Hello friends,
I am:
Daringly original. An avid copycat. Viciously reassuring. Intelligibly obtuse. Dancing while still. Guiltily innocent. In no way culpable. Liquidating my assets. Bouncing effortlessly. Erotically puritanical. Ridiculously serious. Tough and tender. Prized by the very few. Loud in a quiet kind of way. Ardently equivocal. Nonplussed regularly. Terribly truthful. Evidently improbable.
DISPATCHES FROM THE SHADOWLANDS is an attempt to inquire into the unknown.
Investigate most people’s viewpoints concerning ‘How This Thing Works’ — meaning how the real world is actually run — including your own viewpoints — and you quickly come to find there is a schism in the fault lines of reality. What is and what seems to be are different entities. And reality is nothing like what is presented nightly on your national newscasts.
A while back my friend K.L., now long gone, had found a psychological exam on the internet and asked me to take it. One of the questions was: “How accurate do you think your nightly national newscast is?”
“Is zero percent an option?” I asked, knowing it wouldn’t be.
K.L. was a lifelong fan of mutants, and he considered me one. K.L. had once given me another test found while Web surfing; this one was a list of Final Jeopardy questions. I aced thirty-nine Final Jeopardy questions in a row. I flopped on the fortieth.
“That’s amazing. You’re an outlier,” K.L. said, looking at me with renewed interest.
“I really flubbed that last one.”
“Who cares? Thirty-nine in a row correct. All those different subjects!”
“It’s just some kind of memory trick,” I said. “It doesn’t mean much. Really understanding all those subjects would be amazing. Most can remember a quote or two from Shakespeare, but how many have read the stuff? And how many fewer understand the esoteric qualities in the work? And you can say that about any subject. Most only have a superficial knowledge of things, even things they’re interested in.”
K.L. smiled. “You’ve got a point. Still . . . You’re an outlier.”
I was flattered by K.L.’s enthusiasm concerning my intelligence, but I was intelligent enough to know I wasn’t very intelligent, memory tricks or not. I didn’t consider myself stupid . . . I just knew intuitively I could live a million lifetimes in human form and not even know a tenth of what there is to know. That feeling has buoyed my spirits when depressed — there is such an unimaginable wealth before us, waiting to be discovered. The libraries around the world are filled with life-changing information, but most never enter . . . or, if they do, it’s to connect to the internet so they can message their friends or borrow celebrity cookbooks or memoirs.
Then consider the vast amount of esoteric knowledge reserved for restricted eyes. And the universal knowledge no human has ever recorded.
Nothing in this world is as it seems.
Everything is in a state of flux. There are always hidden processes . . . obscure alternatives . . . Somewhere, certain people sit at a table and calmly plan the script the world will be forced to perform.
The truth behind the fiction is my only religion. I have an intuitive distrust of organized religions, governments and popular movements, and have since I was a very young child. In fact, as a very young child I remember feeling adults were mad and I vowed to whatever gods existed I would never become one — mentally.
What I was really expressing was my distrust of the mental conditioning process that begins when a child enters the education system. Of course, the conditioning starts before that, in the home, and continues outside of school in the culture in general. It’s a continual process.
What I couldn’t express to myself as a child in clinical terms was felt as an overpowering revulsion — to sleep. Leading an inauthentic life. Driving while asleep at the wheel. Faux reality spawns faux people: Automatons. People who are asleep but are convinced they are awake.
Many people reach college age and believe they’ve pretty much got it all figured out. By the time they’ve started a family and witnessed a few of life’s strange vicissitudes, they consider themselves veterans of the Game. By retirement age, many feel they are sages, having witnessed life go up, down and sideways.
But what have they really witnessed?
The Great Show. Governments rise and fall. Spiritual institutions go bankrupt. The cultural sorcerers create fads, trends and crazes, all seemingly natural and random, all meticulously planned and organized by think tanks staffed by behavioral psychologists and semioticians.
Which were the authentic parts? and which were the parts constructed for distraction, disinformation and propaganda? Can the Great Magicians really pull the rabbit out of the hat right in front of your eyes?
Sleep. Humankind is under the spells of the sorcerers, many working on Madison Avenue, and it languishes in a kind of sleep . . .
Hardly an original idea, but . . . How many people understand it’s ramifications? Or how the situation got this way, in the first place?
It is always easier to detect this sleep in others; much harder to detect it in ourselves. The vast majority of humankind spend the vast majority of their lives in sleep while believing they are awake and thinking and communicating original thoughts. Most prefer the warm liquid comfort of the Womb of Ignorance. They doze like an inert fetus, wired to the technocrat’s latest gizmos and gadgets which feed them their entertainment and newsbytes. The culture creators feed their opinions to them.
Is that who you are?
Well, who are you?
YOU are the divine flame of consciousness.
YOU were born to topple governments, disprove dogma, usurp power, build that which has never been built, challenge the known and bridge the unknowable.
All in the name of YOU.
HERE, in this realm where every sense is a lie, YOU appear. To end all slavery and exploitation. To shoot beams of light into the darkness like a maniac with a flamethrower. All existence is an incubation period for your arrival.
You. The crystallization of trillions of years of metamorphoses. Lead into gold. Your existence proves the philosopher’s dearest dreams are a certainty. The dull grey skies . . . a squirrel darting up a tree . . . the rings of Saturn . . . that crushed soda can on the street . . . Would any of these exist without YOU to observe them?
Are you ignorant of your own destiny?
How could you not see what is so plain?
*18*
There's a bit to compliment here; the notions on recognizing the dysfunction in others with the difficult of recognizing it in oneself, for example. But I might like to append your overall article with the notion that many people that exist are new or younger souls, as our population is expanding. And this is to be a major point of civilization moving forward. The geniuses will emerge from them, and they, as a herd, will serve to seat such older souls that will be born through them.