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Valentine’s Day: Lupercalia to St. Valentine


Valentine’s Day has become a commercialized “celebration” of love in the West, as most of us are well aware. Most of us are taught that Valentine’s Day originates with the Christian saint, Valentine. The origin of St. Valentine, and how many St. Valentines there were, remains a mystery. One story is that he was a Catholic, martyred for his Christian faith. The other, he was a temple priest jailed for defiance during the reign of Claudius. Whoever he was, Valentine really existed because archaeologists have unearthed a Roman catacomb and an ancient church dedicated to Saint Valentine. In 496 AD Pope Gelasius marked February 14th as a celebration in honor of his martyrdom.


The first representation of Saint Valentine appeared in a The Nuremberg Chronicle, a great illustrated book printed in 1493. Additional evidence that Valentine was a real person is that archaeologists have unearthed a Roman catacomb and an ancient church dedicated to Saint Valentine. Alongside a woodcut portrait of him, text states that Valentinus was a Roman priest martyred during the reign of Claudius the Goth [Claudius II]. Since he was caught marrying Christian couples and aiding any Christians who were being persecuted under Emperor Claudius in Rome. Helping Christians was considered a crime; Valentinus was arrested and imprisoned. Claudius took a liking to this prisoner, until Valentinus made a strategic error; he tried to convert the Emperor. Whereupon, the priest was condemned to death. He was beaten with clubs and stoned. When that didn’t kill him, he was beheaded outside the Flaminian Gate [circa 269]. In the Roman Catholic Church the name Valentinus does not occur in the earliest list of Roman martyrs, compiled by the Chronographer of 354. But it already can be found in the Martyrologium Hieronymianum, which was compiled, from earlier local sources, between 460 and 544. The feast of St. Valentine of February 14 was first established in 496 by Pope Gelasius I, who included Valentine among all those “… whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose acts are known only to God.” As Gelasius implies, nothing was yet known to him about his life.{1}


However, there is a much older pagan celebration that occurred around February 14th that most are unaware. The celebration of Lupercalia was celebrated at this time to avert evil spirits and purify the city, releasing health and fertility. The Roman god Lupercus was the god of shepherds, and was often identified with the god Pan. The priests of Lupercus wore goat skins. Plutarch wrote of Lupercalia stating, “Lupercalia, of which many write that it was anciently celebrated by shepherds, and has also some connection with the Arcadian Lycaea. At this time many of the noble youths and of the magistrates run up and down through the city naked, for sport and laughter striking those they meet with shaggy thongs. And many women of rank also purposely get in their way, and like children at school present their hands to be struck, believing that the pregnant will thus be helped in delivery, and the barren to pregnancy.”


Lupercalia was also celebrated partly in honor of Lupa, the she-wolf who suckled the infant orphans, Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. The festival was celebrated near the cave of Lupercal on the Palatine Hill, and it began with the sacrifice by the Luperci [brothers of the wolf], or the Flamen Dialis [High Priests of Jupiter] of two male goats and a dog. Next, two young patrician Luperci were led to the altar, to be anointed on their foreheads with the sacrificial blood, which was wiped off the bloody knife with wool soaked in milk, after which they were expected to smile and laugh. The sacrificial feast followed, where the Luperci cut thongs from the skins of the animals, which were called februa, dressed themselves in the skins of the sacrificed goats, in imitation of Lupercus, and ran round the walls of the old Palatine city. The path was marked with stones, and with the thongs in their hands in two bands, they would strike the people who crowded near. Girls and young women would line up on their route to receive lashes from these whips. This was supposed to ensure fertility, prevent sterility in women and ease the pains of childbirth. The thongs, or februa, is where the name of the month of February originates.


By the 5th century, celebration of public Pagan rites had been outlawed, under Pope Gelasius. Incidentally, the same pope who dedicated February 14th as St. Valentine’s Day.


A Prayer to St. Valentine

Dear Lord, who art high in the Heavens,
Giver of Love and Passion,
And He who strings the heart’s cords,
Lead the Lovers this day, February ten plus four.
The day during the month of two,
When the date is the perfect number of God
Greater two souls and two hearts.
Some Loves are fleeting ,
But that which is built on you will never fail.
So guide the Lovers to know what is to be.
Your truths the Lovers’ mouths should speak,
For Your truth is that which is honest to the heart.
Only this, then, should pass over the red lips of the Lovers.



Other St. Valentine’s Prayers :


Martin Luther King Jr: A Life Cut Short, a Lasting Legacy


Today we celebrate the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr here in America. His is a legacy of peaceful disobedience and social justice. As a young girl growing up in the South, I was taught the usual things about MLK. His peaceful protests, his eloquent speeches, and his desire to see all people to be judged upon their merits; not their skin color. While this may be hard for many to believe that in the South you can receive an unbiased education on Dr. King, there are still issues even I have with his legacy.


The biggest issue I have is that of Dr. King being a Zionist; and how such a learned, honest man could support land theft and genocide. The Israel/Palestine issue is the very definition of social injustice and racism. But, I am attempting to put his views and beliefs into a historical context of the day to try to understand this obvious existential conundrum.


Dr. King was cut down and murdered in the prime of his life at 39 years of age. That rings home to me as I, myself, am 39. I look back on what I have achieved in my short life, and all the great plans I have yet to fulfill. I have accomplished little to that of the legacy of Dr. King. At 35, he had already won a Nobel Peace Prize. My accomplishments ring hollow compared to this honor that he so richly deserved. He was a gigantic presence on the world’s small stage, so I don’t beat myself up too badly about being a little fish. He was a tireless champion for civil rights for blacks, and an instrumental voice in the Anti-Vietnam War movement. In other words, he is a man worthy of admiration and veneration; sadly he was not to enjoy this in his natural life.


As much as I admire Dr. King, reading his Zionist beliefs left me confused and bewildered. Israel officially was recognized as a nation in 1948. The 6 day war between Israel, Egypt, Jordan and Syria began June 5th, 1967. It was June 8th, 1967 when Israel attacked the US vessel, the USS Liberty, to feign blame on Egypt to drag the US into the war. The US did not actively enter the war; and it was Senator John McCain’s father, Admiral John McCain, Jr that was instrumental in covering up Israel’s involvement of the incident. I can see how Dr. King would have no knowledge of this event; or how US media twisted the 6 day war to favor Israel. Growing up a Christian in the South myself; I can see how this also would skew his view of Israel. But how is it that Dr. King had no knowledge of the Deir Yassin massacre? Or the King David Hotel bombing? Or any of the events of the Lavon affair? Can his lack of awareness of these events be categorically laid at the feet of the US press? Perhaps he had knowledge of these events and sought to overlook them; and if that be the case, then he wasn’t quite the champion of social justice as the history books would lead us to believe. It is true there is no human born that is above sin or reproach. Debating these things in one’s mind is, well, troubling at best.


I should like to think that Dr. King had no real knowledge of Israeli orchestration of massacres of innocent Palestinians in their attempt to complete the Yinon plan. I should like to think that if he were alive today; Dr. King’s voice would be loud in objection to the apartheid state of Israel, the displacement of the indigenous people, the illegal settlements, and the outright racism against Africans. So, Dr. King- this girl from North Carolina has a dream too. My dream is that Palestinians will one day go home and will no longer suffer at the hands of those who think they are “chosen” and above reproach. Yes, this is my dream.


I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the “unalienable Rights” of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: “For Whites Only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”¹

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest — quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”2

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Audio of speech in its entirety:

1999 Court Decision: MLK murdered by US Government Conspiracy:

Lone Survivor: How to Make a War Movie Without Promoting War


I will not waste a perfectly good blog post on the usual blather about troop worship or that troops don’t really fight for our “freedoms”. Those are for another day.

After watching Lone Survivor, I’m left with the burning question as to how the “progressives” found this movie to be war promotion “porn”. Having said that, many things about progressives in America leave me with more questions than answers. Mostly the misnomer of the label “progressive” when they seem to be authoritarian statist chumps.


Lone Survivor is a movie based upon Marcus Luttrell’s book of the same name; that involved Operation Red Wings in Afghanistan. The beginning of the movie is a treatise on some, not all, of what it takes to become a SEAL. The realism in this movie is astounding. Having said that, as a cardiac nurse the medical scenes were terrible and you would kill someone in real life if those things happened in the ER. That was my only complaint about the movie.


This movie promotes how war is horrendous; dying in a foreign land horrific; making the right decisions (when you shouldn’t have to be making them at all) difficult at best; and how there are Afghans that are absolutely fantastic people. That’s what I saw when I watched Lone Survivor: Perhaps it was the Staff Sergeant’s daughter in me. GO SEE IT.



The Science of Compassion; and the Art of Letting Go


I thought I would write this blog before my journey for New Years. I hadn’t planned on writing this; but an inspiration arose in the most unlikely of places. So, I dedicate this blog to Robert Kelly Corbett; who through patience and a willingness to understand my gruffness, motivated me.

Also, I dedicate this blog to Jahi McMath; an angel that saw an unfulfilled life, cut short far too soon.


As a mother, I can only sympathize with Jahi’s mother. I cannot imagine losing one of my girls to a circumstance that seems so benign and pointless really. A tonsillectomy gone terribly, terribly wrong. I will not speculate as to these circumstances as I refuse to dishonor a child’s memory that way. She was and is innocent.

However, as a nurse that has seen more death than the average person; I cannot and do not agree with the family decision to keep this child alive. There are criteria that multiple physicians must use by law to determine brain death. It is not haphazard, nor happenstance. Unfortunately, there are rare miracles in this life, far too rare. The odds are stacked against Jahi that she would be one of those miracles.

There is a science to compassion. People often think of compassion as all warm and fuzzy, with sunshine around the edges. Reality is often not this way, and compassion must take a colder, harder, measured approach to this reality. According to Webster’s Dictionary a science is “the knowledge about or study of the natural world based on facts learned through experiments and observation”. Compassion can be experimented with and observed in the natural world. Compassion is sometimes not about warm and fuzzy; it’s about empathy, quality of life, and hard ass decisions. The science of compassion often bleeds into the art of letting go. I do not chose those words lightly.

It is bleeding, it is loss; because you are letting go. It is painful, it is horrendous and often accompanies a torrent of tears. It is a part of our condition as humans; this art of letting go. Life can be so joyous and wondrous: It can also be devastatingly oppressive and dark. The question of the hour MUST be- “What would Jahi want if she could tell you?” I cannot assume to know. All I can see is pictures of her laughing and playing that are plastered all over the news: and she is no longer that child.


When I graduated nursing school we had to memorize the Nurse’s Oath. We were not allowed to have notes or cheat; we had to memorize it. It has never left me. So, for those that think I, and others like me, don’t deserve the “title” of nurse. A nurse isn’t a title: It isn’t a badge. It is who we are as people. Perhaps that piece of your humanity has gotten lost along the way. Despite all my years of seeing death and destruction in the ER/ Trauma ICU/ OR/ Recovery Room/ Cardiac Catheterization Lab/ Open Heart ICU/ Neuro-surgery ICU; I never lost my science of compassion- nor my art of letting go.

I solemnly pledge myself before God and in the presence of this assembly to pass my life in purity and to practise my profession
I shall abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous, and shall not take or knowingly administer any harmful drug.
I shall do all in my power to maintain and elevate the standard of my profession and will hold in confidence all
personal matters committed to my keeping and all family affairs coming to my knowledge in the practice of my
I shall be loyal to my work and devoted towards the welfare of those committed to my care.


The Twelve Tribes a Warring: Beware NATO Bearing Gifts this Solstice


Happy Solstice and Blessed Yule. I found a muse in the most unlikely of places today, the twitterverse. Today’s blog is inspired by the Christmas Carol, The Twelve Days of Christmas; and US/NATO “humanitarianism”. I have added the video with an instrumental so, if you find these lyrics catchy, please feel free to sing them!

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me; a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 2 neocons and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 3 French pricks, 2 neocons and a warmonger in an olive tree.



On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.



On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.



On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 7 Syrian rebels, 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 8 MB plotting, 7 Syrian rebels, 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 9 Libyans mourning, 8 MB plotting, 7 Syrian rebels, 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 10 ballistic missiles, 9 Libyans mourning, 8 MB plotting, 7 Syrian rebels, 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 11 Lords o’ pedophiling, 10 ballistic missiles, 9 Libyans mourning, 8 MB plotting, 7 Syrian rebels, 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.


On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; 12 tribes a warring, 11 Lords o’ pedophiling, 10 ballistic missiles, 9 Libyans mourning, 8 MB plotting, 7 Syrian rebels, 6 Gaza kids starving, 5 tungsten rings! 4 call girls, 3 French Pricks, 2 neocons, and a warmonger in an olive tree.


Have a Merry Christmas!


Elysium: Social Inequality, Sacrifice and Saturnalia


Yes, I rented Elysium because frankly the $1.20 rental from Redbox is much cheaper than the movie theatre. This movie makes the obvious social commentary of income inequality, even going so far as to have the Elites speaking French, and the lowly Earth-dwellers speaking Spanish. I found this contrite and frankly unnecessary, but that is my opinion. It is also a commentary on what lengths the Elite will go to withhold healing technology from the masses; how they will not hesitate to betray one another, and the preference of “cyborg-ism”. Elysium also makes a statement of the dangers of a police state, with very little human involvement. The preference of machine over man.


Elysium tells the story of Max and Frey, 2 children raised in a Spanish ghetto in Los Angeles, dreaming of reaching Elysium; the space station that is visible from Earth. The occult message is that the space station of Elysium is a pentagram contained within a circle. The pentagram is the sign of man, the 4 elements of earth, air, fire, water and the fifth is spirit. The fact that the pentagram is not inverted means that the spirit rules the elements. So the elite of Elysium are those that have “risen” above the baser dregs of society and ascended. The circle around the star means unity and wholeness infinitum. This is certainly the “illusion” of Elysium. As discussed previously, the Elite would betray one another for their own personal gain. Quite ironically, the Pythagoreans referred to the pentagram, or pentad, as “Nemesis” (punisher of overweening pride and hubris) or “Justice”. The Five erupts beyond the ordered bounds; the Crisis shows another world surrounds.” Indeed, Max intends to disrupt the Elites way of life, for his own selfish reasons at first.


Frey, Max’s childhood friend, moves out of the ghetto, becomes a nurse, and has a child with aplastic leukemia. Frey, or Freyr in Norse mythos, is the god who who dispenses peace, good weather, prosperity, and bountiful crops. He is also the brother of the goddess, Freya. Freya was the goddess of love and fertility; so naturally she would be the patroness of crops and birth. Clearly, Max’s childhood friend embodies both of these deities. These two are reunited at a hospital where Max needs treatment for a broken arm; which he acquired by the robot police. They meet again after Max has been made a cyborg of sorts and is stabbed. There is this little important detail that Max was severely irradiated at his work and only has five days to live. This, of course, occurs prior to Max’s cyborg-transplant.


Apparently, healing for the Elite occurs in what appears to be super tanning beds capable of scanning the body for any and all ailments; and then administering treatment. But, you must have an ID tattoo that actually merges with your DNA; so none of those nasty dregs can use an Elite’s ID for healing. In one of the first scenes, one Elitist has the head of Medusa at the foot of her super-duper tanning bed. This is the other blaring occult symbol. Most people know the story of how Perseus beheaded Medusa, and her head was placed upon the shield of Athena by the goddess herself. But most do not know how Medusa became a gorgon, as she was the only mortal among the three. She was a devout acolyte of Athena; chaste and pure. Poseidon coveted and lusted after Medusa and raped her in the temple of Athena. Athena, after realizing this rape had occurred in her temple, cursed Medusa for the rape. Poseidon was never blamed for the act. This curse turned Medusa into one of the gorgons. In ancient Libya, Medusa ruled over the regenerative mysteries of sex and death. In modern times, Medusa represents beauty, art, philosophy, and most interestingly; determinism and nihilism. In Elysium, she clearly is a symbol of regeneration.


The hero Max, dying of severe radiation poisoning wishes to go to Elysium to heal himself. As luck would have it, a rather nasty military-type goon with a South African accent kidnaps Frey and her sickly daughter Matilda; and is taking them to Elysium. So, our hero, who has downloaded all kinds of interesting “state destroying” information from his boss, hitches a ride with the nasty military types to trade the information in his brain for healing. Of course things go to hell in a handbasket, and our hero Max, at the end, sacrifices himself for the good of Matilda, and all those dregs of Earth. And so, the cycle of death, birth and rebirth, as in the case of Matilda, begins anew.


What does Elysium have to do with Saturnalia? Saturnalia was a Roman holiday that began celebration on December 17th [using the Gregorian calendar] and continued through December 3rd. Saturnalia was a celebration of all the aspects of Saturn, the god of agriculture, who is often depicted carrying a sickle; the reaper of the fields. It is this depiction that associates Saturn with death. Saturn is also associated with the Greek Titan Cronus, so he is quite complicated. Saturnalia was marked by carnival, exchange of gifts, feasting, license and misrule, and a cessation of all public works. Masters served slaves; kings were chosen by lot, usually from among criminals or slaves, to preside over the feast, given ass ears, and then slain. A sacrificial victim was chosen to represent both the god himself and the king-surrogate. It is this last aspect that relates to the movie Elysium as Max the ex-convict car thief, that is “elected” to represent the peoples of Earth and is sacrificed upon the altar of “The Greater Good”. In fact, one scene in the movie depicts Max as a child, being told by a nun that he has been “chosen” for a great destiny.


It was actually quite good timing for my viewing of Elysium, as it is now the time of Saturnalia. Saturnalia was also known as the festival of light. Most of the aspects of Saturnalia were incorporated into the Christian celebration of the Christmas season. In closing, have a blessed Saturnalia, Happy Yule, and Merry Christmas.




Veterans Day: A Celebration of Fear, Blood and Sacrifice


Today is November 11th, celebrated in the West as Veteran’s Day. Many are unaware that Veteran’s Day was once called Armistice Day; due to the Armistice of World War 1. You know, that “war to end all wars”. November 11th was not officially called Veteran’s Day until 1954 to celebrate all veterans, so as to include those veterans involved in the war of aggression against Korea.[1] The Korean War split a nation and cost nearly 2 million Koreans their lives. All this for some Cold War blustering.[2]


From the 1950’s until present day, there has been nothing but one war of aggression after another, none of which were fought for American freedoms, but for international corporate and banker interests. That’s it and that’s all. These interests include; white slavery rings, drug import and export, money laundering, black sites with torture, pillaging of a country’s natural resources and needless butchering of their citizens.

I, myself, am the granddaughter, daughter, niece, sister and cousin of veterans. I love my family. I do not love what they were involved in and why they were made to fight needless wars; as my father and uncles were drafted for Vietnam. My grandfather, a fantastically humble man, rarely spoke of what he saw while fighting the Japanese in the South Pacific. He would only talk about the topless women of Bora Bora. He would also mention, “Now Andie, don’t you be thinking them there Japs are small like they are on TV; ’cause they ain’t!” That was all he would ever say. He, like most that fought in WW2, were caught up in the moment, especially after Pearl Harbor. If only he would have known how manipulated his “patriotism” was; I’m not sure he would have chosen the same path.


My uncle, much like his father, is also an incredibly humble man. He also rarely ever spoke about the horrors he witnessed and was involved in during the Vietnam War. My uncle was asked by the US Army to train as a sniper; he refused. He never once told me why. The only thing he ever said about Vietnam was, “I’ll never eat rice. I saw my friends blown to bits in those damn rice patties. You could hold a gun to my head and never make me eat it.”
My father, a helicopter pilot in Vietnam, only discussed with me his PTSD trigger, the smell of blood. He mentioned doing wreck and recovery for the CIA and being recruited by Mossad. He refused. That was all he has ever confided in me.


As for my sister and cousin, they joined out of pride in their family service. As far as I know, neither have actually killed in their lines of duty. They are lucky ones.

Now, for the occult significance of Veteran’s Day:

War is a fear driven, blood soaked ritual that channels Saturnian death energy. I do not think this is an accident. Fear is one of the lower vibrational energies, along with Saturn that governs over the root chakra. The root chakra, signified by the color red, is the lowest vibrational chakra of the human body.[3,4] Red, in addition, was the color of the god of war. Ares in Greek myth, Mars in Roman myth. The significance of the number 11 in numerology is quite an antithesis to the low vibration of the Saturnian energy. 11 is referred to as a “master number” The number 11 “symbolizes the potential to push the limitations of the human experience into the stratosphere of the highest spiritual perception; the link between the mortal and the immortal; between man and spirit; between darkness and light; ignorance and enlightenment.”[5]
Perhaps that is the point of the celebration of the fear, blood and sacrifice of Veteran’s Day; to push that low vibration into another realm.


One thing is for absolute certain. War is a cycle of death for innocents and military alike. All are victims of the war machine.

syrian baby






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