A Mother's prayer before Winter, 2021.

WINTER'S COMING

Sunday morning, August 16th, 2021. It's chilly here, it's raining, grey.                                                                     Autumn's here. Autumn! you realise it reaching for a jumper, socks.                                                                                                                Summer's gone and winter's shadow darkens warp speed Autumn in these strange, unlooked for times.

On the way to the shop for water, eggs, no newspapers,                                                                                 (the chanting propaganda in the paper makes your teeth ache, your head spin,  triggering an actual cortisol flood? )                                                                                                                                                           you step aside for nervous people needing distance.                                                                                                                                           You step aside for the other kind,  the likely inoculated. Like you know the inoculated now?                 Loose limbed and grinning, vague,                                                                                                        relieved.                                                                                                                                             Something's gone they haven't missed and something's added you don't recognise. 

You take the river walk your earphones in, walking, walking, walking, wanting                                             ...this, headspace. This only safe space.                                                                                                                     You listen to the talking heads, alive across the internet, the Indie news.                                                                They are here, on air, awakened to dystopia.                                                                                                  Men and women, medics, truthers, ranters, priests and preachers, immunologists... fathers mothers,                  they have gone to the edge,  they have looked into the abyss for you...                                                        Your attention moving in and out, you sometimes only see the river tipping gladly, trees, allowing the rattling breeze, serene.                                                                                                                                    Able, (you are able in the moment) not to know. You are able to let go.  Detach, from information wars, the walking wounded, and all the energised truthers whose time has come round at last. 

You know it all, the great reset, magicking of the 'rona numbers, programmed fear in people. All of it.  You see it too                                                                                                                                                   (this) Hypnotic dance of Mainstream Media and The People.                                                                              oh The People are that girl, they're in the Red Shoes now, dancing helpless to their doom. Hans Anderson take a bow.                                                                                                                                                                You watch them, disappeared, an endless stream, behind the media piping Panic,                                    follow! follow! follow here.                                                                                                                                        You see, you see...you can't  unsee... lost souls, lost rhythms after lockdown,                                         snuffed out weeks and months in time,  Energy diverted, human schemes and plans, adventures, dammed.  Denied.  

You find you do not understand the fear, not really, until a woman jerks away you, recoils, at the bridge, her eyes skittering over the rim of her mask. 

The breeze is singing for her, water flows, and here she takes her air through a mask fashioned in India by children sitting on dirt floors caught smiling by the camera of a truther as they fashion graphene oxide,...other particles, into the grubby gag she fastens on her face.                                                                 Shuttering her airways, she allows...the blowing back of her own excreted waste.  Back, back inside to clog the lungs to fog the incredible shrinking brain.  

You find you do not understand the fear, not really,  not... until you see hysteria,  relief, in people telling you they've had it, yea, the first one, second one... the double vaxxed.                                                                    They call it "my vaccine". You didn't ask. 

You steady your own foreboding, your runaway catastrophising, with research.  Yes.                     Independent Media.  Doctors, Scientists, Legions of the Censored (there are legions)                                                           offering frameworks, understanding, sanity here.                                                                                      There is sanity here, beyond the gaslight. 

so WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS

I do this some of the time,  I look for truth, I search for... something... approaching an explanation?

I listen/learn.  I do this on my Sunday walks,  my earphones in...                                                                but                                                                                                                                                                 always, ever,  past engagement with like minded, past, yes, comfort of like minded, is only sorrow (in me), mourning                                                                                                                                             grief.  For what is gutted out, what's lost, what's human; work, small businesses of busy humans, parties, joyous drinking, all that restless vibrant stuff.  Withheld.  Snuffed out. No, never, (actually) coming back?                                              No snuff movie ever quite as final, frightful, as this dying of the light 

FOR WHAT FOR WHY!

for entertainment, the satisfaction of an insane, meglomaniac plan,                                                       effected by surrendered governments,  media, doctors,  captured regulatory bodies, boastful billionaires                                                                                          ....all the willing foot soldiers                                                                                                                                                to effect a (unworkable) global plan.

                                                                               

 and WHAT IN GODS NAME HAVE YOU DONE 

Always, always, the political, the critical understanding is swept aside, it falls away, returns to this;                            my loved ones splitting from me,                                                                                                             enacting a shocking surrender.                                                                                                                        the fear for them, the vision of them, rolling up the sleeve,                                                                 succumbing, lost                                                                                                                                              the knowledge that they will, they will, they likely will,                                                                            (regardless of my best, oh carefully construed,                                                                                      arguments,                                                                                                                                                     anit-vaxxer! conspiracy theorist! she wears the tinfoil hat)                                                                      swallow unexamined, lies,                                                                                                                            they will,  they will, fearing death, disease, embrace that...                                                                                        they will, see only here!, accept the dissonance whole.                                                                                          This glassy eyed turning away from what you have to tell them,                                                            cognitive dissonance,                                                                                                                                      this adamant shutting down that neither you nor they, it seems, can help.

so I AM YOURS AND YOU ARE LEAVING

All I care for these days, really, are my children, each and every one,  (MY die is cast)                                                        my eldest, and the boy, my beautiful girl, her knowing dreaming sister.  Scattered from me in this, taken, by the whirlwind of false narrtive/dystopia, the pied piper.... promising...                                                                           travel, nightclubs, college, inclusion in a herd.  Our children, all our children challenged,                                                   by lockdown, exclusion, lies...lies.  Lies.                                                                                                                     Taken as effectively, as shockingly, as in war or death...                                                                                but always held, here where you can't reach Klaus Schwab inside the heart.                                                                                                            I am yours, and you are mine and we are family. Yours. I am...your  own nut job,  your tinfoil hat if ever you look to wear it...                                                                                                                                 brought you in, I brought you in,                                                                                                                     the hours and days and years of making, minding, marathons of planning, holding space, and meeting trouble for you at the pass.                                                                                                                                                                   mother.

oh WONT YOU AWAKEN, AWAKEN, AWAKEN

I want a bomb, a gun, a sword of ages to defend you, ready here for those who hold the needle,  push the serum into my children's precious blood, their every miracle organ, body, brain                                          that held the living spirit spinning as I'd nurtured, watched.  

I want the universe, the heavens vengeance be there such, for those who mean to steal the flame that lights my children's eyes,  to take from them that which is theirs, and only theirs to flame..

I want, must have, the strength of armies, angels,  to dispel the cozening lies that lure my trusting children,      to blow apart these systems....                                                                                                          (cunningly) placed, in play over decades to allow, create, this evil,  poisoning trance.                                                                                                                                            this narrative leading to this place... where all our human children walk in blind to the tent, the needle waiting ....                                                                                                                                                     see here they roll up the sleeve themselves...                                                                                                 so eager are they, for the holiday, for ersatz life and light,                                                                                   so willing are they for the deathly mrna, the graphite oxide, serum of nanoparticles of luciferase, generation of spike protein, til darkness has them.

                                                                                                                                                                             I pray for a great awakening...                                                                                                                     before Winter comes and they are gone beyond my power to follow                                                               and winter comes and they are gone beyond my power to mind.