I wrote this post Sunday October 3rd. It will be posted October 4th. We often work that way on this blog, so I’m not sure why I am mentioning this now.
There are currents of intuition flowing through me, but I do not understand them. It’s often like that, and then a poem comes through and I understand.
I need to sit down now and try to write that poem. My hands are trembling.
Here comes a perception: Francine is doing something she’s not saying, something she didn’t tell Oxadrenals when he interviewed her to write the current narrative. I sensed it twice. First, when she says this:
Who else should take the responsibility? Better a secular humanist than a religious fanatic, a scientist than a politician. Robert Oppenheimer hadn’t wanted the responsibility either. “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” But he knew he had to make the atomic bomb for America because if the Nazis got it first, imagine the horror. Einstein, Darwin, Nelson Mandela—they’d taken on huge responsibilities. And Richard too. Having to bomb his friend. She admired greatness of spirit in others; could she find it in herself?
Take responsibility for what? For creating immortality? Probably that’s what Oxadrenals thought. But he’s not well attuned to her. I think he missed something. The examples she gives (Oppenheimer building the atomic bomb, Richard having to bomb his friend — a story he told Francine in Narrative 4) invoke people who have to make a terrible decision. What terrible decision is she making?
And then again at the very end:
“But after the two men left, Grey Fog vanished, and she saw what she would do.
What is it she’s decided to do?
She heard Father Bruno’s voice in her head. “Take down your harps from the willow tree, oh my people, and return thee to Zion.”
What does she mean? What terrible choice is this noble, simplistic, brilliant, un-self-aware woman about to make?
The Illuminati are facing an equal
A soul of nobility unstained by evil
Disinterested, well-meaning, trusting and gentle
Foolish and powerful, upright and broken
One of our possible futures is held in her hands.