Mystic-Mind Sees, Dreams & Knows

The Mystic-Mind is a very difficult entity to maintain in a calm manner.  The Mystic-Mind seems to flow in some of us like the moon floats above our planet and in our bodies.  The water content of the both of us, planet and person, are effected by that huge and lovely sphere above us. We are one with our planet and pulled by our moon. Women are pregnant for ten moons; that is probably the most recognized lunar pull of all.

The Mystic-Mind Moon Watchers, like myself, actually believe we know what is next, around the corner, in the clouds.  It is more than a hunch.  It is the inner knowing.  It is for me the mystery.  Some Moon Watchers also howel at the moon.  I do.  It seems as though my entire body wants to pay homage to the moon.

Last night the golden orb danced above the Houston Skyline; no crops to grow or harvest below its silver streams of reflected light.  Oil derricks are our Money Trees.  Pipelines are the chosen irrigation system of nourishment.   The farmers wear hardhats bearing the insignia of the commercial competitive fields.  Mammoth ships anchor close by to ferry the produce to nations, both near and afar.

The drilling rigs, much a-kin to vampires, suck earth’s blackened blood to the roots of the Money Trees for easy drinking.  This practice has been on going since Spindle Top blew in the first gusher in 1901 New Year’s Day in Beaumont Texas; just up the road and over a piece from Baytown’s water route to the gulf. 

We are told that the energy and mass of this planet is never extinguished or lost. Matter merely changes form and reintroduces itself into some new form. I work hard on assimilating this information dogma.  My Mystic-Mind feels, dreams and sees things in the happenings around us all.  I am at a loss to explain this unlikely energy shift, even to myself. 

What does crude-oil become? Choking smoke and ashes is not the answer.  What is the answer?  Since we kill, fight, grab, threaten, price, compete, wager, and justify all the a-fore mentioned human skills, we might take the time to observe exactly what we are doing to both ourselves and our planet in the name of industrial progress and humanitarian endeavours.

Believe me! My hyphothesus will not sit well with most any member of any industrialized nation.  The means to power the equipment, machinery, cars, planes, implements of war and heat the energy sucking monster buildings we erect in the name of progress only invites them that have not to want what we have and wipe us out to acquire it all in the name of evening out the playing field. 

Is there an Oil God?

Every opposing side seems to believe that that their God is the only God and (He/She/It) is on their side.  (They/We/Them) will fight to the death, believing what is believed is theirs because it was (He/She/It) gave whatever they dreamed up as theirs to them.

So on this moon lit night I raise the idea that we simply must re-create ourselves every hundred years or so.  Our economies would seem to be on a much faster road to change.  Twenty to thirty years is now the norm for a mild money shaking turn over of the local financial markets.  The really big shakes are still in the seventy to one hundred year cycle.

These cycles are the birth pangs of new orders.  The tremors are in direct proportion to what needs to be accomplished, hopefully by a humanistic society with good intentions for all.  But intentions are all too often in the hands of malice, greed, gain, and mayhem.  We are now in for one of these return to the middle ages so called holy wars, more revolting than revolutionary.  More slash and burn looms on our future history’s horizon.  It took a plague to end the last revolution.  We have the boiling pot ready.

It all works like this: It took a war to end the industrial shift of the money in world’s societies and it took a plague to end the war.  We do not seem to be able to elevate ourselves out of this circle of death.

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and God Bless Us Everyone.  Love and Hugs, Tiny Tim

WELCOME: Twenty-Ten.   NOT Two Thousand And Ten.  The Tweeters will cut down to a simple TT.

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