The Long Arc of Life: Choices and Costs

On the timely and the timeless

This story is about the long-term arcs of life. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve pondered what leads to what and how our choices made at one point in time shape our happiness for years to come.

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Before we dive into the story, here are three newsy things:

• If you missed Sharyl Attkisson’s reporting on the whistleblower doctors at Houston Methodist that I wrote about earlier, here is the posted episode.

• The Fed says that the programmable digital wallet called and said that it’s on its way. Sarcasm aside, here is the news. The Federal Reserve asked six major U.S. banks to do a “pilot exercise to make sure the U.S. financial system is ready for the various risks presented by the climate crisis” (source). Which is another way to say that the banks are formally preparing to meet the not-manufactured-at-all sudden crisis, and the CBDC will be the obvious panacea to save us all. And by the way, the crazy conspiracy theorists should stop saying “I told you so” because it is all going to happen very suddenly, for natural reasons, and for our own good. It always does.

• Nikki Florio has recommended this article if you want to know more about solar panels and EMF radiation.
  
  Now to the story.

Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov on Unsplash

I have a very good friend. A pure soul, a good heart.  Many years ago, when I was dealing with a tremendous ordeal (abusive ex, etc.), he was one of the people who stood by me like a mountain and helped me win. Which is to say, the gratitude I feel toward him is endless and not dependent on our opinions about things.

When the “COVID pandemic” hit, he went with the mainstream. Completely, totally and unapologetically with the mainstream. The few conversations he and I had about it were amicable and boiled down to “I think differently, and I love you,” something along those lines.

I sent him a few links but not obsessively, he responded by saying he’d check them out. I didn’t feel like it was my place to push, and so we didn’t talk much, just a few kind remarks here and there. In any case, he looked happy and fine, and I was glad about that.

Earlier this week, I learned to my great shock that his girlfriend, whom he loved with his whole heart, suddenly died. She was the light of his soul. He loved her completely. I don’t know how old she was. My friend is probably in his early sixties, she was probably around his age.

Was her passing sped up by the vaccines? We will never know. I am doubtful that he would think in the direction of vaccines—and so, he will never ask the question, and we will never know. And because it is not spiritually right to get into people’s space when they grieve, he will just grieve. He’ll grieve on his terms, he will grieve the love of his life. He’ll miss her always. And without asking the question that is uncomfortable to ask for someone with mainstream beliefs, he will never know if it was the vaccines that had killed the love of his life.

I have another friend. Sometime in the past month, she and her close friend (whom I knew) boarded a plane to go on vacation abroad. While the plane was in the air, my friend’s friend suddenly died. They had to emergency land, etc. She was in her early fifties or so, she had a baby grandchild. That is so sad!

Was it the COVID injection that sped up her passing? She was of the mainstream inclination, “following the science,” etc.  And just like in the case of my other friend’s late girlfriend, it’s impossible to answer the question without asking it, and it is very unlikely that her family will ask. So we’ll never know.

God bless their souls.

And of course, even though the so called COVID “vaccines” are mostly a toxic soup, they are not the only poison going around, and the investigation is even more complex. Synthetic biology, geoengineering substances, glyphosate, chemical poisons in food, water, medicines, and traditional vaccines, electro-magnetic pollution—not to mention the stressful supersqueeze—we are swimming in a toxic soup. We are heroes and veterans of a civilizational onslaught. The fact that we are still being feisty and keep busying around is a miracle in itself!  

That said, every poison adds up. And while we can convince ourselves of anything and feel good about “following the science” and swimming in a toxic soup, our bodies can’t be fooled.

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Here is another story about a long arc that has nothing to do with COVID or “vaccines”—but it is freshly emotional in my mind. This sad story took over ten years to arrive at its current state.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful guy who looked like a Greek god. He lived in a small community in California, ran his dad’s business, and he was a little overly tormented but none the less bright, beautiful, well-read, interesting, etc.

I had a not very long, mostly long-distance relationship with him, and it didn’t work out. Sometimes relationship work, sometimes they don’t. Life.  But I grieved. Dear God, I grieved. I wrote poetry, stories, and a whole song. I missed him a lot.

But as it goes, life went on. I did my thing, he did his. For couple of years, we didn’t talk. Then we started talking again, and at some point he announced that he would fix it all, and come to New York for New Year’s Eve, and you just see. And I had no idea what could possibly come out of it but I am an adventurous person, and that sounded like an adventure and a potential miracle, so I decided to take a chance.

And so—over seven years ago—I opened the door, and there he was, looking like a strange shadow of his former self.

I was shocked. He looked like he’d been through a lot. However, this new version of my former love was there, standing at my door with bags, and New Year’s Eve was coming up. I had to make something out of it, something, talk, figure it out. And so we talked, and at some point, he confessed that he was doing very heavy drugs. Which immediately explained his shifty vibe, so it started making sense, but it upset me tremendously. He was born with talents and good looks, and WTF?

So I burst into tears and reprimanded him from my heart. He got angry, cold, hostile, and stormed out, a few hours to midnight, on a New Year’s Eve. I was so disappointed, I cried and cried and cried. I cried for myself and my lost dream, I cried for him and the destruction he had brought to his life. I cried to the skies.

I never saw him again. I didn’t want to see him again. I thought, who does that?!! Storm out on me on New Year’s Eve after waiting for years to see me at all?!! I prayed for him to come back to his senses and stop doing drugs for his own sake, but I didn’t want to engage. I was done.

Anyway, recently, I learned that last year, he was all over the news for shooting at his mom. Luckily everyone survived and his mom stayed alive but the man  shot at his mother. He shot at his mother.  He was probably drugged out of his mind and was seeing ghosts. But none the less, what human being shoots at his mom?!! Who does that?!!!

And so, here is a long-term arc of life. It didn’t have to be this way. He had a gentle heart, actually, and was born for good things. He had lots and lots going for him. He had many talents and, let me emphasize, majorly good looks.  He could live a meaningful life. But he chose to listen to the ghosts, and the ghosts delivered him to jail. That’s sadness. It didn’t have to be that way. It really didn’t have to be that way.

And me, I am a lucky woman!! I am alive!!

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I would like to end this philosophical story with some piercing poetry by readers and friends. Hope it brings you joy!

by Dr. Emanuel Garcia:

EINSTEIN'S OBJECTIONS TO QUANTUM PHYSICS
I’m certain
That a fundamental explanation 
Of our universe’s laws
Is more than ‘just because’
And that whoever rolled the dice
Would out of courtesy 
Have been a bit less randomly
Precise

by Michael Brownstein:

LAST NIGHT THE FBI
Last night the FBI
broke into my cabin
looking for poems

When I arrived
an hour later I discovered
two men lying naked

Weeping and embracing
their clothes and badges
strewn across the floor

I never knew
my poems
were that good             

by Dennis Bernstein:

AMBUSHED
by dueling memories—
her silence went off 
like a gun

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