Counting backwards, and forwards simultaneously, while dates mark no times…
11/11/2018 11.11.11 33. 11/22/2018 11.22.11 44. 11.29.2018 11.11.11 33.
12.10.2018 12.10.11 33. 12.19.2018 12.10.11 33. 12.28.2018 12.10.11 33.
12.09.2019 12.09.12. 33. 12.18.2019 12.9.12. 33. 12.27.2019 12.9.12. 33.
Threes’ pattern unlocks to take a peek, looking back at 22 of November, the start of the full moon in gemini, twins to some, bridge when One. December’s full moon on December 22, the longest one. Numbers, hints, and allegations may fabricate but in there lyes truth. centering the 22’s at the 11th, we gain grounding to stop counting and continue subtracting, to remove creations and veils, uncalculating what’s invented to throw us off track of a sorcerer’s apprentice. To 11, centering in the nothing that provided the clue. These are not numbers for mathing, but computating mind stimulation to raise the hairs on the back of the neck to pay attention, in a Sirius of coincidences, if believing in such. Stars will come out to play in an unusual way, in long nights moon to colden the view and sink the knowledge of conventional scholars, not aware of true beginnings, current behaving, or transfer of knowledge and conditions beyond their grasp of propoganda. Know-it-alls postulate what they’ve said all along, that they can only be trusted to steer you wrong, without knowing the heart of matter they’re contemplating by physics and theocracy condemned by its fallout from their conclusions and deductions.
Scientists, philosophers, and astronomers gaze at their own amazement of stars appearing to have a life of their own, and stuttering to find the cure to propose to the crowd that all is well and in-hand, just as it always has been before…just a glip in the screen of conditioning, they’re back at the helm now and back in control. Professing rhymes without reasoning, the presenters’ backers play through and change the course, conversation, and conviction to keep them professing and believing what they’re selling.
And what to make of starstruck changes evolving in the atmosphere, rejecting scientific theories, but extracting their valuables, we may quietly observe true shinings, not holographic twisting facts into science fiction to sell consumers hooked by psyop’s veiling truths that history is in the making, not who ends up telling and writing it when the dust has settled and the heretics are burned at the stake for their insolence by not accepting what’s forced upon them, to believe, presently thinking that they have a vote, or say-so in sovereignty, when nations, indivisible ones, and their political powerhouse cousins corrupted courses voted upon by restrained ulterior motives and consciousness…wherein does independence and liberty ring true, but to few?
Winds of Changes brew conditions ripened by the elemental luminous concoctors, weary of battles raging in the skies that have been compromised by sprays, in a child’s interpretation, to be stirred more into erupting sights and sounds too big to fail fear struck in those lacking foundational input to go with Her flow, of adjustments, in perceived time not reality, closing curtains with bewilderment, and the will, to start questioning institutions and authority in previous Nons running around. A chance, if such a thing exists, to turn heads and life around or keep dwelling with the enemy. Stay the course, angelic numbers blasphemy sermons of apostolic preachers reading via previous interpretations. Be, wear, occult not brought out by evangelism that veils it, hypocritical oaths make their pledges and gains from TV’s and those on the verge of death, to give until there ain’t no more to give or receive, grasping at straws to stop the clause in life that demands their participation and acceptance of death at-hand.
Shooting stars wake up the serenity of complacent outer space and previously darkened places to enlighten inner space with activity, as above, so below the threshold of opportunity that strikes the open jaws not believing what they’re taking in and running for shelter under faith of religious profiteers returning to meet their makers’ sons and daughters caught up in corruption and self-preservation unyielding to crowds cries and tythes for divine intervention.
Where’s the rod and staff, that your prophets lay down, slay and engulf others who won’t submit to one-sided hellraisers with pledges to their gods’ alligiance, when shit hits the fan blown in by outer limits shaking foundations and believings resting in place on a planet inhabited, not planted, grounded or embraced. Universal, cosmic laws nature planets into their goldilocks zones and mass distinctions, when Deep parties conjure and release technology into upper atmospheres and ozone holes to impart their imperialist wisdom to further mask frequency waves of Sols and suns, moons and reflections that intensify periods.
No prophecy to lend, as Samael lent, not to play in graveyards of ancestral superstitions aggragated to psychic energy forms, nor specific locations that loosen or remove the grounding conditions to confuse and engage the adolescent initiate, lower spirit in conditions tied to bodily functions and attachments, culminating in a wonderlust not wonderLand. And for whom does the bell toll, for many or for one soul, gripped in fear of unknown entities raising the awareness to new levels of anxiety for those weak in the knees of swells and crashing waves scaring out of nowhere, up and down until the stomach rejects what the mind Will not, stop.start observing.
to unload and log into this journal, an exclaim observance of what is seen to be by the believers, by years of professors, physicists, genius, extremists, and propoganda spaced agencies will be questioned and tested, as quizes and queries are taught in-reverse, no longer students to be taught unquestioned sources from animated productions of popular theories. The cat’s out of the cosmic propoganda bag, and the Flats will have a field day and thensome, as the theory of gravity reconvenes and is taken for a ride. While Sparks ignite at brushes and embers, the mass keeps returning to dissertations and commitees discussing what we should all make of it. Little ones, still leaving spirit entow, getting to it if their time permits, getting around it permitted they make time for it, as last rites humanes the backdraft into shooting blanks by hairtrigger solders of fear or fortune, conquest, or discovering and conquering theories that eventually stop the leading to contemplation of Sol, and why it changes dispositions of planets when spirit is vesseled but not experienced wholeheartedly. In the long run, the vessel, planet, or star that leaves spirit behind to suffer the consequences of blind ambitions forging ahead, dying, in the process.
Tis the season, resting by a crackling fire, and sipping on a warm refreshment that’s container heats the hands and fingers previously deadened by the artic breeze, now brought back to the life of sensations they’re holding onto. Warming inside and out, simply observing presence under trees such as thee to branch out and leave falling an olive leaf of understanding, 12.10.11 comes three times, 33 total, times three times in December of 3 e’s, maintaining the frequency to confirm we’re going through without major stoppage, to new points of views brought about by perceived potential destructions and global events excluded by insurance carriers, hedging their bets with acts of god and nature, passing the burden back to us, taxationally, with interest.