Well -Once again I find myself with little to say...

It is almost like twittering here

except to no one but myself

It is warm and sunny out and I should be too, but for now I am just exercising my fingers and warming up my new google toys

so there it is, nothing more

Well, let me tell you...

It has been almost four years since I ventured here and it is a little scary seeing as how I have little to say and lots of time to say it...

Or should I reverse that...?

I have lots to say and little time to say it...

Or both

This is actually a test...

to see if this blog even works.


Frankly I have been through so much that I forgot I even had ever created a blog

so this is a little difficult for me

I have to eat crow

and find my sea legs on this thing

which is actually a good thing

it is a "coming out" party of sorts

Because it will potentially bring results that are unforeseen and open me up to criticism and even ridicule and potential hazards...

But here we are in 2009

and maybe the rewards will be worth the risks...

Peace and keeping the faith all...

Billi

Checking back in. It's been a rocky road but I am back.

Worse for the wear but working on it. Working it out. Beseeching the liberation angels for help. Exploring the meaning of the Nazarene's beliefs and the Magdalena faith. Goddesses and Compassion.

Here is your horoscope for Friday, March 29

Plan without fear of argument. Leaders are born, not chosen. Recognize
the halos above the heads of your fellow angelic beings. Communicate
with your eyes.


Real Deal

Now that I realize this story is told in reverse order (since this is in diary form) - then I urge you to go to the end of the story and read the introduction first.

The concept of BLOG is a little unreal to me: to write my story in reverse. To tell you folks my story as it is unfolding, yet it will always be read from the present to the past. So I will try to be mindful of this.

If you are to be a compatriot in the search for some of the greatest criminals in history, then you will have to be prepared over and over again.

But remember, the Angels of Liberation in the Indigo Passages are always present - somewhere, just over your shoulder, watching you. Ready to help if you ask for them to.

This is a decent way to write a novel. Interesting. The last shall be first and the first last. Hell of a way to tell a story. But this is not a fictional novel - this is a true story. True crime. True murder. Mass murder. Real depravity. In a surreal sauce.

This is an exceptionally risky business and you should really think long and hard about whether you want to enter into this.

I feel exactly the same way. This is tedious. Repressive. Uncomfortable. Ridiculous.

But it can also be sublime and erotic and exhilarating. Blue skies. Coral waters. Alpine sparkling air. Warm flesh and strong bones.

Magic.

I suppose I will start with some of the magic because you may not believe the rest. The magic is real.


Carved into the rosey Jerusalem marble of the Museum above the Garden of the Righteous on the Hill called the "Place of Names" next to a battered cattle car perched in the sky high-up on railroad tracks to nowhere like a monument to the stupid evisceration of humanity called the Shoah, the "whirlwind", is a brilliant expression of the ancient masters: "One who does not believe in miracles is not practical"

The solidness of the marble, piled in huge blocks mindful of the old testament admonition against carving the temple stones, gave the impressions engraved there a seemingly infinite quality. Maybe impermanent in substance, but the words themselves permanent in their very foundation. Life itself is undeniably a miracle. Every breath, every moment, every touch of a loved one or the laughter of a child. Sacred.

In Judaism (and I am not a Jew but I would call myself one if I could also be a Muslim and a follower of the rabbi jesus as well as a Buddhist and a pagan) there is an expression, too, that says: "when a human being walks down the street, there is a multitude of angels going before him or her and announcing for all Creation 'BEHOLD, the image of God!'". What this means, to me, perhaps to you, is that all of life is sacred and that every one of us is dear to the Creator.

This is the begnning of the magic. But there is more. Much more.

Copyrighted and All Rights Reserved

March 28, 2002

Well. Ain't this a fine how do you do?

Sorry.

My mama was from Georgia and expressions like that, vernacular, down home, jiggy, dialect, and all that cool writer stuff that you use to create a mood jump outta my mouth quite by accident. Or roll off my index fingers into the cyberspace and across the dimensions to wherever you might sit reading this. I can't help it. Sorry.

So in keeping with my description and my intent and my dream this foolishness will be mostly true and mostly about as for real as things can get.

I toyed with calling it "The Diary of a Dead Man" because essentially that's kinda how I feel right about now due to the fact that there are those who have threatened my wife and the lives of my tow-headed children and have expressed a necrophilic desire to do pretty abysmal things to me for speaking my mind on matters of some consequence. I have for some years been investigating crimes against humanity and corruption amongst the preppy elites (I attended a rather fashionable and muckety-muck prep school where I discovered, much to my delight, that these muckety-mucks were involved deeply in the most heinous enterprises in history and that the trail of rotting corpses and obscene depravity lead straight to the doors of those who took delight in mentally torturing me as a child of 12 years old - where I had been shipped quite against my will shortly after my twelfth birthday).

So even writing about these matters of consequence publicly makes me more of a target and makes you, the reader, complicitous in whatever happens from here on out.

I am sharing these sordid details with you because - first of all - they are true; and second, there is safety in numbers. This is the greatest crime story in history and you are now a part of it. Whether you like it or not. You are bound forever to it (unless you get Alzheimer's and forget all about it), because knowledge of a crime and its perpetrators hands you a moral imperative: either you go along with the silence or you make an effort to bring the criminals to justice. You cannot sit at home and reflect on whether or not you have a choice to make. You absolutely do. And you will need an out: a passage. A helper.

Because you will become a refugee of sorts.

This is where the Liberation Angels come in. And the Indigo Passages being written here.

The Liberation Angels are everywhere. You may not see them or feel them or smell them, but if you are clear enough you can sense them. They are hovering nearby. They will help rescue some of the refugees. And you will become one of them. Maybe not physically. But you will need refuge. You will need to flee. And either you flee the evil or you will flee the good. Either way you will need a helping hand.

And I am not only the deliverer of this unsettling news, but I will also be the helping hand. And I will try to get you to the liberation angels. They are close to me. They can be close to you.

Stick with me on this thing and I will try to walk you through it. It is not a simple story really and it has no real beginning and no real end. It is the story of humanity. It is your story and my story. It is history and it is, in part, fantasy.

But mostly it is my story of how I came to meet the Angels of Liberation (both real and surreal) and discovered the Indigo passages that were hidden away nearly sixty years ago in a dusty linen closet hidden behind a chimney in a prerevolutionary colonial shambles of a farmhouse on an old slave plantation. The characters you will meet are true. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And some of the details have been created with poetic license.

Shalom and Salaam and welcome to the Indigo Passage.

You may exit at any time. But you may miss the liberation..