Captain of my Ship

Franz:
As to how to be a creator, the suggestion made by your friend [Frank DeMarco in The Cosmic Internet] to 'remote view your own life' is not a bad one, with some cautions about letting your  ego-mind magnify fears [Think Rimmer in red Dwarf in the holoworlds].
K; So, visualisation.
F: Yes but visualisation from the viewpoint of 'sensiing vectors', of looking at the avenues that are possible from your current standpoint of choices.  Every choice closes certain possibilities and opens others in your prospective futures. Some are malleable - you can go back - but others are not (such as choices that lead to dropping the body).

Guidance

Some might wonder what the point or purpose of guidance is, if we are here, supposedly to interact with this plane, learn to make choices, and 'do things ourselves' with 'delayed consequences'. Good question! Claire had this to say:

K: Is it possible to be 'at cause' in one's 3D life, or is this New Age hokum?
C: What do you think this conversation is, if not being at cause? [as opposed to being a victim?]

Then Franz:
F: What must be considered is who or what is exerting control? Higher Self? The Life Council? Various resonances of 'other selves'? The basic, unmediated embryonic ego? You can see that discerning who or what is very important.

In the present case, it would be fair to say that the persona (ego plus soul inserted into the body) wants to have a greater hand in ' shaping matters'. To do this I would suggest that you follow the instructions for shaping matter: visualisation, putting out energy of a particular need or desire to those who can fulfill it, then 'checking in' with one of us as to whether it is on course for the life plan, so as to avoid wasted effort.

I don;t mean to say that you should do this with every little decision or choice in your life, but the larger ones would benefit from such checking in. It is of benefit to study how this works so as not be be forever bashing your head against brick walls, as you would say.

Parts of Self and Choice

In discussing the facilitation of goals with Franz today, a continuance of a previous conversation about the threads or resonance or Other [past] personalities of self occurred.

F: If your goal is to have a peaceful, financially stable life, then you must make inner and outer choices which facilitate this. If you wish, conversely, to 'rely solely on guidance and go wherever the wind takes you', this involves an entirely different set of choices; choices which are not being, I point out, entirely in keeping (harmony) with either your persona or the various threads (consciousnesses, 'lifetimes') active now in your make-up.

K:With regard to that, it would be interesting to see their orientations, views, and 'who's steering the ship', as it were.

F: Very well. A dossier:
Ancel [Master of the Scriptorium at Salisbury, 13th C] - contributes logic, and attention to craft and its preservation. His overriding attribute is analysis of the intersection of soul and spirit.

Bekka [Minor member of the Hapsburg family, a good faith offering to the Reich] performance of duty, putting self last. You are perceiving that her influence is largely detrimental  to your persona in terms of development, but she facilitates interface with your present culture's expectations.

Patty [Jefferson] this one has been self-deprecating to a self-destructive degree, but contributes a 'romantic' (feeling based) sensibility and love of beauty necessary to your work.

Molly [Pianist, wife of a university don] contributes logic in a practical manner - which is helpful in integrating the business world, and a very deep sense of beauty.

Ellie [Appalachian seamstress] this one also has  extremely self-deprecating tendencies, and the habit of following along, not standing up for herself. But she too has skill in craft, a good business sense and sense of beauty.

In all cases of the self-deprecating threads, it is important to separate out what is useful in their influence from what is not, which may not be apparent as such at first glance.

***
I then circled all the positives, for future reference and discussion with the personas. In the case of Bekka, I asked myself how I could avail of her facility with cultural expectations without descending into that 'loss of self' that was a hallmark of her life. I decided to use her (pardon the term) for those things that make life easy and pleasant: cleaning, cooking, baking, home craft. (Let her be a housewife) - which is where that desire comes from (in me), because she never got to except partly at the end of her life after the war.

I had then a strong sense of incoming information. and realised that I needed to change her outcome (she died as part of the infamous resistance after the war.) Several possibilities presented themselves, some humorous, such as running off with General Sepp Dieterich - a joke between them - but the most cohesive with her own life was to get her and her child Karl to Switzerland and be reunited with her Hapsburg relatives (beloved Uncle Otto and so on), as it was from them she was taken as a young child. It would be completing the circle.

Miss Patty - Retrieval IV

This was somewhat unexpected, given my lifelong familiarity with this life; despite certain experiences - uncontrollable grief, anger and bitterness when at Monticello - it never occurred to me that she might be stuck. Erm, was/is this rescue the thing I was/am supposed to do about this (and not write a book)? Well, if so, here it is. May the release of energy from this heal all concerned and free up new ways of being.

I was very surprised to see her at Elk Hill on the James (a property owned first by her father, where she lived with her first husband, the grounds of which Cornwallis destroyed in his march through) and not at Monticello, which at first blush would be 'more logical'. However, like victims of amnesia, it appears that she went back to a place and time before a great deal of the crashing horror of the life occurred. Yes those are subjective words. No apologies.

* The photo above is of Plynlimmon, nearby in Goochland, because the present house at Elk Hill Farm is  Gothic revival, built in the 1830s. The original house was a frame house (like ten-thousand other Virginia gentry houses, not really much to write home about.)

I found her sitting on a chair before the window, looking out at Elk Island in the river. The date was June, 1776. Yes that year. She had just had another miscarriage, was ill (diabetes type I) and depressed. She had supposed to be at The Forest in Charles City already with her sister and brother-in-law/cousin, and everyone was coming to look for her, having received frantic letters from Mr. Jefferson in Philadelphia.

So, I thought, Oh Lud, how shall I manage this? Realising that it would be very difficult to tear her away, she being very stubborn (her worst fault). So I thought, well, why not use the two people who came to me as a preschooler as young girls, her sisters Elizabeth and Anne? My dear Amy had actors as two of her sisters (Nancy [Anne] and Tibb [Tabitha]), actually so it should be fairly easy.

Amy and I arrived in the hall outside of the bedchamber where she sat; the door was open, so, it was a matter of scratching on the door (a family habit) and walking in.
K/E: Sister, at last!
She turned, somewhat listlessly, while we took off out bonnets, but her eyes lit and then grew teary.
P: Oh my dear sisters!
There were embraces and cheek-kisses.
A: Sister we have been so worried when we had no word of you! So we decided to come and fetch you ourselves, thinking perhaps that you needed assistance.
Oh Amy, well done!
E: Francis has been beside himself, receiving letters by every post from our friend. [Mr. Jefferson]. Had you none here at all?
I knew that she had not of course. She shook her head and so I held out a thick packet of letters, tied up in pale blue ribbon.
E: These are all this month gone.
She looked at them rather fearfully, paling, and shaking a little, her face then a changing canvas of emotions - happiness, sorrow, wistfulness.
P: Oh my dear Betsey! Thank you! You are an angel!
She took up the letters with gladness - and put them directly into her pocket in her skirts.
P: I shall read them anon.
She promised.
A: You shall, as WE are going to kit you out and bring you right along! No argument now!
Have you anything ready fit to wear?
She looked askance at the rather shabby old gown, a work gown, threadbare and mended - almost shredded, and at the undressed hair flowing loose. It was comical to see Amy as Nance was then, the littlest of the sisters, both in age and size, fussing about like a little brown hen. Patty looked toward the wardrobe press in a kind of confusion.
P: I ... think so...

Well, she had been there for such a long time in a daze, that surely fashion was the last thing on her mind. (Even though she had been in life quite fashionable and not a little vain.)
At this moment,  her servant Bett appeared in the doorway, cheerful, managerial, bustling. I hid a smile. Madame in disguise.
B: Now lamby, you come along and we's all will set you to rights. Look here and see what Mary come up with in the guest room -
Mary was Bett's eldest daughter. In comes Mary with a chemise a la reine, the most fashionable of French frocks at the time, designed to appeal to that forgotten vanity.

 All the bustle of changing and arranging has at least taken her attention off the window which had exerted such an hypnotic fascination for so long. When all is done, we take her downstairs to the waiting open carriage and all sit together.

Driving along the river road smoothly (not bumps and ruts and other inconveniences of 18th Century travel),  I ask her what she was waiting for at the window. The pleasant expression of enjoyment at the dappled light vanishes and she looks catatonic again.
P: I was waiting for Mr. Skelton.
Eek. Her first husband. This is worse than I thought. She has retreated entirely to before her marriage. I glance at Amy, who says firmly,
A: No, Batt and Tibb and Jackie and Pa are all gone, Patt. So is Betsey's Dick, and Janey.
She nods at me. husbands, siblings, children, nephews.
Patty shakes her head as if waking up.
P: Why, yes of course, how foolish of me!
Her hands are tight on the reticule strings in her lap. I think she might get lost again, but she turns to me earnestly.
P: Have you heard from Maria since your loss? [a mutual friend]
I assure her that I have, and begin talking about many other friends. Keep her in her present. That's progress.

We are still traveling along the pleasant river road, and I suggest that she might want to look at her letters, that we won't mind, and a little distractedly, as if she has forgotten them, she says 'Oh Yes' and removes them from her pocket. There are many tears and kisses of the words of the one on top. I hide my smile. The girl who used to read novels is still alive in her.  She bursts out:
P: Oh! he has been asked to go to FRANCE! to assist Dr. Franklin as Minister.
Her eyes are shining.
P: France, France, France!
I think of her eldest daughter, who was a coltish tomboy as a little girl but who cherished her own time in France. It had been a girlish dream, for Patty, amongst her father's French essays and sermons and plays, borne up by the interest her first husband had in that country also. She is as excited as a girl.
P: He says I am to await with you and we will leave directly he returns -[reading]- this Tuesday week... That's tomorrow! Oh Lud!
She is blushing like a girl.
E: That is why we came. Francis had the same intelligence of him.
Making it all up of course, but, look at her.
P: Oh, Betsey! You are such a clever thing!
She hugs me impulsively.

She doesn't seem to notice that no night or day is passing, or that we do not stop at taverns or friends' houses on the way. That's as well. We are suddenly moving up the hill towards her childhood's home, a modest house amid pine, tulip, and walnut trees. She is straining to look, as there in the half-circular driveway, is a familiar horse. She digs her fingers into my arm.
P: Oh he's here! He's here!
And with that He indeed appears from the house and Elizabeth's husband with him. The carriage has barely stopped and she has scrambled out and flung herself on him. Uncharacteristic in public, but not among family.
P: I received your letter!
She is exclaiming.
P: Oh France! France!
He is smiling his sardonic smile.
T: I thought you might be glad to see me too.
He teases.

She is happy and over the moon.

Inside the house is much discussion of logistics. A ship has been commissioned for them. Various friends are helping to secure supplies. And, a letter from Lafayette's wife Adrienne, in French, welcoming her to her country and hoping to embark upon a deep and lasting friendship.

Everything now will change, as they indeed embark on this alternative history in the holoworlds There. The changes for myself as a 'downline' remain to be seen [if any]. But watching her dance about her childhood home on light feet in those few 'days', reunited with her husband and daughters, I feel less conflicted about the life and its 3D outcome.

The pull of that life from my earliest childhood was because she needed rescuing. It cast a long shadow. But all that is done. When they take their leave, bound for new adventures, we wave them farewell from that curved driveway that now is barely discernable among the ruins of the house in the 3D.
K: Well done!
I say to Amy. She is smiling.
A: Yes.

Queens

Two, one two three four
Ev'rybody's talking about
Bagism, Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism
This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m. 

This post is gong to be about Archetypes and Gender Identity. Anyone who has a problem with that, stop reading right now. The rest of you, carry on.

The conjunction of Caitlyn Jenner's revelation on the cover of Vanity Fair, the Supreme Court's upholding the rights of gay people to marry, and the murder of 9 people in Charleston for being black has brought up matters of identity in the US. Over on the Joseph Campbell Mythological Roundtable, this has received a lot of discussion. The views range from the 'scientific' - what according to DNA IS 'gender identity'?- to the spiritual - archetypes, the Hero's Journey - to the cultural - what does it mean to be gay, black, fe/male at this time?

The answers of individuals - like the view of historians or biographers - is often more illuminating as to the writer than their subject. But that in itself is instructive as to where we are in the process of Change as a society right now, thus Important.

One of the most interesting discussions, to me, is the re-emergence of the Queen archetype in the female life span, as opposed to Maiden/Mother/Crone being the only options. I take this very personally, as Persephone - one of my major archetypes - embodies three of those modes (Maiden/Queen/Crone)- with Queen of the Underworld being the 'most enduring' (of the longest duration) There of the three. Here in the 3D I have achieved three of those four stages (Maiden/Mother/Queen) and was stuck in the Maiden/Damsel Who Must Be Rescued for a very long time, well into the Mother/Queen st/age. The quarternity, in Jungian terms, is well-presented here.

The Damsel in Distress

This is the immature version of the saboteur. Like the saboteur, this young woman remains self-absorbed, aloof, and does not really understand her environment. It has become disappointing to her as it at best has not met her needs and at worst has entrapped her. Her lack of prior inquisitiveness has left her untaught, ill-prepared and unable to provide for herself. She needs to be rescued from her own life. Unfortunately her lack of relatedness has left her stranded with out known options that would be able to bring about resolution. As in her adult form, her distance from her own needs not only undermines the environment, but sabotages herself. Her need to relate is trapped within her, i.e. self-absorbed, she is well aware that she has needs, but does not have a clue as to how to bring them about. She is trapped, and awaiting divine intervention.

Queen/Mother

I offer this archetypal combination to both honor Toni Wolfe’s original labeling and to acknowledge that there is an aspect of this complexual form that does not have to be a biological mother. The queen/mother aspect of a woman is a complex that has a personal relationship with her subjects and assumes the responsibility of providing an environment in which her subjects can thrive and flourish and find the relational qualities necessary for harmony to exist in the queendom. Her very presence in life leads her through experiences to discover the role that awaits her. Her role will be to instill in her subjects the qualities that she, by her own inner sense of things, deems important. Her dedication to this labor force her to surrender some aspects of her natural sensuality. Her seductress is commonly one of the first victims of this commitment. She may even be tempted to convert her relationship with her lover into that of mother-son, which will provide her mate with a safe place to exist in so his energies are free to provide financial and maintenance support to her family. She tends to be very supportive of social systems that provide an extended environment in which her children or subject are safe to explore and then return to her. The mother has truly surrendered herself and her path as an individual. Her view of wholeness is not simply herself, but the oneness of herself with her self defined charges, be these children or adults. She, of course , will sacrifice herself for her charges, for she has traded her individual path for the opportunity to be the creator and inspiration of her charges who in her creative side she hopes will fulfill and surpass the dreams that she sacrificed to care for them. So, the accomplishments of her subjects become her fulfillment.

The Medial

This aspect of the adult feminine is impersonal as is the amazon, but opposes the amazon in that the fields she play in are the fields of spirit and unconscious ideation. The medial is a channel from the external world to her internal or from the collective unconscious to potential consciousness. She is naturally in tune with her environment and with her intuitive abilities attunes herself to the vibrations that surround her. Her strength is in her ability to trust the internal message over what is obviously standing in front of her as the two commonly oppose each other in the world of the medial. She has some Hecate or witch like qualities about her in that she knows what she knows. But, this knowing does not come to her through reason or exploration. Rather, if she comes near it, it just invades her and demands recognition. When she is surrounded by light creative energy all is well with her and those about her. However, when darkness or discord appear on the horizon of the unconscious, she is the first to sense it. If she denies the intuitive invasion, then the dynamics are pushed into her own shadow and she may be forced to act out the discord in physical or psychological illness. However, the structural form of the medial is truly a vessel, not a receptacle. Therefore, she can avoid this illness by simply allowing the energy of the intuition to pass through her by announcing it to consciousness (either hers or to whomever it may belong). One of the tricky aspect of being a medial is determining for whom her bells tolls. She can easily cause great discord herself by confusing inner messages from her own unconscious with collective material or by assuming that every thought that ripples through her head is a message for someone. Just like the amazon needs to refine her skills, so the medial needs to refine hers. Her unwillingness to apply discipline and wisdom to her gift can be her seriously detrimental to both herself and those close to her.

While it is true that in the Upper Astral (5th Dimension) and Mental (6/7th Dimension) there isn't gender as we think of it here in the 3D, there is an habitual choice of projection for purposes of communicating in the 4th and 5th Dimensions, commonly known as Gender. In specific, all the people we have met thus far in this blog - Franz, Madame, George, Claire, Amy - are actually non-gendered, but project the aspects of gender 'for convenience's sake' [their words] because 'it is hard to get excited by a fuzzy orange blob' [George]. No spirit (or Higher Self or whatever you wish to call it) has gender. It never did. Soul fragments have whatever gender in whatever worlds system the soul goes into as a personality (and some of them have as many as 36 'genders' as we think of them here on Earth) for reasons that have to do with the role taken on.

It is also true that in utero here on earth, certain 'outside influences' [ hormones in food] and 'naturally occurring' influences [over secretion of certain hormones due to enzyme block or lacks as in my own family] can cause hormone and actual physical changes in the embryo, fetus, child and adult, with the cascade of concomitant difficulties and 'gender ambiguity' manifestations (intersex newborns, assigned a particular gender at birth).

My role here - apart from whatever else I am doing - and There is as 'Queen of the Underworld', helping those who are being born and dying with their transitions. I understand the dynamics of physical and non-physical life very well, both in its functional and 'spiritual' aspects. But Claire, for all her having actors ( soul fragments) who have been females and going by a female name - which means Light - hasn't a gender. Many of her aspects are what archetypally would be considered masculine. Her relationships with Madame and Amy and others could conceivably be considered 'romantic' (but so could those with Franz and George). This is an aspect of the 'genderlessness' referred to earlier.

The practical resonance for me here is that I am very 'open-minded' about gender issues, and always have been. I have my own personal preferences - I am very girly girl in many ways, but my mind is logical and thus 'masculine' - but I do not allow these to affect my view of others' co-called 'choices'. The reasons one incarnates in one body type with the mind, spirit and emotions of another are quite complex, and not mine to 'pass judgement upon.'

We are here in this 3D plane at this time as people, to break the stereotypes of what it means to be human, in preparation for being an off-planet civilisation and encountering others (so-called aliens) whom we definitely will view as Other. Gender issues are kindergarten compared to that.

Mountain Rescue- Retrieval III

Again at the Eco Village, this time in my house, a cabin. Cool, dim, comfortable old thing, built from nothing, over these 40 years of earth time. Waiting for George to finish up filing a rucksack with the gods know what. I feel sick. This is going to be... something intense. Self is in the long braids mode and hippie clothes, loose top and shorts. Hmm.

He comes out, from the other room, rucksack in hand, also in his (rather new here) hippie guise of longish hair, Indian shirt and yoga pants. The people coming back are as flummoxed by him as they were by Franz' Hamburg leather pants and red silk shirt. This is not what they expect. 'Are you God' questions become 'God is a hippie?' It's all to loosen them up (as was Franz' 'God is a German queen' outfit.)

G: ready?

K: I guess.

He touches my shoulder.

G: Don't be nervous!

I say nothing. 'I have a bad feeling about this' – to quote Princess Leia.

I realise that Joe and Maggie aren't coming....

We go out, through the pristine Village and pine trees encircling and are moving swiftly towards the mountains, the same area where my Dad lives. I have a swirling sensation, spinning sideways, as I sometimes did when doing readings for people many years ago.

We are at a campground.

I recognise it as one we used to frequent when I was a girl. In the Earth plane, it was in Kern, at Lake Isabella. So many mishaps there... I became intimately acquainted with the local Emergency Room [A&E]. We walk up the winding trail towards the playground area, he before me, making jokes about looking out for bears [as happened in Yellowstone] and eating pine trees [Euell Gibbons].

At length, behind the playground, we come to a section of extremely large boulders, as high as one and two story houses. Up on top, at the edge of one, is my 7 year old self, frozen in fear and indecision. In the earth plane, the daughter of a family friend, whom I was with (along with her little brother) said blithely 'look out for black widow spiders, they're poisinous' described them, and went off clambering with her brother. Seeing one near me, I was instantly terrified, and to my mind had a choice: jump (and die) or stay (and die). As with the poor souls in the Twin Towers who decided to jump from to 115^th floor rather than face a fiery demise, I then thought that taking the decision into my own hands rather than be the victim of an unknown fate was the better choice. It never occurred to me to run away in the opposite direction towards the ground. I didn't know where Rita was. I just screamed and jumped. I never knew how high the rock really was, or how long I was 'out'. Now, I see it was about 30 feet high. Now I know it was about 20 minutes.

But here she is, stuck in that moment of decision, 'in an impossible situation' , with 'only two choices, both of them bad.' I recognise what George is going to do. He is squinting up at her in the sunshine.

G: Hey! Hey up there! Are you stuck? Do you need help getting down?

She just stares at him, shaking her head in terror.

G: It's all right. We'll help you down. Come on, Claire, rope up.

He nods and hands me an end of the rope he has slung over his shoulder.

Ah.

I wrap a length of it around myself in the old way of a 'gentleman's belay', figuring that I and she will have to abseil off. Or at least I will.

G: Don't be afraid, little girl. Claire is climbing up to help you. We will get you down.

She speaks at last.

D: But, but SPIDER!

She points backwards and looks about ready to pass out.

G: Don't worry. It's not harmful. It won't hurt you.

He speaks very calmly. I look over my shoulder at him dubiously. I don't know if it is harmful or not. He nods and speaks quietly.

G: Go on.

We have climbed often in many places here, and as a belayer and climbing leader, I trust him absolutely. He has all of Mallory's skill and a much improved teaching and leading ability. Up, indeed I go, hammering pitons as I do, into the faceless areas, putting in cams in cracks, working my way up slowly and with care, manteling over the outcrop at the top, so that I am lying at the feet of the little girl before I spring up.

K: Hello there. I'm Claire. You're safe now. George and I will get you down and take you home.

I put my hand on her shoulder, because she is too big to pick up.

D: But, but SPIDER!

She points again.

I look over, and there is indeed a spider, but it is not a black widow at all, indeed harmless. All this and nearly dying because of an ordinary spider! [Of which, I should note, I am not presently afraid] I feel angry again at the stupid child Rita, who had other idiocies to her credit on my behalf, Why the parents let her anywhere near me repeatedly, I cannot imagine. I realise that I am angry at the adoptive parents and at Rita's parents for not being responsible adults. Put the anger where it belongs then let it go. Reaching into my pocket, I take out a piece of paper, scoop up the spider, and release it over the edge of the rock then go back to the little girl.

K: You're safe now. Now, let's see about getting you down.

I survey the area, and realise that to the rear of the rocks, it is sloping, perfectly able to be walked down in rock shoes or sneakers, with a helping hand if one is a little girl. The way down is some 50 feet away. Safety, an option not involving death was 50 feet away. Hrm.

I go back to the high edge and tell George of the way down. He'll probably have to walk a bit, but it's perfectly easy. I unrope and toss the rope to him.

G: see you in a bit.

K: Okay.

I take the little girl's hand.

K: Now, see, we can walk down here this way. I will help you so you don't feel scared, okay? And my friend will meet us down at the back. Then we will take you home.

She looks up at me.

D: But, Rita and Jorge...

K: They can find their own [expletive censored] way home. Come on.

We go down, slowly, because she's still shocky, and at the bottom we wait for a few minutes and George comes striding through the trees, all smiles.

G: well, hello there! Very please to meet you. That was a little adventure, wasn't it! I'm George, and this is Claire, and we're going to take you home.

She nods dubiously.

K: she's worried about the other kids. The ones who got her into this fix.

G: Oh I see.

He scans the area.

G: well, I'm sure we'll find them at home. Come on.

He takes her hand as well and we walk through the pines, down the trail to the entrance area to the campground.

G: Now, we have to take a special way to get back, but don't worry. Hold our hands.

She nods and in a moment we are are the Children's Centre (again!)

He takes her in and deals with the transfer while I wait outside with the gatekeeper. After a few minutes, I see the child running to greet someone she knows in the garden. Mission accomplished.

George comes out and we make our way back to the cabin in the EcoVillage. Sitting in the quiet with cold drinks, lounging on the chair and sofa, we talk about the interim [when I was 'out' after jumping] and the impact of the decision and sense of choices.

This was one of those points that happen in every life where a window to leave comes up. But because I was, as you might say, habituated to the [near]death experience, the situation limited the perceived choices that I had (age aside – I was an extremely bright child). This psychological mechanism is (was) still active in me as I write this. Trust in other people's perceptions and judgements, fear of mortal circumstances and bad consequences, and the perception of only extreme choices.

In the interim, it was shown (to my not-child consciousness) what would transpire and not if I stayed There. Far flung, multiple scenarios. (The future, except for the broad outlines of the script, not being fixed). So I went back.

In the physical body, all I had to cope with was a mild concussion and a few stitches. But the psychological impact was very great, and affected my responses to life, and way of making choices to this day. By the grace, this is ameliorated now.

Earthrise Over Mars

This, Babies. This. PAY ATTENTION!
So I was watching the ending scene of the Last of the Mohicans, where Chingachgook is outlining all the CHANGE that WILL COME,
RIGHT THEN, I am also reading THIS in 'The Cosmic Internet' (by my editor Frank DeMarco) - the words belong to his HS, guides, and friends There:

'Consider the work if you will, to be that of creating and infusing with energy a visualisation, a new archetype, a container. Your society is tearing itself apart because you are in the time of a new birth. AID THAT BIRTH!... Your society may now be considered for the first time in RECORDED history all the subspecies of the planet. You are a global civilisation. Those who cannot create rely upon those who can. It requires much less to adhere to a new vision than to obtain and co-shape it. Your work is to help shape the vision so that your fellows - many of whom will hate your for the work! - may benefit. It is a great and a rare privilege to participate in the coalescence of a new civilisation; rarer to participate in a new form of civilisation; rarest of all -your fate - to also participate in the coming to consciousness of a new way of being human.'

This is why I am here, this is what I have always been about. Not only me. But others. You know who you are. And you know exactly why you have put up with all the dross and ignorance and darkness and stupidity. You know what we are building. Do not forget. Stand fast. Stand fast.