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Recorded Reading (6:01): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/7s7xsiik6zbpoia1w6zv0/This-is-the-Judgment-Day.aac?rlkey=c10f4ob5iqntrrsyd3y8trkkd&dl=0

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Well, folks, it’s election day tomorrow, here in the United States ~ one of three possible dates for a potential black swan event which entered this poet’s inner vision a few weeks ago, and which we have been discussing on this site as potential trigger for the Biblically prophesied “Separation of the Worlds” ~ those dates being this year’s elections, some critical date in the Trump trial, and next year’s Presidential elections.

Since visionary writers in the field of human consciousness ascension seem generally to visualize an autumn day in this northern hemisphere for the final separation, this poet gives slightly more weight to the first and last of those possibilities, but she doesn’t have a particular insight on this herself ~ in a field renowned for the difficulties of its interface with time, she has always stood out as particularly ineffective in this regard.

In the area of particulars, however, she has been known to be scarily accurate.

“You need to go back to wearing eye protection for a while when you work with power tools,” she said once to her landlord. “That tenant you’re evicting is mad at you, and I see metal beads flying out of whirling objects.”

On the morning of that tenant’s departure she herself found both her coffee grinder and her sink disposal spiked with ~ you guessed it ~ metal beads.

Along with the timing of the event, a second particular which was not included in the poet’s inner vision about potential planetary changes was whether those with destinations in dimensions beyond the third will have to personally experience the tremendous planetary concussion ~ largely manmade ~ which initiates its separation, coccoon-like, from the newly emerging butterfly of Earth’s freshly developing fifth dimension.

Perhaps for these it might be a gentler phenomenon. Perhaps the old third dimensional ways fade gently into their background history, right along with hoop skirts and the telegraph.

But the poet wouldn’t bet on it.

She thinks people should have their go bags ready to hang out by inner direction in some mid-altitude meadow while things sort themselves out.

As the Hopi prophets have written about our very times:

“When the waters start to rise, jump in. See who’s in there with you.”

In any case, though writing in celebration of every human emotion which she’s experienced as they passed ~ taking care always to write about resolution back toward inner and outer harmony when any experience had been conflictual ~ in all her 4,000 works, this poet can only remember twice producing any which might remotely be called revolutionary.

This is one of those two, and considering that ~ as good friend and wonderful WP poet Paul Vincent Cannon puts it ~ it’s pretty “well behaved!” And it belongs in the “Nova Terra Too” series, so here it is.

If we all get past tomorrow in one piece, the poet, knowing they will have time to process, will replace her solicitation for donations at the bottom of each post ~ their mandated government collection center not only takes over a week to let donations recipients know about them, but also actually assures the donors themselves that the recipient will know in one day or two, so those donors spend the whole intervening week awaiting thanks that cannot come to them in a timely fashion. (The poet reiterates her conviction that many of our governmental benefit programs are presently being quietly run to fail.)

… And, assuming, again, that we are all still third dimensional and broadcasting by broadband on the third of this month, this site will return you, over whatever amount of time we have remaining in our present biological configurations, to more normal poetic programming, running favorites on all subjects from years gone by along with whatever new work makes it past the massive bending this poet’s head has spent these last few years going through, and onto the glowing page for her readers’ pleasure and entertainment.

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This is the Judgment Day

Everywhere our Earth upon
Inner Lights are coming on
By which folks, looking around
Now discover that they’ve found
Prospect very ill astound
Many are not liking it
Find in it no benefit
Not even one little bit!

Atrocities benignly hidden
Minions doing as they’re bidden
Conscience is neglectable
Misery rejectable
When one’s being “professional”
There is no confessional
Except, of course, the patron/boss
Bent source, if there ever was

One by one, and two by two
We are looking up at you
— Who looked up to you, what’s more,
The rising of this Light before,
Revealing all we all deplore:
Seriously sleazy sinners,
Though you fear and hate the “inner”
It’s looking like the hands-down winner!

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