UFOs And Causal Motery...

Borne of needs for any of us;
there is no "we" without "me."

UFOs And Causal Motery...
by Alfred Lehmberg


Individuality! Individuality is penultimately required with regard to even the beginning "perceptions" of what later came to be called "UFOs." What did the observing person see? That guy!

We won't digress to the UAP... these are other, less brave, appellations and would be employed, to detriment, later on. Individuality, and the ability to endure neck pain... passed these things? It's only time necessary looking up, out... and certainly in. 

Crystal? ...Seems ya gotta be "free" to be able to "see"? 

Individuality; however, remains a trial, a travail, and a toil, worse than mere neck pain because it is a resumption of individual sensibility, reader, and a return to personal responsibility lost as a result of flowing with the herd on the salient issues. It's a shock, yes, but a productive shock because it encourages individual accountability and corporeal sensibilities accommodating an efficacious social web larger and more powerful than oneself! 

A Base shelter to be availed, reader! A social web absolutely required to the stewardship of a 21st Century's 350 million-odd human beings, just in America. 

...Faith is hard-pressed to feed the faithful! Sustenance will be coming, or not, only ever of themselves, and by this writer's watch and warrant. Salvation, too.

Also, it encourages a certain singularity of what this writer suspects might be a constructively efficacious spirit, it's further pointed out. "Woke," in the current colloquial. We'll table for now how it is the sun source of all novelty and our only salvation... but briefly, if we have respect for the sensibilities of one another we have our salvation, soup to nuts. Any God at all may have been a zero-sum function in existence's equation... perhaps even an invalidating one.

All of the preceding, it's submitted, is preferable to entirely living off the cues of  "compromised (and compromising) insiders" and slavishly going against one's own more innocent and humane personal intuitions... and best interests, again by watch and warrant.

This, the reader's individuality, is the final target of the "manipulator," or "society," or "culture," the reader might presuppose. It has always been thus. See, the coveted object of any culture—not remotely your friend—is ...You, reader!  Isn't that ironic?

"YOU"... that which you make, and the water that you, metaphorically, heat and carry! Their institutions evaporate away in their own imaginations when YOU withdraw your support... your work... your initiative... your money! It's why they try so hard to keep you... if they think you may be valuable to their "cause."  With 'em, ain't agin' 'em!

You're valuable if so much as... warm... but compliant.  Though, always be prepared to fall out of their inconsistent, wayward, and fickle favor. Buyin is required at 100%! Life turns on their dime, and they keep the change.

This explains all their rage and retribution as they too easily begin to accept that you may have slipped away from them in some way, provoked, it matters not, by their thoughtlessly practiced and self-serving psychopathies. The reader's value (now measured in their open mendacity because they have knowledge of the reader's potential as an obstacle regarding their deleterious and self-serving agenda) is ironically confirmed, if in reverse. Be proud!

This all begins to occur, I expect, when one starts to listen, not to the one mal-inculcated for each of us in support of the few at the expense of the many, but to their individual conscience, the little voice inside... The one asking, "Were it me?" 

A necessary digression, one must always ponder, "Ok, it's me I observe. What, then, were the observed... me?" Turn, then, as the observed, and observe the observer. Become the observed, observing. Much, faced, is learned.

A person compelled to self-evaluation of conscience is why the reading in a forbidden index is forbidden... the known unknown exists... and what about that unknown unknown?  Nes't ce pas? The idle mind is not a "devil's playground." No, it's that it is a "playground," at all! The Forbidden Index won't fill the passed plate, legitimize the tithe, or get the Deacon's office furnished. 

Apart from the math, the peer-reviewed science, and primary- reference history? Forget everything you learned in school.

The purpose of their *school*, then, is to promote their concept of a *reliable* citizen. Read instead? 

Read "malleable" and "easily intimidated" employee, reader... tool/beings with rotted souls dry as chalk dust pushed around without difficulty... spiritless robots... What does the reader's intuition say with regard to that? This writer stands on the shoulders of Giants reporting same.

To that end and culminating in crass manipulations from our groomed psychopathic society, then, there are grievous distortions made to the TRUE histories of each bit of consciousness in the society or culture, and that aggregate consciousness, therefore, inhabits, as a result (!), contrived castles in the increasingly polluted air! Look around you! Currently, it's OK to dump coal tar in stream beds. UFOs must fade from view.

These inconstant castles evaporate, by the way, the moment that it is convenient or profitable for the non-elected privileged autocrat and his eagerly grasping minions to evaporate them. I digress.

Very little has actually happened the way You (and I) thought it did... remember. The way we were taught it did... The way we were told it did. Trust betrayed then. Trust betrayed, still.

A walk on a summer afternoon beach at Panama City, Florida—in July when MTV is there—is to be surrounded in the purest hokum of precancerous skin, conspicuous consumption, and contrived presumption. Suntan oil, ass tattoos, and balloon rides from flashy corporate rock productions...immutable chaos in the corporeal, one would think... then it pops like a soap bubble.

Contrast it with the same stretch of beach on a deserted day in a coldly blustery November to see how tenuous reality really is. Move in time 1000 years past and future and see surface areas change, the withering then blooming skin of a living thing. 

One comes away somehow knowing that the gray November day alluded to is vastly superior to the July one... and on more levels... even if empty and tortured, hounded by the sea, and threatened by the sky... ...but it's real. The one in July is a wasteful fantasy of meaningless personal risk, alcohol poisoning, and even a fatal venereal disease...wind's dust.  Undistracted, though, one can perceive the real chaos of the cosmos! Let your cometary blaze mean something for your fellows. There is a reality! It's just beyond the grasp of talking monkeys... currently. Future looms.

That was the lesson of the Matrix series, eh?  Lice, bald heads, and ultimate sacrifice were a magnitude better than thinking that the matrix was the only reality and that it was not able to be manipulated by the informed user like an iPhone or an iPAD, you know? I suspect that lesson is plain, and very much so. Is what's real, really real? Well, just my neck pain says that sometimes, it is.

Regarding the aforementioned UFOs (another probable reality without regard to conjectured provenance!), I am amused how every "name" authority worth academic salt can pontificate his relative surety of intelligent life *anywhere else* in our ever-expanding multi-verse, but will not cop to any potential that that astoundingly already admitted intelligence is peering down un-guessed at instruments at us... this very moment! Is, in fact, standing inside our *closet* with us as we furtively and hypocritically grope our "detested" cultural genitals, abusing same... ...or that we shan't feel hot alien breath on our embarrassed cheeks even as we begin to listen quietly for it in our culture-imposed darknesses.

The 'other' exists as sure as an itchy nose. ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose... It is the ultimate sedition... Feel its breath on your reddening cheek, and be elevated.

Read on.