A Writer's Absence Explained

...The Importance of Family

The world as I’ve witnessed it over the past four years has riveted my attention— perhaps to a certain point of distraction. The worldly world is in actuality a somewhat limited experience, except for the opportunity to experience one’s most profound spiritual lessons.

On the one hand I feel I should never avoid scrutinizing the sordid details in plain sight—the duplicitous hypocrisy of corporations and hackable politicians—all of which are an indication of the Agenda. Most of my readers who have been following along with my observations know who the players are by now. Most of us might even be wondering where Klaus (the WEF guy) has been hiding, or if he’s even alive [update: in accord with one notable source, Schwab was removed by the white hats]. Meanwhile the AI-Technocratic juggernaut is chugging along and the pace is ever-quickening.

What recently disrupted my usual writing output was a family death; even though I don’t exactly believe in the idea of death. Of course there are many dimensions at play, so physical ‘bodily death’ is an aspect of the spectrum of the totality.

When one’s mother passes from this lifetime, and timeline, the void experienced is akin to a vacuum. I now know this. It’s heart breaking. The emotional reality is some type of emotional vacuum with a very substantial dose of loss. The type of loss that cannot be fixed or explained through language (although poetry, or a song’s lyrics might convey a sense of this sort of loss). It’s the most real and raw experience any of us can have; a loss that dwarfs the Globalist terror show currently in play.

So, rather than writing articles, I’ve been focused on other more intimate life details even as I’ve been reviewing Substack articles, and a few Russell Brand and Tucker Carlson-newscasts. I might’ve limited the time spent down the rabbit hole while visiting the hospital regularly, and yet—I still have a pretty good idea of what is happening in the material realm regardless of profound family affairs.

Family and the values within our families of origin are most important when looking at the world drama-rama. In a profound sense— every lesson of great importance we have learned within our families of origin. One of my favorite retorts to anyone who says they don’t bother following “politics” is posited by the question: “Do you have a family?” Usually the person replies, “Of course I do.” Then I say, “Then you have dealt with, or are now dealing with a political situation within your family.” Politics begins in the home. How we negotiate the terms of our emotional transactions happens first within the home; then we take our lessons and survival formulas out into the world.

Watching our parents engaged in arguing, and reaching a negotiated compromise (hopefully) also teaches us the art of politics. “Politics” may be defined as “public affairs”, and what we do in public must first be learned at home among our siblings and parents. ‘Who we Be’ is informed by ‘how we are raised’, and especially how we are taught to define ethical and morally responsible behavior. This might suggest that a child born unto a politician defined as a “hack”, or “charlatan/hypocrite”, or “career-player” could very well exhibit the same types of behavior of their parent(s), aka: “The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I wonder what Anthony Fauci’s parents and his upbringing were like?

The Gift of Life, and our Mother’s incredible Selfless Gifts

My mother was an extraordinary human being, and I imagine most children feel this way about their mothers—unless the mothers were damaged and became examples of narcissistic and selfish amoral monsters. I’ve read some stories that would make a sane person’s hair stand on end. I was most fortunate in having a healthy, balanced, emotionally available mother who made the lives of her children a priority. Lucky me.

My mother-Catherine (1931-2024)

LESSON OF IMPORTANCE:

#1) Society should never underestimate the value of families.

What I’ve come to learn is that our parents had to deal with the same hurdles and obstacles as their parents before them. Unless one is born a Rockefeller, most of us have witnessed more than our fair share of impediments to our prosperous intentions. Owning the Bank changes the game considerably.

My mother’s values influenced me, especially when it came to ‘inequity and injustice’ (the pre-woke variety definitions of those terms, suffice to say.) Catherine introduced me to the idea that the Taxation of a citizen’s wages was unconstitutional. She supported the work of anti-taxxer, Vivian Kellems. I’m reasonably certain that mom sent Kellems a few contributions for her patriotic efforts.

Other than her fierce stance regarding the unconstitutional tax on workers wages, Catherine often repeated the line about ‘Greed’ being one of the main causes of misery in the world. She was a Kennedy liberal—which is to say that she was cut from Classic Liberal cloth. Her parents were decent hard working people. My maternal grandfather was an civil engineer who worked for the city, while my grandmother worked as a doctor’s secretary.

Education, and her one true passion

When my mother went to what was then called a ‘junior college’ in southern Maryland, she pursued musical theater. She loved music and loved to sing and perform in theater. I later learned that her ambition was to attend Northwestern University, known for its theatrical reputation at the time. This dream did not come to fruition, but she did end up working as an emcee for a theater that was a summer stock venue during the 1950’s. That’s where she met my father who was on the Theater’s Board, and thus I was ushered into the world a year or so after they were married. Incidentally, my father who was nicknamed, “Bud” was a serious book collector and had paid handsomely for first editions of James Joyce and Mencken. He was also a skilled sculptor; however, he sublimated his artistic talents in order to embrace the role of ‘self-made American industrialist and businessman.’

The marriage was doomed in the end, and lasted until I was four years of age. Separation ensued, and then divorce. Dad was a good businessman but not a great husband or father. Despite dad’s shortcomings, Catherine managed to raise two children— and later by the 1970’s, pursued her life’s passion—acting and theater.

I have her acting portfolio and count it as one of my most valued possessions. She was in many ways, my first, and most important creative inspiration. Her Pisces sun sign attributes manifested in many ways, to include—gardening, interior decorating, music (she also played piano), and theater. She was a talented creative soul. Her spontaneity and enthusiasm for living were infectious. Later, when I was in my teen years my friends would remark: “Your mom’s so cool.” She was open-minded and loved life, and I suppose that translates as, “cool.”

Catherine wasn’t much for discipline (in some ways detrimental for me—especially during my rebellious teen years.) It might be a minor miracle that I never went to jail. On one bored afternoon after school I went off to a department store intent on shoplifting two albums, The Beatles-‘White Album’, and The Who’s-‘Tommy.’ I was apprehended on an escalator before I could make my escape, and mom dutifully came to the police station to pick up her juvenile delinquent son. As I recall, she barely scolded me. It was more of a nuisance to her that she had to stop gardening in order to rescue her son.

There were also the meetings with the junior high school’s ‘truancy’ enforcer (with a glass eye and German last name—Juchs, pronounced: ‘Yucks’). Catherine was not concerned with the school’s educational standards (or my penchant for playing hooky—although she didn’t encourage this behavior). Herr Juch’s standards of education would rank far below her maternal grandfather’s legacy at a historically recognized military school in St Mary’s County. Her grandfather, known as ‘Pop Coad’, taught Latin and Greek and was also a headmaster of the Charlotte Hall Military school. The admonishments and disciplinarian tactics of Herr Juchs did not impress my mother one iota. Juch’s fear tactics didn’t work on me either, i.e., the threats of sending me to a “Training School” sounded like Orwellian hogwash(which they were—just hogwash).

It’s truly fascinating to consider that the government’s re-education affiliates were called, “Training Schools” back in the day; whereas, in today’s realm we have examples of the same sort of thing in terms of Jordan Peterson being put through a re-education process to erase any anti-woke, anti-neo-liberal leanings that he might entertain as sane and logical critical thinking.

My mother was an iconoclastic personality in her own right—so there was little I could do to concern her when it came to my adventurous explorations as a curious youth. Which elicits memories of another event: mom had no qualms about the westward adventure a buddy and I embarked upon at 16 years of age. We got a ride out west to visit Boulder, Colorado in a VW bus with a couple of Twenty-somethings. I had never traveled without a parent before. When we reached Boulder, our VW drivers dropped us off and we were on our own.

My friend and I spent a couple of weeks camping out and seeing the sights before deciding to hitchhike home in order to more seriously pursue careers in music. But not before being apprehended by a sheriff and deputy in Nederland who made us evacuate our campsite on private property, and took us to the station for questioning. We were underage and had no notes from our mothers that indicated we had permission to travel so far from home—roughly 1500 miles away.

We were instructed to stay in Nederland until permission papers arrived from our moms. My buddy and I both had long hair and looked like the types that might smoke the herb (which we did.) Due to our appearance, one deputy chose to tell us the story of the wayward teens who had sniffed glue and met their grizzly end as brain damaged idiots. I never wanted to sniff glue in my life, but I guess the deputy was just trying to play the dad role and set us off on the good foot. Our moms sent the permission notes— and three days later after the altercation, we were allowed to leave Colorado.

MORE THEATER…

During my mother’s active theater chapter I saw her multiple times and was entertained and amazed by her transformations into different characters. I loved the idea of my mom being up on stage doing what she loved to do. Her courageous self expression fueled my own confidence in performing as a musician in a rock band years later. I loved the theater of it all, the lights, the club’s excitement—the energy! Years later I would pursue acting professionally—studying with world renowned acting teacher, Eric Morris (but that’s a story for another time.)

One of mom’s most memorable performances was when she portrayed Mother Jones.

Catherine as Mother Jones

She made herself into a much older woman, and her natural beauty was nowhere in sight. She received wonderful reviews on the local theater scene. What I learned from her life’s example was that acting for the sheer love of the process is far afield from an ego- directed need for recognition or fame.

My mother was never a famous actress in the sense of Hollywood spectacle. She did act in a soap opera on TV once upon a time. And the casting director who believed in her potential is a renowned TV and Film casting director, Mary Jo Slater. If this name sounds familiar—have you heard of her son, the actor, Christian Slater?

RECENT YEARS

For the last two years I played the role of primary caregiver. Catherine told me several times that she didn’t want to go to a nursing home—she wanted me to take care of her. I felt a sense of loyalty to her, and wanted to honor her wishes, even when I felt like a slave or felt overwhelmed. I often said to her, “I’m not a nurse”, and “I’m doing the best I can.” Many times I’d lose patience with her physical limitations, even as mild dementia was setting in. She had acute vertigo as well—which led to her inactivity which contributed to her demise. When she was no longer able to walk (approximately 7 months ago following a minor stroke) she began to age more quickly. Despite her physical body’s disintegration, her visage still appeared as extraordinarily beautiful—especially while she was laying upon a pillow about to sleep.

Two weeks ago Catherine suffered a heart attack (and no—she never got the jab, and was also quite confounded by the masks and pLandemic) and I called 911. She was suffering from hypoxia when I called for help. The first responders arrived, followed by an ambulance shortly thereafter. Then we were swept off to the closest hospital where she went into the intensive care unit. They intubated her (and I hated to see this—but she had to breathe or she would die.) The next day she awoke and I felt there was hope. Two days later they removed the ventilator hose and had her on oxygen and an IV. The next couple of days were very frustrating for Catherine, and for me. When I arrived, she would say , “I want to go home.” I wanted her to go home—perhaps more than she did. I knew the hospital was sapping her strength and killing her spirit. I had a hospital bed and oxygen machine and a suction machine delivered to her apartment on the day she was supposed to go home. Unfortunately, she passed before she could leave the hospital.

She went into the hospital on April 11th at around 1:00 am, and she left this world on April 20th at approximately 10:10 pm, which was a Saturday night. I held her hand as she took her last breaths. I spoke to her during the last stages of life on Earth, and afterwards, because I believe she was in her etheric phase of departure from the physical body. Who really knows how much communication occurs between the dimensional veil?

I repeated many times that I loved her, and that she was on a journey and to ask for guidance during her transition. They don’t teach us how to die in our society. The healthcare program is not holistic, nor is it ‘holistically’ sane in most ways; although I do appreciate and understand why the nurses and doctors do what they do.

I miss Catherine. Her spirit for living, her creativity, her blessings as a parent. I am grateful for her companionship, her love, and her genuine support during this lifetime. I wish to honor her memory as a writer-creator; film maker; musician-artist, and most of all— as a genuine Human Being.

Error correction:

During my phase of mourning I didn’t catch a Freudian Sleight I typed in this tribute.

I only noticed recently that I erroneously typed the name of a junior high school administrator as “Fuch.” I recognize a bit of subconscious snarky humor in the mistake, however—the corrected name spelling is “Juchs”, which was pronounced: Yucks. Either way, none of the students or my peers liked the man.