Kimberly Steele

According to the Michael Teachings, there are multiple timelines running alongside our own.  Some have ended in nuclear annihilation of the planet and others are milder variations of what we've already got.  I suspect -- I do not know this, I only suspect it -- that this is actually my second go-around as Kimberly Steele, which implies that I bungled up my first try badly enough to start over with a reboot courtesy of the gods.  This means I have already lived my life under passably similar circumstances, but this time around I have made different and hopefully better choices.   I asked if I would have a third go-around as Kimberly Steele and my divinations said No.

The weekend of July 14, 2024 was extremely weird and so was the time leading up to it.  In the period leading up to the attempted assassination of Donald Trump, the physical and astral weather both felt extremely constipated to me.  Yes, it is summer, and I live in the humidity belt that sits on the earth like a giant pregnant dog, heavily shifting here and there to unleash toxic farts of sodden, leaden air.  The mere presence of summer was insufficient to express the heaviness of the imagination that has sat upon this land since the early 1980s.  I remember the 1970s as a happier time when women in my neighborhood genuinely cared enough about each other to keep an eye on each others' children when we were all playing outside and running up and down the block.  There is no such animal now; it's a rare neighborhood where kids even play outside.  I remember when media wasn't the worst kind of cynical, poop-eating grin nihilism and when "going to the media" with your story could actually result in justice getting done.  There was a time when we didn't sit cheek to jowl with anger and fear like we do now.  

One common symptom of subtle plane degradation is bad drivers.  There used to be one obligatory asshat who weaves in and out of traffic trying to jockey for first position; now there are five for every crowded patch of road.  Another is fat children in schools.  It used to be that only one child out of the class was chubby enough to be called overweight.  Nowadays, the entire fourth and fifth grade class is overweight and a handful are morbidly obese. So when the air was thick and heavy for the last few weeks with astral conditions to match in the form of mildly unpleasant dreams, I wasn't exactly shocked.  We live in an awful, degraded Demonic Age.  

The Sister and Sons of War

The day after the attempted assassination of 45, a storm blew through that dropped 12 tornadoes.  Tornadoes whipped around as close to the city of Chicago as they have ever been.  Usually tornadoes steer well clear of Lake Michigan but not this time.  The atmosphere was changing in more ways than one.  It felt like a huge discharge of accumulated foulness.  

When an astral clog pushes downward toward the etheric plane, it polarizes much like cold and hot air do on the physical plane, creating a storm.  There is a release of energy that emerges as friction: lightning, thunder, hail, pounding rain, and tornadoes.  This is not to say human emotions are the root cause of all storms... they are not.  Human energy is only one chunk in a huge cauldron of constantly-moving energetic forces.   

That said, it is not at all unusual for an astral clog to result in a storm.  Astral clogs also cause war and disease as they evolve downwards.  The tornado dirty dozen was preferable to a hot war, which under our current murky astral conditions can easily flare up.  When mass astral-level anxiety breaks the fragile human walls of civility and pushes angry people to start raiding the resources of those around them, we call it war.  Think of yourself -- if your neighbor is a lunatic and you find out he is some kind of child predator, contemplate exactly how bad conditions would have to be in order for you to take justice into your own hands.  Maybe you live in a nice suburban situation right now, but imagine that place under worse circumstances where everyone is poorer and more desperate.  If your pedo neighbor is a direct threat to your child or has been caught harming or trying to harm your child, you might try to find a way to stop him.  Hell, I know I would.  If it was me, the neighbor would die and I would do my best to get away with it.  If I did get away with it, I would not care because I would perceive my child as being safer.  I would handle the karma as it came.  

Now imagine every other person is like me and every other person than that is a pervert.  Under bad conditions, we now have a war on our hands.  Ares, the god of war, is brother to Eris, goddess of discord and strife.  His sons are Phobos and Deimos, respectively gods of fear and terror.  (Religious literalists are so stupid.  As Sallust said, myths are the things that were always true but never were) This is a way of saying to the puny human brain that bad times bring war and war infects the population with fear and terror, begetting more strife and war.  It's no mystery that famine and disease hover like specters around times of war.  Not only do famine and disease cause each other physically, the astral images of war beget famine by giving us the urge to make others starve as we have starved.  War is based in the fear the other guy has more than you, so you march over and take it and/or you are the victim of him taking yours.  Disease is merely the symptom of fractured consciousness, and this is not a statement that implies the fractured consciousness can or should be fixed.  Disease is part of the consequence of a ripple emerging from a tear or warp.  The tear or warp pulsates and replicates the shape of its damage and casts the reflection of its opposite state.  Mao and Stalin ripped down the world of higher aspiration in their rapacious greed.  The physical reflective image was that they stayed fat while the common people wasted away.  During the calamitous 14th century (tip of the hat to Barbara Tuchman and her book A Distant Mirror) Popes attended orgies in gold and jewels while the people blackened in the armpits and groins and simultaneously crapped and barfed out their entrails.  Nowadays, the elite glitterati are Ozempic thin while the diabetic masses swell and bloat, their clogged hearts bursting with atrophied fats.  

You Only Die Twice?

There has been some conjecture as to multiple deaths where Dr. Ruth Westheimer and Richard Simmons are concerned.  I remember Dr. Ruth dying many years ago.  I believe it was around 2002.  Nevertheless, media reports say she died the week of July 14, 2024 as did Richard Simmons.  I also have fuzzy memories of Richard Simmons dying less than a decade ago, but mass media reports that the reclusive Simmons was hiding and not dead all these years.  I am nowhere near alone in my fuzzy recollections of hearing about these two celebrity deaths before the year 2024.  What is truly odd is that the timeline seems to have shifted as of the July 14 weekend and as the shift gets into higher gear and the branch/road splits off, the new reality of the two celebrities dying in 2024 supplants the old one of them dying in the early and mid-2000s.  Because it doesn't truly concern me and mine, the new memory implants itself in my consciousness as if it was always there despite people supposedly not being able to die twice.

Skeptics rally with a cry of "NONSENSE!" but the whole point is the convergence or divergence of various threads in the tapestry of spacetime does not depend upon anyone's single consciousness of it, nor does it depend at all upon human awareness or perception.  Spacetime, from what traditional occultism as well as my own personal guides tell me, is an illusion.  One thing that has greatly eased my mind about my father dying in 2023 is his own reassurances from beyond the grave that it won't be all that long in the scheme of things before I see him again, and this is if I live a long natural life.  For the only part of my father that ever mattered and the only part of me that truly matters is our higher selves, and those never became remote from each other despite the occurrence of his physical death.

Parallel Worlds

As above, so below.  Everything is a fractal, so why would our souls in spacetime be any different?  Let's presuppose there is a timeline running alongside ours -- one of many, perhaps -- that is either a reflection/reverberation of ours or ours of it's.

In this alternate timeline, Trump was felled by the 20 year old's bullets and the lower and middle classes went to war with the elites.  They began with Haley Kalil, torching her beautiful apartment.  The Met Gala of 2025 turned into a bloodbath.  Celebrities foolish enough to attend found themselves running like Hunger Game tributes, hiding under tables as snipers rained bullets on their fancy food and ice sculptures.  For some, it felt like justice served, but in the riots that ensued, there were lots of hardworking, honest people caught in the crossfire.  War has the unfortunate effect of motivating the have-somes to take from the have-nots.  

Therefore if you think this kind of elite takedown will positively affect your local economy in anything but the very long term, you're an idiot.  Everyday life became much more hellish in the parallel timeline for most regular people.  Lawlessness spread through the land.  The governor of the state where Alternate You lives was suddenly disappeared, never to come back.  A junta arose to take his place.  Then that junta was deposed for another junta.  Keep in mind politics in all of our timelines have become a game of Kick the Can Down the Road So Someone Else Can Deal With It.  If Alternate You's timeline is run by a cadre of violent mobsters, it is anyone's guess if supply chains will flow or even trickle.  Trains running on time?  Probably not.  Highways free and clear of opportunistic brigands?  Probably not.  Armchair warlords should be careful what they wish for.

One Life to Live

I will speak only for myself, but this sad little pea brain can only grok one timeline at a time.  There may be a zillion lifetimes and a zillion universes to match but I have only got the mental capacity to "do" this one.

I believe the timeline I am currently dwelling within is more happy and positive than whatever one I was in before the fateful weekend of July 14.  My spirit guides were kind enough to throw me a bone of what I perceive as agreement.  They said that this new, more positive timeline is the result of a growing number of individuals taking on genuine spiritual work.  Some of them (very few and that is OK!) are doing Druid stuff like me, talking to the spirits of the land, sitting down under trees, slogging away with Western-style discursive meditation, performing the Sphere of Protection or other banishing ritual every day, and consulting the Divine via divination and prayer.  Others are on the old, venerable Christian path of living a modest, minimalist life of good works, hard labor, and humility.  Some have no declared religion at all and appreciate the divine by being grateful and generous alone.  Once again, it boils down to being the change you want to see in the world.  If you want the collective consciousness to shift for the better (or to continue down our seemingly new and improved branch of evolution) start with your own consciousness.  It is never too early nor too late to say Thank You.  Don't be like J.Lo or Joel Osteen.  Give a lot when you only have a little.  Work like you never needed the money and love like you have never been hurt.  Understand that every choice matters, from the small bit of laughter and warmth you give to the girl waiting on you to the benefit of the doubt you give to a corrupt society in which you are currently trapped.  It is never too late to become a better person.  If you have been a terrible person in the past like I have been, the only place to go is up.  You are the country.  You are the spirit of the land.  Though you may not get to direct the entire force of your timeline, you can choose what you do with your unique part of it, starting right now.