Monthly Archives: October 2016

Talking to Noone

       [a short story]

It was dark.  Night actually.  Sometime in the night.  I heard a voice, best described as spectral.  I am dreaming, I thought as I tried to wake up but I was already awake, obviously, or I was dead.  Deep in the silent night it’s often difficult to know if one is alive or dead.  Especially when in your mind you have become convinced that “death” is just another form of life, one you’re not quite yet comfortable with. 

So let’s say I was alive then, as you would understand that to mean, that I was in a body, and that body was actually functioning.  I could move with it, or make it move things.  That kind of being alive.  For the record.

The voice trembled some.  It was difficult to place in terms of gender, or age. It was the voice of an old male child who never quite gained its adult voice.  The voice of someone who had done a lot of smoking, perhaps died from it.  Again, what does that mean… nothing.  And I was dead wrong in my evaluation so let’s not spend more time on that. 

“I would tell you of things you should know ere this night ends.”  Said the voice.

“Who are you?” I had to ask, you understand.  It’s simple human curiosity.  We always want to know whom we’re addressing (or undressing, but that’s another topic.)   

“I am Noone” the voice said.  It pronounced it “Noo Nee”

“What sort of language is that?”  I asked.

“It isn’t a language, it’s a statement.  I am a statement.  I am supposed to be read, not heard.  This is terribly inconvenient.”

“You’re telling me!” I exclaimed, somewhat exasperated.

“Yes, indeed I am telling you.  That’s why I’m here, to tell you.  But I’d rather be read.  Can you read me?”   

“No, I can’t.  You’re a being, (and I thought, I sure hope so!) not a book, or a parchment or scroll.  You can’t be read.  Spell your name for me, I’m confused by it.”

“No one.”

“Ah well, there you see, you got it wrong in the pronunciation.  It is no one.  That’s not a name, it means you don’t exist.  You are no one.”

“I know.  That’s why I keep telling you I’m meant to be read.  I can articulate only what I can read.  I don’t have a spoken language, only a written one.  I am from a written world.  We are not a language, or even languages.  We are words, we exist only in words, sentences, paragraphs, and of course the more advanced of us exist in stories.  I’m just a word construct.” 

“So how can you make a voice, then?  How can I hear you audibly?  How can you articulate, as you put it?”

“How could I answer that?  Perhaps putting words together creates certain images and looking at those images, sound emanates in the mind of certain beings?  Perhaps… wait… perhaps when I’m near you I’m no longer Noone, I mean no one, but actually someone, or some one?”

“You mean like a living ghost?  A “for real” ghost?” 

“I cannot read ghost.  I do not relate.  Perhaps we word beings do not know of your ghost concept.  If I were a ghost, what could I do?”

“Well, not much.  You could haunt places, make ghoulish sounds and scare the bejeesus out of credulous people.  Come to think of it, this would be a good time to try it out.”

“A-good-time.  You want me to be happy?”

“Oh, don’t be so literal.  No, I mean it’s Halloween.  It’s believed that ghosts come out on Halloween and do all sort of mischief, or scare non-ghost types.  Ghosts are spirits of the dead, some long ago, some recent.  Some ghosts are demons from fire worlds.  It is believed they can be nasty.  They can even rob you of your soul and when you die to have to become one of them.”

“Not a good time, then.  Not a good time at all.  I don’t think I want to be a ghost.  I think I would scare myself and that would be very inconvenient.”

“Speaking of inconvenient, what was so important that you had to wake me up for, and we had to go through this whole mishmash of weird introduction?”

“Oh, yes.  I almost forgot, but I can’t forget, I’m words after all.  I’ll read myself to you.  You are Anson Jones.  You are going to be thirty three years old on October 31.  You have made your living from words, having written several novels and three books of poetry.  All your income has derived from the use of words.  You are a very fortunate man.  On midnight of October 31 this year you have qualified, from your life-long use of words, to become a word being.  You will be translated into a book.  But not just any book.  You will become the most important book on Word World.  You will, in fact be so important, you will be published as a trilogy. You will enjoy a long shelf life in every library on Word World. 

That has never happened on Word World and the anticipation is heating up, a river of ink needed to maintain written word speculation on what your entry will do to our social life, our economics, our very encyclopaedic space.  Some articulate it as a revolution.  Some write that it is an apocalyptic event.  A few crazy word splitters even write that you are he who was predicted to come; that you will bring us into a third dimensional state of consciousness.

So, Mr. Anson Jones of Earth, we shall all await your arrival with bated breath – as a figure of speech of course, we do not breathe as such, we write it.  Thank you.”

“What can I say to that?  Nothing.  I went back to sleep thinking it was a silly dream after all.  Was I surprised when I woke up this morning and realized I could not speak, that I could only write my thoughts down?  Not really.  I just know I used the word “inevitable” a few too many times in my novels.  It was sure to turn and bite me in the ass sooner or later. 

Albert Camus

Why am I reblogging this? I don’t know exactly. It strikes me as a deep truth, even if I’m not entirely sure why. If I have a reason for posting, it is that I too long ago recognized the futility of the materialistic/religious life lived to benefit others who think of themselves as superior yet were so obviously inferior in every way. “…absence of any profound reason for living… the uselessness of suffering.” Indeed, life without purpose was to me an endless drudgery, a curse. And when all I had to look forward to was either heaven or hell, and I was convinced that heaven was unattainable, that didn’t help. Suicide (which I survived) seemed like the right answer. Then came the concept of setting up a purpose for myself, one that transcended this time, and all time, and I never looked back. The mere suggestion that I should end it all now would be unthinkable, perhaps even insulting. Yes, we live in terrible times, and yes, my visions tell me they are about to plunge into horrors unimaginable and yet, all of that bolsters my desire to see it through to its natural end. And after that, not heaven, not hell, but the rise of the Phoenix.

The Vale of Soul-Making

Killing yourself amounts to confessing. It is confessing that life is too much for you or that you do not understand it… It is merely confessing that it ‘is not worth the trouble.’ Living, naturally, is never easy. You continue making the gestures commanded by existence for many reasons, the first of which is habit. Dying voluntarily implies that you have recognized, even instinctively, the ridiculous character of that habit, the absence of any profound reason for living, the insane character of that daily agitation and the uselessness of suffering. — Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus. (Penguin Classic November 26, 2013) Originally published 1942.

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Donald Trump: The Man in the Mirror

It’s almost over!  But the main story it has ridden within, that will never be over.  

Some days ago I posted some thoughts on “the Donald” which, for reference, can be reviewed here:  https://shatara46.wordpress.com/2016/10/15/some-very-brief-comments-on-the-donald/  

Since then I’ve seen many articles and posts saying essentially the same thing.  The following by George Monbiot,  http://www.monbiot.com/2016/10/28/the-man-in-the-mirror/  which I couldn’t “Press This” or “Reblog” so copying, perhaps expresses the thought best of all.  This is a mirror no one likes to gaze intently into, yet if we do not, how can we ever hope to change?  Ah, but excuse me for assuming: do we actually DESIRE to change, or do we simply wait for “the world” to change for us?

The Man in the Mirror

Donald Trump is not an outlier, but the distillation of our dominant values
By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 26th October 2016

What is the worst thing about Donald Trump? The lies? The racist stereotypes? The misogyny? The alleged gropings? The apparent refusal to accept democratic outcomes? All these are bad enough. But they’re not the worst. The worst thing about Donald Trump is that he’s the man in the mirror.

We love to horrify ourselves with his excesses, and to see him as a monstrous outlier, the polar opposite of everything a modern, civilised society represents. But he is nothing of the kind. He is the distillation of all that we have been induced to desire and admire. Trump is so repulsive not because he offends our civilisation’s most basic values, but because he embodies them.

Trump personifies the traits promoted by the media and corporate worlds he affects to revile; the worlds that created him. He is a bundle of extrinsic values– the fetishisation of wealth, power and image – in a nation where extrinsic values are championed throughout public discourse. His conspicuous consumption, self-amplification and towering (if fragile) ego are in tune with the dominant narratives of our age.

As the recipient of vast inherited wealth who markets himself as solely responsible for his good fortune, he is the man of our times. The Apprentice tells the story of everything he is not: the little guy dragging himself up from the bottom through enterprise and skill. None of this distinguishes him from the majority of the very rich, whose entrepreneurial image, loyally projected by the media, clashes with their histories of huge bequests, government assistance, monopolies and rent-seeking.

If his politics differ from those of the rest of the modern Republican party, it is because they are, in some respects, more liberal. Every vice, for the Republican trailblazers, is now a virtue; every virtue a vice. Encouraged by the corporate media, they have been waging a full-spectrum assault on empathy, altruism and the decencies we owe to other people. Their gleeful stoving in of faces, their cackling destruction of political safeguards and democratic norms, their stomping on all that is generous and caring and cooperative in human nature have turned the party into a game of Mortal Kombat scripted by Breitbart News.

Did Donald Trump invent the xenophobia and racism that infuses his campaign? Did he invent his conspiracy theories about stolen elections and the criminality of his opponents? No. They were there all along. What is new and different about him is that he has streamlined these narratives into a virulent demagoguery. But the opportunity has been building for years; all that was required was someone blunt and unscrupulous enough to take it.

Nor can you single out Trump for ignoring, denying and deriding the key issues of our time, such as climate change. Almost all prominent Republicans have been at it. In fact, across the four presidential debates, not one question about climate change was asked. Even when politicians and journalists accept the science, it makes little difference if they avoid the subject like the plague.

James Madison envisaged the constitution of the United States as representation tempered by competition between factions. In the 10thFederalist Paper, written in 1787, he argued that large republics were better insulated from corruption than small, or “pure” democracies, as the greater number of citizens would make it “more difficult for unworthy candidates to practice with success the vicious arts by which elections are too often carried”. A large electorate would protect the system against oppressive interest groups. Politics practised on a grand scale would be more likely to select people of “enlightened views and virtuous sentiments”.

Instead, the United States – in common with many other nations – now suffers the worst of both worlds: a large electorate dominated by a tiny faction. Instead of republics being governed, as Madison feared, by “the secret wishes of an unjust and interested majority”, they are beholden to the not-so-secret wishes of an unjust and interested minority. What Madison could not have foreseen was the extent to which unconstrained campaign finance and a sophisticated lobbying industry would come to dominate an entire nation, regardless of its size.

For every representative, Republican or Democrat, who retains a trace element of independence, there are three sitting in the breast pocket of corporate capital. Since the Supreme Court decided that there should be no effective limits on campaign finance, and, to a lesser extent, long before, candidates have been reduced to tongue-tied automata, incapable of responding to those in need of help, incapable of regulating those in need of restraint, for fear of upsetting their funders.

Democracy in the United States is so corrupted by money that it is no longer recognisable as democracy. You can kick individual politicians out of office, but what do you do when the entire structure of politics is corrupt? Turn to the demagogue who rages into this political vacuum, denouncing the forces he exemplifies. The problem is not, as Trump claims, that the election will be stolen by ballot rigging. It is that the entire electoral process is stolen from the American people before they get anywhere near to casting their votes. When Trump claims that the little guy is being screwed by the system, he’s right. The only problem is that he is the system.

The political constitution of the United States is not, as Madison envisaged, representation tempered by competition between factions. The true constitution is plutocracy tempered by scandal. In other words, all that impedes the absolute power of money is the occasional exposure of the excesses of the wealthy. What distinguishes Trump’s political career is that, until recently, his scandals have done him no harm.

Trump disgusts us because, where others use a dog whistle, he uses a klaxon. We hate to hear his themes so clearly articulated. But we know in our hearts that they suffuse the way the world is run.

Because this story did not begin with Trump, it will not end with Trump, however badly he might lose the election. Yes, he is a shallow, mendacious, boorish and extremely dangerous man. But those traits ensure that he is not an outsider but the perfect representation of his caste, the caste that runs the global economy and governs our politics. He is our system, stripped of its pretences.

http://www.monbiot.com

Let’s Talk about War (Part 2)

   [thoughts from   ~burning woman~  ]

But the spirit of war haunted the land.  Here and there remained small groups who did not go back to the land but instead sought out and began to reclaim the old technology of their gods.  These were led by the Nephilim, a race of “giants” (the term applies equally to their size as well as their superior intelligence) resulting from breeding between the ‘gods’ and cloned proto-human females.  They remembered enough to re-start earth-based civilization and the rest is history.  The driving force of the Nephilim leadership was their warlike nature and like the “gods” their forebears, completely lacking in empathy.  They were sociopaths to their very core. (Remember that when you wonder about your current Earthian leadership.) Serious leadership among even today’s Earthians can only be held by legitimate descendants of Nephilim rulers or “blue bloods.” 

The Nephilim built fortified cities and engaged in systematic plundering of the planet.  They developed militaries and weaponry to hunt down the hunter-gatherers, enslaving them and taking their children and females as trophies and spoils of war.  Once the war was launched (but of course it hadn’t stopped: it had been brought to the planet by the gods and they’d left the seeds of it in the minds of the Nephilim and the programmed Earthians) it could never be stopped.  City-states, nascent nations and empires went at each other and since writing was invented, recorded history shows how that went.

So much fighting and death on one world alerted and brought in the Peace Makers.  These came from outside the confines of this universe.  You don’t need to know their provenance, it wouldn’t make any sense to you because, even if you were able to make yourselves believe in such entities you’d want to believe they were sent by your “gods” to help you.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Your “gods” hate and despise you.  Suffice to say, the Peace Makers were few in numbers – they always are.  They infiltrated temples, learning centers and even the political arena. Their goal was to expand the awareness of the species, introducing it to the concept of peace; of a state of being without external conflict.  They also introduced the concept of love.  But because both “peace” and “love” are absolute values, the proto-humans were incapable of comprehending their significance (they still cannot).  And the leadership, of course, was adamantly and violently opposed to any and all efforts expended to help the species by the Peace Makers.  (Good to remember that as well.)

The Peace Makers trained some humans into the greater “mysteries” of peace and love but these would-be spiritual leaders simply “lowered” the bar, re-writing the concepts as relative values instead of absolute.  Peace and love not only became bastardized in both meaning and value, they inevitably became exclusive.  Thus, even with peace and love being bandied about loudly and furiously at times, nothing could ever change and war continued to feed civilization’s frenzy.

To recap: you are not about to plunge into “another” world war.  If you continue on the current path you will ignite and suffer the horrors of a third “global battle” – not a war.  You are already at war.  You were always at war and you will continue to be at war until you change your mind; until you re-invent yourselves; until you reject all aspects of violence “against” anyone or anything.

The people who introduced you to the concepts of love and peace weren’t idiots.  They knew you were capable of understanding what those stood for.  But they had no illusions that you would bend every mental effort in that direction: it’s not how you were made.

Your initial programming which is in your soul implant, is to be attracted to violence; to respond to every violent attack with same.  The male of your species was particularly designed to be selfish, greedy, aggressive, competitive, bullying, controlling and sexually insatiable.   They made you so you would thrill at all forms of violence.  Raping women and slaughtering their children in front of their eyes were one of the very first “bonuses” of fighting wars.  The slaves, gold, jewellery, lands and cattle, those belonged to your lords.  They gave you violent sports as entertainment when you were in danger of waxing philosophical and becoming soft.  Your mentality always leans towards mob violence.  Your militaries are just controlled forms of mob response to lust of conquest or perceived threat. That’s the only way your gods could be certain that no matter how horrible your conditions, you would fight for them without qualms; without thinking the right or wrong of it.  They set the ball bouncing, and that ball, well, it just keeps on bouncing.  It’s bouncing higher and higher every day.

Now your numbers are over seven billions – an insane number, far beyond your planet’s limited capability to sustain; far in excess of your natural limits to growth.  Only your questionable alien and planet-destroying technology makes it possible to keep your numbers on their exponential growth curve.  Without technology; with the least little glitch that could kill your computerized systems across your cities, on your transportation grids (particularly in the air), your numbers would plummet and as horror piled upon horror your final downfall would (and will) see your numbers down to around a billion, give or take. 

War will only account for a small percentage of your fall in numbers however.  Most of your coming generations will succumb to various anthropogenic, very negative planetary changes; lack of potable water; disease-laden air; mutated GMO foods that will eat your internal organs as well as destroy any wild plants or animals you may hope to survive on; dead oceans, seas and lakes and nuclear radiation.  They will suffer general immune system breakdowns now being deliberately introduced by vaccines and drugs mandated by your warped leadership whom you still trust because they’re making you feed on your own fears.

And your wars will continue for as the pressure mounts your competitive programming will give rise to more fear.  Your anger at, and hate of refugees and other “aliens” will peak into genocidal madness.  Like your “gods” before you, you will unleash your weapons of mass destruction against each other and destroy your own living space.  As these things happen you will never understand how they were completely preventable. 

They are preventable, for a very limited time.  But you cannot comprehend that all of this mayhem, madness, and death is the work of one individual; that blame is just an excuse; that each one of you is directly responsible for the continuation of “The War” because you simply don’t want to, thus cannot, believe that you can stop it. 

Not as a collective: your programming will immediately cut in to prevent that, but as an individual.  Individualism is your programming’s Achilles’ heel.  Your designers made you so you would only understand collective work, how to function in groups, mobs, controlled collectives, from your nuclear “family” to your empires. 

The Peace Makers gave each of you a key to turn off the programming.  That is your individual mind.  That is the power of a human being and when you learn to use your key, you too will become human.  Empathetic and humane to a fault.  But until you accept yourself as an individual, different, separate and unlike any other individual; thinking, talking and acting as a self-empowered, self-motivated and compassionate individual, nothing can change for you.  You will continue to feed the machine of war and it will continue to destroy you, cycle after cycle.

Generation after generation, you choose war.  You choose to believe that by killing you can solve life problems and yet you cannot “see” how the more death you inflict, the more life becomes your enemy, and you become life’s enemy.  You, as you are currently, as a collective, are a  disease to be eradicated from this world, and from all memory.  Is that what you really want?  To die; to condemn your own children to certain death because becoming an individual seems so weak?  How little you understand the concept of power! 

Let’s Talk about War (Part 1)

                [thoughts from   ~burning woman~  ]

(Note:  This is a five page essay.  I decided to break it up into two parts of approximately two and a half pages each.)

Preamble: for those who find the following confusing, let me remind you that I often “channel” information.  When that happens, you will find that instead of “we” I use the “you” to let you know that this information isn’t something I (the entity known as  ~burning woman~  ) am making up as I go along, but information being given to me via thought-forms which I learned to transcribe into Earth languages many decades ago. 

It’s not actually “channeling” as such, it’s received information meant to be given to anyone I feel may want to know, or … needs to  know?  You can also think of it as a prophecy, in the classic historical sense.  And you can, of course, also label the following as the twisted thoughts of a very sick mind.  However you look at it, it won’t change any of the facts, or information contained herein. 

War is a topic that is very much on earth peoples’ minds these days, primarily because earth’s “most powerful” empire has reached it’s zenith and is helplessly, almost carelessly, careening into external and internecine warfare preceding it’s final throes as a world power.  History is repeating itself and because earth has shrunk so much due to population expansion and speed of information, the entire planet is feeling the shock waves of yet another imperial collapse.  The sharks are gathering and the feeding frenzy has already begun. 

So, let me talk to you about war.  Contrary to Earthian popular belief, history doesn’t recount wars, either started, fought, lost or won.  What your history tells is stories of series of battles fought over the millennia.  You haven’t been fighting wars but battles.  Since the inception of your civilization (there is only one) you’ve been at war.  In fact every attempt at giving a new face, or new location, to your civilization has been predicated upon war.  No Earthian civilization is possible without war; it begins and ends in war.

You will insist that you have fought great and terrible wars, for example WWI and WWII.  Read your history more carefully and you realize that WWI did not end, it went into a short hiatus for adjustment purposes, proxy realignments and materiel re-stocking then picked up again bolstered by much advanced and deadlier technology.  No sooner was WWII ostensibly ended that another “war” opened up: the “cold war” only it wasn’t all that cold.  There was Korea, then Vietnam.  But those were only the main ones that concerned the powerful West. Revolutions and civil wars raged on many continents.  Bloodbaths in Africa, Central and South America, Malaysia.  Purges in China and the USSR.  Barely mentioned in your mainstream media, lost to your short-term memory.

The real war you are fighting began the very day you decided to kick-start your own civilization but it would never be your own, you didn’t invent it, you cloned it, over and over again, always with the same futile results.  You may shake your head here, because this makes no sense to you.  It makes no sense because you never see the whole picture.  The critical missing information is, you don’t know where you come from; who you are as a species; nor where you’re going.  You have no solid foundation for your existence, just speculation.

Let me give you an infinitesimal synopsis of your actual (not official) history.  Roughly, based on on-going interpretation of archaeological finds, a half a million years ago an aggressive complement of ‘space pirates’ (you know them as your gods, or God) came upon this solar system.  They tried out some of its worlds, finally settling on earth.  They built bases here, there are many remnants of those.

Why earth?  Earth had minerals, air, water, and abundance of wildlife to kill for food and pleasure.  So it began.  Over time, say after one hundred thousand years, these pirates found that as pleasant as earth was, its environment was inimical to them.  They experienced an aging process which caused these very long-lived sentients to face physical death and their highly sophisticated medical knowledge incapable of countering the problem.  So their workers on earth refused to continue under those conditions.  They rebelled, that is, they had a general strike, and had to be returned to the home planet.

The minerals needed extracting, particularly gold, highly prized for its beauty, but also necessary to maintain a viable environment on the pirates’ wandering planet which some call Nibiru.  Gold stabilized the environment – I can’t go into the science of that. What is relevant here is that they were in desperate need of workers acclimatized to earth whom they could control, that is, over whom they would have power of life and death at all times, hence the decision to clone a breed of sentients using DNA from a local bipedal race of proto-humans (earth-adapted creatures known as Neanderthals) and mixing it with their own so the new slave would have speech capability and a rudimentary understanding of sophisticated technology and ability to learn basic commands.  So they invented ‘man’ and put the creature to work in their mines, their launch pads and their fields, gardens and homes.  They also cloned amazingly beautiful women as sex toys, all part of the story.

Over time, the pirates had a falling out and began warring with each other, something they indulged in on their home world, hence their desperate need for remedial resources.  The proto-human clones were re-programmed (you call it brainwashing) and trained for warfare.  They were used extensively in these endless resource and land claim wars and while the A’s (aliens) were few, the humans were proliferating so much it didn’t matter how many of those were killed: there were always more.  The wars intensified with no clear winners or losers, as is always the nature of war, and finally the pirates’ civilization collapsed in nuclear explosions and cataclysmic effects of alien weaponry and they abandoned the planet.  The very first civilizing empire on earth collapsed.  (It wasn’t quite that simple, but it suffices for the purpose of this article.)

Left to their own devices, without the leadership and technology of their gods, the Earthian creatures suffered terribly from famine and diseases and for a time lingered in hopelessness and died in vast numbers.  Atavism came to help the remnants and gradually most of the survivors returned to the wilderness and learned how to survive and even live very good lives without a technology their forebears had not been able to exist without.  They knew how to make basic tools and weapons with wood and stones and they had fire.  These you call hunter-gatherers. (Leaving out huge amounts of fascinating information here because my topic is war.)

(Part 2 next)

While You Were Sleeping

This poignant story from a young eastern writer written in the form of a letter just struck me. A child, a young girl is abused by her violent, drunken father with her mother maybe even aware of the goings on but is left on her own to deal with her fear, pain and helplessness in her long recurring nightmare until she resolves it the only way she could. This story may be fiction, or it may be her personal experience, but we know, how well we know, it is the experience of millions of children, girls, women on this world. A story of lightning force expressed in a child’s meek and self-effacing voice; a child who, despite her horrible mistreatment and abandonment, still sees the good in those who could have helped her but didn’t.

The Grateful Dead

(**Sha’Tara – the burning woman, I owed you one. Unfortunately, it’s not just a fiction – for someone out there, it could very well be the reality.)

Dear Mummy,

You might be surprised to find this letter waiting by your bedside, but I couldn’t think of any other place where it might catch your attention. I am also sorry that you would waste the next few minutes reading this while you could have finished so many chores around the house before leaving for work. Trust me, if I had any other means to tell you what I have to, I would have. But there are none.

From my childhood I have seen you always in the same state – rushed, agitated and sweaty. No matter how early you woke up or late you slept, the mountain of work you had to accomplish never diminished. You accepted whatever life…

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Awakening to the Greater Reality

[thoughts from    ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

          Over the years which this world has claimed from me, the one I refer to as “me” has awakened from the induced mind-sleep of the Matrix environment that holds this world, and this universe, in its bondage to the space-time impression of reality.  No longer the zombie, I awakened to a strange reality that when shared with others who appear as like to me, did not understand it.  They feared it, mocked it, or avoided it. 

          Early in this incarnation I became aware of the greatest loneliness: having no one else to share this awakening and disturbing “me” with.  Then came acceptance of the fact that even in the most intimate of relationships, or groups of like-minded action people, I remained completely alone.  Then came a new longing: for being truly alone.  Never do I feel more lost than among people interacting on their various social levels whose emotion-laden stories, however poignant, however brutal, or however marvellous, bear no similarity to my stories.  I hear them, as in a movie, a novel, a dream, or the thundering of a stormy sea against the rock-strewn shore in the darkness.  The only connection I feel is through my choice of compassion as my life’s companion.

          I awakened to my own reality of past lives and gradually future lives manifested also in my hungry mind.  I learned early on that I come from infinity, from spirit, formless, existing beyond time and space.  I learned that I am a mind, that which encompasses infinity without and within space-time, and I learned that I am also of this place, a place called Earth.  I learned bits and pieces of my history, and discovering my many names, which as they were added to each other, allowed my mind to expand to n-th degrees beyond the limitations of Matrix-controlled *ISSA lives. 

          It took a lifetime to realize the necessity of rejecting the Matrix programming I was born with; of overthrowing the labels my parents, and society in general, chained me to; of rejecting, one by one, every aspect of mankind’s civilization as having any worth in my quest for self-awareness and self-knowledge. 

          I know why I did it, but how I did it could be of some interest to others in a similar quandary, i.e., being in this world but not of this world.  I did it by plunging myself wholeheartedly in everything the Matrix offered me for success: my religion; my schools (education); my family; my politics and finally, my profession and the things I owned and accumulated to “prove” my worth.  I left no stone unturned to make sure I knew what each one offered, and this is what I discovered: each one was a dead-end street.  Each attempt at proving my Earthian worth to myself fell flat.  I could have succeeded in any endeavour.  I had the brain skills, certainly, with determination and focus.  I possessed charisma (and note that I write that in the past tense.) 

          Here’s the funny part: I offered myself in service of the Matrix’ three major powers: religion, politics and money.  But because I explored all of them and not just one or two, I literally broke out of the labyrinth.  I discovered their utter emptiness; the smoke and mirrors; the three wizards desperately trying to keep their illusions going.  But such illusions only work on zombies.  Break out and you can never again be captured by the siren song of their artificial life. 

          Break out and you can begin to sense the greater reality.  You feel that inner freedom that makes things of earth indeed seem like the paltry items a prisoner is allowed to keep in his cell.  You realize how much of a prison earth has become for man, and how with each passing day as man’s limits to growth are exceeded in rising numbers and dwindling resources, the prison tightens its security and adds to its bars and razor wire; to its walls’ height.  How those who manage the prison increase the pressure upon the prisoners to distrust, fear and hate each other so they will rely upon the guards and wardens for their safety; so they will never realize that their only value to the prison system is how much they sweat, shed tears, bleed and die to serve, feed and entertain their oppressors.

          I learned to look beyond the prison walls at a different world which I call the cosmos.  I looked at life in infinite freedom and discovered the  means to escape the prison and travel across space and time.  I no longer needed a body to do this and realized the limitations of the Matrix programming.  It could not follow me, in fact it was unaware of my “escapes.”  All it saw was a body, either asleep or dutifully performing its slave’s work.

          No longer a slave to divinities, politicians or bosses… or of emerging revolutionary forces which I knew if successful in their bid for power would only replace the existing oppressive structures with more of same old, same old.  No longer lining up to the trunk of the snake oil salesman and his alcohol and cocaine-laced cure-alls.  I taught myself the freedom to spend days alone in nature, observing changing seasons, the rise and ebb of waters, the movement and calls of birds, growing plants and the various fauna that inhabited them and lived from them.  I saw earth as I was meant to see it without Matrix blinders of fear or need of conquest and destruction. 

          I’ve just past the seventieth year marker in an Earthian body.  Seems like a long time in earth times, but a blink of an eye in cosmic terms.  Quite a dichotomy, living between worlds, having a physical presence tied to a tiny world and a mind presence ever seeking new knowledge, adventure and experiences in endless, nameless places and non-places. 

          Now I observe this tiny world seething with discord, it’s self-styled ruling intelligence without a clue how to proceed into its near and threatening future.  I observe this intelligence plunging itself deeper into oblivious mindlessness, into planetary denial of its own reality.  Unwilling to take responsibility for itself as a species it can only turn upon itself and its world, a mad dog chasing and eating its own tail and hating the tail for causing it pain as it is being chewed. 

          What can I say more: that I’m glad I’m no longer a prisoner of the programming?  Certainly I am glad, for myself.  How do I feel about the rest of this world; about its growing insanity and its denial of the doom it has created for itself?  I’m a compassionate being and I experience the deepest of sorrow for this world.  It’s not feelings I have, it’s awareness. 

          In a no-time and no-place, in the Nexus, is a world I call Altaria.  My Teachers studied and taught there and I’ve got a “date” for my own entry into that world.  When I am there I will be asked this very important question: what did you do, within your limited sphere of influence, to try and motivate your people to realize their peril and change their ways?  And I will have an answer, and it will suffice.  “I offered them the gift of compassion, but they turned it down.  Ineffective, pie-in-the-sky they replied.  So I offered them sorrow instead.  They didn’t understand that either.  They could not understand how experiencing sorrow leads to joy and creates empathy. I thought it was because these ideas are too simple.  Then I realized they are much too complex and involved for the average Earthian mind, enslaved to Matrix programming, to grasp how a certain kind of powerlessness gives rise to the greatest of all power.  Though they are inveterate gamblers they dared not gamble at this table.  So I played alone and won.”   

          And by the way, for those who wonder at these thoughts, this is not fiction.  This is my life.  I’ll let you all know when I write fiction.

*ISSA: acronym for Intelligent, Sentient, Self Aware

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“The coming years will prove increasingly cynical and cruel. People will definitely not slip into oblivion while hugging each other. The final stages in the life of humanity will be marked by the monstrous war of all against all: the amount of suffering will be maximal.” Pentti LinkolaCan Life Prevail?   http://journal-neo.org/2016/09/12/the-empire-of-mediocrity-and-the-end-of-the-world/

“Bring back normal, get our cable TV back no matter the cost, nuke whoever you have to, just give us our lives back!”  You have to see the end of all this taking shape, I know you do. […]  Mediocrity cannot rule, but in the 21st century it can obliterate us all.  I leave you with the root of our collective demise, the reason Obama or Clinton or Trump types enthrall the masses so:

“Most of our pocket wisdom is conceived for the use of mediocre people, to discourage them from ambitious attempts, and generally console them in their mediocrity.” (Robert Louis Stevenson)  (Phil Butler, is a policy investigator and analyst, a political scientist and expert on Eastern Europe, exclusively for the online magazine “New Eastern Outlook”. http://journal-neo.org/2016/09/12/the-empire-of-mediocrity-and-the-end-of-the-world/ )

There is always a heavy demand for fresh mediocrity.  In every generation the least cultivated taste has the largest appetite. (Paul Gauguin)

The soul is the weariest part of the body. ―Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky