One board game I disliked as a child was called, “snakes and ladders”. I didn’t like it because skill played no part. One was at the mercy of the roll of the dice, as you progressed towards the finish line. If you landed on a “snake”, you fell backwards, and if you landed on a “ladder”, you leapt forward.
The only way to control your destiny in such a board game is to cheat. You must gain some sort of control over how the dice roll. This may be illegal, but you do stand a far better chance of winning, unless your opponent is better at cheating, (or else catches you cheating, in which case the game may dissolve into a brawl).
Cheating seems to be how the game of politics is played in “The Swamp”, (IE: Washington DC.) They feel they are “the elite” and are smarter than the “deplorables”, (IE: Fellow Citizens). They do not really believe all men are created equal, nor that they should love their neighbor. Rather they feel that they should control their neighbor, because they are smart and the rabble (IE: Fellow Citizens) are ignorant. However the rabble are becoming roused, and the elite are increasingly fearful they are losing control. A storm is over Washington this “Super Tuesday.”
It shows up especially well on radar:
The funny thing is that elite in Washington DC would laugh at the idea that the physical reality of the weather has anything to do with the social climate they create with their cheating, even as they try to sell the idea to the Public that the Public is guilty of causing Global Warming.
The fact of the matter is that Creation is a unity. No man is an island, and all greedy attempts at segregation deny the reality of God’s plan for universal oneness, and do so in ways that stir up actual, physical storms. We do control the atmosphere we abide in, not by throwing virgins into volcanoes, nor by driving about in impractical electric vehicles, but more in the manner that the atmosphere of a movie is controlled by background mood music.
A historical example of the uncanny connection between men’s deeds and the weather appears in the fact that, when Hitler’s invasion of Poland forced even the peace-loving Chamberlain to conclude to his cabinet, “Well then, gentlemen, it is war”, there was a brilliant flash of lightning and deafening roar of thunder outside the House of Lords in London. Just a coincidence? I think not. It is as Shakespeare’s Hamlet stated, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”, though perhaps we should update that to, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Hillary, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”.
The elite can write all the silly laws they want in their mire, thinking they control the vastness of weather (Global Warming preventions) and the minutia of viruses, (Coronavirus vaccines), but they don’t control either. They are pretenders.
They are desperate to cling to the powers they imagine they have gained, through their pretense. These words I write will most definitely be censored, though I write them to warn them, because I pity them. Actions have reactions, and, if one reaps what one sows, the swamp creatures are sowing thistles for themselves.
I’ve been addicted myself, and therefore have compassion towards addicts. I am part of a group striving to help youth escape fentanyl addiction. I wish I could also be of help to the elite, but they don’t admit they are addicted. (To power.)
The “swamp” needs to learn what fentanyl addicts have learned. To get what you desire is hell, compared to what you get when you suffer the agony of withdrawal symptoms.
The “swamp” scoffs at the idea I have anything to offer them, but are so scared of hearing me that they censor me (and millions of others).
They call me a “bitter clinger” (though I’ve never bought a gun) though they are the ones who cling, desperately, to power.
They display contempt towards the hands that feed them, dismissing the breadbasket of the nation as “flyover country.” Poor fools, can they not see what they are earning when they bite the hand that feeds? Don’t they see actions have reactions?
I’d like to go off on a long tangent at this point about the laws of Karma; of “reaping what you sow,” And also of “killing the goose that laid the golden egg”. Often it is better to deny yourself than to get what you want (but don’t need.)
The so-called “deplorable” tend to be poor, and must constantly sacrifice just to get by. They constantly deny themselves. Consequently they know of a sweet freedom, which those, who don’t deny themselves, are ignorant about.
What is this freedom you get? The fentanyl addict wants to know. They long to be free of the constant craving. They hunger to know about freedom, but the swamp is craven, and doesn’t want to know. However, as the swamp is suppose to be representing “the land of the free”, they damn well should want to know. What is this freedom I’m speaking about?
What is the freedom? It is the freedom from being controlled by a craving. Rather than hankering for money or power or fame, you can take them or leave them. You are not some child who will tantrum if they don’t get some toy, nor some adolescent who grieves greatly over infatuations. You just accept the Now.
Donald Trump seems a representative of such freedom. He is not controlled by the “swamps” cravings. All he has earned, through his wish to help us achieve the freedom enshrined in our constitution, is monstrous harassment, yet he remains free.
There is something very attractive about such freedom. It is inherently friendly. When Trump visited the border, he did not give the middle finger to illegal aliens, across the Rio Grande. Instead he cheerfully waved, and an excited voice returned from across the river: “Trump! Trump!” Trump laughed, “Even they like me! Isn’t it incredible?”
Yes, it is indeed incredible. It is also incredible that the governor standing up most for America’s integrity can’t stand up. In his wheelchair he stands taller than many who swagger, up to their armpits in the mire of the swamp.
It is incredible and even a little dream-like, and not a good sign for the swamp that despises impossible dreams, this Super Tuesday. Where they were sure they had loaded the dice and would land on a ladder, they see themselves landing in a swamp seething with snakes.
Sunrise's Swansong 