Made Free, to Fight to Free, to Lose What Is Free

J. Clyde McIlwain

1916 American Expeditionary Forces ID Card

French Territory WW1

my grandfather

We live in his home. His mother, my great grandmother, Henrietta had him first here at the house in 1890. He was beautiful. In all,  Samuel and Henrietta McIlwain had four children, James Clyde,  George, Russell, and little Nancy. It was the turn of the 20th century. Everything was possible. Henrietta inherited her mother's bakery down in was in now known as Soho/ Duquense area of downtown Pittsburgh called McGovern's Bakery. Samuel was a talented tile setter for Victorian Home fireplaces, bathrooms, and even Peabody High School's swimming pool. They also owned properties all over Pittsburgh as rental income to put all their children through the top schools, college included, even Nancy. At that time, that was very rare. J. Clyde was special. He was the quintessetial oldest son. Brilliant, handsome, and loyal to a fault. By 1914, he had already attained a civil engineering degree from Edinborough University. He entered law school at Duquesne University. While finishing up his law degree, the announcement was made it was time for those loyal to the American Dream to join and fight for their freedoms. 

He was shipped off to France as a lieutenant as per his higher education allowed. He believed in what he was told to fight for- the ideals. He believed in the trust given to those directing our country's decisions. On the ground, he simply saw fear, chaos, confusion, and death. At that time, combat was very personal. He watched as his men were sliced in half-- right in front of him. The trauma of the horror showed on his face when the family came to pick him up at Penn Station, downtown. His sharp, black hair had turned pure white. He was only 28 years old.  His sparkling blue eyes had gone a faded ice blue. He had also been exposed to the beginning of Monsanto's chemical warfare money makers, mustard gas. We still have his gear and mask. As Henrietta looked at her beautiful boy, she knew he was gone. His soul was. Something had changed. The horrors of what destruction can do, in any name, always have the same result. But he adjusted. There was no "re-hab, no PTSD, and definitely no medical care to toxic exposures. You were told to move on, be a man, and be strong. You served. You are a hero. You are a coward if you think your country owes you anything. You owe your country!

He became a lawyer and married his little sister, Nancy's college roomate, Xelia Jean. She was studying a new concept, psychology. Though he was much older, he admired her intelligence and wit. They married. The Great Depression followed soon after. The banks pulled all the money out of circulation to give the squeeze on everyone's real wealth-- their properties, their gold, their goods, their businesses. Henrietta lost all her properties save our home and the banks were out to get it. It was the most valuable. J. Clyde, lucky to be a lawyer, walked right in the bank with $10,000 cash to save it. They tried to refuse the money! If it had not been for his wits, they would have taken everything-- not so American. In the aftermath, J. Clyde, Xelia Jean, and Henrietta all moved into to the home under financial constraints. It was not easy. So much had been lost from federal bank games. And his mind was slowly going. The mustard gas was beginning to have an effect and living with a strong willed mother and wife.... well just imagine two of me, Oy. They had a son, Jim. They had a daughter, Diane. But something was wrong-- she never developed her mental capabilites past the age of two. I have always wondered about the Monsanto mustard gas toxins affecting her from birth.  But at that time, it was customary to blame yourself. So, they did and divided over time. By the time my father was born,  the marriage was in  its deaths throws. Xelia Jean took Jim and left Diane and baby, David, to find work in Virginia as a psychologist assistant. J. Clyde, turned to his many books, alone, sad, and confused. Most of his attention that could be focused was geared towards Diane with her many needs. David, my father, was left to his own devices, and as J. Clyde's mind deteriorating, he blamed and role played all his tragedies with his little boy who just needed love.  Eventually, the mustard seed's effects made J. Clyde completely senile. The little boy who couldn't undestand the true reasons for all the brokeness around him grew up only knowing how to break and be broken. He knew how to be tough,  to be feared, and how to be the boss. He did not know how to care, to love, to support because he never was. 

As I grew up in the house, I needed to know how all this happened. I poured over all my grandfather's books. Every underlined word was a key into his thoughts and understanding of his own circumstances. I read all the correspondence letters saved between my grandparents- they never fully divorced. The conclusion was this. Three generations of broken dreams and love from a war that never sprouted the real fruit of freedom but set a seed of destruction into J. Clyde that he couldn't shake and spread to his own family. 

The result for America after World War I ? The first Rothschild designed globalization effort-- The League of Nations, A Great Depression for the little guys, Social Security cards, Federal Banking Systems,  loss of the big homes with NO mortgages of his time and replaced by small homes with big mortagages, more corporate jobs, less independent businesses, more zoning rules, less freedom to walk down the street as you see fit.  

The result for J. Clyde? His demons from the real-time actions of war attached themselves so personally that they lingered for three generations. I think about so many people reliving this cycle over and over as the wars get more and more unveiled in their true purpose. The words, "freedom", "honor", "and "hero" have been twisted into sugar coated words for becoming a personal sacrifice to the god of higher commerce. It's true meaning is inverted for control and marketed as loosely defined "freedoms" we expect to "gain" somehow. The only freedoms we keep getting are the freedoms to not think critically, look like Kim Khardashian or Justin Bieber, get the ok by government as to who can be in our beds and share tax issues with,  have a government dictate a healthcare run by Monsanto, promote the idea of public scrutiny as truth, emotional manipulation of our senses to guide in more and more laws restricting our own daily chioces, and have to have a Rothschild Bank account to be able to access any of those rights in the first place. 

I wish so much that J. Clyde could have truly been the personal hero he was becoming before the war. I wish my father could have had a father who could share his true self with him and love him as I am sure he wishes he could have done now. I wish my father wasn't so damaged from so much mental and emotional neglect as to think that it was the standard on how to raise his own children. Do you see the cycle? What is a hero? Is it someone who fights? Is it someone who fights for his country that has, in its very real history, sold him out in the end? Is it the man who is wise enough to simply fight to be his true, most honorable, personal self to those who really count on him to protect them? 

What are we teaching our childen? Our definitions of words must get clearer. So, far, the results have been disastrous. He fought for his country and lost his mind, his family, and his joy. Coming home,  he had to fight his country for his own right to live freely and survive independently. Had it not been for him saving the family home, we, today, would not have this safe place of peace, beauty, and safety from banks and lenders. We are free to not be slaves to any and every work without a conscience to survive. We are in the minority. So, what is your definition of freedom?  

We are so far gone in understanding "freedom." We have a hard time even comprehending a freedom without bank involvement and their exploitation and limitations involving our dreams they call "help" in any part of our lives. We can't imagine living above and beyond the complicated legalised insurance liability lifestyle web into simply using common sense with a dash of dignity and care for others.  We can't imagine growing up and having a chance to actually do what we love to do for the majority of our time. We can't imagine having time to actually live as we see fit. We only imagine how we are going to earn that next dollar that is the real prison. Soon, we won't be able to imagine the freedom to breathe "free air" or drink "free water." What are you fighting for? You've been marketed and lied to.

On my mother's side, my ancestor grandpap, General John Stark, was a true freedom fighter during the Revolutionary War. He believed in maintaining a strictly voluntary military to insure the cause was always of the collectively agreed moral right and always in defense only of the people, not interest of the powers.  He knew the least federal government was the best. And even fought George Washington on many issues involving the forming of the Congressional Congress at that time, calling it a mirror to the control of England. The more you ask your government permission to "give" you a right that you were given simply by being born a natural child in this world under God, the more you will lose, cause you gave them the power to allow you to express it in the first place. Just be. Or they WILL take it away and then sell a lesser version of it back to you for a profit.  Haven't you noticed by now?

Freedom is free.  We just forgot its true meaning and ask the wrong people for something we were born with. My grandfather still haunts the house and reminds me of this in dreams and in his many books.  I wish I had met you, Grandpa J. Clyde. You are beautiful.  Thank you for fighting for my mother and my current freedoms we have with the home. It gives me the time to research and fight for my own true freedoms and share the truth with you fine people who take the time to read this. 

Happy Memorial Day. 

"Breaking Bad" Art Installation 2013

Some things held sacred and in secret, simply box in with a hypnotic carnival of illusions defining life. With one drop of a mustard seed of truth and faith, the sacred and secret illusion breaks down.  If you have the courage to allow the collapse, align with the mustard seed, and resist the urge to keep or rebuild your given box, then you are truly free. No more living in cubicles or pixels. 

 "Breaking Bad" 2013

Mini version of a Lifesize Public Interactive Installation 

Solid Black Cube,  Mustard Seed, 4 Sided Black Cube with Hypnotic Colored Pattern exposes the inside, Puzzle Pieces of the inside and outside of the Cubes, Metal 1940's Sailor Man 

Kim Barry

the sacred black cube

truth descending

the mustard seed falls on the black cube

impact of the mustard seed begins to reveal the inner illusions

collapse 

Free indeed

Alternative Angles and Pictures of 

"Breaking Bad" original art installation by Kim Barry: 

Definition of a Queen

Beverly S. McIlwain

17yrs old 

My mother has a small life. She wakes up. She makes sure the dogs, Diesel and Rory, go outside and are fed before she makes herself a pot of coffee. She feeds her indoor cat, Apricot, and the very shy, homeless, outdoor cat that everyone has abandoned but her. We have named him Professor Walt Whitman-- Whitman or the Professor ,for short. She sits at the dining room table and fills three journals simultaneously with her favorite scriptures-- handwritten-- to be able to give each one of us, children, a copy when she is done. Her eyes are fading and she wants to be sure this project gets done before she can no longer write. She sweeps the porch and keeps the gardens growing and looking beautiful each day.  Somedays, she walks down to the store to pick up a few treats for herself and the pets. Somedays, she has piano students that come for an hour or so at a time and fill the house up with a bit of music. Somedays, a neighbor needs an ear.  Somedays, just the mail comes. At 5pm, she settles in for the news and eventually falls off  to sleep on the couch with each dog at her feet in their beds during any show that has the untimely slot after 8pm. She loves her home and it is beautiful and quiet. It's non eventful compared to so many lives that are led. 

I have always wanted so much more. Travel the world. Go to amazing places. Meet amazing folks. Dance among the stars. Inspire lives to fight for good in this world through any means possible and demand that it pays well,too. Is that too much? Not for me. I saw too much darkness that I didn't understand growing up to sit idly by and allow its effects on myself or others to not be understood, exposed, and reversed in some way or another.  I am also guilty of running in circles to try to be what the world considers useful, important, successful, desirable, and self sufficient. I have lived all those things but just as I almost seal the deal on each life-- it would hit me-- What's the cost here? The fantasy of each of my desired and attainable lives quickly revealed a less than stellar reality when I realize there is always this weird, nasty serpent in the room that I must be ultimately be contracted to, before realizing the riches. So, I go to the next ideal in my head, then the next, then the next  …… Until I am out of my own will, my own ideas, and my own money. And there is my Mom smiling quietly as she holds down a fort of love and constance, no matter what. But in the world's eyes, it seals my failure fate. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't willful enough to make my own dreams come true. Cause that's what we are told to do thanks to Disney, right?  I realized so many worldly "dreams" we are inspired  to become are manufactured fantasies with a very real cost in losing your character, your innocence, your voice, and your courage. But even still, coming home, I felt like this life I left in Pittsburgh so long ago, was a final dead end. She wanted so much for me to share these daily activities of hers with joy. It was terribly difficult for me. But she was happy. Was I ? 

I slept. A lot. I felt like my will was broken from battle and I was terrified of truly trusting a will of my mother's God who seemingly put her through a wringer of things. But hadn't I put myself through a wringer more than a few times in my own willful ways? I saw so much more of the world's dark underbelly than she ever had and just didn't know where to place my energy any longer to make a difference-- a big difference. I had finally been disillusioned in finding real beauty and goodness  any "successful" road in life. And I searched! And now I was tired. She allowed my endless sleep. She just wanted to make me food. She wanted to spend time together. She wanted me to feel safe. She wanted me to be there with her in her simple, quiet life. I was thinking, " HOW can I get back out there and try to BE somebody and not be a burden?!?"  I was supposed to be the one doing for my Mom, not the other way around. I fought her appeals to give to me because of guilt for not being able to give as I had in the past. 

Growing up, I saw her humble approach towards others as a reason for them to feel  undeservedly superior to her, at the very least,  and someone to try to take full advantage of her, at most. I watched her peaceful understanding of others, who just wanted to manipulate her , as a necessity to become her watchdog and my own. She always said, " His will be done,"  and smiled amongst the chaos.  I wondered, as so many people do, how can God make such a beautiful woman go through so much adversity? Why isn't He blessing her, of all people,  with the prosperity and comfort these (false) prosperity preachers talk about? I mean... most t.v. evangelists ain't got nothing on her! Too many are creepy creepsters and do more damage to kids than Rammstein. Why is her life so small when so many "great" people live so comfortably by doing less that good things? What is going on? I saw her joy amongst terrible circumstances as an inverse inspiration to take my own life by the horns and fight for want I wanted, to have a "better"  life (in my understanding of what that meant) and then fight for others to create a better life for themselves, as well. I was saying, "Let's make Heaven on earth." I decided my will be done come hell or high water to avoid getting hurt in life as she had so many times. But I realized in my fervor, I held others to such great expectations, they would always let me down, even when they didn't mean to. Why? We are far from god-like without accepting the true God as inner source. No one is perfect. And well, my mom is a hard act to follow. 

We have had plenty of talks by now. We have had plenty of coffee, too. I had been searching for people like her in the big and intimate circles of my life to no avail. It seemed the more I got into the world and all the various perspectives, the less commitment to real caring I experienced as they called it good and success oriented. I saw more of an increase towards marketing faux care verbiage for profit, distrust, self promotion, exploitation for gain, controlling pervs, and self love. And the more I fought for living my own life as I saw fit, the more I lost it along with the joy to live it. Everyone was cheering on at my will to create as I was dying inside. With all my questions, she said this…

She told me she is humble to make others feel uplifted if only in her presence and, maybe, no where else in their lives. Even if it may be received poorly and unappreciated, she knows what she is doing and that it is good. She told me no matter what she really thinks of a person or what nonsense they are selling at their worst moment, she continues to think of how her own words in a moment of anger could hurt them even more. They are angry because they are hurt in the first place so keeping silent or repaying them with kind words can only be the best solution. She told me she knows that through this life we are not promised comfort and riches for walking in grace just because we think we deserve them for ourselves. This life is a testing ground to learn to be worthy of the grace that God ultimately gives each one of us regardless of how cruel we can be to ourselves and each other. The goal is to try to learn His grace and to be as much of a reflection of that to each other. The more we try in this world to walk in truth, the more adversity will be thrown because this world has fallen from its original intent. We all fight to be our own gods, as the dark side promises us, and lose sight of Who we should be keeping our thoughts and focus on. Our base nature is to do what is easy, feels good, and that true love in its original intent is not the popular road. She could have had it all.  She doesn't miss the fancy clothes, the ability to go to fancy places, or to pamper herself, as so many do and pay a cost. The more we fight for our own desires in this life, we lose and become controlled by those desires. The more we listen to His Word and grow to trust His will, the more life we gain for eternity. The fight to change the world is not a fight we can win on our own or according to our own imperfect standards. It is His ultimate fight. We just have to know whose side we are really on and know we are cared for enough, as is, so we can look beyond ourselves and care for others while we are in this world. She told me she never thought much of herself. But she knows His will has been her strength to live in joy and love in an imperfect world. Well, I think the world of her. I wish more people could see that she is a true Queen.  He has blessed her with what is most important in life and has blessed everyone who has had the honor of knowing her. He has kept her safe and able to focus on others. He has blessed me, my very willful self, most of all, by allowing me to call her mother.  She has earned her title a thousand fold, just as I have earned the title of child in equal measure.