I don’t know where other people think the sphere of politics is! I was reading two quotes relative to this today.

One was Marilyn French in “Beyond Power: Of Women, Men, and Morals”

“Morality is a personal and communal affair; when it reaches the public realm; it is called politics…. Rousseau claimed that separating morality from politics made both disciplines incomprehensible…. Feminists say simply, the personal is the political.” (p. 16)

“for good men to do nothing”

And the other was

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” – Edmund Burke

Since I don’t want to do the second, I would rather err on the side of being too outspoken rather than not enough. And the first expresses my feeling that politics IS morality expressed in policy…in which case everything I write about is politics.

Anyway, I can’t draw any clear line around politics to distinguish it from the rest of the human condition, and certainly I don’t see how it can be divorced from the environmental crises that are currently rearing up in a horrific way. For it will be only people acting collectively, public policy changes – politics – that can have any effect on them.

How I see people attending to political action but ignoring the environmental catastrophes rising up around us.

Planetmates Do Not Fear Death the Way Humans Do…. They know their consciousness continues on, does not end, cannot end…. The Thirtieth Prasad

Planetmates Release the Thirtieth Prasad

We do not wish death. But we risk death often in our immersion in fantastic life. We experience life as highly enjoyable, but in knowledge of our blessedness at all times, we view it much as you would sport. So its consequences are no more grave than that in a game.

Hyena is first consciousness at the Thirtieth Prasad.

“Since…consciousness…can never really “die” or be destroyed, there is nothing dire about [death]; it is seen as simply another game beginning.”

The Thirtieth Prasad – “Kill or Be Killed”

First off, we would not imagine keeping and using another Earth Citizen.

Certainly, we find that the Reality that sustains us includes a plan wherein some of us prey upon others and the others try to get away. The prize for winning, if one is the predator, is food, which extends one’s life; the prize for winning, if one is the prey, is escape from becoming food, which extends their life.

But in that all lives end; and most are not very long at all; and because there is no reason to not expect that this Reality that suffuses and defines us is anything but Beauty, in that our abode of existence is paradisiacal in its beauty, complexity, and qualities of change and surprise which are, along with our imagination, the foundation of a lifetime of entertainment, engagement, and joy, losing is of no more consequence to losing any other kind of game. And since new games can begin at any time, i.e., consciousness continues and takes on new forms always, and can never really “die” or be destroyed, there is nothing dire about it; it is seen as simply another game beginning.  (to be continued)

Paraphrase/ Summary/ Abstract of “The Thirtieth Prasad” — by SillyMickel Adzema

We, planetmates, could never conceive of doing what humans do in the throes of their controlling mania. We would never care to, let alone seek to, keep and control the destinies of others or use them to inspire phantasms of vanity. If nothing else, we would see that as an unnecessary burden. In trying to craft your future that way, you cannot take in nor enjoy the blessings of the present. That is why it is called that, in fact, for it is a gift. The present is a gift that humans do not open.

This is ironic, for as we have said, you refuse Divine Providence, whose only stipulation is that you accept the pain of uncertainty so you might enjoy the gift presented afterward of knowing you are always loved…which we have compared to waiting till Christmas to open one’s gifts. In doing this, you create the exact opposite abnormality—when you actually receive a blessing in the present, you then wait to “open” it. You will not bide your time waiting for your blessings; but when you receive them, then, you decide to wait. In this way, again, you create that which you tend to flee from. This is just another way in which you create the “hell” in existence that you fear and, unbelievably, attribute to a loving God.

But we do have inner knowing of such a Providence. This Reality sustains us throughout life. We therefore have no doubt that Its blessings include the ending of this game in a manner, uncertain as is all of life, but in accordance with our Ultimate Good, which only That Which Is can know. But neither do we seek death, as you, in your mania do. As in so much else you create abnormal fears only to seek out the sources of them…death you fear extraordinarily yet unthinkingly draw to yourselves through myriad self-defeating decisions.

As for us, no, we do not wish death. But we risk death often in our immersion in fantastic life. We experience life as highly enjoyable, but in knowledge of our blessedness at all times, we view it much as you would sport. So its consequences are no more grave than that in a game.

So how do we view this death that you fear so much? In this game of life, there are rewards for playing well. These prizes are sometimes food, and this sometimes involves the total vanquishing of one or more of one’s opponents in this play in a way that ends their “game.” On the other side of this, there is the reward of continuing the game longer if one is able to foil one’s opponent’s move toward defeating oneself. There is pleasure in escape; there is pride in being clever enough to fool one’s opponent. You bring forth your remembrance of this apprehension of living that we planetmates have in all the sport, all the play that you do. You are endlessly driven to remember your consciousness as other beings like planetmates, but you do not carry over that feeling into life outside the parameters of that which you call “game” and “sport.”

But these plays in our lives we know are ultimately of very small significance. Unburdened of the desire to control and completely trusting, rather completely knowing of the beneficence and beauty of it all, we welcome either outcome. If we win, there is a prize in that. If we lose in this exciting drama, we know there will always be more games, endlessly.

And why would we not expect as much? Our lives, throughout, are endlessly beautiful and delightfully complex and intriguing. We discover existence to contain elements of surprise and change which make it fascinating. Along with our playful mental twists of these elements, adding to them from the package of previous existence we hold at each moment and which we add to and make more interesting the longer we stay in any particular form, we find life’s unfolding to be immeasurably entrancing, infinitely entertaining, supremely attractive and thus engaging, and in sum, conducive to joy overall.

So, winning or losing, coming out on top or being freed to begin a new game are equally attractive. This is rooted in a memory of consciousness existing beyond that of the form in which we find ourselves at any time. Because of your amplification of darkness with your untypical births, you have the greatest forgetfulness of your nature in existence. You forget much, not only the other forms and types of consciousness…other “games” you have played, if you will…but you forget much in your current lives. You forget your beginnings.

All in all with all this forgetfulness you can project the darkness you have about the beginning of your lives onto the ending of your lives. For you to understand what we are telling you, you must consider how it might be if you did not do this. We do not forget as completely as you do, so we always know that existence is the nature of Existence, or you might say that “consciousness” is the nature of That Which Is. Existence never ends; Consciousness never ends. “I am” is the nature of It All. Consciousness does not begin or end; it is the reality. It is these games, these forms, this physicality that begins and ends. We are surprised you don’t know this, for you can see this all around you in Nature. But Consciousness … Subjectivity simply changes, taking on ever new games, ever new forms. 

So how can we dread the ending of any form when we know that each ending is the beginning of something new and even more exciting. We see our endings of form as being more like releases from the playing which sometimes, with time, loses its appeal or freshness. But only the Divine knows the path to our most perfect joy—whether continuation in one form or initiation of another. So we embrace either as a gift.

To Be Continued with
The Great Reveal, Chapter Thirty-Nine:
The Thirty-First Prasad from The Planetmates

coming soon to this book/blog

Return to
The Great Reveal, Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Twenty-Ninth Prasad.
Child Abuse and Human Tool Use – Humans Become Abominations in Nature

Interchanging mind control
Come let the, revolution takes its toll
If you could, flick the switch and open your third eye
You’d see that, we should never be afraid to die
(So come on)

To Be Continued with
The Great Reveal, Chapter Thirty-Nine:
The Thirty-First Prasad from The Planetmates

Return to
The Great Reveal, Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Twenty-Ninth Prasad.
Child Abuse and Human Tool Use – Humans Become Abominations in Nature

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HUMANTICIDE … I’m coining this term. It means the self-destructiveness leading to species suicide of the human race… HUMANTICIDE.

It is what we are engaged in.

It would be good to have a term. I think the reason we don’t has to do with people not wanting to acknowledge it. So making a term for it would be a step towards shining light into this darkness (we don’t want to see).

HUMANTICIDE

It is like the term infanticide, but gives the connotation we want — the extinction of the species of humans… HUMANTICIDE.

Ecocide is the murder of the planetary ecosystem, which includes all life on Earth. It is something we are actively engaged in, also.

Humanticide is the species extinction of ourselves. Human species suicide

Who Would Want Such an Ending to the Human Story? I’d rather see people becoming the best humans that have ever lived on this planet….

But is it God’s, yours, mine, anyone’s plan that this multi-billion year sweet symphony of consciousness expressing itself as beauteous Nature is suddenly, in eternal time, within the last second or two, to be stomped, crackled, and crashed by the Caterpillar boots of newbie humans? The skin-bound ones. I mean, reaaalyy skin bound.

As for me such horrible catastrophic cacophony of destruction is about as creative and delight inducing as a slow wonderfully silent drive through a countryside in late spring. Fragrant, aromatic…feelings of gratitude to the All That Is. And hearts overflowing in appreciation of the company of such remarkable, loving, and brilliant of friends.

So slowly meandering in fragrant meadows and moisty tart forests, one just regrets that the vehicle will have to stop to be charged in a little bit. That’s pleasant to me, maybe it is or isn’t to you.

But who among us would wish for the ride, the symphony, the song, the journey, the adventure, the whatever’s finale to be a split second of angry irritation and then an all too easy wander off of the freeway home? Such that before one is even aware, oneself and one’s friends and God’s delightful chorus is composed…. the ending, sixty miles per hour, six friends, the unmovable concrete of an overpass’s supports kissing all six’s bloody bags of waters, water-balloon style erased on the slab. And the percussive sounding to mark the end, over before you even realize it’s begun.

But when you in your awestruck wonder slow it to single frames, that sound…that sound so hideous, containing so many others within its one-second elapse. But you hear there are billions. You hear, trillions, more, infinite. Crashing, metal, but within it mixed…why, that is that hell that some speak about.

All those voices crying out in loss, in anger: How have you the right? Why have you robbed….? And all creatures that have ever lived here crying out in pain at the same time. Such things well… not fun… not, well… anything.

It seems we were even given the warning so that we could come up with a much better drama, more fun for all for every place in consciousness throughout the Universe. For the Universe has already experienced such a bummer of a symphony, which is now just a red planet…. It was much more fun, filled with life, creative divine noises, and manic whacky Chaplinesque movements, sounds, color, laughter, laughter, laughter. Not fun that one. [Footnote 1]

Why not a hero’s tale; no solitary hero, but billions and billions of heroes. Showing the Universe the story of the impossibly death-defying grasping at life, even as being thrown over the cliff. The solidarity in flesh, as united as in divine state, grasping single-handedly a bit of root protruding from the very edge above the abyss. And with mighty, united, happy, joyous, then singing, mighty and strong, pulling up, scraping knees, chins, shins, no matter, such incredible unity of peoples around the Globe as hasn’t been seen since the time before that Tower, that time called Babel.

That was a time when flesh decided to really stray from remembering and to really become solitary and alone, creating the darkness, which the light is so much sweeter by. Creating the horrible endless times of struggling, of violence, of ego over ego, with no one hearing, no one listening. But every one simply babbeling out THEIR world, their sounds, “The song must be like this!” “It is my song.” “I am divine, who the hell are you to sing while I’m composing my next chorus!?”

And so it began, with the blissful knowledge of Unity with All That Is turning psychotically into

I AM the Unity, I am all that is. I am hardly experiencing the flows of consciousness that you are. For I AM the only consciousness.

How could you be? You don’t look like me; yet I am conscious and I am the Decider.

So since I look like this and I act, and you look different, as different as I look compared to a pile of rubble, so you must not feel. You must be props for me to use.

And yet you jabber on, even as I am thinking, ever more, always thinking. I can’t stop this thinking; I don’t remember the world too well. That must be the price of being the only real living feeling existing thing here.

So it went. I don’t know why. But then there is that thing about it all being about greater wisdom.

And perhaps, I think this a better story than a one-second sounding of the Universe in Pain…. For nowhere in that Universe would there be a being saying,

Now that was one great species! Really so godlike. Incredible. They lasted for one nanosecond and then simply slammed their entire species—even taking with them every other of the millions of different kinds of beings that Consciousness was tripping around with, in checking out.

No. I don’t see our ending that way as being any more entertaining or enlightening than the shortest of all short stories about a man who walked across a busy freeway. Cleverly he avoided every car. He got increasingly adept and nimble. In his happiness he jumped to safety and stabbed himself to death with a knife. I told you, pretty dumb story.

I’d rather see people becoming the best humans that have ever lived on this planet at one time.

And working together, not knowing even if they would make it, but knowing that the laughter of children depended on it. That laughter of children would be never again. And, in fact, who can say that it ever existed really?

Continue on this site with
Apocalyptic Wake-Up Call:
America Earth Criminal and an Auspicious Worldwide Craving for Truth

Footnotes

1. To glimpse the unimaginable future past the time that we kill off ourselves and all life on this planet and become like Mars, I offer this fantasy around a musical scrap:

About our extinction. We’re gonna eliminate 50% of 500 million earth species in 50 yrs & we’ll be alive. Ha!

This is an original song-chant—written and composed by SillyMickel Adzema. All rights reserved. Copyright © 1993 by Michael Derzak Adzema:
It is a Requiem for Earth, a metaphysical view, an eerie emotional raw sound. It is sung by two of the last survivors of Earth—from all appearance it would have been the composer SM Adzema and his beloved wife, Mary Lynn Adzema—obviously not professional singers—but heartfelt nonetheless, giving us a glimpse into the profound sadness that must have hung over those last survivors after it became clear that Earth’s ecological balance so shattered, there would be no life at all to survive the strange behaviors of what Earthologists have begun calling “the suicidal ape”—referring to the species that alone brought down the entire planet.

Indeed this song, as an electronic scrap mixed in with an island of Earth debris discovered by spacepreuners hurtling swiftly through the Verse not far from the star system’s outer reach—the one that had once contained the fabled Earth—is one of the few very rare looks into the hearts and minds of those people as they watched, helplessly, as their planet’s delicate life sheath imploded with a gathering rapidity. Some who have heard this musical scrap claim that it supports the more radical theory of this event of a planet murder-suicide—the theory that the suicidal ape was divided on this global murder-suicide, with a goodly number of this species working furiously to save the planet even as stronger, more powerful forces, for reasons still not understood, continued their secretive sabotage of the other side’s efforts, ensuring the downfall of all, including the saboteurs themselves. At first hearing, this song seems to be expressing an awareness of the sadness that would accompany such a horrific event, at odds with the stories of “suicide ape’s” gleeful festive behavior in the midst of the massive killing and suicide.

“Requiem for Earth / We Are Stones.” A Song-Chant Relic by SillyMickel Adzema. Sung by SillyMickel and Mary Lynn Adzema

Click link above for the audio site, or click the audio player below to listen to it here.

http://cdn.hark.com/swfs/player_fb.swf?pid=wrbjcmgycy
Requiem for Earth / We Are Stones. A Song-Chant Relic by SillyMickel Adzema. Sung by SillyMickel and Mary Lynn Adzema

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For if a great many people do not quickly and radically reverse their lives—and no I’m not talking boy scout recycling efforts. I am talking about the gearing up and urgency that would need to be far greater than that of the last world war—how can it not be seen that the Nazi holocaust will seem a tea party alongside what’s coming?

But it is not warriors we need. That is part of the problem. We do need people as disciplined and caring, not just of their buddies but of all life, human and nonhuman, of all creation that God in his/her great love for us and all life masterfully crafted, slowly, carefully, meticulously, over a near eternity this incredible planet, as finely balanced and perfect and precise, and wondrous and beautiful in infinite ways, precisely moving in perfect harmonious exquisite synchronicity of infinite living elements through the seasons, over the years, languorous and slow and allowing for a plenitude of experience, of possibilities for joyous play, exuberant and bountiful youthful sense of power, pride, belonging—for ALL creatures, and an infinite number of them—each of them single individuals sharing with us this possibility of joy, wonder, happiness, laughter, pain, grief, wisdom….this divine adventure taken by so many humans even, each doing their best between the poles of the monstrous and the angelic, creating in the end, whatever the outcome, lives as different, as unique, as incomparable as any snowflake to another.

And all the while, surrounded from birth, breathing the divine. God always so close you can’t see. But in every little thing pushing you to the exquisite slow, painful then wonderful unfolding into greater and greater wisdom, goodness, love, truthfulness and loving of truth—no matter how long it takes, or even lifetimes—slowly, slowly, turning, turning, expanding, flowing ever outward in wider and wider encompassing surrounds of wisdom and love—no matter how long it takes.

And on the way the dawnings of blissful openings of being, leaving the darkness of pain and ignorance more and more at our roots. Just as the lotus grows out of the muck of the dirty swamp, feeding on that muck for sustenance. Just as our hardships, mistakes, even our cruelties lead us in time that much more beautifully and committedly loving of love, of life, of goodness, of God.

And our eyes ever more aware of the beauty always there but more and more radiant as the darkness slowly dissipates, and the lotus reaches its tender shoot higher and higher into the murky water. It too in time becoming increasingly aware of light that is above and that the darkness is more and more in behind it.

Until, just as we, there is that moment of arriving on the water surface and feeling and breathing being free and so joyous, blissful, and understanding of the marvelous divine perfection of the experience, even when it seemed hopeless, just as we. And in gratitude and glory it unfolds its perfect, delicate pleasure in the expressions of joy that are the splendid beauteous aromatic creations that we call its many petals, but for the lotus is its song of gratitude. As much as our unfolding may open our hearts so deliciously loving and alive that we must sing to God, to Love, to the Consciousness that is the only Existing thing and equally coursing its wondrous way throughout all creation—lotus, Human, in the loving ministrations of all God’s creatures toward each other as we feel the attraction of like to like, of divine to divine…..

And would this wonderful incredibly sweet sound of God’s Life in us and around us, harmonizing over billions of years and to the ends of the Universe, the chorus of the divine, the harmony of the spheres, this grand, often dramatic and percussive symphony, the only reality, the only one really desired, the home of all whose sound is even telling you it is Om, where one belongs, where one loves and is loved and dualism-nondualism are irrelevant for equally delightful are the movements of this endless ever changing symphony, which must be separate and forgetful and also awake and one for the sheer beauty of it, for the sheer pleasure of remembering again the most wonderful truth of oneself, and then maybe again.

Of such possibilities and perceptions are the expanses outside, outside one’s skin. As one’s identity is not merely that within the gushing palpitation below the skin but expands to include spouse, family, children, others, all creatures, all beings known and unknown, with malice toward no one. As such unity is our food our destination our bliss our home…

Oh so sad and yet tender and beautiful and juicy we take our prodigal souls ever home. And more and more recognizing our brothers and sisters on the way, delighting in the exquisite separation that we will continue to enjoy until ready to release, to let go. Like a swimmer letting go of the side of the pool to sink deep into the crystal water, where it is then all the Universe that one experiences and then one becomes aware that one is just as much of it as in it.

And slowly delightfully then just not conceiving of any boundaries and the swimmer disappears to those still holding on to the delightful game of pretending that there is any such thing as a thing, as boundaries, as nations, as bodies… Fun, that game of thingness… for a while…

For it is just a game, a made up concocted set of parameters, boundaries, and rules. That we sit down on a pleasant Sunday afternoon to play, to enjoy the amazingly creative plays, humorous remarks, and outright belly-whomping creative utterances that our playmates entertain with and we enjoy also performing as things we do and say come so perfectly from, well, … it’s just there.

We just are, we can’t help be, and whether irritated or laughing uproariously or snickering secretively as we plan our next play…in sweet anticipation of the reactions, surprise! befuddlement! or knowing smiles from another…it is all unknown and to be discovered.

So who would spoil such fun by ever letting on, even, or especially, to oneself that it is all known, there is no separation. Why we even might enjoy it more if we allow ourselves to suppose that the stakes are real—at which point we know we have taken the wondrous forgetfulness game of humanness. One only does that to enjoy the sweetest waking of all, that from the soundest and most undisturbed of all possible dreamings.

However you conceive it, though. You needn’t buy my reverie. In fact how could you? Though you and I could be mirrors to each other it is the absolute knowing that we cannot be the same snowflake. No. You have your world, and your unique way of enjoying sweet existence.

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Apocalyptic Wake-Up Call:
Who Would Want Such an Ending?
Why Not a Hero’s Tale Instead?

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Facing the Horror – The Media Comforts, But Covers Up:
Apocalyptic Wake-Up Call, Part 2 of 7

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