Starship Earth: The Big Picture

If you’re tuning in to the tidbits Yellow Rose is sharing and subscribe to her prognostications, it sounds like we could be popping through the Eye any day, but in the mean time, the banal lives we lead suggest nothing much at all is happening. I think there is a LOT more going on than any of us are privy to. That’s how you win a war, of course, and I trust we are in very good hands.

The dark would have us divided, at each other’s throats, arguing about who are the good guys and who are the bad guys and who did what to whom. I don’t want to go there, because we only know what we THINK we know, not what IS.

Neil Keenan, whether we trust him or we don’t, seems to have ended his lockdown and shares a new financial update. (video)

On my end, things continue to break down, and maybe it’s symbolic. Our water heater gave up the ghost mid-November. This week our gate broke, and our under-cabinet task lighting in the kitchen bit the dust. Yesterday our pipes were making odd noises so we had to have the pooper scoopers come and attend to the septic. There are many places for money to go these days, so I’m glad we can’t take it with us.

The volatile energies don’t make exceptions for dogs and Mica is acting out almost daily; biting the leash, jumping up on us, telling us off after we tell him off, and when left in the back yard alone, he fancies himself the gardener and does a less than expert pruning job on the shrubs. Since some of them are poisonous, he now has to wear a basket muzzle when outside alone.

I would include photos but for some reason, I have a problem with the sharing of my personal shots on the new blog. I’ll have to figure that out at some point.

Mica has also found that when I stop to talk to people on our walk, that if he grabs my leg from behind with his furry little arms and goes into hump mode, that the conversation is cut short (by laughter—not mine) and he will soon be on his way. Ain’t he cute?!

The remedy is tipping him over backwards and holding his chest down so he can’t move, until he stops struggling. He doesn’t care much for that approach so hopefully he will soon abandon his embarrassing antics.

He’s also having enough long-term gastro-intestinal issues that I had to seek the counsel of a holistic vet. It’s looking like he has food sensitivities, poor guy, and I suspect that may have something to do with his naughty behaviour. He had a good time at the dog park this morning, though, and calmed down after his romp.

Personally, I’m ready to “go”, and find myself chanting inwardly, “Pull us! Pull us! Pull us!” a few times a day. It would certainly be an easy way out, and perhaps it’s expecting too much, but it IS Christmas, after all.

Cobra hasn’t enlightened us fully yet about the results of the IS:IS portal activation and we await his update which is due any time now.

And it is the day of the Winter Solstice today which is an important milestone full of powerful energies and there are scheduled meditations to take advantage of them. As well, most people in the northern hemisphere are thrilled at the prospect of longer days coming back.

There are plenty of great videos and interviews available right now on the WWW but with four people sucking on the bandwidth on our pathetic, practically non-existent DSL service, I haven’t had a lot of luck getting videos to buffer, so you are all probably better informed than I am at the moment, and I won’t be able to catch up until after January 5th—unless we make The Leap!

I see this in my mailbox today, however. Another bankster on the run.

On the pedophilia front… from The Telegraph

And if you haven’t seen Kauilapele’s post about Judge Kurren stepping down over the GMO issue on Maui…

…and an alleged “US chemtrail pilot” on chemtrails… (video)

I always snicker when I see anything about the possibility of Hillary Clinton becoming president, and here’s a bit of intel from Tom Heneghan about Ms. Clinton and clan.

Dr. Presser (The Sceptical Bastard) shared an interesting and possibly surprising revelation on his blog about Google searches, which may account for some of the difficulties some readers have commented on when seeking The Big Picture in the Search Engines. Always good reading at Richard’s blog.

There was a post that attacked us ALL for allowing the Santa Claus myth to continue. End the lie, they say. Why is it okay to lie just because everyone is perpetuating the same lie? Well, I feel Santa Claus is the least of our problems. Many people have been forced to stop buying like they were because so many have lost their homes and jobs and don’t have money for food. I think the Santa lie is way down the priority list. What about the BIG lies in our face every day of the year? Government? Banks? Taxes? Subservience? The SPIRIT of Christmas is alive, and it brings people together, helps us feed the poor and homeless and bring a smile to children who would otherwise have not a single toy at ANY time of year.

Here’s a sappy story in that vein that brought a wee tear to me eye. I’ll leave you with that.  ~ BP

Is Santa Claus Real?

My grandma taught me everything about Christmas. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” jeered my sister. “Even dummies know that!”

My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.

“No Santa Claus!” she snorted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second cinnamon bun.

“Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.

“Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class. Bobbie Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough; but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn’t have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. I didn’t see a price tag, but ten dollars ought to buy anything. I put the coat and my ten-dollar bill on the counter and pushed them toward the lady behind it.

She looked at the coat, the money, and me. “Is this a Christmas present for someone?” she asked kindly. “Yes,” I replied shyly. “It’s … for Bobbie. He’s in my class, and he doesn’t have a coat.” The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, “To Bobbie, From Santa Claus” on it … Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.

Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa‘s helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.

Suddenly, Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell twice and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie. He looked down, looked around, picked up his present, took it inside and closed the door.

Forty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: Ridiculous!

Santa was alive and well … AND WE WERE ON HIS TEAM!

Story source: http://www.wanttoknow.info/santasteam