That other night in Las Vegas

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When they started playing ‘Thank god I’m American where at least I know I’m free,’ I knew then that we were in a mind-control zone. Las Vegas is a place of entrancement and of illusion. My third eye glowed and pressed the entire time- I wasn’t going to be fooled or sucked in.

All this year my lips have refrained from alcohol- a message I received while with ayahuasca bid me to abstain for the year. It’s the first year since my early 20s I’ve not had anything to drink. On Bourbon St in New Orleans, the closest thing I’ve witnessed to Las Vegas, I tried all of the ‘drinks to have’ and, of course, wound up incredibly drunk in a near-stranger’s bed.

Being very sensitive, alcohol, paradoxically, was my way of coping with strong & base energies, cigarette smoke and ‘heavy’ environments. It gave me a kick of unconsciousness that I would’ve otherwise not had, and probably wouldn’t’ve been able to endure nor had the desire to engage in many of the social climes I’ve dipped in.

Yet tonight, and all this year, I’ve been thankful for this sobriety. My warrior self needs it as I connect dots and see all that I can see. We didn’t spend any money on the strip, save $2 for parking. We were driving through the area on our way to California from Arizona and thought, Hey, let’s check it out (in a “keep your enemies closer” line of thinking– and from curiosity). We tried the free slots on Freemont St. Ini got 2/3 on all three we tried. A man tried to rope us into some promo deal. We walked on.

Quickly I started to feel sick in the unnatural lighting, smoke and glaring emptiness. In an earlier moment I might’ve grabbed some booze to acclimate, so that I could actually be there/ stand the environment. Yet we walked on, observing all of the displays.

Only two people, out of hundreds, were dancing and singing as if they had won something significant. They were two older republican-looking men wearing near-matching Polos, skipping, arms around each other. Everyone else was wrapped up zombie-like staring at some half-naked dancing person, street display, or glued into the machines.

I knew we were in a mind-control area when that song started playing. Everyone stopped moving and many took their phones/cameras out and started videotaping the ceiling which became a uniform image of an American flag with scrolling military faces and fighter jets. Then that song came on. All noises collaborated with this one song. Every disparate energy became united beneath the American Flag. Drunk people started singing and tearing up. We were surrounded by patriots and, though previously they were like hotels flashing vacancy signs, they all suddenly woke up and started marching like wind-up toy soldiers. It felt like a moment at church when the people are moved by something that strikes you as preposterous. Yet everyone was playing along, entranced. That’s when I saw the thread connecting this reptilian lineage. Money, War, Oil, bright flashings lights (media) and the songs and symbols (flag) that tie it all together.

I learned that song in 5th grade. We sang it, all of the grades in unison, at our end of the year performance at Amy Beverland in middle-Indiana. It probably felt so good at the time, as we basically unconsciously learned this song, to all sing together, ages 6-10. The attempt at programming, you see, has passed by all of our gazes. It’s especially strong with the bright lights, naked dancers, cheap booze and possibility of winning thousands of dollars, but it’s as subtle as a McDonalds on every corner and the media craze of the ‘War on Terrorism.’ The Patriarchs from our country are terrorists enough; they ought to call war with themselves and leave our land and people alone.

As we drive away from the bright lights into the solitude and darkness of death valley, the moon rests in front of us. Yellow timeless crescent, she will far outlast these bright shining lights. Our culture is like a pigmy elephant riding the back of a large whale in the middle of the ocean the size of three worlds. It doesn’t make any sense and it is so very small in comparison… With time & galaxies firing and off setting.

Ayahuasca gave me this message, too, as we laughed into the night. We all are so small! Generations! Ha! It’s like the skin off of that Great Serpents back. Shed and shed and shed. We are like a flicker in comparison of the passing sands of time.

It’s good for me to remember this, to reflect with the moon as she sits there cradled in the sky and I feel the dark close in around me, the pressing dark of the cold desert night. In the reptilian game of bright flashing lights, the built up system of money, all of that illusion of external gain, it is good to feel the cold, powerful desert press close, womblike, as we ride into the night and I remember what endures as the stars shine overhead. Perhaps tomorrow we will be mesmerized and directed by our solar system’s brightest flashing light, our sun and further humbled by the heat. We are out of Las Vegas into Death Valley, after all, and that precludes a whole different game of survival.

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