Traversing the Land of Fanatics, Part I
"If we’ve been bamboozled long enough, we tend to reject any evidence of the bamboozle. We’re no longer interested in finding out the truth." -- Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World
You can listen to me read this essay HERE
“One of the saddest lessons of history is this: If we’ve been bamboozled long enough, we tend to reject any evidence of the bamboozle. We’re no longer interested in finding out the truth. The bamboozle has captured us. It’s simply too painful to acknowledge, even to ourselves, that we’ve been taken. Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back.” — Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World.
The world is becoming increasingly dark and dangerous. Ruled by fanatics demanding unquestioning loyalty.
Wait. This is supposed to be my inspirational essay! Oh, and next month, these essays will be reserved for paying subscribers (just have to include that here).
Okay, I will get around to the inspiration, trust me. That’s why it is in two parts.
I want to talk about babies and birth and death and life in-between, and somewhere along the way there will be inspiration. Because nothing is simple! Did you know that Planned Parenthood keeps aborted babies alive to harvest their brains and organs? To harvest their tissue. Did you know that the BBC reported in 2006 on newborn babies being stolen in Ukraine for their organs? That will come in part two.
Let me start with a personal story.
I rarely drive a car. Mostly I walk and run everywhere. I started this habit back in the 1980s when I lived between London and Slovenia, which was then part of communist Yugoslavia. I didn’t have a car in those days, so I didn’t have a choice. Rain, snow or shine, if I needed to go to the market, or do anything, I walked. At that time, I was in a nightmarish marriage to a Yugoslavian “pop star” and I didn’t know how to get out of it.
I’m an artist and my husband got me a gig illustrating his friend, Cliff Richard’s “I’m No Hero” album cover—do you know who he is? Back in those days, he was the European Elvis Presley. A huge star. I was just out of college and didn’t have a lot of confidence in my ability as an artist, but my husband said I should do it, and so I did. One day, my husband came home and when he saw my progress, he grew enraged. Thinking I wasn’t doing it well enough, and his reputation was on the line, he punched me in the face and broke my nose. I cleaned up the mess, as I always did, and kept working on the painting. What other choice did I have? I had been raised to finish what I started and that’s what I did.
The irony is that I was painting a picture of Cliff wearing boxing gloves, fighting a hulking opponent. So, while my face swelled, and my eyes turned black and blue, I painted. Somehow, I finished and Cliff, and the marketing company were pleased. I think it’s a horrible album cover. They would never know the suffering that I had gone through while painting that scene of the little guy overcoming the powerful against all odds.
That was when I first started running. I knew I had to do something to change my situation, for my own sake and for the sake of my daughter. Every day, no matter what, I put on an old pair of sneakers, went out the door and ran in Kensington Gardens. I was skinny as a stick and at first, I could hardly run a block. Slowly and surely, I gained strength. I set reasonable goals and made sure I achieved them. Eventually I grew strong enough to leave my husband with my four-year-old daughter. Once I got back to Los Angeles, I started training in martials arts, and then Eskrima, boxing and kickboxing, fighting full contact. I vowed that never again would I allow myself to be abused by any man—or woman, or anyone.
I know the world of the elite and I know the world of the street and I can say I prefer the street. I came to love that view in all its stark reality. Running through the streets of London and through the villages of what was then communist Yugoslavia, people looked at me like I was some kind of crazed alien. Nobody was running like that in those days. Living in Luxor, Egypt at the start of the pandemic, I did the same. Children started running after me. Once a boy on a donkey raced me. Even the girls, shy and giggling, started to run after me. It’s not easy breaking the mold and bringing a new perspective to a community, but how else will we ever change imbedded ways?
In Phoenix I walk and run for miles, encountering all sorts of characters along the way. Homeless, sometimes out of their minds people, pushing their carts piled high with their only possessions. Kids on skateboards, earnest bicycle riders. I’ve helped any number of people in wheelchairs to cross the road when they couldn’t make it before the light changed. You learn compassion on the streets. Many times, I’ve asked myself what it’s like to be those people who somehow lost their way, unable to struggle any higher when they have sunk so low? No, not everyone can “pull themselves up by their bootstraps.” But we all need a helping hand sometimes.
Our elite do not walk among the people. They despise and fear us. They need armies to protect themselves. They live high in the clouds and travel in sleek cars, luxury yachts and private jets.
Of course, I get it. If Kim Kardashian were to walk down the street without her security detail, she would get mobbed. But they made it this way on purpose, and they like it. If they had always walked among us, there would be nothing unusual about them, no mystery. They wouldn’t be perceived as mini gods.
They are not. They are overflowing with weakness and fear because they have compromised everything that is good in exchange for wealth and power. This has left them terrified of death and the reckoning it will bring.
Just take our politicians. The further up the ladder they go, the more removed they become from the common people. Those doddering geriatrics who’ve embedded themselves in Washington DC and will only leave once their flesh falls off their bones have no idea what it feels like to be an ordinary person living in an apartment in the inner city or a home in a small town. All those millions of people are nobodies and there’s nothing the elite hate more than the nobodies telling them that they’re on to their game.
When I was ousted at the end of 2005 from the nonprofit I co-founded, the last meeting we had was at the top of a high-rise in Century City. The choice of meeting place was supposed to intimidate me. We sat around a marble slab of a table, me, a lone person with my brother-in-law, a lawyer kindly helping me because I couldn’t afford anyone else, and all of them confronting me with animosity. Well, some of them refused to show up, too embarrassed to be there. They had warned me of what would happen. They said they didn’t like it. But they made it clear they weren’t about to jeopardize their careers to stand up for me.
And that’s the problem. If everyone had the courage to stand up for what was right, together, the elite’s game would end—just like that! But years upon years of conditioning has brainwashed people into believing there is nothing they can do but comply. And everyone dreams of having more money, more fame, and they’ve been led to believe that if they just do what they are told, it’s possible they can achieve it. This is a lie. What it takes to go up that ladder, only a very few have the stomach for it—the ability to absorb so much evil into their lost souls.
I’d always known that there really wasn’t a left or a right, at least not for those at the top. They were united in their little club—not that they trusted one another, they would as easily stab each other in the back as not, but they formed their alliances and dealt ruthlessly with anyone who threatened their positions of power. They gave the appearance of charity and caring when in reality they enjoyed fomenting distrust and hatred in underlings, turning neighbors into enemies, convincing children to despise and disobey their parents, knowing this was the secret to keeping people weak.
Like the nobles of Rome, forcing gladiators into the ring so that when one fighter lies broken and bleeding, the elite can get off on bestowing life or death with a simple gesture of the thumb.
It was at the end of 2005 that I stood up to the Hollywood elite, refusing to follow their orders. The chair of the board was a staunch Republican while most of the board members were Democrats in the film industry. They all banded together because they saw the benefit for themselves.
I had been in increasing conflict with the board, them resenting that an outsider, a twice divorced single mother who lived in a small house in the San Fernando Valley, recently divorced from her husband from an old California real estate family (so I no longer had a powerful man to defend me) was sitting at the head of the board table. When I refused to support their elitist fundraiser, that was the last straw. As president of the board, if I did not back the fundraiser, it would not happen.
How dare I! They were the powerful ones, not me. Yet, I had built this program without their help and within it, I was still the powerful one—yes, inconsequential me. I had the support of the directors of the juvenile halls and the probation department because they too were on the ground and were aware of the work I did. All of them sent letters confirming this. It made no difference, just like it makes no difference today what the truth is. The powerful hate the truth.
Previous to the board meeting where I was ousted, I’d been invited to a dinner at a private club where a few board members had tried to convince me to comply. I was advised by a younger liberal in the film industry to just bend over and let a certain powerful older conservative f*ck me up the ass. What was the big deal? “Just do it,” I was told.
This was quite normal for them, and they couldn’t understand my hesitancy. After all, they had all submitted to this indignity, or at least most of them had, so why shouldn’t I?
I refused to bend over that night at the private club (figuratively) and so the board meeting was called to oust me. At the final board meeting, it was expected that I would take the money they offered me in exchange for signing a nondisclosure. I’d started the program to give a voice to the voiceless and they wanted to take away mine.
Before the meeting I’d talked to my dad, and he’d prayed with me about it. We’d had our conflicts in the past, but this hard decision brought us together. He told me I absolutely should not sign that paper and take the money. If I did, I would be under their control forever. I agreed. My dad had been in similar situations in his life, and I had always respected him for the stand he had taken. The experience brought us closer together, and I will always be grateful for that.
At the final board meeting, I stood up and told them I would rather live in a cardboard box than take their money. I refused to sign the nondisclosure.
It was with great satisfaction that I saw the looks of shock on their faces. Never had they dreamed I would turn down their offer. Many of them had been with me through the hard years of building the nonprofit—watching passively from the sidelines, waiting until it was something they wanted to take for themselves. I was naive back then, not realizing the inevitable. I do now. It is why I can write and speak with authority about what is happening. I thank God for giving me these experiences so that I would have the conviction to write the way I do.
You see, at a certain point, if you want to advance in the world of the elite, you have to pay your dues. You have to bend over. Those who don’t are hated for it. What makes you think you are better than us? Why don’t you give in and submit?
Because that’s how they got where they are. By compromising their integrity little by little. I have no anger towards these people. I have compassion, just as I do for those I pass on the streets. Two completely opposite worlds, but not really. Both prisoners of the forces that put them there—the forces that they willingly submitted to.
Whether you are wealthy or not, ultimately you must make a choice to be bought or to fly free. Just like I found out in Egypt, where if you are born a Muslim, you will be killed if you deny Islam. And like promising loyalty to a street gang, once you are in it you can never get out.
Taking the elevator back down to the street, I experienced a sense of freedom unlike anything I’d ever known before. I’d cut myself off from the promise of success, awards, grants, publishing contracts. And yet, it was as if the biggest weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Walking out of the building, I looked up at where I had been, knowing I would never be way up there again.
That was fine with me.
I preferred the streets. The nonprofit I’d started was a writing program for incarcerated youth. For six years, I had taught classes in the juvenile halls of Los Angeles, and other lock down facilities. I had spent countless hours in court and in the homes of my students, in neighborhoods that might as well have been on another planet as far as the elite were concerned because they would never go there. Yes, I’d met murderous gang members without a conscience that deserved to be put away. But their crimes were small compared to say, Joe Biden’s or George Bush’s, or Albert Bourla’s, or Anthony Fauci’s. The blood of millions is on their hands. And they are celebrated as heroes.
As Theodore Roosevelt said, “A man who has never gone to school may steal a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad.”
This evil is beyond comprehension.
With this latest ruling on Roe vs Wade, I fear we have crossed the Rubicon and there is no going back. The elite have really done a number on us. They have ensured that we will be at each other’s throats—tear each other apart. It started at the last election with the BLM and Antifa movements and the riots. It has now solidified into each side, left and right, irrevocably believing that the other side is the epitome of evil.
Yet, I know from personal experience, that for the elite THERE IS NO LEFT AND RIGHT. They play us for fools and force us to fight one another.
Most people are moderate. Most people would say that, although it may be a difficult decision, abortion up until twelve weeks would be tenable, especially if the mother’s life is in danger. And then, there are those who believe no baby should ever be aborted and those who believe a baby can be aborted up until nine months.
I say baby because I personally believe conception is life and life equals a baby.
They are trying to say that we are all expendable. That there is no more humanity. Or, whatever humanity is, it is only to be despised and done away with. Ushering in a new transhumanism.
I know many women who have had abortions and I weep with them. I know others who callously had abortion after abortion and although I abhor it, I still love them, and I forgive them. That is my choice. You do not have to agree with me. But surely, we can stand together as one. We can say, wait, let’s stop this hate. Let’s have compassion.
They do not want us sharing our stories, feeling compassion for one another!
We are no longer allowed to be moderate—on either side. I remember a friend who is now a top security expert, how he told me he grew up on the streets of Los Angeles, born into a Mexican mafia family. When he was a kid, the police used to pick him up and drop him off in enemy territory, just for sport when they were bored, so he had to find his way home. On the streets of LA, from one block to the next you can be in enemy territory.
Those of you who are reading this, I am sure 99% of you do not know what I am talking about. It is a world you will never have to navigate. For that reason alone, none of us should judge those who have felt they had no choice but to form alliances in order to survive—because soon we will all know what that feels like and the choices, we make will determine our destiny and the destiny of our country and the world.
My friend learned how to survive like that, fighting for his life on the streets. And how to hate the police. Nothing is ever as simple as “good guy, bad guy.”
He grew up and got out of that life. Had a son he was proud of who joined the army. Ultimately, my friend, like so many others, refused to be pushed into that box by those who sought to control him.
By banishing me and others like me from speaking out on Twitter, they are trying to force us into a box where we will have no choice but to share our beliefs with others who think EXACTLY the same as us, in places like GETTR, Gab and Truth Social.
Except nobody thinks EXACTLY like me!
I hate this narrowing of freedom of expression. I don’t want to only associate with those the algorithms have determined I should interact with. The algorithms are wrong. They are trying to tell me who I am, and I am not that!
I want healthy debate, respected disagreement. Unexpected conclusions that no AI can predict.
Yet they want us to be extremists. They want to prove we are all white nationalists, white supremacists, domestic terrorists. I can guarantee you; this is what is coming. We will find ourselves in the nightmare of the denunciation rallies of Maoist China, also called struggle sessions, where people accused of being "class enemies" were publicly humiliated, beaten and tortured by people they were close to.
I see this fanaticism spreading as surely as the latest “monkeypox” plague.
Soon, it will be no different from being in prison. If you are in prison, you must align yourself with the group that looks the most like you. If you are white, that is the white supremacists. If you are black or brown, it’s the same.You may hate it. But it is the only way to survive.
What if we all refused? That’s what it takes.
I will refuse. I have always refused.
What will you do before the choice is taken from you?
At some point, it will be war, no more philosophizing. No more name-calling on Twitter. It will be personal. You will pick up that gun or that rock or that knife or you will use your bare hands to kill your neighbor because now it’s your family, your own children that are threatened. And your neighbor will do the same.
No one will stop and say, wait a minute. It’s the elite who are pulling the strings, making us do this. The left and the right. Two parts of a whole monster.
It will be life and death. No one will even remember how it started or what they are fighting for except survival.
If we could just unite as a people against the real enemy, THE ELITE, it would be over. Why can’t we see it?
And here’s the inspirational part at last.
We are small creatures in a vast universe, and we have no idea of the bigger picture. I truly believe that a monk who has made a vow of silence and devotes his life to prayer alone on a mountain is more powerful than President Biden will ever be. It might not seem that way, but we cannot possibly understand the bigger picture. I am not discounting the warriors because I am one of those. I do not sit on a mountain. I am very bad at meditation. We all have our purpose to fulfill.
I know this is true because I have lived it. I have faced the elite and said no. I have sat with those who are said to be the monsters and heard their stories and hugged them and stood by them for years. Yes, we need to protect ourselves, but they are not the ones we really need to fear. Nor are our neighbors—although that day could well come.
There is still time to unite against our common foe. The monsters in Washington DC, the monsters who run the banks and the media and the drug companies. We must do it before they have harvested our children and stolen them completely.
In Part II, I will continue with the horrors of reducing us all to less than human, harvesting organs from babies, and incredibly, manipulating the public so that they fight in order that the elite can feed off of them and their children in their search to find the secret to immortality.
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