I remembered receiving my first pocket money. I was about ten, elevenish. To a child, fifty dollars weekly is the difference between all the beautiful coloured pens in the store, the distinction and weight of cotton-stock paper in notebooks, and
… leather bookmarks; delicious but tasteless lollipops and candies; or just gaping and crying out loud ‘I want! I want!’ something that looked like a toy that you can build things with, made in England. At an age when colourful things excite the minds to think of ways to create without associating the idea of money in the picture, it became a treasure trove, a playground of delight.
I have always loved playgrounds — In my world, we call those, minds. Fortunately there are not many functional playgrounds on Earth. And some spin too fast, that extracting a fragment of energy may disrupt the patterns of the quotidian. Dangereux.
playground sandpit actually … I remembered bashing a boy who stepped on my new Clarks shoes, pushing me down because he was taller and bigger than me then, and soiling my new dress that day as if it was yesterday, and to his dismay choked on the sand that I stuffed in his mouth after I wrestled him to the ground. That taught unruly boys to mess with me. That also taught me to not play with boys, because I was grounded for what seemed like eternity.
Triumph! For a girl, it was. Ten years later, it’s the brand that cupped and embraced her bosoms. Laced, and pretty.
We are conditioned to absorb the ideas of having yet we leave them when we continue through our dimensional journeys. If we have those, that and these, we are sophisticated, and the idea of the Jones’ has been ingrained from day zero. And we make mockeries of the have-nots because of what? Our inability to understand or see? Or because it is so much easier to hide our insecurities, than to admit to these. To admit that we’re as common, plebeians. Poor. Malnourished, and incapable of thinking farther than the sticks and stones we play with, in our backyards like the Gentiles and our darker and uncouth Arab brothers. Society has mind washed us to such a degree that those who aren’t accessible to aid, or who do not think like we do, or looked like we are, or who came from different upbringing and breeding, are incapable of anything, least alone civilised.
This is how the conditioned mind works on Earth. As if veiled, our eyes do not see beyond the imaginary blinders we ourselves, veil. We emulate racehorses and gloat on our speed at winning, for the ego. The bloody sod must be delighted.
Gosh, its bloody terrestrial isn’t it?
And then we impose our limited mentality as if the glory of our restrictive, incomprehensive and mediocre thinking has made us all nobiltà. Fortunately only Tutankhamen is preserved in Gold. Otherwise we’d all be emulating him spinning like stars ourselves on this our journey, of such such moral code, hopefully in guise of discoveries, in the future of futures, how aristocratic such families we come from.
Whilst all the while we’re but empty. Zero. A letter without a word. A word without letters. Without meaning, nor purpose. And I haven’t even started with the Verb. Now you know where the proverb about moss and cans making the most noise came from.
Royalty darlings, is un-tellurian. One has to literally scend from and to the Divine Order, or System if you prefer. Like the Chosen, and no, not Rumpelstilzchen. The Chosen is not that they’re deep rooted with superficial values, but they were Chosen for preserving the knowledge, of the Kingdom in the mundane. Unfortunately throughout the years, some families have resorted to Zionism amongst other imprimatur cabal where in reality, they could be anywhere and undertake to anything thereupon Earth without having to impose their presence.
You know what sort of freedom and mindset that is? It’s not just the concept or construct for immunity, nor does one need even conceive such uncivilised infliction of self in the idea of the Holocaust. Beautiful minds need not resort to such careless figment.
There is excitement in the creation of the Word, yet these days, in the mundane, mass manufacturing has overpriced products for short term profits and has converted ideas into mediocre indulgence. Unless we have a business architectural-framework, our ideas will collect dusts on the drawing table.