The Spirit Of Accusation

I’m not angry at Viviane Fischer. Or the “port lawyers.” Or any of the people involved in the Reiner Fuellmich mess. Not per se.

I’m angry at the plague of lovelessness that characterizes everything, and has as far back as I can remember.

The pandemic plague of resentments, always idolized, nursed, sprung unto the world—these endless messes, like chem-trails, which you are then forced to poison yourself with.

How many of these do you think we weathered in the dissident fight?

Somebody was always bitching away about somebody else, or launching some weird Maoist denunciation campaign.

Who here comes from a broken home? Probably most of us.

Why did those homes break?

Because people were angry, and made idols of their anger; Intent upon proving the other parent was some kind of monster who deserved no love.

And every time you think maybe something larger than us might be unfolding, somebody comes along and makes the story all about their resentment, their satchel of Angry, never questioned, spiritually, or any other way.

Why person such and such must be destroyed.

I’m not angry at those who trash Peter Duesberg, who say he did more harm than good, (through he was doing all this “more harm than good” while standing in an ultra violent gap few could have endured.) I’m not angry at that—at the case being made, or the idea of it being “wrong.”

I’m angry that the water we swim in is so loveless.

And that applies to me too.

Failure to love is the only failure worth talking about, and we are all failing.

What is there to fight for, when there is no love to come home to, after it’s all said and done?

If Viviane and those “port lawyers” or Wolfgang Wodarg or whoever, had beef with Reiner, they could have dealt with it in a way that did not cause this Chernobyl spill of ugliness, pettiness, and demoralization.

And now we have to hang on every inscrutable detail of this ghastly trial in Göttingen, this typhoon of mind-numbing trivia, aimed at seeking justification for the collective welling up of sheer ugly a bunch of people felt for whatever reason, about Reiner.

And guess who is not in prison?

The actual perpetrators of the mass murder we all agree has taken place.

And guess who is happy?

(A certain rebellious fallen angel.)

And guess who gets spiritually infected, corrupted? Each one of us, when asked to interact with a morass of petty accusations that we are asked to approach as high moral crimes of the age.

What are we prevented from doing, or thinking about?

I’ve told you, when Richard Kotlarz was asked what he saw when he looked at the debt clock in Times Square, he said. “Everything we think about when we don’t think about love.”

Debt. Virus. Accusation. Skuld in German and Swedish (debt/guilt, same word.)

So who am I angry at?

Who?

It’s a spirit, that infects people through known portals, chiefly anger, also envy.

It wants to hurt, to cut, to diminish. It always pretends it has such good reason.

And spiritual illiteracy abounds among the very smart.