Letter from America

A personal tale of travel in a period of tempestuous change

Lurking in the back of my head are many essays on weighty topics, but they can wait. My previous newsletter was put out on 25th September, nine days ago, and it is rare for me to go more than a week between missives. In that time I have experienced a violent hurricane, been pleasantly zapped with electricity, and endured a painful day in family court as observer. What I would like to do is share my own experience of being in America in this moment, with attention to day to day life, rather than geopolitics, activism, or litigation.

As context, I have spent a considerable amount of time in this country, and estimate around five years of my adult life have involved putting my sleepy head onto an American pillow at night. My crossings of the Atlantic are likely a three digit number, I lived in Kansas between 2001 and 2004 (including over the 9/11 attacks), my older daughter was born in Missouri, and my brother and his children live in California. I am no tourist, and my involvement in the Second American Revolution (or First Successful Emancipation) has tied be closely to this land and its people for many years. Even as a Brit, I know to put my waste into the trash can, not the rubbish bin.

The first ten days or so were to stabilise the legal and family situation, and enjoy the Tennessee September sunrises with the aid of jetlag. I was immediately glad to have paid the £70 extra baggage fee to bring my Starlink unit in its carry case — more on this later — being in a country cabin with no Internet access. The chaos in my personal world from a forced trip abroad left little room for public engagements, but a “church in the park” meetup in Franklin, TN brought together an eclectic and wonderful group of people on Sunday evening. Having left behind my own home and emergency supplies during times of upheaval, it is heartening to know there is accessible local support here.

My observations of the religious landscape in the Bible Belt deserve an article of their own. The essential insight is that a “spirit of competition” between denominations is dividing people of faith. The cost is borne by the children — who have no say in the matter. The top job of the church in totality ought to be to protect and minister to the young, and have stable trusting alliances with other congregations to address emergencies. America’s faith community is perhaps its greatest asset, but religious dogma adds in one of the most burdensome liabilities. It is easy to point to the debauched as sinful, but there is plenty of opposition to divine will among the self-righteous.

A trip to Lake Junaluska in the North Carolina mountains became unexpectedly exciting, as Hurricane Helene swept in. The days before were heavy rain, but nothing exceptional. The morning after the storm involved waking up to a new aquatic feature in the basement bedroom, and emergency messages on my phone saying the world had ended, or something to that effect. There was no cell service (on two different networks) and the broadband internet access was down. Thankfully there was power and water still, so the discomfort was minimal, even if there was inconvenience. Having a legal case to work on was the priority matter.

Starlink needs a wide clear view of the sky, something not on offer in the leafy street the Airbnb rental was in. This meant driving up to the top of a hill to park the car, and powering it up from the cigar socket and a DC/AC inverter. I cannot recommend Starlink highly enough — engineered like the world depends upon it, and the service itself is excellent quality. I insist on taking it everywhere with me, and have done for many months. Meanwhile, I and my accomplice could survey some of the damage done locally by the storm, as many roads had been flash flooded and filled with mud, and trees were down all over. Most local businesses were closed including gas stations, the supermarket was on a skeleton staff, and cash was king again in payments.

Skirting a long way around the disaster area on eerily quiet roads, the next stop was in central North Carolina for two days in the pleasant company of Don, aka Pepe Deluxe, who is on his 18th X/Twitter account as a veteran of the deplatforming wars. Some people just keep going because they have the “faith fuel” for the freedom fight, and somehow we can intuitively recognise that spirit in each other. The non-kinetic nature of irregular warfare, with a hybrid civilian/military digital militia, denies us the obvious status of “combat veterans”. I hope that the intensity of the psychological and spiritual warfare we have endured is fully recognised and appreciated in time.

While with one of my “brothers in virtual arms” I got to enjoy a free trial of some of the wellness services he is hosting in his business complex. I am suffering from something along the lines of complex PTSD from the years of information war stress, including this latest betrayal of trust that has dumped a fresh load of challenges on me. I endure loss of focus, draining hypervigilance, and avoidance of triggers — some days are more burdensome than others. Apart from constant travel, legal distractions, and no network access, getting these newsletters out demands me having sufficient peace inside me to write fluently, and that’s not always the case.

The first therapy I tried was an Equiscope, which has been used in horse medicine for some time. It is a kind of high-tech TENS machine, with many kinds of programs, such as for neurological issues or connective tissues. As I suffer sinus inflammation problems, I went for the “forehead and back” hookup of the electrical pads, and it is definitely an “active” feeling with almost hallucinogenic effects of light appearing in one’s vision. After 45 minutes I was in a deep calm — it reminds me most of spending a similar period inside a darkened floatation tank, something I have done a few times.

(More info.)

I also did a “scan” using another piece of kit that detects the resonant frequency of parasites inside you, and delivers a custom treatment plan. On top of that, I did light therapy — with intense infrared that penetrates deep — to destroy parasites as well as reset your vagus nerve. Finally, I learnt about how aromas like dark orange are used to treat PTSD in military veterans. While I have not been subjected to “bang, bang” trauma, I am dealing with the effects of medical genocide on me, particularly the indirect consequences from my loved ones being at risk of harm.

(More info.)

Afterwards, over the road, I enjoyed my post-therapy Patriot quesadilla. As I did so, a bulbous gentleman with an affinity for gravitational pull managed to crack one of the ball bearings in his bar stool. This is the ubiquitous crisis America faces — the metabolic poisoning of its people, and the morbidity and death this brings, as well as the costs of care and lost opportunity. It is easy to focus our attention onto government corruption, debt slavery, or even child abuse, none of which we can influence much at a personal level. It is never too late to start taking care of our bodily temple. I have made positive changes in my own life — addressing ambient anxiety and invasive parasites are next.

There is a strange sense as I go around the country of how most people are oblivious to what is going on around them, and have little sense of what is about to hit them. “We don’t get hurricanes here” applies to more than just one physical storm. We have to be ready to confront extreme events outside of our prior experience. As I type this I am sat on the sofa of a gloriously endearing and hospitable patriot, who simply messaged me on social media and offered me rest and nourishment. Each day is its own adventure, and safety comes from knowing most people are honest and want to do the right thing for their neighbour.

A shared dedication to their national cause makes Americans “familiar strangers”: we may never have met, but I know what you stand for.

Even if it is “neighbor” to y’all!

Maple leaves after the storm