Back in the nineties, I managed an apartment building in Oakland on the edge of the hood. Most of my tenants were black and it was during the days when Tupac was doing time and Ice-T was rapping about killing cops, versus playing one on TV. Crack was as common as Comet and the Gumby fade was considered a legit look. Bill Hicks was still alive or wasn’t Alex Jones quite yet. OJ rode a pale white horse into the apocalypse, down the LA Freeway.. His buddy, the late Bobby Kardashian was siring big-assed-distractions for the future. My first day on the job, the Simi Valley cops went free and Reginald Denny was beaten within an inch of his life.
I saw a lot shit go down in that building. I heard the moans of ancient desires and the cries of modern-day-frustrations. My neighbor was a teen stripper with a six-month-old and who knows what else. I played ball in West Oakland and at the JCC, where a guy went to his car one day one day to fetch a piece and take care of some business. One day, one of my pregnant tenants started gushing blood in her apartment and then the hallway. I cleaned the dried blood in her bathroom while she was in the hospital. Down the street, a guy was shot dead in a garage.
Never a dull moment.
And while things weren’t easy for anyone, myself included, there was never a sense of blame being passed around like a filthy bong. I never got the feeling that I or my gene pool was responsible for the dire state of the world and the shitty conditions of peoples drama filled lives. If that was the case, it was never brought to my attention. When I walked down the street, I looked the other guy in the eye and acknowledged them. This was one of the most powerful things I learned from my time there. There was no hiding. You either had the respect to do it or be sniffed out in a hurry as someone that couldn’t be trusted. When I moved to Marin County, three-years-later, no one looked me in the eye and dipped their head in acknowledgement. There might have been a hint of desperation in the hood, but there wasn’t any fear.
Fast forward, it’s 2014 and everyone is looking for a target, because we’re all waking up and when that occurs, people begin to realize that not only has their cheese been moved, but they’ve been eating fake cheddar laced with low levels of strychnine all along. It’s enough to make you weak enough and barely able work, but never strong enough to resist. When the walls come tumbling down, everyone is on the prowl for blame.
In 2009, when Pluto went into Capricorn, it set the rise of titanic, monolithic structures in motion. The corporacratic state was born. It took a few years and a couple of dual agents acting as president to get it rolling, but right now, here it is, a troubling sense of vendetta and blood lust, masquerading as some form of social justice, poetic or otherwise.
George Bush and his neocon cronies, the ones that invaded Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan, in that order, played the role of the contemptible, rich, white, fat-cat males, who could take a dump anywhere they wanted, at any time, without any regard to whose backyard they were crapping in. As long as those suitcases filled with Federal Reserve notes passed through the hands of “contractors” to the local chieftains or corrupt officials, no one said a damned thing. Bush, both of him, mugged his way through eight-years of inflicting pain, alternately acting like a brain addled fool and a bone chilling psychopath. He reminded me of that Star Trek episode where Capt. Kirk experienced a transporter malfunction and came back as two Kirks, one passive, the other, dangerously violent. Bush was exactly the same except that he had some kind of weird thing attached to his back, like a servo motor that controlled his speech.
He was the darling of the Mega-Church-goers, most of whom hated Islam, because, well, it wasn’t Christian (or white) and they liked the Jews better, because John Hagee, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson told them too. But it was their last hurrah, the last call for latest incarnation of the crusades. BTW, Pope Urban issued the first crusade in 1095, when Uranus was in Aries, roughly 17-19 degrees, which we will hit next year. As we approach those degrees, we can hear the ancient clash of northern steel versus crescent scimitars. ISIS rises in Iraq and the ghosts of Palestine stir in Solomon’s temple. Baphomet roams the Earth masquerading as a hundred scapegoats. It’s the whites, the blacks, the browns, the yellows, the reds, the pinks and the rainbows. It’s the 1% or the Tea Party. It’s fembot bitches in framed glasses and knee high leather boots. It’s the pissy blondes that won’t give it up. It’s the Jews.
Pluto in Capricorn is the sign of the times, the celestial sacrifice and everyone has a group at the top of their hit list. What’s sad for me though, is that I grew up in San Jose, Ca, in the 1970’s with kids of every color and stripe. We played ball together, smoked J’s together, fought over rock versus disco together and it was all good. There wasn’t the underlying tension of these times. It wasn’t perfect, but we got along and mostly dug each other. Now, there’s a serious fucking witch hunt taking place on Terra and it’s dangerous–very dangerous.
Instead of Bushes “white privilege” and his Caucasus enablers, we’re dealing with Obama and the shifting terror threat, from names unpronounceable, dark skinned and turban wrapped, to guys named Jerad, Adam, Elliot and James. It’s no longer the jihadist extremist, it’s the Anglo American who is the naked prey, which automatically ups the level of suspicion considerably, since there’s a lot more versions of Jerad Miller, running around, at least superficially.
But here’s the problem with the musky scent of blood lust lingering in the air of Summer, 2014; With everyone looking for someone to pay the price of their psychic bondage, it takes us further and further away from true, unity consciousness. This is a Babylonian death trip with Hammurabi on meth and social media’s gallery of rogues. It does us no good. Cheek turning Christians might actually be to blame as they somehow crossed forgiveness with denial once they got two weeks paid and full dental, but we’re past the point of spearing the heart of the beast. The beast is ubiquitous and floating through at least six dimensions of consciousness. But We cannot let it tear us apart, because that’s the plan. Slag Christianity all you want, but in the realm of divine, all inclusive consciousness, we are one. This is what Sananda Emmanuel taught. We don’t need a fat bank account or a fraternity of helpers currying favors when we fall into error.
Beyond the judgement, in the realm of pure love, we are one and in the flesh, we are being split asunder by the dark lords of resentment and revenge. Our only chance to survive the days ahead lies in our ability to see past the divisive game that most of us are merely pawns in. Perhaps it’s the Neptunian dissolve into the mystic as one, psychically integrated and psychologically sophisticated species versus revolt that will save our asses, but to get there, we have to love fearlessly and forgive repeatedly. Perhaps that’s asking a lot for right now, but I’ll tell you what the resolution is, if we can’t or won’t go there; “The Singularity.” The Singularity is when machine intelligence surpasses human intelligence and there is a sort synthesis between the two. Carbon and silicon become one, with silicon on top of course. If we can’t get it together, then the machines and Ray Kurzweil will do it for us. Who do you trust; the fallible humans or the robotic other?
I’ll be back on the air again, doing a radio show/podcast every Monday, at 12 NOON, CST on BlogTalk Radio. It’s called, Eleventh House Radio” and it will be two hours of astrology, tarot, teaching, current events and live reading. I’m really looking forward to this next chapter, incorporating other traditions in a truer, eleventh houser fashion. Catch me with my first (new) show tomorrow.