Connections – And The Outsider Returns

Red Mist self portraitTwitter has changed vastly since Jemima Kiss shared almost every moment of her life on it. “I am opening the door.” “I am walking out the door.” That kind of thing. It was mundane and many journalists and early adopters also prattled on in similar mini soundbites.

Proles like me bought in to it to compare our little lives with those of the perceived great and good. It was mostly boring but strangely compelling.

Then it changed. And not necessarily for the better.

Over time, big stories broke. Celebs used it to fire up their fan bases. But, mostly, it became – and still is – a serious battle ground with occasional moments of charity or levity. A chatroom for like minds or fencing with the ‘enemy’.

In my Floreo days, I used to write endless blog posts, sharing my life and thoughts – hoping that I could teach through sharing.

To keep relatives happy, I’d use code words. My Ma was my number one fan and wanted to read every word, so they’d be printed out and sent to keep her happy.  And there were millions of words written. Mostly inoffensive. When anything political was mentioned, it’d be fighting verbally for something honourable, like stopping unjustified wars.

I did get kicked out of Angmering Medical Centre for accurately describing the obese doctor and her total lack of professionalism, but mostly my select few regular readers enjoyed my take on my spiritual journey.

Book Sales And Brand Building

With social media, an opportunity presented itself to do some low-key brand-building. Facebook (back then) was just for keeping in touch with family, friends, schoolmates and erstwhile work colleagues. Status updates generally avoided anything contentious.

Then came Twitter.

Twitter

I’m definitely not the kind to beg for followers so precisely how my ‘brand’ would be noticed was not something I was overly concerned with. Post things that are interesting and those with lively minds would soon check in. Or out.

Twitter can be pretty ruthless.

Though I have remained true to my principles of never blocking anyone on any social media platforms, I have lost count of how many have blocked me – usually those quick to carp and criticise but extraordinarily sensitive about receiving any in return. Or nonentities with massive followings enjoying power and control. I was going to say power and control over who could see or respond to their tweets, but, as I discovered relatively recently, you can set up other accounts with different names. Curiosity sated!

Nine times out of ten, any blocking was down to a momentary hissy fit. With several thousand followers and millions more Twitter users, why bother connecting politely with someone who may not have the same views?

Thinking Aloud

Unlike the original Twitter MO of sharing every waking moment, I tweeted as a means of thinking aloud. Perhaps if I was living with someone, I might not have bothered, but it made me feel like I had a voice. There again, I didn’t really expect to be read let alone have people comment in some way. There were, and still are, literally millions of tweets every however long, so to be noticed by even one person was more of a shock than a ‘pleasure’.

Not the road less travelled

While I have never aimed for, wanted – or got – a large following, I did still get a few book sales, and some tweets managed to get a healthy response. Sadly, not necessarily the tweets I would have liked and that’s when it started to feel unhealthy. The road much travelled.

Worse, it changed my own communicating patterns.

Now, I started to chat online with others, responding to tweets seen in my timeline. Pestering politicians. That latter really only happened in earnest while campaigning for Brexit. And – this is the mystical bit – it meant tuning in to different people, to different group minds.

Etheric Ties

in mystical parlance everyone we connect with whether sexual or not forms an etheric tie of some kind. For those less self-aware, it can lead to depression and strange feelings of being pulled down. Equally, loving vibes are also picked up as a general feeling of well-being. Then there are the virtual sex vibes as well as those having violent reactions to something. Thankfully, not often with the latter.

I am lucky enough to be able to differentiate and understand those EMFs. Many cannot and I think, from a mystical viewpoint, that is one reason for depressive states.

Increased Divisions

I am not remotely depressive but the endless divisions over one thing or another were starting to fray my EMFs!

At least I can honestly say I am an equal opportunities critic! A Tory voter and erstwhile member but I still take my party to task; a child of South Indian parents who will stand no racist comments from the likes of @PriyamvadaGopal and a host of other BAMEs (a wretched acronym I cannot stand); not letting whites who might share the same political goal (ie Brexit) get away with making racist comments.

The ones who do are invariably as thick as ten planks but have an unhealthy following who lap up their nasty mindsets.

And for the record, it is not racist to want an end to uncontrolled immigration – especially Islamic migrants. Demographic change is already starting to topple the foundations of this country aided by white Marxists and their statue-toppling. It will not end well either way.

One-Sided Connections

So, having been typing this till 3am this morning, the times are changing for me. Or perhaps I am just returning to my original habits and self.

For a long time, I have felt deeply uncomfortable even superficially connecting with people who keep their identities hidden. A couple have granted me the very great kindness of sharing their actual names and photos. And I will clearly honour their confidence.

The odd political repartee whether pro or con is not a problem. It’s when personal comments are made, and you do not know their names or what they look like. It is creepy and one-sided. Unknown people with fake names and fake profiles which give them their slimy confidence to make personal comments about others. Ugh!

Or you might connect for a moment with someone and then totally out of the blue, they unfriend or unfollow you. The etheric ties ping and those with a more emotionally sensitive disposition would be very hurt.

I am not sure what I feel. Irked that I gave them my time and attention? More than likely.

Undoubtedly some seem genuinely friendly and occasionally helpful, but many are the equivalent of baying hordes at gladiatorial games. They cling to Twitter’s teat like over-grown children and aren’t remotely interested in metaphysics let alone my spiritual art. It’s watercooler politics and chitchat at best.

Wrong Road Travelled

But beyond the shared space and not so shared minds there is the more important issue of my spiritual journey.

What I perceive as my purpose was getting lost in interim politics however serious things may be – and 2020 certainly has had more than its share of horribly serious issues.

I think I was trying to justify it to myself that somehow this was working towards that purpose. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

Parler

Socmed still has its place. And I still need to use whatever gifts God gave me for what I believe is the right path.

Parler is less user friendly but is a clean start. No more mundane witterings on Twitter – or Parler for that matter. No political bunfights. Maybe.

Twitter will be to keep abreast of what is happening – even of life’s underbelly. Parler for political commentary. And this blog and Facebook for everything else. Maybe.

And finally

Histamine levels have been horribly high all day not helped by major reaction from some creams and potions over the last couple of days. Sneezing, coughing, itching…

So those creams and potions were tipped down the sink in the early hours and I’ve been deeply grateful I have not seen anyone today!

I do want to address the issue of ageing as well – something better suited to a blog post than 200 character tweets.

Apart from the melasma & thinning eyebrows I am currently in very good nick but I do find myself looking for signs of decrepitude! I half wonder which will collapse first – the Western world or me.

And, on that cheery note, that’s it for now. (The painting is a self-portrait called Red Mist. It seemed apt at 3am.)

 

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