Post-Covidia Fenestration (UPVC, the new tool of white supremacy).

The window fitters are in today. Normally, I hate routines, but this morning, before they arrived, I felt really down.

The blessing (at times the curse) of being aware, conscious and awake is that you can deal with these episodes. “Where did that come from?”

Last night I was watching an old episode of Waking the Dead. In it, one the characters went inside prison, undercover. He was a policeman and it was an attempt to gather some intelligence on an unsuspecting inmate.

Many years ago, I visited clients (sex abuse survivors, imprisoned because crime was a coping strategy) in four different prisons. Grim doesn’t cut it.

So, in the scamdemic, we rely on routines, we are imprisoned in our own homes, have to “comply” and some of us (everyone reading this) despise injustice and value freedom above all.

I instantly found the source of my depression. And it lifted. Lasted all of 30 minutes.

A close friend is devising a programme (brilliantly simple but powerful) to empower people to resolve mental health issues. Post-Covidia, the world will be beating a path to his door, unless the trauma is so deep denial kicks in. Which it will.

  • My point here?

Depression episodes are normal given the current dystopia. Acknowledge, explore and let go. If it’s happening to you, it’s happening to others. In some cases, almost everyone. When someone communicates with you, it’s their reality they are projecting. Novels, books, videos, it’s all filtered through someone’s paradigm, their world view.

For a day, I can’t go out, can’t work normally and enjoy my space. My God, I’m a victim of Fenestration! Call up the keyboard SJW’s! Cancel the fitters, ban new windows, boycott double glazing. Stand firm with the oppressed! UPVC windows are tools of white supremacy!

Stay in, beat yourself with a stick, blame someone. You know it makes sense. Enjoy the view from behind the sofa.

Have you seen the most powerful scene in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest? I won’t spoil it if you haven’t. Now is the time to break free, or check in at your local re-education camp.

Well, at least I can join a Fenestration Unheard Common Cause group…

Namaste. Smile, you’re on Facebook camera!

Jack Stewart, 24 March 2021.

A state of permanent dissatisfaction.

Over the years I’ve used a number of words to describe myself. Restless, curious, optimistic, always changing, searching… And then it came to me a couple of days ago. I mostly live in a state of permanent dissatisfaction.

And so do you.

The past, which has gone, haunts us. Why did I do that? I can’t blame them. It won’t happen again. I’ve not yet learned the lessons. It’s so easy to queue up unpleasant memories.

The future, which is always ahead of us, which is mostly unknown, makes us anxious. I don’t fancy that. Here we go again. What happens if? Ah well. Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans.

Okay. So what’s going on in the wider world?

We don’t know. Most of our freedoms have been stripped away. World “leaders” parrot the bullshit. Socially distance, wear a mask, get the vaccine. Life is joyless. Upturned benches, fenced off seating, shop alone, die alone. IF YOU GO OUT, YOU CAN SPREAD IT. PEOPLE WILL DIE.

It’s worse now than it was when it began.

Body doubles strut their stuff. Have you seen Biden’s ears? Clinton’s ankle tag? Have you forgotten Maxwell?

Tomorrow it will all change. It will all change before/during/after the Super Bowl. It will change next week. Maybe March. Possibly April. It might be October. Keep the faith, follow the plan.

Dissatisfied doesn’t cut it. Millions, if not billions, in a state of permanent anxiety. Terror frozen in the eyes between the hat and the top of the mask. Keep your distance, step into the road. Follow the rules.

Smile, say hello to a stranger. Lifts you and them for a while. Try to make eye contact, they step off the pavement before you do. Wear six masks. Get the clap from the NHS. Die with, from, or of Covid. Wear your mask whilst driving, the virus is rampant. They are prostrate.

Hydroxychloroquine is racist. Vitamin C is transphobic. Exercise discriminates against refugees. Climate deniers, Trump supporters and truth seekers should be rounded up and shot.

Tomorrow it could all change. It might change before/during/after the impeachment proceedings. It will change the week after that. Maybe May. Possibly June. It might be 2022. There is no plan.

Parkes, Ward, O Savin, Decode, Wood, Dave and LT are all part of a Psyop. Powell and Flynn are part of the Deep State. Women’s sports are dead. Move aside while that bloke declares himself a woman.

We are all victims. Unless we are white men. We are all oppressors but only if we are white men. White men are scum, super spreading scum. The world is institutionally racist, the streets are racist, dogs are racist. How dare you!

But Biden’s ears are different. So are his mannerisms. The inauguration was a joke.

We have to do it ourselves, no one can do it for us. Rip off your mask, stride out into the traffic and shout loudly: “IT’S A SCAM!”

No one can do it for us. No one is coming over the hill with an army.

Do it for yourself!

Do what exactly? Stand-up? Sit down? Stay at home? Go out and kill someone? Who am I killing? Is my virus more virulent than yours? How many have died? What is a case? Take part in the trial? Die a death.

Get online. You don’t need to go out. Have Zoom meetings. Have virtual hugs, virtual conversations, virtual breaths, virtual sex; have a virtual life. Is that right Alexa? When do I take my meds? How soon can I get my microchip?

What’s on TV? A game show. Watch the ads. Betting, BAME, booze. Hybrids, hamburgers, hernias. Do any of you remember the days when comedy was funny? Sorry I forgot, it was all racist.

Oh how I love my servitude. Did I just say that? What does it mean? I’m free. I can shop alone in the supermarket, I can watch TV 24/7, I can see my mum on Skype. And after all it’s only while we flatten the curve. The NHS is at crisis point. People are dying in the streets. Gritters come in the dead of the night to pick up the corpses. A round of applause for the key workers. How about a round of applause for me?

I complied. I cowered behind the sofa. I stopped using the same bathroom as my wife. I used a bucket instead. We both wear masks. We never touch each other, we communicate with What’s App. My hands are red raw from sanitiser. I have a rash around my mouth. My breathing is impaired. You selfish bastard, my hands and my rash are worse than yours. Your breathing is better than mine. And you’re only wearing three masks.

Life is shit. Life is joyless and truly appalling. But at least I’ve got a life, unlike the two billion who have died from this virus, and but for the Covid deniers it would have been only one billion.

When will it end? Covid is the gift that keeps on giving. I’m not sure I want it to end. I don’t have to think about anything. I’m safe. I’m just a hollow shell. Thank you Boris.

Bur things do seem to be going on around the world. Denmark, the Isle of Man, Myanmar, Taiwan. Why is that? Psyop?

Hang on though, it’s good to stop thinking. It feels peaceful here. I feel at home. It’s strangely pleasant, and God forbid, the word “hope” just popped into my mind.

I’m getting a bit fed up of hiding behind the sofa. Maybe I’ll go out, maybe I’ll feel the sun on my face, maybe I’ll appreciate nature…maybe life has changed.

For the better.

Jack Stewart, 9 February 2021. Love to you all.

Crisis fatigue. Self-harm.

RelievedRapidBobcatI just can’t resist this post!

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to keep your head while all around are losing theirs.”

First and foremost, going out today is a rebellious act. Some unspeakable “expert” on Radio Gaga (BBC Radio Five Live) this morning was telling people phoning in about self-isolation. What you need to do is lock yourself in a room at home, avoid going anywhere near other family members and not come out for a week. If you have to come out to go to the bathroom, avoid using a shared bathroom, use your own if you have one. If your house has only got one bathroom, “it is a little tricky.” And if you have to interact with other family members, don’t, but if you have to (and on your own head be it) keep at least 2 m from them.

Whatever you do don’t go out in nature, because you never know who might pop up from behind a tree.

Yes dear friends, I did hear all this, and she was serious and I had to switch it off as my emotions were fluctuating between hysterical laughter and almost incandescent rage.

Despite the global pandemic of self-isolation, self-lobotomisation, and self- loathing, there were green shoots of sanity.

“First it was Brexit, now it is Coronavirus,” said a bloke, clearly well into his 80’s (surely an ageist remark), to several other people in Marks & Spencer’s in Worcester where I had just bought an antiseptic bag.

Smiles all round from everyone. Prior to that I had just come out of St Richard’s Hospice coffee shop (strongly recommended) and the young man on the till suggested I was around 45. Well I do pride myself in looking much younger than my 67 years, but I couldn’t accept that! This young man was a wonderful asset to his employers and after exchanging some banter we both concurred that the world was insane and had been for many years.

That thousands of people were out in the city, and were not wearing masks (I didn’t spot one), rubber gloves and staying at least 2 m from each other lifts my spirits. Do you know people were actually touching door handles to go in shops, passing on unsanitised banknotes to pay for their purchases and gave the appearance of being human?

My physical sanctuary is Worcester Cathedral. So I went in, and sat in one of the many chapels in this magnificent building, closed my eyes and communicated with the spirit world. I’m sure I’ve said many times before, I know spirit communication is genuine when I feel powerful (loving) emotions. This morning was no exception. I felt an absolute wave of love for my beautiful lady. Gratitude, feeling incredibly blessed and a host of other emotions my in-house poet Rumi could express far better. I then had a dialogue with Princess Diana. The essence of the message is reflected in the first quote at the top of this post.

It seems the inscrutable (can I say that?) Chinese have turned the corner with their outbreak. But hey, despite the fact that almost everything we buy these days is made in China, who can trust those commies to tell the truth?

To round the morning off, I go to Morrison’s supermarket at Malvern. I make sure I find a parking spot without any cars either side of me. You never know what you might catch; I’m taking the government’s advice seriously. The place is packed, wall-to-wall self-isolation deniers cocking a snook at the best efforts of the hysteria brigade. I have now set my car (I didn’t know it had this facility) to self-lock. Having bought my wet and dry cat food I proceed to the 10 items or less check out. Funny, but I can’t motivate myself to use the self-checkouts and make most of the remaining staff in the shop redundant.

STOP PRESS, don’t buy a face mask!

Before I finish, just a brief word about the power of faith. Iranian Muslims have declared themselves unfazed by Coronavirus. But hang on, isn’t Iran part of the Axis of evil?

My car has just had a new switch cluster put in. A warning light on the dashboard no longer is illuminated. The car runs much more smoothly. It is self-correcting!

You know how all these blog posts end. The power of love, the power of connection, the power of oneness overrides everything.

So I will resist the temptation to travel and see my beloved this weekend. I will self-isolate, probably self-mutilate, almost certainly will self-obliterate and maybe if I survive will even consider as a long-term solution self-partnering. And I have just spotted a flock of pigs flying over the Citadel of bulls*** in which I am currently resident. Sorry self-resident.

Love to you all, have a great weekend, go out and enjoy the sun. Jack Stewart, Friday the 13th (it had to be, didn’t it?) 2020. Humanity will come through this, much wiser than before.

Switching to Angel.

kentsI woke this morning at 7.30 to the sound of panic and fear. Radio Gaga drones on about Coronavirus. Italy in lockdown. My lady and I had booked a holiday in Amalfi (yes, Italy) in April. I’ve just cancelled it.

Having got up, I skipped breakfast. The muesli might be infected. Just joking, I forgot to prepare it. The swimming pool (I go for a weekly swim) was unseasonably quiet. Handy, I could swim 10 more lengths…

Malvern is quiet. The cafe I go to on a Wednesday morning was quiet. I read the customer’s  “Daily Mail.” Doom and gloom, Armageddon, catastrophe, Coronavirus, we’re all going to die. Malvern, and no doubt the planet, is gripped by self-isolators. On your way to the “departure lounge” read about ‘Z’ list talentless nobodies. Some are okay, you will be pleased to hear, some are not. I read about “trans-activists” setting flares off at the Grenfell Tower inquiry. Apparently TERFs (Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminists) are being targeted by the activists because they are a hate group. And some other reasons. I don’t think anyone “trans” died in the fire. Or it has something to do with the Labour Party, I was once a member!

Am I living in a parallel universe?

I eat my usual vegetarian breakfast, delicious as always. My head is reeling, full of slaughterhouse strength bulls***. On my way to the café-I’ll spare you the details-a Malvern driver is in the process of creating gridlock in the High Street owing to his inability to be aware of what is going on behind him. A passenger from the car behind gets out and brings the consequences of his blinkered inertia to his attention. Two minutes later he responds and the gridlock slowly clears.

I decide to have my hair cut. There are eight chairs for waiting customers in the salon. There is a coat rack plainly visible. Four chairs are occupied and one chair has a jacket strewn across it. The jacket owner is sat in one of the barber’s chairs. His partner comes in and chats to him, the stylist and his daughter. He is oblivious to the fact that others (including me) are waiting for him to vacate the chair. He carries on as if the chair was in his lounge at home.

After an hour (another, rather sad, joke) he gets up, pays, finally leaves with his entourage (he is clearly a misogynist) and the female stylist goes downstairs for what I have decided is a cigarette break. I’m ready for the men in white coats. I’m ready to volunteer for a Coronavirus vaccine trial. I’m wondering if I can get gender reassignment on the NHS. And, I have decided the barber’s shop is racist. There are no black people in the salon. It is propping up the patriarchy as all the customers are men. Can we have a shop with the provocative sign “HAIRDRESSING FOR MEN” in this day and age? I can’t decide whether to declare myself a TERF or genderqueer. I’m sure there is a difference.

bog roll fluThe feeling of being on the slippery slope, in a vortex to oblivion and on a handcart to hell (choose your metaphor) is exceptionally uncomfortable. So, for the second time in a week I decide to let go of this toxic and life-destroying nonsense and switch to Angel. The stylist comes back upstairs sooner than I thought. As she moves towards me it’s obvious she has not been for a cigarette break. I sit down and she asks me what I’m doing for the rest of the day. I tell her I will be writing my book. She is obviously interested and asks what it is about. “Spirituality and personal development” I tell her. She becomes visibly engaged. The conversation then moves to the third eye. She clearly knows what she is talking about and proceeds to share information about ghosts and the paranormal. She has a friendly ghost in her house, attends a spiritual circle I am familiar with and has heard about my medium lodger, Jonathan Brown.

The conversation flows and she proceeds to finish off one of the best haircuts I have had in years. I remind her to get in touch with Jonathan and I give her a tip. The barber’s shop is no more a patriarchal, racist, trans-phobic hate cell. And I have declined the offer from the men in white coats. All good thoughts now flood my mind. The only turf I can think of is that outside a local hotel opposite. A smile returns to my face. I think of my beautiful lady and her smile, which can light up a room.

The sun is shining and it is unseasonably mild. It has not rained today. I doubt if it will.

Half an hour ago I had thought about finding an alternative hairdresser to the racist, trans-phobic hate cell, but now if you are male and live within a few miles radius of Malvern, get your haircut at Kent’s.

One of the best ways I find to switch to Angel thinking is to reflect not only on the current ridiculousness of humanity but my own response to it. And did I tell you the wonderful hairdresser and I were in lockstep about the currently engineered nonsense gripping the toilet roll obsessives? Her view of ghostly friends and her personal encounters with the spirit world was summed up by her remark:

“It’s not the dead we should be scared of, it’s the living.”

Yes, without our ability to switch to Angel I reckon if there were a friendly nearby planet inhabited by sane, rational, compassionate and intelligent life there would be an exodus which would make the current global refugee flood seem like a trickle.

heart 2But, dear reader, there isn’t. It is our job to join in with millions of others to see the world through the lens of love. It is our job to create, through our imagination, through feeling our wishes fulfilled, the paradise we all seek and clamour for.

Oh serendipity!

Sending out love as usual, especially to the hate groups and their adversaries. Blessings to you all, Jack Stewart Wednesday, 11 March 2020.

Switch to Angel.

 

Good Vibes.

crap townWorcester is recovering from some of the worst floods in living memory. It seems every other shop in the city centre is having a sale. We know the “High Street” is under siege from changes in consumption patterns, the internet and retail parks.

Everything is energy of course and the energy where I am today is not good (five hours ago). I wonder how many people are aware of such things.

Coronavirus is going toe to toe for top billing with identity politics (not bitten you yet?) as the only big issue worthy of your time. And maybe the world, your world, is a depressing, dangerous place.

So, by the fact I have mentioned three depressing media obsessions makes my energy levels drop. And I’m writing this stuff!

I’d like to think people reading this blog find it uplifting. But, dear reader, bear with me whilst I identify some more issues from the “real world” which are guaranteed to “lower your vibrations.”

Leaving aside for the moment people walking around staring at their mobile phones, unaware of anything except the screen in front of them, do you find walking around towns and city centres motivating or inspirational? I’ve used the term before, but so many people seem completely lost. Lost in regrets (thinking about the past), or lost in anxiety (thinking about the future). Wayne Dyer once articulated this wonderful concept. So many of us (this includes me occasionally. The BBC told me to do it) wander around looking for things to object to. And what we really need to be doing is to focus our attention on things that uplift, motivate and inspire.

Chicken and egg time. If we allow our “internal compass” to direct us, if our intention is on being inspired, then that is what we will observe and experience. And of course the reverse is true.

So, tomorrow morning I will wake up wanting to be inspired. Will my internal compass take me to Worcester? As I write this, my belief is that it won’t. Floods are a reality, and given the loss of trade and the inaccessibility of the city centre, it is hardly surprising if low energy and low vibrations dictate. There are a number of occasions in my seven years of living in this area that I have found Worcester to be vibrant.

You may be familiar with the idea of crap towns. A number of people have jumped on this particular bandwagon, including residents of these towns, bloggers, authors and national newspapers. An article in the Daily Mirror a year ago highlighted the 10 worst towns from a particular survey. I don’t know what it says about me but I have visited nine of them and yes have no intention of visiting any of them again.

Doesn’t the same principle apply for those having a pessimistic, depressing filter on the world? Would you like to surround yourself with energy vampires and people “sporting” a permanent scowl? Your choice of TV programmes? Your choice of reading material?

It’s time for a cliché. It’s not rocket science.

The Law of Attraction or variations on the theme suggest (it’s true, it’s not a suggestion), if we are miserable gits, miserable gits are attracted to us like moths to a flame. Having low vibrations attracts low vibrations. Are there sanctuaries, vibrant villages, towns and cities which have a critical mass of high vibrational people? It is obvious there are, the most famous index is the Halifax Quality of Life survey. There will not be a consensus on the criteria used to define quality of life. Ones I have managed to glean from the survey are high employment levels, a low crime rate, strong exam results, smaller primary class sizes and good health and happiness scores. Of these six, three of them are now an irrelevance to me but are no doubt critical to a large percentage of the population. I can’t think, unless you are a criminal, that a low crime rate and happiness are unimportant to you. Good health? Health is our personal responsibility, but living in an area crisscrossed by pylons, having air polluted by factory chemicals and the absence of green spaces will not help.

What would happen if by some strange quirk of fate thousands of “low vibrational people” ended up in Orkney, the number one place on the list? Of the top 20 places from last year’s survey, I have visited five. However my intention to move to the Cotswolds in the next few months (number seven on the list) keeps me afloat.

What would happen if by an even stranger quirk of fate thousands of “high vibrational people” ended up in Peterborough (see below)?

I am a Grecophile. One of my favourite islands used to be Lesbos in the north Aegean Sea. I have been there three times and love the place. However given the recent (deliberate) immigration/refugee crisis I am almost moved to tears reading reports of what is happening to the residents and the culture of the island. If I was a Syrian I would want to leave. I would have thought landing on Lesbos would be the equivalent of falling asleep and waking up in heaven. The problem is of course is that tens of thousands of people descending upon a relatively small island with insufficient skills and resources, not speaking the language and in many cases having a completely different set of values, is a recipe for catastrophe.

Treating people differently because of their skin colour is the height of irrationality, bordering on mental illness. Wanting to preserve an optimistic, cheerful and admired culture (Greek) is no more racist than eating a black pudding.

Big issues, big challenges. If we walk past a deep hole in the ground and see someone injured or in distress at the bottom of it do we throw them down a rope and hold onto the other end and pull them out or do we throw the rope into the hole and jump in it ourselves?

My (typical) response to this?

dyrhamparkSurround yourself with “high vibrational” people, live in a high vibrational area, watch, read and listen to high vibrational things. Keep your connection to the Divine conscious. Find your soulmate. As we are all one, and all connected we do not need to fight the energies of a “crap town.” This life is challenging enough as it is, despite its beauty and potential for paradise. Make your own choices, become part of the global (high vibrational) critical mass. Never pity or patronise those who live in Peterborough, Doncaster or Huddersfield (top three of the crap towns list 2020).

In case it isn’t obvious, in my experience even crap towns have decent suburbs…

Love to you all, a somewhat reflective and not taking life too seriously, Jack Stewart, Monday, 09 March 2020.

Apocalypse in our lunchtime.

dog dieWorcestershire, England, where I live, and the surrounding counties are fast disappearing under the biblical flooding which is affecting much of the UK. Maybe an exaggeration, but it seems to rain every day and unless you stay on the motorways (not flooded yet) or on routes which the Department of the Environment have declared still open you run the risk of writing your car off. And I should know, I did so in 2013.

I suspect the whole county is suffering from S.A.D.(Seasonal Affective Disorder); the perpetual greyness, dampness, restrictions, floods, rain, evacuations…

And that’s just for starters. And the climate change cult is in full swing. What’s up next? Coronavirus. Don’t you just love it?

Let’s ban cash, because it can be transmitted through the handling of notes. Don’t go out, you will catch it. Don’t travel, don’t fly, stay at home and die.

I’m sure someone somewhere in this country is about to announce that Coronavirus is waterborne. So if you’ve lost everything, your home, and possibly your livelihood it’s now time for floodplain dwellers to crap yourself. Except more so. Isn’t there another storm, Storm Boris or Storm Theresa, on its way? Aren’t we due the big freeze?

The common flu causes up to 5 million cases of severe illness worldwide and kills up to 650,000 people every year, according to the World Health Organization.

“The common flu virus will infect millions across the globe. It can be easily spread and will especially strike the young and the elderly. But this is not what has been described as the Wuhan virus. The common flu is far deadlier. This is not to downplay the Wuhan coronavirus flu, or to give it its medical name, 2019-nCoV. Keeping track of Wuhan virus figures is difficult, not least because of the two-week incubation period. The coronavirus outbreak, which is concentrated in Wuhan, a major transport hub in central eastern China, has so far killed 56 and infected almost 2,000.”

Global Research, February 22nd, 2020.

So, the common flu virus can be easily spread and is far deadlier than Coronavirus. Would you care to read that sentence again?

If you wish to dig deeper you will discover more facts about this ludicrous nonsense.

In 2015 around 57 million people died. The world population therefore increased by 84 million in that year (that is an increase of 1.14%).

Our World in Data, September 11th 2019.

Good God, people are born and people die. Who knew? People become ill, most recover, some don’t. If those deaths could be prevented, then let us mobilise our resources to prevent them. Should we grieve, can we, for the 57 million? Aren’t you heartily sick of all this? I wonder who benefits? Any ideas?

How about a solution which doesn’t involve suicidal thoughts, queueing up for the forthcoming jab, raiding your local supermarket for supplies and giving your own immune system a good kicking. That’s right, get depressed, panic, feel like s*** and line yourself up for a whole range of illnesses.

Are you ready?

hearts“Whatever you think and hold in consciousness as being so, out manifests itself in your body or affairs… The thoughts themselves have mental forms, but when you think with feeling of any kind you fill these forms with life and they become as living things which ever return to you, to be fed with more living power. For all feeling expressed is life, is vital power, and if you only knew it, all the thoughts which persistently influence your mind and harass you, are only your mental children clamouring for food and attention, and compelling more worrying, anxiety or fear from you…”

The Way Out, by Joseph Benner.

Read There Is a Spiritual Solution to Every Problem by Wayne Dyer, Ask And It Is Given by Esther and Jerry Hicks, anything on The Law Of Attraction and a host of other materials you can read or watch on YouTube.

Or wait for a couple of months-but hurry by then you might be dead and at least three people are watching this blog post-for my forthcoming book Love Heals.

I have no wish to make light of any kind of suffering. There is too much suffering in the world and millions of us wish to and will do something about it. And I can fully understand those who may have booked holidays or wish to travel in the next few weeks (I’m one of them) becoming upset or disturbed if they cannot do so.

Here is the solution recommended by significant spiritual teachers. Whenever the mood takes you, become calm, “go inside”, and feel what it is like, now, to have a world free of Coronavirus. Feel what it is like for normality to return. Imagine, but most importantly, feel, your wish fulfilled. Do this before you go to sleep. Every night until it happens.

We can do this, we are powerful beyond measure, but the mainstream will tell you the opposite. You could say this is a form of prayer: prayer works. Do your research. I don’t care what you call it, and you don’t need to go to church or go through Jesus as an intermediary. Feel your wish fulfilled.

Or we can all go back to sleep, one eye open for the actual or metaphorical rising floodwater. Far too many of us are slithering around on psychological floodplains, feeling helpless and hopeless, reacting to everything and looking towards “them” to provide a solution.

“About 5.4 m properties in England are at risk of flooding from rivers, the sea and surface water. Annual flood damage costs the country an estimated £1.1 bn. The government earmarked £4.4 bn for flood defence, with £2.6 bn to be spent between 2015 and 2021 on 1,500 projects to protect 300,000 homes. Ministers say 195,000 homes have already been protected through 500 new schemes completed since 2015.”

The Guardian, November 2019.

It’s not enough of course, and it’s never enough, but something has been and is being done.

Stretch your mind; give it a go, what have you to lose? You feel powerless now don’t you? What can you do about it by worrying? Nothing. Do this! And as you are the kind of person who doesn’t need rewards, recognition or praise, when the floods stop and the Coronavirus fades limply into history, you can lock yourself into a room on your own and feel very smug. And then you can come out and have another go when the next apocalypse is threatened.

Whatever you do, do something, don’t just sit back!

Jack Stewart, optimistic as ever, March 4, 2020. I love you all.

Oh dear.

hypocrite3During my pre-teen and teenage years, time at university and probably for two decades after that I loved popular culture. Even the most blinkered know that the 60’s and 70’s were the golden decades for pop music. The success of the Beatles and those that followed had an impact on the growing influence of American pop culture.

Here I have to offer my first of many caveats. Criticising corporate-led, socially engineered, paedophilic and totally inverted American pop culture does not mean I am anti-American. My biological father was a US Air Force major. I have spent six weeks in America, most of my spiritual heroes are American and space does not permit me to list all that I admire of the I AM RACE (for the uninitiated this is an anagram).

“I only read women. I know that men write books. But their lives are so limited. It’s such a small and narrow experience,” the prolific Irish author said during an event at the Southbank Centre to promote her latest novel, Grown Ups…”Their literature just really can’t match anything written by a woman. I just think ‘**** off’.”

Marian Keyes, bestselling author.

The second caveat. To discriminate against someone because of the colour of their skin, their sexual orientation, their gender and all the other “fault lines” is beneath contempt. As a heterosexual white male who was confused about his gender and orientation 50 odd years ago I know in the current climate my voice may be limited to the wilderness.

Try as I might to avoid it, we are now totally immersed in the most insane period I can ever recall in my lifetime. You cannot pick up a newspaper, switch on the radio or watch the television without at least one “story” that has to do with victimhood. Most often, my response to what was once fringe “woke” insanity, but now seems to be mainstream, is laughter. If we satirise and refuse to take seriously American women paying $2500 to be told they are racist and millionaire actors accepting awards from the very industry they lambast also for being racist maybe we can turn back the tide.

Third caveat. My hero during my late teens and early 20’s was David Bowie. I used to dye my hair and dress up as Bowie. I encountered discrimination. Most of my life as someone proud to be working class, I have experienced subtle and sometimes overt discrimination. But no, not on a regular basis, nor has it ever got physical and I have not been murdered. It is of no consequence in the grand scheme of things. It is impossible to diminish the impact of discrimination on certain people and on certain groups. Read my post on The Windermere Children.

Not everyone is aware of “woke” insanity. Some of my friends think I am exaggerating. They may indeed be right. Regardless, this is something I feel strongly about simply because it is yet another tool to divide us. And whilst we are pre-occupied with victims and being a victim, what chance do we have of seeing the world as it really is, and can become? The algorithm age, the saturation of “social media”, the placing of “reality TV stars” (wtf?) on pedestals, the instant “talent” industry (Pop Idol…), “de-platforming”, “hate speech”, “safe spaces” and the lemming-like scramble to see who is the most oppressed victim (and what group they represent) are all signs of a world- as it is now- in terminal decline. But before you stop reading, thinking this eternal optimist has given up, stay with me.

Fourth caveat. During my time in local government in the 80’s I was personally responsible for enlightened recruitment policies, practices and education around gender, race and disability in two major local authorities. In those days it was safe to be a heterosexual white male and working with people who had suffered lifetime discrimination was a massive learning process for me and a wonderful privilege.

That’s enough caveats. I’m not even sure they are relevant, because if my arguments are valid I don’t need to lay out my credentials.

We are all one. A recurrent theme on this website. We are all walking round in a biological spacesuit that comes in many shapes and sizes, sometimes with appendages, sometimes not. To be judged and valued purely on the basis of the spacesuit is insane. Before the woke explosion we had homophobia, racism, anti-Semitism, misogyny and discrimination in all its forms. We still have it.

I still cannot process the mind-set of those who accuse all white men of being racists and incapable of writing anything worth reading. If those who make these ludicrous statements are incapable of seeing their own racism and their own toxic worldview which worsens the situation they purport to want to remedy then get the handcarts ready because we’re all going to hell.

On BBC Radio Five the other day, a broadcaster who I quite admire casually wrote off actor Laurence Fox’s position on “woke” and condemned anyone who agreed with Fox to the ranks of bigot (my interpretation. And Fox is now subject to all kinds of vilification). The same broadcaster has so bought into the climate change cult that it isn’t even up for discussion. He is not alone, this is the position of the BBC.

Anyone who has not yet been micro-chipped will find the closing down of free speech problematic. Rugby player Israel Folau has views I find abhorrent. Unfortunately we live in an age where criticising any discriminated group is a recipe for career suicide.

“Islamic scholars continue to teach that same-sex relationships are a sin, too, and Sheik Mansour, owner of Manchester City, is part of the ruling family in a country in which homosexuality is against the law. Yet this is where liberal western beliefs and commitment to religious freedom collide.”

Martin Samuel, Daily Mail Sports writer.

So it must be obvious that almost all Manchester City supporters are by default homophobic. Folau has been rightly condemned and he has agreed now to keep his views to himself. Perhaps this is not enough, as he has yet to apologise to the gay community. One of my heroes, gay ex-rugby player Gareth Thomas has no time for Folau.

Thank God things have changed. Before 1967, homosexuality in the UK was all but illegal. There are still 73 countries in the world where it still is. Presenter Phillip Schofield has now “come out.”

Yes of course I am a fully paid-up member of the patriarchy. As a white male how can I be anything else? What does this say about my character, my actions, my beliefs and values about things other than the fault lines used to divide us? Is Hitler (a vegetarian and animal lover) a poster boy for vegetarianism? Should you now stop listening to any Michael Jackson song? God forbid you should watch any film produced by Harvey Weinstein. And move out of, or at the very least don’t visit cities built on the slave trade like Bristol and Liverpool. Let us put all these things in the same pot. Hitler, Michael Jackson, Harvey Weinstein, Bristol and Liverpool. After all we have here the equivalent of the climate change fanatics claim that the “science is settled.” It surely is. Chances are Weinstein will get off, Jackson is dead and I think Hitler is too. No doubt a sizeable percentage of Bristolians and Liverpudlians are racists. Perhaps all of them. And to think I used to work in Liverpool, and shame of shame, I support Liverpool FC.

Time to breathe, time for sanity.

I’m sick to my very core (thank you GretaTM) of having my life hijacked by all this. But of course I’m not. Perhaps the triggers were reading that men can’t write (thank you Ms Keyes, I will now buy all your books) and hearing how brave and courageous Philip Schofield was in admitting he is gay. I’m going to avoid any more “woke”. So far (since January 31st) I have been an abject failure. I now identify as a failure. Can we put an “F” into the alphabet soup?

We need to unplug from the mainstream, we need to begin looking at each other as spiritual beings having a human experience. We need to judge each other on our character not the nature of the biological spacesuit. The only speech that should be limited is that which encourages hatred and division. If this were rigorously applied there would be no “woke” culture. We need to see each other as becoming, rather than label each other along the fault lines so beloved of those currently in charge of running the planet. My biological spacesuit is no better or worse than yours. If I hate and condemn yours, I’m doing the same to myself.

Let us love each other, yes Ms Pelosi we are all sparks of the Divine, even Donald Trump and the Iraqis (who you voted to bomb). If we see each other with new eyes, as opposed to the weaponised ways in which we are currently exhorted to follow, we can give the handcarts back and walk confidently together to a new dawn, to rediscover paradise and ignite the Divine light within.

Namaste, Jack Stewart, Friday, 07 February 2020, feeling so much better having got this lot of his chest!

Etheric Bullets

curry“I love to hear those convicts squeal
It’s a shame these slugs ain’t real
But we can’t have dancin’ at the local county jail”

From Rubber Bullets by 10cc (Godley, Crème, Gouldman 1973)

Another surreal adventure beckons…

What do we know about the (good bit of, not the “lower astral”) spirit world? Paradise, the absence of earthly highs and lows, no wailing and gnashing of teeth, wisdom, a place of learning, inhabitants unencumbered by a body, permanently temperate weather, no wars, violence, Harvey Epstein, Brian Weinstein, lies and deception..?

But is there celebration “up there” when things go well “down here” or sadness when they don’t? And where is their focus, is it not in the moment, is it not Nosso Lar itself? Do they have elections?

Can we have dancin’ at the non-local Celestial spa?

Having considered these questions for many years, lived with and shared a fair amount of my time with those having a foot in this world and the next I’m still intrigued.

There is a time in most people’s lives, no doubt some research has been done on this, when “continuation day” (© Neale Donald Walsch) enters one’s consciousness. After birth, the most momentous step in everyone’s life, perhaps excluding Brexit. I knew someone a few years ago, Tony Roeber, he was in his 80’s, still exceptionally articulate and intelligent, his body wasn’t ready to give up, but he was genuinely looking forward to passing. At his funeral it was obvious he had the most incredible life but it was not without huge challenges. So was his perception of the afterlife, it could only be positive, such that it drew him in as opposed to his wanting to let go of any grief and trauma from this life? Or after 80 years was boredom the motivator?

There are quite a few of my friends and family now in spirit, another factor as we approach the evening of our lives. So it won’t be lonely there, Anne and Vanessa, Anne’s parents, Vanessa’s parents, my parents (three of them), Vanessa’s brother and uncle. To that add grandparents, aunts and uncles, close friends and companion animals. And brothers and sisters that didn’t make it.

“Down here” we are conditioned by our five senses. In writing this piece I might think I’m “informed” by the spirit world-I do-but it is relatively easy to write.

Do we “rage against the dying of the light?” Or carry on as if we were 20 and felt immortal? When do we blow our savings (if we are fortunate to have any) or hang on to them for a decreasing number of rainy days? It’s a bit like eating curry. If we get the rice/sauce proportions wrong, and haven’t ordered a Naan bread, then we can end up with dry rice on our plate or sauce that falls through our fork.

What about our legacy? Surely most of us want to leave the world a better place through our having been in it? For those with children most of that has potentially been done. I’m wondering if we could have some kind of posing-free Celestial X factor when those with the greatest legacy get the greatest acclaim. Hold on though, surely the afterlife is a place devoid of competition and obsessing what the hosts look like? Maybe the real heroes in Nosso Lar are the ones we call unsung here.

In writing a will it is reassuring to know those who we want to benefit from what we have acquired in this life do so. But I bet-let’s assume there are some tensions in Paradise-many who have passed “look down” with despair when arguments rage amongst their families about money and possessions.

The more you think about it, it might take more preparation than you had imagined as you approach the fateful day. But help is at hand. Maybe the self-fulfilling, condemnatory prophecies inflicted on us by the medical profession, “you have two years to live”, have merit after all. Like booking a trip abroad, at least you know the timescale to “get your affairs in order.”

Whilst all this may be challenging, it needn’t be depressing. Bucket lists, letting go of what people think, enjoying life, “going for it”, a “backstop”, and (sorry it’s that word again) “Brexit” free zone, being even kinder to all sentient beings and true intimacy in all its forms can balance the scales nicely.

Lately I have heard many people say that we don’t need to leave the earth plane to experience heaven or hell. We can all conjure up images and feelings about these polarised concepts. Maybe it’s time for another TV programme in which the public votes for the most popular heaven and the most feared hell. Gallows humour tends to gloss over the living hell that millions of our brothers and sisters on this planet experience daily. Pause while your creative juices are given free rein…

I’m going to leave the last words with Princess Diana, again from In the Stillness Everything Happens:

“And when things do go a little bit wrong just trust in us, we will be there. Because they don’t ‘go wrong’, they just show you another way.”

“Once you start again to connect with your source, to your giver of life, things will start to go on the right path for you.”

Your greatest legacy was being born, and being part of the grand scheme of things.

As always, love and blessings to you all. Jack Stewart, October 29, 2019. I suspect you’ve guessed the song.

I should have definitely ordered a chapatti, a cheaper option to Naan and it would have taken up any slack. Just its mere presence may have influenced negotiating the rice/sauce balance. Or mixed the lot together first. Or eaten fish and chips.

A Day of Serendipity

miceA few of my friends have lately been talking about dating agencies. One friend in particular was scathing about them. I have to be honest, and even things I detest, advertisements, take the proverbial out of this rather interesting technological courtship ritual.

So the thought occurred the other day; why isn’t there a film about this? And guess what? There is. And it has in it two of my favourite actors Ian McKellen and Helen Mirren. Not sure of the plot, and I’m not an avid cinema goer, but it looks promising. The Good Liar is out in November.

Surely a risky business dating agencies? How many of us like to talk about ourselves? How many of us like photographs of ourselves? In an era of forced gender fluidity I’m going to make a sexist comment. I have yet to meet a woman who is relaxed about having her photograph taken. Jazz hands all round.

What are people looking for? A fling, a serious relationship, a husband or wife? Reason, season, lifetime. Some people are with us fleetingly for a reason, “good” or “bad.” A lesson. Some last a little longer. The season may be a few months or a few years. They depart from our lives at the behest of either party yet may remain friends or they may not. More lessons.

A lifetime? The word has more validity perhaps for someone in their 20’s or 30’s. Those who use dating agencies, “mature” people, may find the word lifetime less significant.

My earlier memories of dating, 40+ years ago, were not good. I never knew whether to jump in too soon or play it cool. And for the life of me juggling several relationships would have had me in Gordian’s Knot.

A close friend who has been told his soulmate is “in the pipeline”, and he has met her, has rather amusingly joined a “Green” dating agency. I’m hugely in favour of environmental protection, of clean air, rivers and oceans, of free energy (which exists of course and has done for over a hundred years but is suppressed), of animal welfare and recycling. As may be obvious from several posts the man-made global warming scam needs to be exposed. Continuously. But my friend and I can laugh about it. I don’t see him glueing himself to anything, even a pork pie (Green but he loves and craves meat), any time soon.

Personally I find humour, taking the proverbial, the most powerful tool in not only my armoury but also in society generally to counter the insanity that besets us all. Political correctness, woke idiocy and snowflakes seem to be losing the battle to sanitise and crush genuine comedy. In fact I get the sense of a growing backlash. I hope and trust Good Liar has more than its fair share of humour. Life is serious, appalling things happen, but it also has to be taken lightly. Indeed my favourite fictional detective, Bernie Gunther, has a highly developed sense of the ridiculous and a very quick wit. And he is as politically correct as Bernard Manning, George Carlin and Chubby Brown. But his world is (Nazi) Germany from the 1920’s to the 1950’s.

max wallThis was never going to be a long post, and I wish I could infuse it with more humour, but for some reason I feel I’m skating on thin ice. So I will resist the temptation to fuse Extinction Rebellion, genuine environmentalism, Greta Thunberg, Greenpeace and green dating agencies. Surely there is some excellent material here but I suspect it is subscription only.

You are richly blessed.

Jack Stewart, no afterthoughts, no surrender. Sunday, 20 October 2019.

Glastonbury

GlastonburySign2

Avalon, a place of mystery and legend, steeped in history and of global significance. Do your research. I’ve been to Glastonbury about half a dozen times and it never fails to generate a mixture of emotions within me.

Normally I ask Jonathan for one or two readings a year, just to keep me aligned with plans I made elsewhere. Lately of course my sanity has been maintained by weekly readings. These days if your loved one is away from home you stay in touch by phone, Skype or some other technological process. In a recent reading it was suggested I go to Glastonbury Abbey and sit with the Christ energy. I’ve been meaning to go into the Abbey for some time. It is truly wonderful and no trip to this special town is complete without it. Even if the weather, the greyness, the misery is more in keeping with an Extinction Rebellion celebration.

Some who visit here will dismiss the Arthurian and Joseph of Arimathea connection. It has even been suggested Jesus came here too. The history of the place, as stated in the narrative surrounding the exhibits in the museum is a combination of invention, truth, spirituality and licence. Believe what you want to believe. Feast on the legends and the incredible energies of this unique place or wander round like a fart in a trance and wonder why you bothered.

To stand any chance of communicating with spirit you have to do this mysterious process of raising your vibrations. To avoid yet another debate it means, for me at least, feeling upbeat and positive. Something I have been all my life but lately has been almost impossible. But not today.

Vegan and vegetarian food are the primary ingredients in most of the cafes and restaurants. What a fantastic change. To think over 35 years ago cheese and chips was the singular vegetarian meal of choice when eating out. And I can think of at least three cafes where the food is phenomenal. If your diet consists primarily of McDonald’s and Red Bull and for you shopping can only be done in the local retail park then stay away from Glastonbury.

Have you ever been anywhere that doesn’t have a downside? Sorry folks but the downside here is the large minority who have lost the plot. I personally don’t care how you dress but I do care if you strut about the town as if you own it. And look down upon people who don’t share your passion for clothes which look like a combination of a Tracey Emin afterthought, a straw bale gone walkabout and an explosion in a paint factory. “Precious.”

The second time I came to Glastonbury, haven of peace, a fight nearly broke out in the High Street between two blokes each trying to be more precious than the other.

Yes you can have too much of Wicca, Olde Shoppes, Witches, Druids and Vulvas. But in truth who cares. It is more than compensated for the things I’ve mentioned, for the glorious organic supermarket, genuinely good gift and bookshops and the surreal nature of the place. And it was worth every penny of the 20 quids worth of fuel it cost me to get here and back. And then some.

When I finally got into the Abbey grounds, which are huge by the way, I sat down at a table in the outside café for a coffee. I was definitely picking up a vibe. The central building-only one of the ruins has a roof-has a few benches on the ground floor and an altar all of which are sheltered from the rain. I sat down. There were about another half dozen people sat in respectful silence next to the altar. When I’m in contemplative mood in a sacred place I don’t want anyone too near me, and there wasn’t. As soon as I sat down I started to twitch. When I twitch involuntarily something is affecting my body’s energy field, and although it happens far less frequently than I would like, it is a sign usually of communication from spirit.

It is seven weeks and a day since Vanessa passed. Jonathan has regularly told me that she will only come through after she has healed and I am sufficiently free of anger and pain to be in the right frame of mind. Well it took all of 30 seconds after I sat down to know I was in communication with her. It was her. She came over just as she would have done when on the earth plane. Listening intently, in a good space, funny, intelligent and philosophical. I was rather emotional, shock horror. I struggle to remember what she said specifically, but what I do know is the truth that when we pass we let go of our issues, struggles, shadow and ego which can often wreck our lives “down here.” Having raised my vibration I too, for that blissful five minutes, was operating out of my higher self. For the hour that followed I have probably felt as good as I have done in 50 days of mostly simmering despair.

Whenever anybody asks me how I’m feeling my truth is that each day can be up or down but there is an underlying upward trend of feeling that little bit better. Yes, coming home to an empty house is occasionally purgatory, but my beautiful cats help ease the pain. Watching escapist nonsense on the TV is a suitable distraction as is reading any one of four books (mood dependent) before I go to sleep.

I’m told I’m doing rather well and I suppose there some truth in that. There are many things I have yet to experience in this life and some would scare me witless. No I cannot imagine what it is like to be a soldier in a combat zone, or to be incarcerated in Guantánamo Bay, or being given a terminal diagnosis. No one knows what it is like to lose one soulmate unless they have done so and very few know what it is like to lose two in four years. But of course so what? This is my path and my reality. I am dealing with it, I have to deal with it and I’m seeking no sympathy. I’m told I will come out of this a better person, and that the pain will eventually go away.

arthur GAWell thank you Glastonbury Abbey, thank you King Arthur, who of course never existed. And bless all you precious inhabitants of this rather strange place; you do add something to it despite the few times you make it exceedingly uncomfortable and give “Angry of Tunbridge Wells” a field day. But not today.

Love from a grey, wet and globally unwarmed, fact less and propaganda fuelled Malvern.

“King” Jack Stewart, October 11, 2019.