Are Trillions Of Us Enough To Be Called Legion?

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My gut bacteria are in a constant state of war over who gets to control my decisions about what kind of stuff I put in my mouth. I haven't been aware of this interminable war of the germs that uses my gut lining as their habitat of choosing, or not, depending on who is currently winning this war of woids (words, woe-to-the-id-s). Alas and alack. Yabba, dabba, doooooo!.

The daily consumption of medicines and additives can be a perilous business. Particularly the inorganic ones tortured into being by trickery and/or force. It's not that I'm unfamiliar with the concept. My previous encounters with the "he who has the gold, rules" theory of Capitalism happened inside of big industrial plants I worked at doing shutdowns.

Some or part of every industrial plant will be completely shut down for a limited period of time for the sake of maintaining the manufacturing system itself. Parts have to be repaired or replaced. Scheduled shutdowns are the most apt time to upgrade such systems for making value-added products.

One such job was done for one of the Dupont plants. It's a large plant that occupies a huge industrial campus, but basically, it's a one-trick pony. It makes polyester threads of various color and sizes to make household objects like rugs and carpets, and in some plants, polyester threads from which uncomfortable, sweaty clothes are made of.

My point is that polyester is not a natural product like cotton or silk. It requires huge industrial plants that cost billions of dollars to build and maintain. I'm trying to establish that as an external example of what's going on externally with man-made products as opposed to what goes on internally with man-made, prescription-only drugs instead of herbs and roots and jeweled amulets made and worn for a pretty penny.

Prednisone is one such man-made drug that has no brain receptors for it's best use as traditionally done by centuries of step-by-step acclimation to what might ordinarily or previously hurt you. Maybe not physically hurt you, but drive you to exasperation because your limited brain don't know what to do with this powerful new shit.

It's easy to imagine that many people might just shut down and die rather than devising new coping strategies. It gets worse with age. Nobody likes to change their old way of doing for what might turn out to be a passing fad, but sometime it's true.

"If you snooze, you lose." "To hesitate is to lose." "Why am I always the last to know?" These adages and quotes come in every case from a masculine point of view. To more than a few, for all kinds of reasons, most men won't even challenge such a proclamation because they'll be forced to defend it. Who wants that?

There is in nature a quick willingness to let the other be the Alpha male, at least in face value. I believe it's nature for some men to have many wives because they can afford them, and for many more men to be satisfied with one wife or less. In my specific case, it's been one wife at a time every once in a while.

This I am is (mostly was) only a part-time Alpha male at best, and slyly even at that. Physical confrontation for the favors of an impregnable female has never been my bag. I was much more likely to hang around woodpiles for secret open encounters while the master is away. I bear shame. Not much. Just enough to make my slinking around the edges unsuspicious because real.

Women always know the truth about men (?) like me. I am is not here to change the world. It is not a world savior. I was a hitch-hiking beggar for years. I know better to hold on to physical objects that have no real use than to make my load unnecessarily heavier.

My entire spirit quest seemed full to the brim with the temptation of adored objects. My quest was a process of learning to not adore physical objects. It was about letting go rather than holding own. YMMV.

Sometime in the past I was given a reason to support the notion that this particular Earth School was designed to produce Galactic Gods. The reasoning was that there are billions, perhaps trillions of galaxies 'out there' who go batshit crazy because they don't have their own God.

This reach for prophecy has never been a crowd pleaser. Since it didn't cause my audience members to reach deeper into their change purses. I sort of let it slip into the background. I don't like it much when something happens to make it pop back into relevance. Such is the case with it's relation to probiotics.

The similarity between my rap about Earth as a school for Gods and probiotics is the sheer numbers. Trillions of godless galaxies. Trillions of gut bacteria. Learning to be the virtual God of trillions of gut flora could be a small example of the skills and talents needed to manage multiple solar systems all rolled up into One spiral galaxy.

What I don't understand about learning to be a God so that I can serve some uber God by managing one of it's many galaxies with aplomb, is why does this need to be so? What's the point. It's just another job, man, and I hate working for The God of Gods (as macrocosm) just as much as in this microcosm. Whatta they tyke me fer... a fool?

This is not my first rodeo. I went to another one. Once. In Pendleton, Oregon. Free. I got carried there on somebody else's dime because they wanted a redneck like me to see how "real men" had fun. I went. Why would I not? There were also free beer and western barbecue (not barbeque).

None of those "real men" needed to know I was a hardened "unreal" man. How could each time I granted my detractors the satisfaction of saving a wimp from a fate worse than death, to them, if each person who "saved" me didn't truly believe I was their projection of themselves?

It was impossible for me to get this kind of action living a domesticated life of any sort, and especially married with children. How can one's behavior reach out to those who want to use you to save themselves if they have to compete with what they already walked away from? People wanted to save themselves from what they were. Not from what they might be.

I've written about it before. I told about hitch-hiking around North America time after time, coast to coast, and some days I got "saved" for Jesus more than once a day. As many as five or six times a day. The world saviors aren't good for a long ride. They wanna save you for Jesus right damned now. They ain't got no time for lollygagging. They only got their lunch hour to rack another convert for Jesus.

It took a while for me to understand that it was a good thing for me to let them "save" me. It almost always meant some food or shelter. Maybe both if I appeared to need more than a quick salvation. After this dynamic revealed itself to me again and again, I became a sort of quick study on how to predict what these particular type of drivers were up to.

If they were in a hurry to save me from my immortal sins, and for to let Jesus become my personal savior through their prayer for me, then I had to let myself become the prey of their prayer. I had to feign innocence of guilt. I had to act like they couldn't reach the likes of me with their personal Christianity. I had to force them to be-co-me Alpha males to keep Jesus from being ashamed of their lack of faith in His power.

That's why I figure I was sent on my "go-ye-therefore" spirit quest. I had to find my spirit animal. I had to know it was me. It took others needing my me to save them from their own lack of insight to realize all of us ignore that mind is speech, and speech is mind.

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