And yet people like me get written off as nutters.  Well, I’m no chicken little.  I’m with Franklin Roosevelt.

I’m close friends for ten years with an eighty year old woman from Ireland.  She’s a Catholic nun.  Her nunnery (what are those things called?) oh, a convent (I just looked it up) is in Houston.  We share the same birthday and many of the same ideas.  “I think 9/11 was an inside job” she opined over the phone recently in her lilting Irish voice.  If the nuns know it’s an inside job, this is big.

When elections are rigged and there is systemic corruption, supporting the two party system is itself a form of corruption.  It’s like pouring gasoline on a fire.  Voting blue or red is the very definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.  Millions of people are disenfranchised, disenchanted and so disgusted that they don’t even want to vote.  But staying in neutral or going in reverse is not the answer.  Driving in a different direction is. 

I was so disgusted by the Democratic primary that I up and switched parties.  I couldn’t figure out how to do it online (the Board of Elections website was clear as mud), so I called them.  I told the gal I wanted to mail the form in, and she replied that that wasn’t a good idea.  “You'd better come in person.  We’ve had problems with the mail in option.”  “What do you mean?”  “They don’t seem to get registered, for some reason.”  Now, why would that be?

I could confirm her assertion because I’d tried to leave the Democratic party via mail a few years ago.  I was sick to death of all the junk mail I was getting from politicians at election time, not to mention telemarketers, surveys, and political messages rammed into my ear, voicemail and mailbox as surely as if there were a bull horn out my window and a ticker tape parade in my living room.

Since there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop the barrage of blue and red confetti, I decided to leave the party in the hopes of getting off their call and mailing lists.  So I mailed in my request to leave the Democratic party.  Nothing happened.  I received no paperwork confirming I was now Independent, which I’d requested. Heck, I was so pissed back then I would have become a Republican at that point. When I went to vote in the next primary, I was still registered Democrat.  Why are these mail requests “lost” in space?  Don’t ask me.  I’m just a conspiracy theorist.  

Heeding her warning, I decided right then and there to march down to the Board of Elections in lower Manhattan, taking the subway on a swelteringly hot and humid day.  Hell hath no fury like a voter scorned.  I received confirmation ten days later in the mail that I will be a member of the Green Party after November 8th. 

I’ve encountered a lot of flack from “friends” on Facebook, both directly, and indirectly regarding my green status.  One of the nicer, indirect  comments came from a friend who first complained about all the political rants.  Well, it IS an election year.  It was obvious to me that it wasn’t political rants per se, just ones he didn’t agree with.  Later, he commented about third party voters “I just don’t understand.”

What is there to understand?  That I don’t think like you do? That I don’t perceive the dangled threat of a Donald Trump presidency to be real?  I genuinely believe Trump is in cahoots with Clinton, and that there is only one political party, The Republicrats.  Apparently, it’s been that way for quite some time, as you saw from the quotes above.  We The People never noticed because the reds and the blues put on such a good show, and we are duly entertained, rooting for our team and gnashing our teeth at the enemy, as if at a sporting event.  

Hillary Clinton wore red to the 2016 presidential debates and Donald Trump wore blue.  Could the message be any clearer?  These people are friends.  There are photos of them socializing together for decades.

I had one FB “friend” (not a close friend, but someone I went to college with) comment on something pro-Jill that I’d posted on my own page “Jill Stein needs to shut the fuck up!”  The implication was that I, too, needed to shut the fuck up. I deleted her message and un-friended her.  My candidate can’t even speak?  The people hating on Jill (and me) are “Liberal Democrats” and are some of the most rabid people I now know.  I don’t tell anyone how to vote.  If someone is undecided, or planning not to vote, I ask them if they know who Jill Stein is, what the Green party is.  If they say no, I simply encourage them to find out.  Easy.  Case closed.  No one likes to be pushed.

An elderly neighbor of mine who was appalled when she learned I was going to vote for Bernie in the primaries (“He’s not electable!”) recently sent me an email, “For those who are planning to vote third party or not at all, this is funny even if you’re not Jewish!  Please watch and forward.”  I didn’t watch the stupid video, nor did I respond to her, but if I had I would have said.  “This is not funny.  It’s patronizing and offensive. How dare you tell me how to vote."  But that's what they're all doing.  The "liberals", that is. 

Another FB “friend” (someone I went to high school with, but not a close friend) wrote in response to one of the posts on my timeline: “Before you decide to vote third party…”  Before I decide?  Is she still deciding to vote for Clinton?  No, her decision is already made.  As is mine.  It’s not open for debate.  The presumption that I can be swayed is insulting; that I’m not of sound mind is patronizing.  It’s as if I’m not old enough to make a mature decision.  “The poor thing is not thinking straight.”  

Another FB “friend” (someone I hadn’t heard from in years) saw fit to send two articles for me to read to encourage me to shift my “passionate” approach to a more measured one.  I assured him that my “passionate” disposition was based on sound reasoning. All emotion comes from thought.  When I’m excited, it’s because I believe something is good based on analysis.  While I was polite in response, I was incredibly pissed.  They’re all coming out of the woodwork to make sure I vote the way they want me to. 

At a party I attended recently, a wife sicced her husband on me when she learned I was a Jill Stein supporter and 9/11 Truther (seems she’d never even heard there was any question regarding the official 9/11 story.  I’m not sure she’d ever heard of Jill Stein, either) She called her husband over. “I gotta see this.” she said, excited for the blood bath. She was a corporate lawyer and had worked for Bloomberg. Her husband was a finance guy who owned his company.  I felt like bait at a dog fight. The TPP came up.  While I don’t fully understand it (who fully understands any of the convoluted laws designed specifically to do just that, confound) I accept the assessment that the TPP is NAFTA on steroids.  In other words, expect the ten remaining jobs in the US to be blown out of the country, to be outsourced to places where the workers will earn less than nothing.  To compound the fact that most Americans already make next to nothing for the ten jobs we have remaining stateside.

Hubby became slightly rabid as he defended the TPP and his face started twitching like a rabbit’s.  “Americans have the right to choose cheaper products.  That’s freedom. Do you want the government telling you what to buy?”  Me: “Well, the government certainly will be telling me what to buy if this country gets flooded with more cheap goods produced by slave labor in other countries.”  Rabid Rabbit: “Let’s take TVs.  America makes expensive TVs.”  Me: “Does America make TVs?  I didn’t think America produces anything anymore.”  RR: “It’s just an example. If you could produce cheaper TVs outside of the U.S., think of all the poor people who could now get them.  More poor people could have TVs.  That’s helping them.” Me: “This country, and poor people in specific, don’t need more TVs, cheap or otherwise.  They need food, housing, jobs, education, clean air to breathe, clean water to drink, and non-GMO food that won’t give them cancer.  But that’s it?  TV’s?  Cheaper TVs is your  answer?” 

Democrats are petrified that Donald Trump will win the election. Don’t get me wrong, I know Donald Trump is a disaster of epic proportions.  I’ve hated him for decades, so much so, that I don’t have any more hate left.  What people don’t realize is that Hillary is just as bad.  I don’t want either Republicrat Puppet to win.  The American people are being offered a selection between the electric chair or lethal injection.  And they are enthusiastically embracing their own choice of demise. I want the whole system to crash and burn so we can start from scratch, like with slash and burn agriculture. Things grow green and fresh after a fire.  My choice is for who I want, not in reaction to those I wish to avoid. I don’t vote prophylactically.   

Why am I voting Green?  Because I want a government where my president doesn’t earn the nickname “Tricky Dick” for sanctioning a break-in to manipulate an election. Where I don’t have a president like Lyndon Johnson, who famously whipped out his own “johnson” during a Presidential meeting in answer to a question about why we were fighting in Vietnam.  I don’t want macho, maniacal men like L.B.J., who support the Miltary Industrial Complex that 5 Star US Military General Dwight D. Eisenhower warned about in his final presidential address on TV.  The same bloodthirsty L.B.J. who approved the hit on J.F.K. so he could ascend the throne and take credit for J.F.K’s civil rights work by putting his own name on the policies that J.F.K. and his brother had worked so hard to effect.

I want a country where my president doesn’t swear under oath “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” when in fact that young woman sucked his dick in the Oval Office during working hours.   On my dime.

I’m plain old sick of dicks. “Tricky Dick”.  Johnson’s “johnson”.  And Clinton’s “cigar”. The only president I can think of in recent history who had integrity was Jimmy Carter, who joined the rest of the big guys quoted above by saying on Oprah Winfrey, "We've become now an oligarchy instead of a democracy. And I think that's been the worst damage to the basic moral and ethical standards of the American political system that I've ever seen in my life,"

Going back, there was J.F.K. (who was noble at least where it came to politics) and Truman. Of course, there’s oldies but goodies F.D.R., Lincoln and George Washington. It’s been a long time since we’ve had anyone with a modicum of decency in the oval office.

Hillary Clinton is not a woman of integrity.  The Clintons have been accused not only of fraud, but of murder.  The recent murder of DNC staffer Seth Rich, who was rumored to have proof of DNC primary election rigging, is one of many murders or “suicides” associated with the Clintons over the decades.

“I don’t really care much what Hillary Clinton does with her email. I care that she is a violent authoritarian warmonger who supports bombings, drones, wars of aggression, policies which kill innocents, the DHS, the TSA, the failed drug war, NSA, Gitmo, torture, militarized police, bank bonus bailouts, corporatism, violations of human rights abroad and at home and now she wants to run for President of the United States on the “ready for Hillary” campaign marketing plan which seeks to focus on gender rather than her track record of destruction and failure. “ Attorney Bruce Fenton

I won’t go into great detail about Jill Stein, you can find out about her yourself.  I will say that she is a medical doctor who trained and taught at Harvard Medical School, that she had a 25 year medical practice, and has been a human rights activist for decades, out on the front lines.  A married mother of two grown sons, she values life, clean energy, the environment, income parity, a living wage, universal health care, student debt forgiveness, education and peace. Those too, are my values. 

I want a green, thriving economy.  A green, bountiful and beautiful land, safe for animals, plants, and humans alike.  A thriving educational system which includes the arts.  A new green infrastructure so we can turn around the terrible damage we’ve done to Mother Earth, and reduce and reverse our carbon footprint.   I want organic food from small, local farms.  I want to be happy, and free.  I want green space in which to breathe, and be proud of my country. 

People assure me that my vote for Stein, as with my votes for Bernie and Perot, are wasted votes.  I’m so tired of hearing the “A vote for Stein is a vote for Trump” call that I’m thinking of just saying I’m a Trump supporter from now on.  That should shut them up.

Despite election rigging, it ain’t over til it’s over.  Newspapers called Dewey’s triumph before Truman won the election. And if Jill Stein doesn’t win, if Hillary “wins”, or rigs it, "the powers that were" will still know that millions of us are no longer toeing the line.  We’re not buying into the lies anymore.  We’re not behaving.

Which leads me to Colin Kaepernick.  I’m no sports fan, I think it’s another form of brainwashing, distracting and mesmerizing the masses.  TVs, video games, smart phones are collectively Weapons of Mass Distraction.  

Remaining seated during the national anthem simply highlights a citizen’s right to be free from conformity.  The rote patriotism we’ve seen for some time was utilized in Nazi Germany, where the term “homeland security” was first coined.  Patriotism shouldn’t be enforced.  Nor should the President of the United States have to wear a freaking American flag pin on his lapel to prove his patriotism.  How infantile is that?   He’s the goddamn president, for chrissakes.  An American flag pin (made in China) to prove he’s actually patriotic?  It’s just silly.

The hoopla over the flag and the anthem is indicative of how stupid things have become.  They are symbols of this country, no more. Worshipping the thing itself, a tune or a piece of fabric is idolatry, not patriotism.  This country has been dumbed down to its lowest common denominator.  Intentionally.  Ignorant people are easier to manipulate.  Overwhelmingly, Americans are obsessed with drama, pop culture, reality TV, video games, sports, food, sex, dieting and shopping. 

Despite my distaste for sports, I think what Kaepernick is doing is brilliant, powerful, and important. It’s civil disobedience, pure and simple.  We are being told, increasingly with the police state we now live in, to comply.  To toe the line. Our privacy has been “disappeared”, thanks to the NSA.  The Patriot Act ensured the dissolution of our rights and freedom, which is why, by the way, 9/11 happened.  It was a false flag event designed to terrorize the American people into a state of fear and compliance.  And it worked. The Military Industrial Complex got the war it wanted.  Fifteen years of it, and counting.

Without going into too much detail, the twin towers were specifically designed to withstand airplane hits (confirmed by lead engineer John Skilling in a video interview I watched).  A few facts: Aluminum planes don’t penetrate steel buildings, even at high speeds, a plane is still a “tin can” relative to the strength of the structure it converged with. The wings would have shorn off at a minimum.  And jet fuel doesn’t burn hot enough to melt steel.

Architects and Engineers for 9/11 Truth has the science to prove that all three World Trade Center buildings were pulled by controlled demolition.  Nano-thermite (an explosive) was found throughout the dust at ground zero. 

Pilots for 9/11 Truth has the facts to prove that the stories about the planes don’t add up, either.  If you look at photographic footage of the Pentagon hit, there is no plane.  Planes leave wreckage.  There is a circular hole in the wall of the Pentagon, where a missile was clearly discharged.  Not a wing, not a seat, not a food tray nor a human body is in sight at the scene.  Look at the photos of the “crash scene” in Shanksville, PA.  No scorch marks, no wreckage.  Barely anything there at all.  Real plane crashes are messy.

President Bush was hanging out with a bunch of kindergardeners (sounds about right) when the events of 9/11 were going down.  His reaction was famously televised, that dumb stare of his while he just sat there.  He remained televised in public view for a full eight minutes, totally against all governmental protocol when the country is under attack.  He should have been whisked away immediately. Connect the dots. It was a show. 

You only have to do the tiniest bit of research to confirm what I, and millions of sane people around the world have confirmed for ourselves.  The official story is as off as the official story surrounding J.F.K’s murder.

“The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.” Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“To a great mind, nothing is little.”  Sherlock Holmes.  

Two mammoth buildings are blown to smithereens, reduced to millions of pounds of powder, and yet a single, perfectly preserved paper passport from one of the "hijackers" lay pristine on the ground just waiting to be found.  Come on. 

So, while police forces are now militarized, while mothers with babies are treated like criminals at the airport, and our rights continue to be stripped daily by the Obama regime, while our land is raped by Big Oil and Dirty Coal and hideous industrial and commercial practices that our Corporatocracy has sanctioned poison our food, water and air, the simple act of sitting down during the national anthem at a ball game is radical.

I don’t care what you’re protesting.  While Kaepernick’s protesting an important issue, the point of being an American is that you can protest anything.  You can speak your mind.  We’re supposed to be safe here, in “the new world”.  It’s what our founding fathers and mothers fought for.  Those freedoms have been usurped.  Colin Kaepernick’s simple act has started a firestorm of awareness, of peaceful protest, of civil disobedience that sends shockwaves through this country, waking up the people, and putting the Shadow Government on notice. Their number is up.  And they know it.  They’re getting desperate, and they’re upping the ante with their chaos inducing efforts to hold on to us.

Secrecy had been their greatest weapon.  No one could put a finger on it, no one could pin them down.  They were ghosts.  Their power was felt, yet they were never seen, you couldn’t connect them to the perversions that were being perpetrated on the American people, and other peoples via other governments.  That has changed. 

Like rats, they are scrambling.  They are slipping up, too, losing their grip.  “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!” blurted the Great Wizard of Oz when he was found out.  We ARE paying attention to what’s going on behind closed doors, and we are breaking those doors down.

No matter what happens in November, the Shadow Government will know that WE THE PEOPLE are no longer under their thumb.  Their power only thrived when we didn’t know about it.  The millions of us voting Green are sending a powerful message.  Like the little Whos of Who-ville in Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who, our votes, our voices intone, “We’re here!  We’re here! WE’RE HERE!”  

Similarly with Dr. Seuss’s The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, when the Grinch thought he could kill the spirit of Christmas by stealing the Whos’ Christmas toys, trees, decorations and food.  But the Whos show him the true meaning of Christmas, of the Force that lives within each and every one of us, the spirit of goodness, of brotherly love.  Of compassion.  That cannot be killed.  No matter how much the NSA spies on us, no matter how militarized our police become, and how many bombings the shadow government execute to terrorize their own people in order to control them. We cannot be controlled. Not anymore. 

And that is WHY my vote for Dr. Jill Stein counts.  Because it is an act of civil disobedience.  It is a statement of Power. It means I can see “them”, I know who “they” are, and I know what they’re doing.  They can’t hide in the shadows anymore. I am voting for Jill Stein and Ajamu Baraka because they represent me.

You cannot kill the Human Spirit.  That is the message of World War II, the message of the American Revolution, and the message of the Green Party.  We’re Here, We’re Here, We’re Here.

© Valerie Gilbert All Rights Reserved.

This piece is available in audio on Youtube, recorded by the author, in 3 parts:

Valerie is the author of RAVING VIOLET, MEMORIES, DREAMS AND DEFLECTIONS, and SWAMI SOUP.  The books are available in print, e-book, and audio, narrated by the author.  BRILLIANCE BREWING, Valerie's 4th book, will be released in 2017. 

Valerie leads psychic development/guided meditation/past life regression/personal growth workshops in New York City, and privately.

For more information on Valerie's full line-up:

Sunday, July 17, 2016


We all know these people.  You know these people.  You may even be one of these people.  If that’s the case, you probably have no idea.  Difficult people always think the problem is the other guy. It never is.

I’ve encountered several pissy types recently, and I will start by acknowledging that I invited them into my life somehow.  I attracted them.  That’s my belief, and it’s an empowering one, because it means I’m not a victim.  I don’t believe in victims or accidents. There’s always an energetic match between people and the interactions they create, even if it appears that one of them is a victim.  There are many unseen forces that go into creating situations.  Nothing is random.  I attracted these difficult types to me so that I can figure out new ways of fending them off, thereby empowering myself.  It's like martial arts training.  Good self-defense. 

I'm about to examine some circumstances that left me feeling put upon, attacked, vulnerable, crappy, yea, even “victimized” (despite my disclaimer above) in the hopes that I can make sense of the interactions and perhaps offer some insight to you regarding your own uncomfortable interactions. 

We’ll start with an easy case.  A mother with two small but shrill, boisterous boys on the subway.  The boys screech, shriek and rough house.  When sound can be heard above the din of the train in New York City, that’s some serious noise.  I was trying to read, and the guy next to me was trying to read, but he had ear plugs in so he was protected, or so I thought.  It’s lovely when there’s decorum, some sense of civility, propriety and manners in public, and it’s awful when there isn’t.  I don’t have to tell you that.  When the mother and her two noise machines left the train, the guy sitting next to me (who was sporting a wedding band) pulled out his ear plugs and turned to me. “Now that”, he said, pointing at the departing ruffians, “is the best birth control there is.”  

I smiled and agreed with him, then added “But if you had them, you wouldn’t allow that. It doesn’t have to be like that.”  It made me feel better, child-free also, to appreciate our advantage.  We’re not plagued by pint-sized hooligans.  He put his ear-plugs back in and recommenced reading after our conference. When I got off I waved goodbye, and he flashed me a peace sign.

For all my growing strength, I am still at times very sensitive.  So, if someone is being difficult, I may cringe, lie low and remain silent instead of mouthing off.  I’ve had a lot of experience with these types (heck, I married one) and after endeavoring to stand up to them (which inevitably results in discord) I finally, sensibly, simply started avoiding them.  Some people are just plain ornery, argumentative and contradictory no matter what you say to reason, cajole or appeal to them.  This is because the Difficult Person's only objective is to be contrary, to remain in an antagonistic position.  This is sport to them, but to me it's torture. Since you can’t win, why bother playing? 

I have been beset upon a minimum of three times under identical, absurd circumstances.  The setting: the bus, a bus full of empty seats.  Now, when a bus or train is packed, you keep your personal possessions to yourself.  You contract, pulling your bags onto your lap, putting them under your seat, doing whatever you have to do to accommodate the crowds.  This is the only thing to do.  However, when a bus or train is empty, one expands, branching out with one’s person and property. 

I've been on empty buses with a bag at my side, peacefully looking out the window or reading inspirational fare when one lone, crazed woman (it’s always a woman) comes right up to me and insists that I move my bag because she wants to sit right next to me.  I love personal space and peace and quiet, for goodness sake, and I like to be alone.  I’m averse to chit chat. Why me?  How did she decide that the seat next to me, when there were myriad others to choose from, was the exact right one?  Since I don’t own the bus, and I often resort to silence when confronted with maddening situations, I accommodated these several lunatics, as they all inevitably were. But I got angry about it.  I felt manipulated by the madwomen, yet I was really mad at myself. 

I now know why they glom on to me.  Because I’ve got a powerful positive vibration.  I’m peaceful, calm, and carry a high light from my spiritual work.  My vibration is attractive to them. They are moths to my flame.  I now also know that I don’t have to sponsor a moth fest.  Personal boundaries and protecting my energy and space is imperative, especially where negative types are involved.  My spiritual work and sanity depend upon it.

There was once a gal on the bus who could be nominated for MVP in The Difficult Person League, for not only did she annoy me (being A Difficult Person) but she expanded her repertoire to vex others.  She was older, but not old, and was wearing jeans, sneakers and a baseball jacket which read “Park City, 2000.” 

I was sitting in an aisle seat on an (of course) mostly empty bus, my bag on the seat next to me.  Ignoring the fifty other seats around us, this woman, who had a large piece of rolling luggage with her, declared that she wanted the very seat I was in, an aisle seat, and would I move over to the window? I did not want to be locked in by her and her luggage, nor did I want to sit next to her at all.  How do you respond to a request like that?  I know, you probably would have had a great response, and I laud you for it, but, determining that she was mad, and without saying a word, I chose to simply and silently vacate my seat and move to one of the aforementioned empties, another aisle seat just across from me.  A perfectly good seat she could have just as easily sat in.  In fact, there were literally three empty pairs of aisle and window seats all within three feet of me.  As I mentioned, A Difficult Person. 

She sits in the seat I unwittingly warmed up for her.  Her big luggage is in the aisle, somewhat obstructing traffic.  I continued to eye her, both irritated and intrigued. 

A big strapping man got on the bus, which was now filling up with passengers.  He was very tall and quite robust and stood near where Ms. Difficult and her luggage were parked.  She solicitously offered to move her luggage so that he could sit (she probably thought he was good-looking). He politely thanked her and declined, saying he was getting off at the next stop.  “The next stop!?” she blurted with her New Yawk accent. “Why didn’t you walk?  It’s a beautiful day.  Exercise is good for you.  You’re a big healthy man, you should be walking, not taking the bus!"

He became as irritated with her as I already was, and angrily responded, “I’m going to see the doctor!”   Now, maybe he made that up to shut her up (it did) or maybe it was the truth.

People like her don’t want your seat.  They want you.  To pester you.  To engage and lure you into their web of murkiness and despair.  It’s their weird, sociopathic way of socializing. Really, they're just toying with their prey.  

As luck would have it, and to my great chagrin, I encountered this broad again months later in an exercise class, where she maintained her title of Most Difficult Person, constantly complaining, whining, and being disruptive. Forewarned, I avoided her altogether.  She was clearly a lonely person, however, I don’t take on charity projects anymore.  I used to.  And I got burned every single time.

Being on the path of personal growth and spiritual enlightenment, I have begun to find my voice and become more proactive.  Being spiritual does not mean suffering in silence, putting up with things as they are, and making excuses for peoples' bad behavior.  In fact, being spiritual demands that you set a shining example by doing what's right and speaking up, especially when difficult people infringe on the well-being of others. It's not about fixing the world, an impossible task.  It's about being an active participant in your immediate environment, and, where appropriate, an activist in the world at large if this is your calling.

In a packed shoe store (there were sale racks crowding the interior with merchandise) a young woman was sitting on a chair right between the sale racks and one of the few coveted mirrors.  She was patently in the way, and it was all the more obnoxious because she wasn’t even shopping.  She was playing a game on her phone, while waiting for someone who was shopping. 

After stepping over her several times, I became increasingly irritated with her obliviousness until I finally took action and asked her to move.  There were, in fact, plenty of other seats, in less crowded areas of the store. “Would you mind moving to another seat since you’re not shopping?  You’re right by the mirror.”  She, being a difficult person (why else would she have stayed put when customers were relentlessly tripping over her trying to shop?) replied, “Why don’t you move to another seat?  There’s one over there”  “Because it’s not by the mirror, and I’m actually trying on shoes.  You’re not.” She got up with a huff and spat out “Rude!” as she walked away. Hello, Pot? It’s the Kettle calling.

Now, this story I missed, as it was re-told to me by an Indian guy who works at a local newsstand.  “An old man was with his girlfriend at the bagel store next door.  He was making a fight with the owners and using the ‘F-language’.  The store called the cops, and when cops ask him to leave the bagel store he say, “I don’t want to leave!” So police take him away in handcuffs.  They send five police cars for this!”

Case number five.  “What kind of dog are you walking?” A woman rudely interrupted me as I walked down the street with my dog, Milo. She was with her ten year-old daughter. I was taken aback for several reasons.  First, she didn’t bother to say, “Excuse me, can I ask you a question” or thereabouts.  Second, she assumed I was a dog walker, not the owner of my pooch.  Now, perhaps I could take that as a compliment, as most of the dog walkers in my neighborhood, though not all, are younger folk.  They’re certainly casually dressed, for the most part, and so was I, wearing overall shorts.  But frankly, I took it as an insult.  I look like a dog walker?  Nothing against NYC dog-walkers, they’re a terrific breed.  I’m just not one of them.

My old knee-jerk reaction, much to my dismay, was often to answer people (including strangers) when they asked me a question, even if the question was personal or inappropriate. Of course, if I had reason to already distrust or dislike the inquisitor, I’d know enough to keep my mouth shut and wait the scene out. 

And if someone was clearly “off” (crazy, aggressive) I’d know to keep walking.  But there are some cases that are middle of the road, and I reflexively respond.  So I stopped, and instead of explaining that this was my dog, not a dog I was hired to walk, I answered “He’s a poodle and yorkie mix.”  She didn’t even thank me for the information.  She clearly just wanted to procure one for her little darling. 

I was furious after this interaction.  I felt insulted.  I felt treated like “the help”.  And I hated the privilege her inquiry implied.  I was just a means to an end for her.

I wished I’d quipped, “What kind of dog? He’s my dog” and walked off.  None of her damn business what kind he is.  And I realized then that the correct answer to that question for anyone from here on out is the powerful truth, “He’s a mutt from the shelter.”  I don’t want to encourage more people to shop for designer dogs, not when there are so many animals that need adopting.  

That answer would have shut her down.  She’s not running to a shelter anytime soon.  At least I’ve started saying “he’s a mutt from the shelter” since this incident, because it’s the truth.  Yorkie Poo or not, he’s a mutt, and I did get him at a shelter.   Designer dogs are no better than designer clothes.  It's a shallow obsession. 

Months before adjusting my description of Milo’s origins, I was in a small local park walking Milo when a very old German man with a thick accent asked what kind of dog he was and I responded “Half poodle, half yorkie.”  “Aaaah, he is of mixed race”. The old guard spouting a eugenic perspective.  I didn’t hold it against him, though.  He seemed nice enough, even if his reference to racial purity was telling.

Another time I went into Whole Foods with Milo.  He was tucked safely away in his bag and lodged on the top shelf of my shopping cart, surrounded by groceries. When I stood in line a man remarked, “Can’t go anywhere without him, huh?”  I found that incredibly offensive, as it implies, well, what does it imply? That I’m needy?  Pathetic?  Can’t go anywhere without my dog?  Still not used to mouthing off to strangers, I said simply “He’s here.” and then, “It’s more fun with him.” 

The truth was that I had just taken my dog on a walk that lasted several hours in Central Park and we passed by the store as we returned.  Rather than bring him home first and then come back to the store, I put him in his bag and bought the few items I needed.  But I didn’t owe this guy a damn explanation.  Why should I have to defend myself? What right does a stranger have to comment on my life?  If I had the chutzpah, I would have retorted, “I could say the same of your wife” who was standing by him, along with their son.

Next episode.  I take Milo to a local park where there’s a clear “No Dogs Allowed” sign.  I take him there because many others do the same with their dogs, and the list of illegal activities that go on in that tiny park, including scofflaw toddlers riding bicycles and scooters when there’s an equally clear sign saying “NO BIKE RIDING”, goes on and on. This park hosts pot smoking, littering, alcohol drinking, and generally loud ruffian-like behavior from the local high school kids.  All go on without question.  I, who clean up after my dog, and allow him to pee on the tiny 5’x10’ patch of grass (I ask you, this is a park?) in the center of the park, do not care about stupid rules or the stupid people who care about the stupid rules. 

This is a small public park, and it’s not a playground (Dogs are not allowed in playgrounds, and I totally respect that.  That’s a hygiene issue.)

As I walked up the ramp into the park with Milo, an older woman who was with her tall husband shouted after me. “Excuse me!”  I don’t respond to strangers yelling in my general direction and I didn’t respond to her.  She continued to shout after me, and, in fact, started following me while yelling “Stop! Dogs are not allowed in there! Stop right now!”  She was very upset at me and my six pound dog, and while she and her husband were not going to the park before, they sure as hell were now, in hot pursuit of me, a tiny person with an even tinier dog. 

I walked Milo over to the grass, where he sprinkled a little pee, then we moved to the edge of the park, on a bench by the river and sat, with Milo in my lap. I sat near a young black man with his Rastafarian hair wrapped in a turban.  I thought his presence might intimidate her white ass.  I was wrong. I should have sat next to the gang of high school kids playing loud music and smoking pot.   

The lady marched right up to me, standing to face me.  “Are you blind?  Can you not read the sign?  There are no dogs allowed here!”  So obstreperous was she that I wondered if she confronts everyone who “breaks the law” in NYC, including folk who litter and don’t pick up after their dogs?  I doubt it.  Why did she care so much about this, about me, now? She had it in for me. 

I had sunglasses on and steadfastly stared ahead, or slightly away from her, as she continued her rant.  I did not say a word.  Neither did my dog.  We sat still as church mice. 

“Are you deaf, as well as blind?  What’s wrong with you?  There are NO DOGS ALLOWED IN THIS PARK.  Can’t you hear me?  Can’t you read? Get out!  Get out of here right now!”

With no response from me she proceeded to escalate.  “Are you stupid as well as blind and deaf?  Are you rich?  Is that it?  You think you’re above the law?  Well, why don’t you just buy your own park!  You think you own this park!?”  A hilarious argument, since I could say the same of her, and the nannies and rich toddlers who take over the park during the day, littering it with chalk, food and wet wipes, or the teenagers who take it over after high school with their loud music, bicycles and pot.  It belongs to all of us, in fact. I’m one of the few people who leave the place better than I find it, not only cleaning up after my dog, but often picking up litter left by humans.

I did not respond to her because there was nothing I could say that would appease or silence her.  I don’t like to argue, and I don’t answer to crazy strangers.  She’s not a cop.  But she threatened to call them.  “Do you want me to call the authorities?  Is that what you want?”  Her husband started taking photos of me with his iPhone, me on a park bench with a small fluffy dog in my lap.  Too bad I didn’t have my hair and makeup done that day.

Because I refused to leave or respond, I won.  They left.  

Speaking of speaking up, I noticed a sign warning that Monsanto’s Round-Up Glyphosate was being sprayed in that very park the following day.  Most people won’t read that sign and their children and pets will be exposed to this known carcinogen.  I wrote the city immediately complaining about their use of this hideous toxin, produced by a hideous company.  I contacted the Mayor’s Office and the Parks Department, excoriating them for their inexcusable choice to apply poison in a public park.  Neither responded. 

And another incident.  After hours on the phone with Verizon simply trying to update a credit card for autopay (the website wouldn’t accept the new card number) I was beginning to lose it.  Impossible to use the website or to reach a rep, the company is an octopus.  It’s too darn big, the definition of a monopoly, and the very reason this country has anti-trust laws, none of which are being enforced by the Corporatocracy we live in. 

I spoke to a minimum of ten people, and was on the phone for two hours.  It was unbelievable.  Eventually, I switched gears and spoke with a bank rep from the issuing company to see if there was a problem with my new card. She said something about my new Visa and I froze.  I had been entering numbers for an Amex. I had no idea that the new hybrid card I was trying to update had switched from a partnership with American Express to a partnership with Visa.  That’s why the numbers were invalid.   It had been Amex for three years, why would it change? 

Despite my ignorance (the bank made no mention about their shift in partnership from Amex to Visa when they presented the updated card, which was simply to be managed by a new customer service firm.)  I was The Difficult Person.  After being humbled  (and mildly amused) by my mistake, Verizon took over the position of Difficult Person again.  Other issues had by now cropped up, passwords, log-ins, and I was on my 12th transfer to yet another customer service agent.  He asked me what I needed help with, despite the fact that another rep brought him on the line and should have filled him in on my case, if only briefly. Baffled, I said,  “I have absolutely no idea.” and hung up.  I’d lost my mind entirely.

What was I gaining from these confrontations with difficult people?  Over time, I was learning to stand up for myself.  To speak up. And to not back down. Whether or not I spoke. 

Another example.  I was invited to an appealing event, but by someone with whom I had an iffy past.  We were friends/acquaintances, however, this gal had stood me up two times at events to which I’d invited her.  At both events I waited, looked at my watch, then texted her “Where are you?” Both times she responded “Oh, didn’t you get my text?  I have to work.”  Uh, no, I didn’t get your text.  And if you’d actually sent me one, I would have.  A third time she invited me to an event and never showed up.  I texted her as I approached the venue, “Hi!  I’m on my way!” then again,  “Hi! I’m here!  Where are you?”  and finally, “Hello, are you here?”  She didn't answer me until several days later when she claimed that she had, indeed, been there,  and wondered why didn’t we see each other.  Gee, I don’t know.  Nor did I care.  Regarding general communication via email, she rarely responded in a timely fashion, if at all.  So, I had plenty of unsavory prior experience with her.

All this being said, and despite the fact that I’d had no contact with this chick for the past six months (for obvious reasons) I was surprised to hear from her, and delighted by the invite as it sounded like a really fun event.  In fact, I had joined her at one event she invited me to and we both had a great time.  It was one of those situations where the evidence swung both ways.  She had been a loyal student in my spiritual development classes.  And that meant something to me.  I appreciated her reliability and responsiveness early on in our association.

But ultimately, when you consider the bigger picture, that on-again off-again behavior represents at minimum an unreliable friend, and at worst, an abusive relationship.  Someone can treat you like shit for half (or more) of the time, but it’s those few “exceptions” that you cling to.  “Oh, but she’s so sweet sometimes!”  The operative word should be RARELY, not sometimes.  And if you can’t count on someone to consistently be there for you, responsive to you, receptive to you, and loyal to you, then they’re not a real friend.  

Regarding this latest invitation, I asked her a bunch of questions since the event was five hours long and I wanted to get a sense of what she anticipated, as I couldn’t find a detailed description of it online.  She didn’t respond.  This was a red flag, and my stomach felt “funny” (my “gut” feelings or intuition kicking in) so I eventually followed up, “Are these plans definite?  Because I cancelled my other plans.  I don’t want to be left with nothing.”  She responded with a nasty, “Why would you ask me that?  I already told the organizer we’re coming.”  

Well, you know why I asked her that given the history I just outlined.  However, had I referenced the specifics from the past in answer to her, it would have been the same as hurling a rock at a wasps' nest. The event would have been called off, no doubt about it, and a fight would have ensued. 

I could feel the vitriol in her response. I recoiled, and actually felt chastised and depressed for a full 24 hours (I told you I was sensitive). I knew I’d done nothing wrong, but her blast of anger catapulted me into a mindset/emotional mode from my young adulthood when I’d tolerated family members, and later, boyfriends, who would snap at me, moving me to recoil and withdraw within.  I got depressed rather than angry.  Over time, I’ve learned how to maturely express my anger, and, better yet, to take action.  Sometimes it comes from confronting the “abuser”.  Sometimes it comes from cutting off contact with them. I’m not here to teach the world.  I’m here to happily live in my own.  Miserable people like to drag you down to their own wretched level.  You must be a potent gatekeeper.  You must learn to be discerning.  I’m still learning, as you can see from this piece. It's a process of refinement over time. 

Appalled as I was by her angry response, I did not respond.  My desire to be at this particular event overshadowed the crystal clear message from my body and emotions (discomfort and depression) that told me the whole situation was a no-go. Great event.  Bad company.  I wanted to attend the event enough that I ignored my feelings.  That's where I went wrong. That’s what our feelings are there for.  They’re a warning system.  A guidance system.  Bad feelings suggest the usage of extreme caution, if not outright avoidance. Now I know (again, and yet more) not to proceed if I’m feeling bad about something.  We tend to experience the same lesson over and over again until we really, really learn it.  Learning is incremental; so don’t get mad at yourself.  If I didn’t need this lesson (again) it would not have reared its ugly head.

I thought about canceling with her, and going back to my original plans with genuinely nice people (believe me, I kicked myself over this after the fact). However, the nice people were all married, and I, being single, really wanted to be at a large event where the chance of being with other single folks (my “friend” was single, and now you know why) was at least an option. My original plans were a known quantity, the new plans had an element of excitement and the unknown. But I did know the most important thing .  I knew who she was.  That was my mistake, overlooking her erratic and unpleasant behavior in my eagerness to have fun.  How can you have fun with someone who isn't? Her character was more important than the event itself.

I did meet up with her and it was a disaster from the get go.  She was already in a foul mood, and you could cut the tension between us with a knife.  I tried to make polite conversation, to which she glumly grunted responses.  I finally turned to her and said "This is not fun.  I'm going home" and left. I had been with her exactly one hour.  

Your feelings are your friends.  They represent communication from your Inner, Wise Self that knows who you are and what will most please you.  It is Your Wise Self that wants you to be pleased, to be happy, if only you will listen to your heart.  As you get better at understanding the feedback loop between what you think, what you feel, and what you experience, you will get better at navigating what life has to offer you.  If you keep on tolerating unpleasant people and experiences and making excuses for them, you’ll get more of the same.  If you decide that you want more out of life, to be happy, free and unencumbered, then you will seek out people, feelings, thoughts and experiences that produce the happier results.   Again, it’s the use of discretion and discernment that sets the course of your journey.  Like any good GPS, you always have the option of “recalculating” and “recalibrating” your path.  You’re the captain of your ship.  Navigate wisely.  Protect your self, your vessel and your crew. 

Last story.  I was in a good mood, feeling great, actually.  Returning to the city from two days in Southampton with my dog, visiting a friend and her family.  The long leg of the journey was over.  We made our connection to an express train from Jamaica N.Y. to Penn Station, a ride that lasts roughly 21 minutes. 

I’m surrounded by three empty seats, in a car that is mostly empty, on a train that has barely any passengers.  I have with me a small piece of rolling luggage, a large purse, and my dog’s bag. I’m relieved to have breathing space after an hour and a half on a more crowded train before this connection. 

Just as I settle in a woman comes up and points to the seat next to me, “I want to sit there (where my dog was nestled in his bag) and I don’t want to sit next to your dog. You can put him over there” (she pointed to the seat across from me).  I was appalled by her presumptuousness, by her having the chutzpah to tell me exactly what to do with my things and my dog.  As you know, I’ve been historically restrained in my responses.  Not this time.  Not with my baby.  “I don’t want my dog over there,” I said. “Did you pay an extra ticket for him?” she retorted.   I looked at her, not saying a word more. I thought she might call the conductor over and “tell” on me, as if other people don’t spread out with their bags when there’s enough room, with full conductor complicity. I did just that on the trip out.  My dog is always next to me when there’s room, and if not, he’s on my lap.  I looked her directly in the eye and firmly responded.  “You can’t tell me where to sit.  There are plenty of empty seats.”  She was incensed.  “I didn’t tell you what to do.  I simply asked.”  “And I answered.” I rebutted as she huffed, puffed, then blew herself away while muttering that I was “rude”.  It’s always the rude who call others the same when we don’t comply with their selfish demands.

One day I woke up at 5 A.M. and decided to take Milo to Central Park since he can be off leash there until 9 A.M.  On another such day, yet another “difficult person” shouted out to me across a crowd when Milo (and all other dogs) was off leash “Aren’t you worried about losing that little guy!?”  How is this his business? I ignored him and walked on.

On this day, we got to the park by 7.  There was something strange about the park that I couldn't place.  It was preternaturally beautiful, and the sky was what pilots refer to as “severe clear”, stunningly bright and beautiful.  Even better, there was no one around, which I couldn't understand. It was a surreal cross between The Twilight Zone and The Garden of Eden.  The scene was otherworldly, and I couldn’t understand why, but I greedily soaked it all in.  Eventually I figured out the reason that it was so pristine and picture perfect.  New York City had been purged the night before by a thunder and lightning rainstorm, the first in a long time.  The powerful energy of Mother Nature cleansed and cleared the atmosphere, and rearranged the park most magnificently. 

There comes a time when one must Thunder and Lightning, Shake, Rattle and Roll.  Become a Force of Nature in your own right.  Know Thyself and stake your claim to what is yours, including your personal space and your God given right to be happy.  Don’t let others rain on your parade. Don't let the turkeys get you down. 

There are those who suffer in silence, martyrs, no matter what happens around them or to them.  This is not noble, it's passive.  The other extreme is those who are so controlling and neurotic that they insist that you suffer with them.  This can only come to pass if you tolerate their presence and their poisonous efforts.  Setting clear boundaries is crucial, whether with a literal fence or with your words.  

It’s up to us to control our immediate environment, both internal and external, and it starts by knowing what our desires and our limits are.  Decide what feels good and right for you and then advocate for those things. Believe you can have them.  Surround yourself with people who support your beliefs.  Move confidently in the direction of your dreams and keep the naysayers at bay. 

Lift yourself up above the negativity of the world. 

Be Happy.  

Prioritize your well-being.  

The world takes its cue from you. 

©  Valerie Gilbert 2016 All Rights Reserved

Valerie is the author of RAVING VIOLET, MEMORIES, DREAMS & DEFLECTIONS: My Odyssey Through Emotional Indigestion, and SWAMI SOUP. The books are available in print, e-book, and audio book, narrated by the author. 

Valerie leads Psychic Development/Guided Meditation/Healing/Past Life Regression Workshops at Namaste Healing Center, and privately, in New York City.  

For more information on Valerie's full lineup: