Plans for the future …

This coming week comments will be reopened on non-Mathis posts. I will be watching for Team Mathis. If they jump on board, down they go again. I have no plans to write about him again, ever, though our other writers will do as they please. I know what I need to know. As Robert Zherunkel reminded us, the response two the two pieces was …

“The sound of an arrow hitting its target.”

I also agree with Robert about “… this innate drive in all people, the urge to confess. Not out of guilt or need for atonement. Sometimes it’s just to brag …”. A lot of good information came from Team Mathis in the early days. As the man I met in Taos said to us during the 2016 conference, roughly quoting, “With a limited hangout, take what is good and leave the rest.” I thank TM for the good information given us.

The TM response has been to call us spooks and agents, and enough people will believe that to allow the TM engine to keep chugging along. Fine by me. Maybe TM will back off genealogy and let go with some more secrets. Real ones.

I had a friend in high school, a very bright and funny guy named Dick. Because it was high school, egos were fragile and backbiting, cliques and gossip were hard to endure. We would kid each other, and at times he would be the object of kidding. He would draw back and say … “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you…”

Dick would stop there, and I remember it so well because I thought it was very funny. It also caused this mediocre student to take a good long look at that poem by Rudyard Kipling. It is beneath the fold.

And of course, Rudyard Kipling was probably a gay Jewish intelligence agent, and the poem “If” just another project.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too.
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster,
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make a heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!