THE ROAD TO WEMBLEY …
… AND THEN WHERE?
The David Icke Newsletter Goes Out On Sunday
Humanity is at a fork in the road with reality-changing, or reality-not-changing, decisions to make and so am I, really. Where from here? I don’t know and I am just waiting for the energy to move.
Getting on for a quarter of a century of airport-hotel-venue, airport-hotel-venue, writing books and researching often 15 hours a day, and defending my assets and works in legal cases, has been energetically and physically battering – as well as very wearing mentally and emotionally.
And it has all been done in the face of enormous ridicule and abuse which, while most of it leaves me untouched and unmoved, some of it is bound to get through here and there to manifest in the frustration of trying so hard to make people aware of their plight and what is happening around them while so many of those same people just dismiss and abuse. Dismissal is okay, that is their right. But why such abuse?
I remember a really telling moment in my life when I was still a kid in short trousers at my first school. There was a production in which I played a tree to be cut down by the prince as he rescued Sleeping Beauty. I always got the best parts.
I and the other ‘trees’ in our brown trousers and green branching hats were supposed to fall on the floor as the prince cut us down with a make-believe scythe. But I was trying to play it for real and he never came anywhere near me so I didn’t fall. Why would I?
Everyone else did, though, and I was left standing alone amid the little bodies of green and brown and the audience, made up mostly of parents, began to laugh ever more loudly as I refused to fall. I guess it was preparing me for the life that was to come! As was the reaction of the headmistress – Miss Wilkinson – who was built like Mike Tyson with shoulders to match (no pads necessary) in her schoolma’am two-piece that appeared to be her only attire.
She called me out of the classroom and loomed over me like a fairy-tale giant to inform me that I was a disgrace to the school, had ruined the play and made everyone a laughing stock. Well, actually, I was the only laughing stock as I recall.
I looked up at her and thought ‘Why are you shouting at me – I was only doing my best?’
That little boy is still in there somewhere and he sometimes asks the same question today.
But, whatever. You just get on with it. Not to do so in current circumstances would be unthinkable.
‘Sorry I’m late, darling, some idiot tree wouldn’t fall over.’
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