Design Judgment is not about liking or not liking; it has not a whit to do with judgment. Design Judgment is the conceptualization of the creator’s intent stemming from asking and is a conscious process in that the concept moves me in a particular direction as if from a directing force. The crux is, Will I become still enough to listen to this moving? –Kimberly B. Gray
Once upon a time when I returned to school to study art and design in northern Ohio did I learn of Design Judgment. This important facet of the design process is often misinterpreted. Contained within are the important aspects of Form Follows Function, Structural Design, Decorative Design, Acoustic Design, and Fenestration, to name some of the primaries. Since April 2020, I have been immersed in the philosophical and Spiritual nature of Design Judgment because of a Spiritual Allegory I have been writing.
Every step of the way, I have thought of my Dad. For the last two years, I have created a blog post about the anniversary of his passing, May 17, 2012.
The numbers 517 carry significance for me because of the date of his passing. He’s now been gone from this plane of existence for 11 years now; another number that is of personal significance.
I wake up often at 5:17 AM and happen to look at the clock. Too, I will be fixing dinner and happen to look at the clock at 5:17 PM. I have had receipts at some given stores that have been in the amount of $5.17 and have pulled up behind cars where the license plate will have the numbers contained of 517. The number shows up everywhere for me. And, when I see it, I smile and say out loud, Hi Dad, I love you.
My Dad was always my biggest champion. After I moved to Ohio where I lived for 14 years, I would call my parents every Saturday evening. Dad would always pick up the phone first. He and I would visit about multiple topics that would often include politics, his health but always be encompassed by our Spirituality. When he disagreed with something, he was passionate in the defense of what he did believe. Yet, he also had an open mind about possibilities and potentiality; he was not of this mind-set until his later years however. Nor was I. In many ways, this is the greatest gift he gave me as a person.
I have been through many trials by fire over the years of my life; he knew of many of these experiences. He loved me through ‘thick and thin and sick and sin.’ I wish he could have known this life much longer. I have imagined our conversations over the last 11 years if he had not died.
Most especially, I have imagined our conversations of the last three years.
Near 1970, Dad was planting soy beans for someone. He eventually applied a pesticide and a fertilizer. One day he came home after the pesticide application and couldn’t breathe. He identified that the wind caught the spray and it dosed him. After this occurrence, Dad developed what was an adult asthma. The doctor prescribed an inhaler similar to the one I used as a child, as I suffered from childhood asthma, particularly in the 1960s and was very ill multiple times.
To our amazement, I suffered my last asthma attack on my 13th birthday. However, Dad’s breathing problems persisted and were exacerbated by a cement finishing trade in the earlier part of his life into his mid-life.
Dad developed a deep mistrust of medical doctors and particularly the pharmacology industry; he and I came to call them the legalized drug cartel. A large mistrust of doctors came from a botched hip replacement surgery of my mother’s when she was just 52 years old; this orthopedic doctor mutilated the muscles in her leg and he inserted a ball and joint that were ill-sized for her frame. As time went by, the overcompensation of an extreme limp and having to wear special orthopedic shoes with a lift in the damaged leg manifested in having to replace the hip on the opposing leg. Fortunately, she found the No. 1 surgeon at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. My Mother would eventually have to have both hips revised. Thankfully, she found an orthopedic doctor at University of Missouri who specialized in hip revisions; he was rated as the No. 2 surgeon in the U.S. for this specialization.
My parents were not litigious people, so they chose to do nothing about the first doctor’s malpractice. However, between that and learning of the contraindications of prescribed drugs, my Dad would come to despise drug companies and to have a deep mistrust for doctors.
He was diagnosed with an autoimmune illness when he was 53 years old; a doctor at Mayo Clinic diagnosed celiac sprue. For the remainder of his life, my Mother would prepare meals that were 100 percent gluten free. When they ate at a restaurant, he would ensure that all food he would order was gluten free. He was limited on so much that he developed an inveterate sweet tooth, although my Mother would make all these desserts with gluten-free flour. He loved bread, but this also had to be gluten-free.
Over the years, I would research celiac sprue in attempts to find answers. At the time, it was thought that a genetic predisposition existed particularly for peoples of Irish descent and northern European and Italian. That still holds true, but I later learned that celiac disease would impact the heart; this was coupled with the amount of sugar he was ingesting along with the seed oils in his diet. Celiac disease is gut related. My Dad was prescribed many antibiotics over time. Since his death, I have learned that when the microbiome of the gut is diminished or destroyed and not replenished, a degrading will result, even to the extent that the acid level of his stomach was impacted. His gut robbed him of the needed nutrients to maintain a healthy cardiovascular system. It all came down to the heart of the matter.
My parents overcompensated by delving into feeble attempts of treating Dad’s ailments with thousands and thousands of dollars invested in supplements. Sadly, because they did not have adequate access to information and because research at the time toward the use of holistic and natural treatments were not available to them, they faltered.
Dad came to despise what was happening and had been happening in crop farming, i.e., the use of genetically modified seeds and the continued use of pesticides. When he learned of the hormones and antibiotics being injected into farm animals along with glyphosates and GMOs used in farming, it was nearly his undoing. In addition to these travesties, he learned early on that the flu vaccines were creating side effects in the population, and he and my Mother refused to ever be injected with flu vaccines.
Along with what was thought to be adult asthma, Dad would develop atrial fibrillation, which would require that his heart be shocked into rhythm. Eventually, he would have a pacemaker installed; he regretted taking this action. He had a massive heart attack on my birthday in April 2012, and he died a month later. The surgeon attempted a procedure; it was too late. The doctor told me after the procedure that the left side of his heart was ‘dead.’ Nothing further could be done to help him. Also, I learned via his attending doctor while he was in the hospital that what we thought to be adult asthma was actually COPD. This doctor asked if he had ever been exposed to anything environmentally, and I told him of the pesticide event and the silica particulates from his cement finishing trade.
What has been named is the short story version of the person my Dad came to be in his physical form and of what influenced him Spiritually. I have come to talk to him now while I am hiking many a morning. I came to an interesting conclusion in 2021 about the simpatico that existed between my Dad and me, including over these past 11 years since he passed. I wrote about it in a blog post of December 24, 2021, entitled Light. It pertains to Morphic Resonance.
Morphic Resonance is a process whereby self-organising systems inherit a memory from previous similar systems. In its most general formulation, morphic resonance means that the so-called laws of nature are more like habits. The hypothesis of morphic resonance also leads to a radically new interpretation of memory storage in the brain and of biological inheritance. Memory need not be stored in material traces inside brains, which are more like TV receivers than video recorders, tuning into influences from the past. And biological inheritance need not all be coded in the genes, or in epigenetic modifications of the genes; much of it depends on morphic resonance from previous members of the species. Thus each individual inherits a collective memory from past members of the species, and also contributes to the collective memory, affecting other members of the species in the future.
Rupert Sheldrake
I am as sure as sure can be that Dad would have connected with my thoughts regarding this post.
But, it’s more than what Rupert Sheldrake defined because his idea was about the materium. What I am interpreting is Spiritual. It is God’s gift to humanity through Christ Consciousness, which is to say in Biblical vernacular, the Holy Spirit that resides within, for we are Spiritual beings having a human experience, though many do not know this.
If he were still here, I am assured that if he were to learn of the events of the last three years, Dad would say, as he often did, ‘Kimmers, you are on to something.’ Unlike my bits of research and intuition over the years, it is more than being ‘on to something.’ What I have come to know since May of 2020 is both valid and substantive. It began with intuition in May of 2020; my Spidey senses told me that something was fundamentally wrong with this so-called pandemic shutdown.
It was in May 2020 that I encountered a book by Judy Mikovits with a Forward to the book written by Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. In the months that followed, I subscribed to RFK, Jr.’s email newsletter, Children’s Health Defense. He would eventually publish a book in Fall 2022 entitled The Real Anthony Fauci. But, my desire to know didn’t stop there. I was certain something was direly wrong with what had been thrust upon the world. I started following scores of other medical health professionals and scientists from around the world to discover crimes against humanity unparalleled since the seeming forever wars instigated by the Abrahamic religious people, largely those of Judaism and Islam, though Christianity’s part is not without blemish.
Because of my political beliefs at the time and because I started speaking out, I was slandered, smeared and censored. This occurred in social media and in the microcosm of personal relationships with both friends and family. Not until 2021, when I had a dream one night that changed everything for me, did I ultimately learn the Truth of reality. And from the manifestation of this dream, I withdrew unto myself this past year.
My Dad was never much of a social animal; he stayed mainly to himself. One of the thoughts that I have given much contemplation over the past year relates to individuality and Sovereignty. I came to the realization of humanity’s struggles to prevent being overwhelmed by Power. These thoughts were actually prompted by Rudyard Kipling who said something like, To be one’s own person is a hard road. If you try it, you will be lonely often and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
Funny thing, I started writing a book in April 2020. I first submitted a book proposal to a publisher for the first time in June 2022. I edited and resubmitted it again in December 2022. I am presently editing it yet again for submission next month. At this point having a publisher pick it up is not of great importance to me. Whether it is picked up or whether I self-publish the book, my primary objective is to reveal to as many that have ears to hear the Truth of the human condition and what I have come to term, The Secret to the Universe. Sounds lofty, I realize that. However, the book is not about world events of the last three years.
It’s about the last 13+ years regarding a personal relationship that parallels with my experiences since 2010. The title of my book is Interior Design Mourning Design.
To be quite honest, I would have been embarrassed for my Dad to learn what has occurred in my life since he died. So much of what I came to know is attributed to his influence. I feel his presence over the ensuing years. In my heart, I know he champions this effort in writing this book.
Dad’s birthday was May 2; he would have been 90 years old. Last Friday, a dear friend since 1st Grade, whom my Dad knew and loved, sent to me a link of a press conference video after a Summit held in the European Parliament in Brussels; that was 11 days ago at my writing this post. What followed is that I would go to this YouTube channel and find two videos of the actual Summit that this person posted in two parts. Both videos are nearly eight hours in total.
To say I was devastated is an understatement. More like, grief and tears so extreme that I have been unable to think of anything else since. I wanted to write something in remembering my Dad upon this 11 year anniversary of his death. Not until the morning of May 16, did I wake and know that I must write this blog post in his memory.
Please join me in remembering my Dad by taking time to listen and view the contents of this European Summit. I learned that the Summit started on his birthday, May 2. Regarding myself, I had to listen to this in chunks, as the contents are so very traumatic. I have been tracking most all of these professionals over the past two years. (The links to both videos are at the bottom of this blog post.)
Sometimes what you don’t know won’t hurt you. But, sometimes what you know to be true is what will hurt you. And then, what you know to be true ultimately will save you.
Kimberly B. Gray, Prologue, Interior Design Mourning Design
International Covid Summit III – Part I – European Parliament, Brussels, 3:26:49
International Covid Summit III – Part II – European Parliament, Brussels, 4:30:37
—Kimberly B. Gray, Santa Fe, New Mexico. All Rights Reserved.
Kimberly B. Gray 