When the handle on the toilet bowl is broken

And everything in the bowl keeps swirling......

Being with my husband has been the most relevatory experience of my life. He never stops triggering me, and I’ve never loved anyone who is more different than I am. Even now, as I’m trying to concentrate on writing something meaningful and intelligent, coming from the other room is a sound that I cannot drown out; the sneering verbal assault on intelligence and inner peace that is Chip Chipperson’s voice. There are others on this comedy channel, of course, cackling and guffawing at their own contribution to the “entertainment”. The canned laughter from their treasured audience always reminds me of Frito in Idiocracy, sitting on his couch-toilet watching his favorite television show.

The filth that this comedian spends his life immersed in, spewing conversations about menstrual cycles, bowel movements and ghetto life is incomprehensible to me…..even in order to make millions of dollars. I just do not see how anyone would want to do such a harmful, predatory thing to the world; does this man not see how he is like a hand on a broken toilet handle, keeping all the shit in the bowl endlessly swirling? There are countless other comedians exactly like this man, who have made careers out of speaking into existence the lowest states of consciousness that people are capable of while still being alive….although at this level, life is little more than that of an animated corpse. These are the magicians who speak the spells that continue to hold humanity drugged, captive, distracted and stupid. Many are so unconscious themselves that they know not what they do. Many of them truly hate all the misery and garbage they speak about, and have no idea that by the very act of speaking, they are creating more of it, or that anyone who listens to their words is also creating more of it. I am also absolutely certain that many of them also DO know.

My husband is one of the unconscious. He laughs at it. He scrolls endlessly, finding other buzzing human mosquitos in their little sewer clouds to focus his attention on all day long. “It’s funny. It’s not intelligent, I get that. It’s FUNNY.” I know that on a very deep level, he is aware that he’s bleeding out. Attention is the currency of the universe. The rare moments of lucidity that emerge every now and then reveal that he does know. But he doesn’t stop the behavior.

I can not understand even the urge to waste a second of my vital life force giving attention to such worthless soundbytes, much less taking part in creating the very ugliness that I do not want. I struggle not to get enraged just by the sound, wanting to scream and shake my fist at the demons swirling around us to leave him alone…but I know that this experience is my lesson to learn so that I can evolve further. I am not supposed to throw in the towel and walk away, which would be the easiest thing to do. The very same cult that brought us pharmaceuticals has encouraged us to put ourselves first and avoid, rather than confront, learn….and evolve. Whether the target is the so-called “new age”, traditional religion, the working poor, the lgbt “family”, the patriotic-minded, the country club set (insert any group that we as humans like to identify ourselves as), the hijackers are of the same parasitic consciousness. They are the clippoth, the archons…….the dark sorcerors of Atlantis. They feed on the vital life force of humanity and have for eons. We must recognize them and stop allowing outselves to be food sources.

Going within despite what is happening “out there” is always the answer, and mastering the physical world by achieving mastery over the self is the greatest evolution that a soul in a human body can aspire to.

Running away to a mountaintop where there are no distractions is not the mark of a Master of the highest level. We have only to look at Victor Frankl’s legacy to be humbled by this powerful truth. Everywhere that we turn is opportunity.