These campaign ads use trump’s own words to make it clear why he needs to go,
And another group:
And one more…
These campaign ads use trump’s own words to make it clear why he needs to go,
And another group:
And one more…
Join us on August 16 for a live stream episode of The Mystical Underground. We’ll chat with Bill Homan, the caretaker of the Mitchell-Hedges crystal skull, meditate with the skull, and have a Q&A afterward. More here.
And we did a mini podcast to talk a bit about Adele Aldridge, our guest last week, and the I Ching.
I’ve been on Instagram for several years. At first, it seemed, I don’t know, shallow. Women with big bare butts and boobs had zillions of followers but didn’t have much to say. The Influencers. Then I started connecting with people whose interests paralleled mine. We were guests on a couple of podcasts I first connected with on IG. One night I got into an exchange with Jon Posey, a Star Wars fan. We’d just seen the latest SW movie and he was taking his niece the next day. He reported on what his niece thought and at some point, he asked if Rob and I had ever considering during a podcast.
We’d talked about it numerous times, but were clueless about what was involved and it went on our research list. Then I met Jon and a couple weeks later, in mid-January, we started The Mystical Underground. As a result of the podcast, a number of people on IG have contacted us with their personal experiences. One of the most interesting people, Michelle Rogers, is a long-time abductee who sure recognizes synchronicity. Here’s her email about the number 222:
Approximately one week ago my husband and I were watching a movie on Hulu named 2:22…Immediately after, I saw your announcement of a new podcast with Pam Grout222.
During the podcast, Pam talked about author Sue Monk Kidd’s experience with a bee, which led her to write the novel, The Secret Life of Bees…
During the podcast, she talked about a bee……I realized this was very similar to my first you tube video about a lesson I learned from a bee…Two days later, my son and his fiancee, Lauren, came to spend a few days for vacation. They knew nothing of this sync and handed me a piece of wall art that was covered in bees!!!
I fell to my knees as she said, “Momma, I bought this for you so that we could make new vision boards.I thought you would like it”!!! I explained to them both what had happened previously and my son said,”Mom!!! It’s 2:22 p.m.
In future posts, we’ll be writing about Michelle’s ET experiences.
This is quite an astonishing crop circle as described in great detail by a retired psychology prof, Jerry Kroth. Skeptics, of course, say it was man-made, but even if that is true, imagine sneaking out into this farmer’s field in the middle of the night and creating this masterpiece amid the wavering barley crop.
Because of the detail and the knowledge required by the maker, who even magnifies one of the nine prongs to show even more detail, I initially wondered if it was an actual crop circle or a computer-generated image. But a quick search found that it was created May 29 of this year as reported here.
Crop circle skeptics suggest that a single determined person could come out at night and create such a feat of wizardry. That, to me, is an extraordinary claim, and as Carl Sagan said of the paranormal: “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.” Let’s see someone or a group go out and duplicate that crop circle…and don’t leave any footprints behind.
In the aftermath of the 2016 election, our daughter Megan received a text message from a former roommate, who was very excited about the surprise victory. She wrote simply: “Trump Train!”
My thought at the time, when Megan told me the story, was train wreck. From the most recent polls, it seems that many Americans at this point would agree with that assessment of the past four years. As with many mass events, meaningful coincidences erupt, and there have been no shortage of them during the Trump years.
First, a group of Republican congressmen and Trump supporters were headed to an annual policy retreat on Jan. 31, 2018 when the train they were traveling on crashed into a garbage truck. Train wreck.
The photo above appeared in the New York Times after the incident. Interestingly, the wreck took place near Charlottesville, where a few months earlier another ‘train wreck’ of sorts took place when Trump equated neo-Nazi racist marchers with the people who turned out to protest against them. He famously said there were good people in both groups. White supremacist and former KKK grand wizard David Duke praised Trump for his comments and said that’s why ‘we’ voted for him.
Now we have a new wreck. Veep Pence’s bus Thursday, July 30, crashed into a dump truck during a campaign swing through Pennsylvania. A fitting metaphor for Trump’s frequent bizarre Tweets that have been equated with a ‘dumpster fire’ that no one can put out. Pence abandoned the bus for a limo to continue the journey, but amazingly just minutes later two of his motorcycle escorts crashed and went down.
If you prefer the written version, it’s in the masthead under August forecast. Enjoy!
Over the years, I’ve had many cats. Siamese, Himalayan, black, white, tuxedo, orange and gray tigers. But Beowulf – Beo – is probably the oddest cat.
My sister adopted him and his two feral siblings six years ago and gradually acclimated them to the world of people. They lived in her bedroom, then in her basement, a sprawling cellar with plenty of peculiar human things to keep them engaged and curious.
It was in this massive cellar where I first met Beo about a year ago. Mary called for him and he ambled out – not immediately, but on his own time table. He sniffed at my outstretched hand, then rolled onto his back and batted my hand. Then, perhaps to show me it was nothing personal, he started nibbling at my bare toes and rubbing his furry head against my leg.
“Okay, I’ll adopt him. Can we meet in Orlando?” That was in July 2018. In February 2019, Mary met us in Orlando with Beo.
Two days later, I kept him in his carrier for the three hour drive to South Florida and he complained the entire way. Usually, once I’m in the car, I release a cat from its carrier and they find a spot to settle in and make the trip in comfort. But I didn’t know what he might do in a car and the carrier seemed safest.
For the next 10 days, he stayed under a bed, coming out only to eat and use the litter box. Then, gradually, he discovered the outdoors, where he had begun his life as a feral cat. Nala was curious about him and whenever he came out from under the bed, she was there, trotting after him, checking him out. This photo strikes me as a standoff.
C’mon, let’s play, Nala says.
Beo: Stop buggin’ me. I’ll play when I’m ready.
Now, I suspect they go on secret adventures together. I think Nala introduced him to the world beyond our backyard and the underside of our neighbor’s camper. He has brought in his share of lizards that invariably get loose in the house, and once, a mouse. Both cats get along well with our dog, Nigel, and with Nika, Megan’s dog, when we’re visiting. He’s affectionate, but not a cuddle cat like our orange tiger, Simba, was. He prefers his own space, is rather picky about food – no table scraps for him, although he likes a dollop of any kind of yogurt.
He’s a talker. He announces his presence at the porch door, the front door, my window. His meow for food is different than his meow for, I caught a lizard! And different for that meow where he looks up at me with that handsome face, those mysterious eyes, and meows softly, as if saying, Please, human, may I spent the night on the back porch, where I can smell wilderness in the air?
Beo was a cellar cat for most of his six years and now is re-discovering his feral roots. Except. Well, he has discovered a taste for certain types of cat food and for the company of Nigel and Nika.
He’s due for his shots soon and that will entail putting him in that carrier, where he griped and complained the entire trip to his new home. I hope he doesn’t run away afterward!
Since this pandemic was declared in March and states began shutting down, there has been so much disinformation and confusion that innumerable conspiracy theories have been hatched.
It’s a hoax. Well, in spite of trump uttering those words in February, COVID is not a hoax. Shortly after WHO declared COVID a pandemic on March 11, 2020, Rob came down with what we thought was the flu. He thought he’d caught it at an imaging center where he had to get medical clearance for an elective surgery. He was sick for nearly 3 weeks. In late April, during a blood workup, his doctor tested him for corona antibodies. He had them. Several days later, we drove to a Dystopian testing center, got the swab test, and the results came in three days later. We were both negative.
About three weeks ago, my sister, Mary, texted me that she, her older son, his wife, and her mother, had all tested positive for COVID. Her son had been exposed to a colleague who had tested positive. This was in Georgia, which opened nearly as early as Florida. They’ve all recovered without hospitalizations, without UV lights up their butts, without
The virus is a media coverup for something else. This idea in itself implies a conspiracy of some sort. I don’t have any idea which conspiracy this is – take your pick, there’re enough of then circulating. But we’ve all seen the images from inside hospitals, on the streets. We’ve seen images of the refrigerated trucks for the excess of dead bodies. If this is a coverup for something else, then all those images would have been staged, right?
It’s all an attempt to make trump look bad. There’s no need to stage anything to make trump look bad. He does a fine job of that on his own. From April 24:
The cases numbers aren’t as high as what’s being reported. As proof of this, a person who identifies himself/herself only as Q sent me this link from the Palm Beach Post, which basically explains how some deaths in the country that have been attributed to COVID are caused by something else. Which is why I don’t trust government sites – national or local.
Rebekah Jones, the scientist responsible for the corona dashboard for the Florida Department of Health, refused to lower the case numbers so that Governor DeSantis could justify opening the state. She has since started her own dashboard
I trust her figures over the Florida Dept of Health. I also trust the Worldometer website, not run by any government. The comments of the person who sent me that link can be found under this post on our blog:
He/she isn’t the first, but they all fit a particular mold. They’re smarter than everyone else because they see what’s really going on (again, take your pick of conspiracies). They admonish everyone else to “think for themselves,” the media feeds us bullshit, this is all about 5G and Bill Gates and the vaccine will be their way of controlling us. These people are often the same ones who refuse to wear masks (but buckle up in their cars) and, as Karens, act out in public places when they’re asked to put on masks. My constitutional rights…blah, blah.
As chaotic election day nears, it’s all beginning to feel like that famous line in one of my favorite Dystopian novels, The Hunger Games: Let the games begin…
There’s no national plan for dealing with this pandemic, for reopening schools, there’s not even a mask mandate. States and cities have different plans. But the only plan you can count on is the one you and your family and friends make for yourselves. It’s a different version of The Hunger Games.
Both of these images appeared on our security cam the other morning around 2:25. One shows our cat, Nala, who darts after something, followed by what look like orbs. One sweeps down from the ceiling, two others come from the front door.
The second video is really odd. The shape looks frog like, but frogs don’t fly, at least not that I know of. Maybe a cat jumping after something? Cats don’t fly, either, but hey…
My friend Monica Wynn lost her dad, Homer, on June 6, around 1 a.m. I told her to be on the lookout for contact from him. She wrote me this morning about her first contact with him:
I have to share a story with you because you told me to look for signs from my dad.
Yesterday, my mother asked me to drive my dads truck around. It’s just been sitting. So I did. He loved old country music, like Willie Nelson. He has the radio station set to old country in his truck. When I drove the truck up town, I couldn’t change the radio. I didn’t have the heart to. I cried in the truck all the way to town and all the way back, just missing him.
I woke up last night at exactly 1:08 am to hear old country playing on the TV. I sat there and listened for a few minutes reminded of driving his truck to town. I drifted off to sleep (only for a few minutes) and had a dream my daughter was standing in front of me asking me to wake up. I did. Again, I heard the music coming from the TV. My husband woke up as well and we talked about it for a few minutes. He told me the music reminded him of my dad as well.
I think my dad was telling me not to be sad and he misses me too.
Yesterday was exactly one month since his passing and I now think he died at 1:08 a.m.