Taxpayers do not fund anything | Bill Mitchell – billy blog

At times some document from the past is discovered that no-one much has read or paid any attention to but which offers fundamental insights into the options facing governments operating a monetary …

Source: Taxpayers do not fund anything | Bill Mitchell – billy blog

The not very near death experience

Interesting how NDE’s are not always ND.

Mind Hacks

I’ve just discovered this fantastic 1990 study from The Lancet that investigated near death experiences reported by patients. However, it did something quite different from most other studies – it actually checked to see whether the patients were actually near death or not – and many of them weren’t.

The study looked at the experiences of 58 people who believed they were about to die during a medical procedure and had subsequently reported a ‘near death experience‘ – often the classic ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ experience, the feeling of the consciousness had left the body like an outside observer, enhanced clarity of thought and the flashback of life’s memories.

The researchers then looked through the medical records of each person to see whether they had really been ‘near death’. Of the 58 in the study, 30 patients were never in danger of dying, despite their…

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To Dad or Not to Dad

Soon it will be 50 years since my father did himself in in front of me, its past moms half a century gone…

I have not pursued having children, mostly not to add to the suicidal overpopulation and environmental consequences of humans on earth. There are no “Days” for we who sacrificed our own progeny for that one step toward making a stance for earth and anyone else who feels no sense of such a responsibility.

People have told me I would have been a good father. This is unknown. The modeling I had was bad. My father knocked me out when I was 6 months old for crying too much. After-which, he informed me sometime before his suicide that he promised himself not to hit us since he thought I was dead after hitting the wall and laying lifeless. The moral for him of this tale was twofold; no serious beatings for us, and I was transformed into a “good boy”. The “good boy” actually meant I was afraid and hiding behind silence.

Other kinds of abuse followed me and at least one sister. Eventually, as children do, I was wondering why my father did not like me; why wouldn’t he play with me… So when dad would do one kind of his other secret stuff with me, I was eager to go with him–me and dad having fun!, then sit alone, sometimes for hours on the foot bar at the bar while he went off with pretty women. It would be our little secret togetherness, for if mom asked I was to say we were at the hardware store.I would buy into his excitement to be with me every time.

We did not have a car there in our Chicago suburb, dad could not be trusted to drive and be sober. He would drink away his hard earned money then we would pay; shoes falling apart, bloody feet walking to school and my mouth of cavities and missing teeth. I had no school friends or activities, by 13 had part time job with most income going to support my father and his new wife and 5 sons. Another failed venture.

So no. I never intended to marry, it is a consensus reality “security” that most conform to. It does not guarantee love, and that is what it is, or should be all about. 

We can have different ideas as to what freedom is as well as responsibility. We have a “culture” that uses such terminology often to justify or otherwise validate ones decisions to conform and comply to expectations. This is as it is; a recipe for mind control–the enormity of conformity. It seems many formulate their lives around consensus ideas of value and merit without critical awareness of the pros and cons of each choice and the reverberating metric that issues out.

We are each and all Mothers and Fathers on this delicate vibrant world. With close hearts and myopic eyes, it is possible to ignore and miss any and all of It. Time moving through consciousness is a tender and universal moment. These children are everywhere but who is hiding? Are the children behind boxes, under rugs in the cold of night, or is it we the parents who are hiding from them?