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Today’s Toronto Star column by Heather Mallick reminded me of our ‘robocalls’ scandal of 2011, wherein various constituencies experienced automatic phone messaging with deliberately falsified information about candidates and polling stations.  When low level operatives were fingered for the deceptions they declared they’d been instructed by higher ups to do so.  When Elections Canada, after months of investigations, decided no charges would be laid because the few calls that could be tracked had no proven effect, Mallick opined that “it’s okay to plot a scandal as long as it ends up failing”, and she not only made me chuckle, but cast me adrift on the years of comparisons I’d made between ‘our elections’ the in the free West and ‘their elections’, shall we say, in the as yet untamed elsewhere.  Countries where riots, harassment, intimidation, bribery and assassination are all too common at election times, even when UN observers are present.

When the whiff of deception, outright fraud and bribery become apparent in ‘our’ elections we tut-tut and hope the the threat of conviction will curtail such skullduggery in the future, although it rarely does, particularly in America, where the democratic process, despite much ballyhooing, seems as much in peril as anywhere around the globe, I wonder how on earth we have the nerve to impose our high-falutin`values on others when we don’t abide by them ourselves.  As my mother, and no doubt yours, would say, the pot is calling the kettle black.

We solace ourselves by saying at least we don’t have soldiers in the streets or religious crazies telling us how to vote.  But surely we can aim higher than surviving an election to be duped again in four years.  One of the great lines in rock is The Who’s meet the new boss, same as the old boss, and despite its rabid contemporaneity, has a lineage of at least four hundred years (Oliver Cromwell, that staunch liberator from tyranny, was thus castigated), but we must, I feel, step beyond it’s outrage and into some brave new world of honesty and accountability.

Some will say I’m dreaming in colour, especially when they hear I’m going to talk about the ascension process, the astral plane and the reality of telepathy.  And by their lights they would be right.  But let me tell you about my lights.  The insistence, seemingly worldwide these days, of populations refusing the dictates of despots and demanding some sort of say in their societies and futures, suggests to me that we are, as humans, throwing off the shackles which bind us to outworn structures and systems.  More and more , it seems, authority exists to be questioned rather than blindly obeyed.

While some might see this as the inevitable product of greater education and leisure, I feel it as an aspect of the ascension process, where, as we rise in vibration ever closer to who we are in spirit between lives, we begin to share in that knowing that comes with astral consciousness, and even if that sharing is limited to brief glimpses and sly intuitions, it is still enough to propel us out of the mute acceptance of business as usual and things as they are.

Let me define astral consciousness as the inner knowing that life is eternal and nothing can really harm us despite the omnipresent political and environmental threats.  When we are ‘dead and loving it’ as the joke goes, we can, while in the midst of whatever paradise suits our expectation or fancy, look back at the life lived and forward to the one upcoming and see the games played, the sufferings endured and the lessons learned.  We can see what repelled, obsessed and terrified us, real as it was, were actually paper tigers with clockwork roars.  At its simplest and most common expression, astral consciousness gives folk that irrepressible hunch that their dearly departed are living another life, while patiently waiting for an inevitable reunion in a place of joy and pleasure well beyond the reach of oppressive authorities.

How it arises is a matter of conjecture amongst those, like myself, who ponder its presence and effects at length.  Is it always there, a light in a bushel basket covered with a cloth?  Does it inch its way to the surface, with each birth and death, experienced and witnessed, tearing at the fabric of the physical illusion?  Does it leak through, drip by drip, with each adventure out of the sleeping body to the realms beyond, leaving hazy recollections and intriguing textures in their wake?  Does its presence gradually increase with each life lived, as if the regimentation of fear and obedience was slowly losing its hold and leaving spaces for new knowing to fill?

That’s a few of the relevant conjectures.  I wander around them all, giving each its due.  Maybe, some are saying, we should give authority and its lawful structures their due.  Well, seems to me, and much of the rest of humanity, that authority figures and structures have, with the modern ease of deception, hopelessly corrupted themselves. If the figures are possessed of a moral compass, the structures they inhabited quickly disabuse them of that habit, or see to it that they are sidelined through manufactured scandal.

While not giving assent to the anarchic disruption which comes with revolution, I recognize its inevitability when the citizenry in authoritarian states believes it has nothing to lose.  In the wealthy shams of democracy which litter the West, our best bet is the whistleblowing and truth movements we see all about us.  While satire, in its print and theatrical versions, has served the West for centuries, the subtle complexities of reality misrepresentation that comes with modern technologies can best be undermined by fearlessly clever individuals determined to undermine the big lie with lots of little truths.

Right now the very mention of transparency and accountability indicate a sudden passage into the bullshit zone, a place we all recognize and smirk at.  But one day, in the not too distant future, with the continued rise of astral consciousness and our brave hackers and whistleblowers, those shopworn phrases will be unavoidable realities.  Why, because we will know. We will know from the inside, without doubt or fear.