Good Grief, Praise Our Magnificence

Good grief, praise our magnificence for staying awake to females and males who govern and presumably hold dear citizens’ posterity and prosperity. They would have us neglect what they remember and manipulate every day for their own purposes.

Disingenuous, double-speaking governances, who by the way gasp for air and near faint in front of us, are embarrassed about their own grandiose, supercilious attempts of psychological control over the populaces.

Their distracting same-ole, same-ole smirked pomposities about citizens’ security assurances ad nauseam turn bureaucrats into silly clowns in full makeup and costume. Following the industry of religion, government appears the next biggest contentious circus; some officials feel scorned by reported plunge of television viewers opting for American Idol, instead.

Hell hath no fury like a bureaucrat scorned.
~ Milton Friedman (b 1912), an economist, advocate of laissez-faire capitalism, 1976 Nobel Prize

I would rather be in the face of illusions with compassion's arm around me than for one second crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my sensibilities. Isn’t it magnificent that we are awake to our inquiring minds rather than lamenting and munching pretzels between the sheets? I'm fascinated with study, especially tracking trails of religions' monies and malfeasance, and clowns' bejeweled robes and shoe prints tell the tales.

Staying awake to watch foreseeable geopolitical and religious eclipses urges feelings of grief, and that’s good. That’s good grief. Last week, while reading an historically informative and heartfelt article on grief, sweeps of a “Surprise!” deep disappointment draped over me, slowly. By the end of the written piece, I sobbed with my face cupped in my palms.

In those grueling moments of sorrow, I grieved cruelties my global sisters and brothers have experienced during enormous armed hostilities. I imagined disappearings of religion's industry of flammed dogma, groveling educational systems, and flattering lifestyle patterns that had been anticipated and streamlined, evolved on our behalf, to dupe (U.S.) citizens at least since World War II. Flourishing webs of galling deceits have had their peculiar purposes designed and shamelessly marketed by masculinized religious and monetary authority.

Acknowledging human magnificence means many things not least of which accepting responsibility for what we create, and the resultant manifested grief in lives of our global sisters and brothers. After a few seconds of mulling again the immensity of that thought, my mind wanders brokenhearted as calming effects of chocolate set in.

Unfolding Grief

In 1969, Doctor Elisabeth Kubler-Ross educated many of us by writing about the grief process. She described the five stages of grief as denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. From personal experience, I haven't felt an unfolding grief process as a step by step procedure. Instead, grief might be thought as a hammock netted of strong, slender golden threads of unconditional compassionate attentiveness. I imagine we Earthlings roll around in our hammocks, feeling one feeling of loss after another, tossing around in no particular order from one stage into another in the floating net of deeply empathic graces.

I’ve made up some simple sentences for you as examples somewhat describing the stages.

Denial and isolation: This is not happening to us.
Anger: How dare God do this.
Bargaining: Just let us stay alive.
Depression: I can't bear facing what’s happening.
Acceptance: I'm ready to embrace what’s approaching.

Our grieving is healthy. Yes, I am grieving, rocking between denial, disappointment, and anger about worldwide governances. Now that my historical frame of reference is broadening, and my cosmology deepening, I realize those who declare they're going to conquer, destroy, put away evil are themselves gulping clown pills with cocktails, every morning.

Psychologists tell us that analyzing grief in a person cannot be equated for groups nor entire nations. Wherever you find yourself in the grief process, hold onto the idea that it's okay to feel deeply and express unfolding grief; in unknowable ways, your expressions help us all move closer together into experiencing the old eclipsed by the new.

Reserve Our Seats

If you cannot imagine savvy and slick religionists, double-speaking governmental officials, cagey corporate talking heads, and ambidextrous international bankers manipulating the psychology of the grief process, then you might be juggling a few balls of denial in your hammock. They are all-knowing of the process, even rolling around in it; resisting the feelings, fighting each other, tooth and nail.

Moreover, we observe their greediness and suffering, and not incidentally, because we cannot help being conscious and empathic observers of the illusions they created into which we have been drawn. We are part of the whole planetary grieving process. That has to be a magnificent thing to watch, and here’s why.

Earthlings are being escorted from an existence embellished by a beastly monetary indebtedness into the next phase of existence. Let me restate that: We, our magnificent collective selves, have indeed created this extravaganza whether or not we claim to have manipulated ourselves into our theatrical spectacle. We’re presently pressured to escort one another right onto center stage of global financial debacle.

With all the science at our disposal, it appears our species didn’t architect an escape hatch unless you believe in the ancient Greek theater’s deus ex machina. That is, machinery, a boon of sorts, which lowered onto stage an actor whose presence was meant to save another character from the likes of a massive dilemma or near fatal episode. Isn’t that similar to Jesus’ second coming?

All—everything—has been made up, and exquisitely intelligent, too. This zenith of human experience is all about witnessing results of experiments in theaters of illusions of intentional anxiety and shame, spotlighting illusions’ collusions. Bankers’, lawyers’, and accountants’ schemes of indebtedness frantically toss installments from nations’ pocketbooks to a wily beast whose many hungry heads are behemoth corporations, devouring the only food they know—money; nurturing dis-ease in every meme possible, advertised in any medium available. For millennia, it appears Earthlings have been dominated by those who, presuming self-righteous collars, piously forced structure of our lives upon what we now can describe with the biblical metaphor as sinking sand.

I just didn't realize until post-9/11 that pious paranoids skillfully penned their own sinking sand metaphor, but turned it upside down, projecting it in as many ways as possible, insinuating it was everyone else's problem, not theirs. Billions of unsuspecting humans would be drawn into the insidious psychological, financial debacled system either by their own volition, or from violent repressions over millenniums to this day.

Our global theatrical spectacle is now in full swing, and in our faces, et al. Not unlike the present preposterous power and avarice regimes, patriarchs and some matriarchs, presuming authority millennia ago, turned upside down most if not all significant ideas in which our tax-paying ancestors had become accustomed. The concepts of existing in unconditional oneness with the creator and life after death were skewed; then philosophies and sciences, and their texts, went the same way. The creative and manifesting spirit was finally closeted to such extremes that generations of citizenries who followed witnessed their own magnificence, but only in momentary intuitive instances in worlds of cancerous insinuations in which they were seemingly forced to live.

Signs, symbols, statues, paintings, and music manifested artful illusions inspiring reptilian-brained religious and other historical texts marketing love of war, eloquent poetry concealing masculinized governments’ clashing dualities, acerbated by debt collectors’ elephantine dupes—all for the sake of unimaginably abusive intimidations between and inside nations.

From clues and anticipations of tricky disturbances, our lives will eventually be turned upside down right, returning to an elegance and magnificence with, perhaps, compassionate touches of technology.

And, so it goes that likely no one alive knows precisely what’s going to happen next in our extravaganza, nor when, nor into which section on the stage we are pointing ourselves. There doesn't seem to be a mindful director nor stage manager in sight. The curtain has risen on ethics that had kept illusions and their systems' stratagems in place. Everyone is experiencing the unknown, that is, an absence of certainty. Every kind of experience but one kind has been based in illusions’ certainties.

What isn’t illusory, then? I think the answer is something resembling intuition. The intuitive is us showing ourselves our own energetic, empathic, magnificent, resourceful, stunningly imaginative and creative, contented, and happy presences! In ways, the intuitive is staying awake to, or familiarity with, observing near instant manifestations that magically leak out the only extant truth—nearly comprehensible energetic forces of Grand Conspicuous Intelligence, some call it spirit—swirling around and inside our bodies, every awake and unawake moment.

With resplendent resilience, we’re staying awake on center stage, looking out to the theater’s audience who smiles back at us through compassionate applauding hands. Maybe, it’s not about how we’re collectively feeling and thinking and emoting right now. Could global events be about our unfolding futures observed by the audience? Look! That audience is us! Good grief, praise our magnificence for staying awake enough to reserve our seats.

Our constant curiosity is key
to watching what’s being created.
~ David Moorhead