It’s a strange thing money. It has a mythical appeal and repel quality. The familial tales and myths around money are epic. Each generation, reinforces codices of action and behaviour around wealth. But here is the real truth. If you weren’t born with family money, you are unlikely to get any to a higher level than your parents.
Oh yes, I know, I have heard them all…It’s how hard you work, it’s how you flow, it’s destroying those limiting beliefs, thinking abundant thoughts yada yada, blah blah blah, all stories, all bull shit.
One of the greatest deceptions I can see upon the world is that of the “Class System”. The level of income you are achieving designates your class, poor white trailer trash, lower income, blue collar, middle class professional too Elite, it doesn’t matter, these are the deceptive classes used to hide the great deception, that of Caste. The world is run and controlled through vertical lines of what you do, not horizontal lines of what you make. If you learn this lesson and learn it well, you will go far and possibly grow rich.
Now I was sexually abused from an early age. The situations generated around this, the feelings of guilt, shame, the crimes I in turn perpetuated, all had one true and hidden goal. The goal of keeping me within the “criminal subset”. I could have been a great politician or athlete, but by the time I was 10 the situations I had been in and party too, already precluded a sidestep into the legal world. Upon the underworld I would rise, fail or go to jail. I haven’t been to jail, which shows you just what a good little criminal I became, and within those ranks I could of ridden very high indeed.
Every time I tried to step away out from under a “strange attractor” would force it’s way in and I would be knocked back into the world of the illegal, until there was nothing but illegal for me to do. I became well trained, through fear, trauma and my own indelible well of hell.
The training to remain within ones caste ranges from subtle to highly invasive. The subtle is to write on drugs, prostitution and money and have your “friends” walk away, using justifications of “it’s in the past” or “I can’t be associated with that”. That’s a whole new level of denying ones being and validity as a person, watch as the real me shrinks back into shape. To the real heavy hits, this is the overdose of drugs, in the back of a car winding up in a different town, working in a whore house, kind of stuff, or the “we got the dirt on you, we’ll nark you out” (particularly effective when one has four kids).
Your, keep you in the Caste line, may be different, your circumstances are individual and unique to you. But if you are trying to change your life, move into another career, gain more wealth and keep meeting what the “New Age” terms resistance, then I would counsel you to look at your lines. Your vertical caste lines of what you were born and raised to be, rather than the class lines of money. It is very possible to ride to the top of your field, easily, as soon as you recognise what that field is and what is stopping you from plowing it.
I became a very well paid call girl, making my way up the ranks from seedy massage parlor to "High Class", then **** salesperson (still illegal here) working my way from foils to pounds and now I have a wonderful coaching and tarot business, whereby I get to support others to rise and be whole.
I have successfully navigated the side step. It took for me to realise that the ceiling is not above us, it is the walls that surround us, that stop our expansion.
In peace, strength and love.
Own it like the boss you are.
THE STRENGTH TO MOVE FORWARD
When you have played in the ocean and lost a fin to the sharks, how do you move beyond the puddle you have retracted too in safety?
There have been several periods in my life, where I have flown, soared with the birds, worn silk and before it was "Totally" unfashionable, fur!
Gees I looked good. I'm not a natural beauty, but bear in mind my goals when I entered Solway College, at 12, were to be an opera singer, a ballet dancer or a first rate whore. And I had failed at the first two.
Into the Telecom and Training area I drifted. I learned word processing for that company, on the most bizarre two-day training course. From hardly seeing a computer, to typing and editing on one, complete with Fkeys in two days, umm ('87, think on p.c's back then...had you heard of one?)
Another training course I went on was incredibly different. It was the Academy of Elegance, 12 week 'finishing school' for ladies. I learned to shade my face (it's all about the triangles), walk. sit, get in and out of a limo elegantly...if certain young song stars had of taken that lesson it would've saved a lot of eyes from unsolicited beaver shots.
The highlight at the end of the course was "The Walk".
We had two walks to learn, involving make up and clothing changes, to be performed, at the end of the course, before Invitees and Academy Guests. As a special prize, the girl who had graduated highest, would receive the Golden Rose. A lapel pin of... a gold rose.
Gees I wanted that rose.
You see at this stage I was still thinking I was going to meet a wonderful rich man and we were going to waltz away under a sky of stars. He would lift me up marble steps where we sigh longingly before gasping to fulfilment, on silken sheets, under the canopy of the four poster. My natural shine would be allowed to come through and we would walk hand in hand, delivering love through the land.
And yes, I was on drugs most of the time.
Each week the lexicon of lessons was incorporated into life, practiced upon over the week and added to, like the most wonderful serial magazine. I missed one week over the time and it was "The Walks", we had already learned how to walk but this was the choreography for the End Show walk. Now I'm pretty bright and I do pick up things quite well, but these walks were tricky. step step half turn, step step pivot, kinda stuff and there were two of them, I did practice. Not being there for the initial lesson though, I was always slightly unsure on how the steps went and I did not have the confidence to ask the tutor, of whom I was in awe.
So finally, the night of graduation arrived. I did not have a guest, as everyone I knew thought it a pointless waste of time of a class. 9-5 was their life and the more I grew my butterfly wings, the more insignificant in their eyes I became. This course wasn't about looks for me though, it was about restoring confidence in a beauty that had been traded upon since childhood. A way of reawakening my hopes and dreams for the future. A more beautiful, self made future. How do we make the pictures if not through experience?
Which is precisely where I fell down. No, I did not fall, but I failed.
I looked so good, on that final night, I had shopped, plucked, waxed and shaved. Shaded, perfumed, buffed and teased, I sauntered through that room, up the middle catwalk steps I siddled (cause that's what you do, in heels, walking up steps, you place your feet slightly sideways, so the whole shoe is on the step and you glide upon slightly bent knee with back straight, shoulders relaxed and head, erect from, the crown) ;p I got to the top of the steps with the wrong foot forward, I pivoted instead of turning, was facing the wrong direction and flubbed it. If there were not 12 other girls who had all successfully turned the right way, it would not of mattered, but there were and it did.
There in the midst of Ambassadors, beauty queens and photographers, I Royally gaffed.
I didn’t get the Rose, but after 12 weeks with this crowd I had not expected to. The fundamental difference between them and me was well apparent by week three. To these gossamer wrapped and fledged, more gold than silver spoon fed monarchs, I was toxic. Perhaps tainted is a better word, they had a beautiful world and I wanted in. It was their duty to protect it, from riff raff like me.
Everything I learned, I had learned from grudging smiles, under raised noses, with little side serves of malice. Like the expensive foundation choice of wrong tone. Or the Winter when one is a Summer. I loved what I had learned wanted to put the lessons into practice, but something had ignited within, a desire hidden as money. The energy of money. When it is not actualy money you want but the things money can buy. I wanted that security, of never having to worry about the power bill, the rent, making a wrong foundation choice, good scents and textiles around me, colourful people and laughter.
Inside I left the whole experience feeling more unworthy than ever. 9-5 wasn’t working for me, drugs were and in the not too distant future I would end up in a massage parlour in Auckland.
So how does one move beyond the puddle of ones safety? I can see two choices. One can cry so many tears the puddle overflows and becomes a flood, or one can dig a canal from the puddle to the closest water source, even if it’s a sewer and one can float like poop “down to where the river meets the sea”.
I’m pondering my choice.
In peace, strength and love.
"Early morning yesterday, and I'm up before the dawn..."
We all know certain scents, song lyrics and movies have the ability to store themselves within our brains, in such a way that connects them to moments of life outside of time.
Samsung now have a program you can watch that stops the formation of memory around a movie, so you can watch it over and over again, not realising you have seen it before...I kid you not. I wonder if I was a test model. My husband swears I'm a cheap date, as I can see a movie we have watched before with total non recollection. this inordinate ability transgresses boundaries as names have a very similar effect on me also...but not faces. Faces I remember.
So where does my consciousness go, when watching movies or being introduced to someone for the first time? The stress of my younger years and early working life, were such that it did not pay to remember names, in fact it was downright dangerous. The movies, well that's what some of the training was from and for, to remember different pieces, in different sections, within different streams of consciousness and pull them out from each section upon "command". There is no doubt that my responses were deliberately implanted, for reasons I know not. But how about yours?
We speak laughingly of triggers, polarity and programming, each set of code words, evoking different responses, provoking set behaviours feelings and emotions. We laughing talk of how a certain film or song brings back such and such a time or a feeling. We can see within our groups different words have different meanings attached to them, ascension, codes, light, to name but a few, one mans photon is another mans positivity. Yet do we ever stop to contemplate the how's and why's behind the word and group choices? We think we can see the agenda within certain ways of being, and perhaps the agenda behind that. But can we trace an agenda into a past before John Dee? Before what is now known as Empire?
I look at the contrived way in which indigenous Maori people had their culture taken apart, the way it is still being taken apart. I see how this has happened to every culture of "Top Down" ways. You know where the people or unity of the Tribe, comes before any single leader. And I see this splintering happening within our new tribes today. I understand the compunction to flow and feel good, yet how shall we ever have unity or consensus, if every time something hurts our soul, or goes against our ego, we move on? Some rifts can be healed. We have spent so long being inundated with the "going within" programs, our minds become lost to the one thing that may unite us, the one thing we cannot live without, this earth and her care.
So next time that song plays, those scents arise, that bring back memory from times long past, spare a thought for how that memory and those feelings were created, in streams of consciousness, the sounds or sights of the past, united again in the now. Those streams, that unity, that strength, these are models we can use. We can create now times, of scent, sight, sound and feeling in harmony with the earth, that transcend borders, tribes and agendas.
In feeling really hard into "My Career", there are several aspects I love so much they don't feel like "work".
The first of Tarot. Mmm mm I love those cards. All the idiosyncrasies of the pack, pictures falling as they may within the wherewithall of others lives. They satisfy a need I still feel, to have a back up of my natural intuition and source guidance. Yes I am aware I could do without the pack, look at a person and know exactly what is going on, even when the querant may think they know differently. Time and time again this point is proven out, and sitting behind the screen of the cards I can deliver some pretty harsh truths, which even with that back up may not be heard. Yes skill one, I'm good, scarily good.
Next Life Coaching, oh my there is something so wonderful in supporting people to grow. The problem here is one I still face even among you my friends. An unwillingness to know you have to go down deep into the murk, before you can move away from the patterns and cycles, that continue to bring, if not misery then an emptiness that can't be filled. Add to this an industry that has centered on "Self Love", when it is trying to love ones self, because of all the memes, that has created the imbalance both within self and society, in the first place. A huge industry has arisen around self perfection, a continuance of the isolation of our families and or communities, pitting against impossible Hollywood standards.
Teaching, love it! Be it leading meditation courses, shadow work or Tarot, this is my "home". Yet going alongside that is all the businessy stuff. It's not that I'm not good at those budget, expense and markety things. It's my techno sexual fingers. The ones that fu*k every thing they touch in the cyber world (limiting belief or reality of MK Ultra handling?). Either way, getting out a good voice recording became incredibly hard, especially as my vibration rose and interfered with the recording tech. My daughter home from her IT job in the big smoke, checked my p.c. and the drives had actually been split into several different compartments and someone or something else was actually running my show...so that is real.
Nothing, oh by golly I am good at that. Though not my favorite thing, it is almost. Dreaming, meditating, walking...any thing but house work, which I have done for too long, for too many people and now, I do it and love it when I do, but it makes wine so appealing.
In New Zealand, the indigenous people have a wonderful way of looking at and describing balancing areas of life. Harakeke is the art of weaving, much as in other traditions, it is the blending of warp and weft, that makes a life. I'm going to ponder that for a couple of days, have been most of my life, with an aim to growth. I am enough, I simply want to serve others more.
Dark moon is shaping up nicely.
In peace, strength and love.
As I have said, I lived a very different life to many...
When I was four, I went to see a friend of mine who lived on the Cul de Sac. I knew she wasn't ill in the normal way and when her parents denied me access to her, closing the door on me, I literally booted their door down to get in, shoved past the shocked oldies to find her, in bed, not ill, but very very sad. A sadness we both understood.
At five I entered school, there had been no preschool for me, and I found the routine extremely hard. I remember wetting myself as the teacher said i wasn't allowed to go too the toilets except in the breaks, though she didn't explain that rule until after I had asked to go, I threw a desk, and walked home in my wet knickers. Rules were changed after that, as how can one expect a new entrant to exercise such control?
Half way through this year, I was diagnosed with a learning disorder, requiring special classes for reading, I learned very quickly as for some reason I only need to see the top half of the letters, and once shown the techniques, was away. Code breaking is a skill of mine. Though the special lessons continued.
At six my parents were called to the school to watch me swim, the teacher had never seen a child swim under water for so long, let alone swim like a fish after one lesson. I went on to hold the 10 year old girls 100meter swimming record for New Zealand 1.06, I think it was, though I was pulled from swimming not long after, as I was gaining attention.
At seven, upon a sponsored walk up a local mountain, I started off with a family, who were too slow, I was up the top, stamped and met them on the way back, where they were not even a quarter of the way. Just as well I had my stamp, they accused me of cheating.
And that's the way it was. I could locate a place to be, where I was, and move between the two points, very quickly. And every time I achieved something, there was someone to slap me down, take the joy away, or treat the achievement as nothing.
I over came my programming, you can too. I have skills and tools waiting, to support you. Please, take my hand.
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Like I said, I've lived a very different life to many...
I was born in Keneperu Hospital in Porrirua, New Zealand. A very different kind of hospital, dealing mainly in Mental Health and to the New Zealand Government, or as it was then, Post Office, crowd.
My best friend in those early years, for example, father went on to be a prime leader in the Fijian coup. Yeah I remember...
Any how, my father was a Telecommunications Engineer...he designed and built Satellite Receiver/Transmitters. It wasn't just "mechanics" these guys were playing with.
My real programming aside from the usual trauma started when we moved out of the "State Housing" and into another form, a subdivision, with a lot of children, over 30 in our little CulDeSac, all up and coming professional people (pilots, physicists etc).
I will never forget the terror that visited me in that house...so much so I would visit the stars...but that is what the terror was for. To get me to split into pieces, to fragment, so I could be programmed on different levels...Yes I remember the sacred geometry movies, and bits of the programs instilled, though not much, during office "parties" when some children would walk through one door, and others through another.
I remember, when I was around 6, an older lady with an accent, whose house I randomly chose to visit, often, giving me a book...It was a Special Edition Readers Digest full print with color plates, leather, maybe fake, embossed, with gilt edging, some of you have probably guessed, it was a copy of Alice In Wonderland. To this day I have an aversion to both this story, and the Wizard of Oz, possibly part of the programming to avoid accidental triggering.
So you see, it wasn't just mechanical bits of metal, these people were working on, it was minds. I became a Satellite Receiver/Transmitter, skills I still have, so if I'm talking on AI, codes and programming etc, I'm still tapped in tuned in and turned on, and I can distinguish between a psyop and the real deal, so listening may be beneficial. So I avoid certain groups, as AI still follows me everywhere, but I have also learnt to circumnavigate a lot, including deprogramming trauma and suicide programs, integration of soul fragmentation a lot of the Monarch (well that which suits lol). When I say, I have a joy filled life, and I can support you to have one also. I'm very, very serious.
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