We have a saying here in Holland: nothing but good must be told about the dead.

Well, we have another turbulent one: prince Bernard, 93, father of Beatrix, our present Majesty. You sense some irony in my thoughts? That is correct.

While apparently everybody was crying the airwaves wet over a padre familias, an outstanding man who guided his people through world wars, took some money from Lockheed but said he regretted it dearly and didn’t know what made him do it, I was thinking: good riddance of the double crossing, double tongued, selling our country to the Germans (in WOII) and company profit hungry sales contacts abroad, white carnation wearing lizard.

And then, just now, I just woke up from a dream, literally. I’m sitting in my pyjama’s typing this. A little background: they, just yesterday, moved his body to the Queens working palace about two k’s away from here so people can walk past his dead body and see him standing there, slightly amused, hands on his back, fingers always moving, white carnation a little more radiant. OK, so I just woke up from a very dimly lit large place. In the middle was (is?) a lying place with a very high pillow. On it a dead body, no beard (can’t hide anything anymore), his dark surrounded eyes looking very worn-out and popping out of their sockets because he has lost so much weight recently. I was there, my son was there playing a very loud video game on a very large screen, the cat walked from his head down to his legs, putting a little weight on one leg so it fell lower, what made the body change position to almost comfortably sitting with crossed and stretched legs. So there was this incredible family – there were more I recognize(d) as family – making a tremendous noise, and the man in the middle was liking it.

Nothing but good about the dead? Ashtar talked to me about balance. There are always two sides to the story. If you can’t imagine one, look again, it is there, but your vision hasn’t matured enough yet so you can find it.

So one side for me was and is a release from slightly swept under the carpet discomfort about my daily affairs being brewed up in some black witches kitchen (I mean the Queen and Bilderberg) and being presented in lies about security, shortage and so on by the Muppet theatre that call themselves politicians and are allowed to visit the bier just a little later then the royal family and a day in front of us, the common people, and the press orgasm of disinformation, mainly through the Telegraaf and by Jove, also through the Groene Amsterdammer, a so called protest newspaper (where did we hear that phrase before?). Protocol, I wonder on who’s home-planet we will find that one.

The other side is that of my projection into a dream of something apparently my higher self has perceived, a family man who never had the chance to get to that part of himself. A man weary from all the effort he has put for 93 years into a whole heap of things (including the WWF). A guy it is easy to be friends with, a close friend.

Now I’ve got two sides in both hands and I find the soul perspective and the 3D aspect (his role as Bernard) both enjoyable. If you can think (for a while) without the programming, you would feel the same.

The Buddhist have a worthwhile exercise called detachment. I translate that into not clinging to old or stuck thought-patterns in this case. Jelaila Starr would call it translation with the key of compassion, or translation into compassion.

So I think I’ve got some sort of balance here. Both sides fully valid and intact on their own. No judgement. Transformation of experience (evoked emotion) into cleansing and learning. Wisdom.

Namaste