Monday, 31 March 2014

Cracked World
 Cracked World 
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War or Peace? Choose! 
You can’t have both; decide… 

It’s time for me to share some ideas which will make me unpopular in many circles. To some, the following words may
merely seem to be self-evident truths. To others they will appear as grossly inaccurate and simplistic errors. And some will even see them as fundamentally dangerous misinformation spread by an agent provocateur employed by the Powers That Be.

We live in a chaotic world of competing ideals, lofty hopes, and completely outmoded superstitions, of everyday acts of human kindness, barbarically feuding feudal tendencies handed down from bygone eras, of laudable acts of love, compassion and wholesome valour – a kaleidoscopic mindscape of unbridled emotion, untamed thoughts, thoughtless habits and unexamined assumptions. In essence, how do we get to world peace from here?

The first step toward overcoming most obstacles is to examine them. Sometimes obvious solutions can arise from simple observations. Sometimes the simple act of examination can actually be the sole solution required. The ‘reasons’ for war and violence and all other patterns of behaviour are actually internal mental and emotional programs – inherited or imprinted patterns often misnamed ‘human nature’.

The achievement of true lasting peace – individually and globally – requires individuals to examine the thoughts and programs running through their minds, learning to see where these ideas actually come from, and consciously deciding which thoughts and emotions they wish to continue feeling and feeding.

Who are you? Why are you who you are? What do you think you believe? What do you actually do with your precious time? Are you engaged in creating a healthier world? Or are you simply re-enacting ancient programs, habitual designs and decrepit behaviour patterns inherited from long-dead ancestors, discredited cults or heartless institutions?

The major problems the planet faces today all stem from human ignorance and violence. Ignorance breeds contempt and intolerance. Violence begets more violence. Revenge and retribution create endless, pointless repetitive cycles. How can we break these cycles and redirect human passions and energies in the next generation? By examining ourselves, deciding which dreams to enact as reality and casting out the useless baggage that burdens us.

The world is a hotchpotch of differing cultures and ideologies, yet our global family all plays follow the leader. We all live and learn and change to suit the tempo of the times. When any system proves to work better than one it replaces it’s usually widely adopted. It’s up to those nations that consider themselves advanced and aware to create an example for others to follow.

Friends and readers across the literate world – and Americans in particular – it’s time to take responsibility and change the ancient cycles instead of recycling them. It’s time to enact peace in thought, word and deed. Let’s start with the most obvious behaviour that needs to be urgently corrected and rechannelled; violence.

Violence starts in the heart and mind and can be apprehended and altered before it manifests physically. There’s no reasonable excuse for striking another and no reason for outright murder, just as there’s no excuse for war. It’s time to throw down our weapons and repudiate the self-serving lies spread by profiteering politicians, greedy industrialists, amoral weapon makers and grim financiers. No more excuses. We need to keep these dangerous toys away from the kiddies and adults who kid themselves.

In the current milieu of lies and deception it’s high time for people to stop blaming every terror attack and random killing spree in the trigger-happy states of America on the U.S. Government – and to stop using that excuse to play around with instruments of pain and destruction on any scale.

It’s time to admit that average, everyday people armed with guns in a culture rampant with violence and murder can and do use them all the time. It’s time to separate the major and undeniably false flag events (perpetrated mainly by ‘intelligence’ services working for lethal corporations) – 9/11, the Tonkin Incident, and Oklahoma City for instance – from all the petty vengeances and sundry massacres perpetrated by angry losers and loony tune psych patients with ready access to bullets and guns.

It’s time to assign blame for the all-too-regular Sandy Hook, Columbine and Boston massacres to everyday nationalistic wild west gun culture – a cult of death that revels in mayhem, suffering and destruction. The ‘only remaining superpower’ now resembles a tired, retired, punch-drunk prize fighter reeling around the ring of the globe in search of new helpless victims to pummel into insensibility – before rummaging through their pockets and stealing their wallet and jewellery. In any rational world such a citizen wouldn’t be allowed to run around loose in search of a ‘credible enemy’, much less have access to weapons.

The only remaining shred of credibility possessed by the United States of America rests on the fact that life in many other countries is far, far worse.

Americans need to take a good hard look in the mirror and see what’s blindingly evident to the vast majority who dwell beyond the mazing cloud of mass mediated lies that’s forced down every U.S. gullet. Just glance at most movies, games and TV shows the Land of the Fearful uses to entrain its children – the next generation of unfree wage slaves and hapless cannon fodder.

It’s time to realise that – even though they’re playing right into the hands of totalitarian political control freaks – individual guntoting lunatics can and do commit crimes of violence. Regularly. Repeatedly. It’s very unlike the state of affairs in just about every other relatively advanced place on Planet Earth. Very few people in democratic, pluralistic nations have a wish need to own or carry guns around. And yet shills for weapon mongers try and tell us that every mass shooting in the U.S. is a carefully contrived psyop (psychological operation) designed as an excuse to take their guns from them. How absurd – and yet a silly horde of fearful, brainwashed gun cultists happily suck up the bullshit and respew it out.

Were the Columbine school victims crisis actors? Where the youthful perpetrators psyops dupes? Or were they angry lost kids spawned by a culture of violence with easy access to their family’s instruments of mass murder? Sure, Lee Harvey Oswald may have been a CIA dupe and a patsy, but almost all gunmen who take their anger out on others are merely run of the mill angry dopes, not set-up dupes. How many deliberate and accidental shootings occur every day from sea to shining sea?

The U.S. has made many enemies. There really are plenty of people living in nations the West has mercilessly attacked and destroyed who would like to cause as much pain as possible to Western nations. This is the point behind the openly admitted Neocon(man) creation of a ‘credible enemy’; when you attack an ant nest with a pointy stick for long enough the ants will eventually retaliate. Then you may imagine you have an excuse to be armed to the teeth and ‘fight back’ – in practice attacking anyone you like in a feigned fit of rage that masks deeper, unwholesome motives; profit and control.

It’s time to realise that some victims of Western colonial wars are actually capable of following simple, widely available instructions to make pipe and pressure cooker bombs (like almost anyone in the West). And it’s time to understand why. It’s because their children have been starved, forsaken, maimed and murdered for the sake of money and power for five long, painful centuries. For the last five decaying decades the U.S. has been directly responsible for most of this pain and suffering.

It’s time to realise that this madness only benefits control freak dynasties, rich weaponsmiths, psychotic warmongers, obscenely overripe banksters and powerful invested interests like the rifle association. They lead unwitting Americans to believe in an incredible threat so people live in fear of all their neighbours – and waste huge amounts of money on weapons and ammunition that enrich the biggest assholes on the planet; making everyone afraid of each other and their own shadows so they’ll buy more and more lethal armaments. It’s a very old con game and there’s another sucker born every minute.

Many tools of technology are inherently dangerous; a car can kill by plan or by accident. Yet unlike most other technological tools, weapons are designed for one simple purpose; killing. Guns kill. So do bullets. That’s what they’re made for. And most are designed to kill human beings. How could anyone believe otherwise? How can anyone honestly equate a car with a gun?

Why should anyone imagine they ‘need’ a gun in the modern world? Why do so many people believe it’s safer to live in a place where everyone is armed? How can anyone believe a better world can be built if everyone is armed to the teeth? How can any nation imagine it has the right to build, own – and use – nuclear weapons? It’s painfully obvious that all these addled notions are identically daft. It’s just plain M.A.D. – the gun-ho mentality which makes Americans think they have the right to invade other people’s countries, steal their resources and murder their children with impunity every time their bloodthirsty govcorp releases its dumbed down, rabidly vicious dogs of war...

Continues @

By Ram Ayana

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Sunday, 30 March 2014

To Infinity and Beyond: This Is the Afterlife
  Click to enlarge

To Infinity and Beyond 

This Is the Afterlife 

Turning inside out, the young shaman falls though a long swirling tunnel formed of his inverted self, his unbodied mouth and eyes agape in a primal rush toward extinction.

He accelerates through a tightly wound vortex that shifts and bends to accommodate his course, always centred in the swirling tube which never touches his falling, disembodied perspective. The tunnel is made of light, and of his own bloodstream, and of all the memories and unremembered details of materiality and personality that made up his life – yet not merely ‘his’ life.

Every human, fish, bird, animal, insect, cell and blood corpuscle that has ever lived is there with him, all at once – the dying shaman can feel their bright fear and ecstasy pouring through him as they all rush toward an unseen destination around the curving, translucent bends of the primal vortex. Even though every being dies alone – no matter if a multitude of witnesses is present – the moment of death itself is one great screaming orgasm experienced simultaneously by every one, every single thing that has ever lived – all our eyes and mouths and ganglia agape at the same simultaneous culmination of our material existence.

The tunnel is an eternally vivid living record of past events and future dreams, all memories and visions embroidered into the seamless fabric of its swirl – and Ram’yana’s private past and the panoply of his personal memories are displayed most prominently to him, brightly livid episodes which emerge from the tubular walls as he passes. His strongest experiences – the most impressive ones, that imprinted themselves most brightly into the palimpsest of his being – leap out at him in high relief as he turns and twists and falls and flies, a singular eye of consciousness accelerating toward the endless end of the convoluted time tunnel that’s leading him home.

As the world we experience slips past us at the periphery of our sensoria, an ongoing tunnel vision moves with us at the extremity of our perceptions, whether dying, dead or alive. Journeying out of the physical plane, outside the material matrix of the world, Ram’yana is beyond time and the ken of time-bound beings; as he leaves four dimensional Timespace and approaches the speed of light everything twists into a tunnel which lengthens fore and aft.

He sees his grandfather and grandmother, Mickey Mouse and Pluto, all the dogs and cats and mice and goldfish that shared his boyhood years, the smells of his houses and the flavours of his lovers. He hears the laughter of his kindergarten friends, their bright faces visible all around him singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, while pretty little Abigail jumps over a spinning rope twirled by Gina and Hannah, her long blonde pink-ribboned pigtails rotating around the sides of her head.

He holds his mother’s huge hand, grasping her finger through the wooden bars of his bassinet while she sings to him in the sultry evening air. He witnesses the expression of semi-resigned shock on his father’s face during the Cuban missile crisis and again when Kennedy was shot, sees the squashed remains of mosquitoes on the wall above his crib, watches the strange lights moving in the sky while all the neighbours point and speculate, sinks again with a collapsing sandbank on Bondi Beach, swept away with hundreds of panicking faces being pulled out to the deep sea along with him, while hundreds of man-eating sharks are driven off by the beating, splashing oars of desperate lifesavers.

He sees his mother’s eyes for the first time all over again and screams at the hard slap on his bottom as he hangs before Doctor Traub’s thick-lensed glasses in the bright, antiseptic birth theatre. His paternal grandmother smiles at him as she leans over and obscures his view of the magnificent giant yellow flowers of the magnolia tree while she wheels him in his pram; he can still smell the cloying fragrance of the flowers. His mother’s mother screams as he holds a dingo puppy up for her inspection and she tumbles over backward in her bedroom, breaking her hip while his eight year old eyes wash the scene away with tears that burn through the illusory years.

The Cat in the Hat and the Mighty Thor; the smell and Hungarian accent of alcoholic Uncle Tony, putting him off beer for years with his first taste of bitter ale at the age of six, and the bright laughing face of his babysitter Wendy by the blazing wood fire; the spray of blood when he cut his wrist falling onto a broken bottle at the age of three and the dizzying view from the emergency surgeon’s high private balcony; the first time he kissed a girl and the first time he dreamed of kissing a girl, all bound up together; flying through the sky in a propeller-driven passenger plane, watching circular rainbows following him in the clouds below.

White sulphur-crested cockatoos and sparrows circle his yard while kookaburras laugh in the gum trees; the first terrifying time his father holds him up high in the air to place him in the fork of a tree; his first night after he ran away from home, reclining on a beanbag in a Kings Cross commune reading Philip Jose Farmer’s pertinent To Your Scattered Bodies Go – everything is there, each scene and sensation embedded within and revealing a multitude of others. Everything. His dying mind seeks out everything he’s ever experienced, seeking a way back into the womb of living as he falls through something else entirely, riding a rollercoaster beyond the imagination of the most topologically tormented tycoon.

As Ram’yana falls he flashes before the eyes of his whole life – as others fall with him, many others, all others, sharing the time tunnel with his self-judging awareness. In the eternity of the Fall everything hidden or repressed is exposed in the Divine Light of clear sight and each being is their own Judge, emerging from the blindfold of their material existence to weigh their own soul on the ineradicable scales of justice and mercy. Conscience is the soul and the soul is immortally, inescapably honest with itself when released from the fetters of self-deceit and delusion.

Beyond time, at the singular moment of the great primal rush that is the birth and death canal leading from one world to the next, everyone experiences the same thingat the same time. We all come and go together in a mind-blowing orgasm; dreaming or screaming, laughing or crying, all emotion quails and pales before the rush of unstoppable motion that dwarfs any and every trivial concern.

No thought of gods or devils, life or death in the primal scream toward the Light at the end of the tunnel – the only thing that matters is holding onto your headless hat and the wordless regrets felt toward all the people, animals and conscious entities you ever knew deeply, or ever loved – and still love, deeply, tenderly, with a perspective of forgiveness, understanding and compassion never vouchsafed to your flesh-bound, in-coiled, emotion-embroiled mortal personality.

Ram is every human who ever lived and died, every fish ever caught in a current to swirl down into lightless depths beyond its control, every bird caught in a whirlwind that flings it to flinders, every animal diving for cover into cloaking vegetation from an inescapable predator, every individual blood corpuscle flinging itself on the way to the crushing pressure at the heart of its warm, pulsating cosmos. As he pours through the end of the world the tunnel twists and whirls, always hiding the point of it all, the point of no return, the heart of the matter, the source of every thing and being – and his mind expands to simultaneously see his spiraling course as a single thread in a vast interwoven image.

The tunnel is one thread among myriad drab and colourful strands in a great uncharitable tapestry, an inextricable part of its intricate pattern. The dying shaman follows the course of his life along its undulating strand and sees that his thread rises and falls above and beneath uncountable other interlocking threads, a spectrum of hues and textures in the enormously unfathomable tapestry. As his thread rises above another he is ‘conscious’, while the thread it occludes is ‘dreaming’; where his strand is covered by another thread, his mortal body sleeps and dreams while the other strand lives their waking life. Everyone and everything is there, all at once, simultaneously, lain out and displayed before him with no need for the flow of time to elucidate the infinite multiplicity of being.

Turn the tapestry around. The thought comes unbidden and the cloth reverses itself around him in a loopy topological twist; the implicately shared complementary nature of consciousness becomes apparent to his blown mind as he sees himself dreaming the lives of others, and others dreaming through his waking eyes and flesh. The intermingling pathways wind around the curving delineaments of their divine co-creation, which turns into itself like a Moebius strip until the beginning of one thread seamlessly winds into the end of another. The falcon is the hunter is the arrow is the feather is the truth. All is alive and whole; nothing is partial or frayed.

The tapestry is vast, but he’s able to follow his individuated thread through the colourful patterns and sees that the enormous conglomeration of dreams and lives is incomplete – not completed by the path of the single thread that is his experience of existence, rising from the tapestry to enter him as him. At the same timeless moment, Ram’yana approaches the plexus of light that is the destiny of all nations, women and men – the future and past of all that are born to fall along with him, minds blown in the blinding light of the immortal portal.

An immaculate blazing white-hot sun glows at the end of the tunnel. He can see it ever more clearly through the transparing walls of the vortex, thinning and fading in the face of the overwhelmingly brilliant source and core of existence. Ram sees the arcs of a trans-finite net spreading outward from the source, sees an infinitude of other vortices approaching its plexus from more angles than he can wrap his bodiless head around. They pass through each other in ways that defy and tease his mortal three-dimensionally entrained mind – but the arrangement makes subtle sense to a higher form of his being, trembling on the edge of an unchartable metamorphosis into something so much greater as to be intrinsically unimaginable. Simultaneously, on another level, the individual personality of the shaman approaches its ultimate rebirth and transformation in his flight toward the blinding light of the central sun.

The source of all is the hot, bright core and central axis of the centreless multiverse, the eternal end of every tunnel; the maw of a transdimensional creature about to swallow him up, the Infinite Light of God and his own silent heart gently glowing in timeless repose. He flies around a final bend in the dissolving tunnel, surging toward the arcane net that veils the core – which flares into him as the tunnel widens, opening into the final straight.

Ram’yana flashes toward the weave that’s flung to the ends of the cosmos, spreading himself to embrace the Light – and as he reaches it, he encounters the safety net. A web-like sieve is strung across the open maw of All, and as Ram’yana passes though it a great, resounding BOUMMB fills the boundless universe – the sound of one heartbeat, as loud as the boom that eternally creates the unborn, ever-living universe; the sound of Shiva’s eye opening and of one hand clapping.

Before your time, he hears and feels, not ready, not yet – unfinished – and he feels himself shrinking toward an infinitesimally small spot in the multitude of multiverses – back into the weave, where plan net X marks the spot where all things meet in his current-bound primate life.

Boumb… Boom…. Boom!  

That’s why I’m here, writing this to you ‘now’ – the same ‘now’ that you are reading it in, really. I and eye remember it all vividly, not as something to slowly forget or avoid in the unfocused mind’s eye, but as an ongoing experience that is with me now, always, dynamically imprinted. It is with me as it is with you, when you close your eyes and open your memory to see truly through the waters of forgetfulness, to the infinite waters of eternal life.

Life and death, sensory wakefulness and supersensory dreaming are the same thing, appearing as the warp and weft of the reversible tapestry of existence. And everyone, each of us, is the whole tapestry, inextricably interwoven – everyone is everyone, and that’s about as close as this constraining corsetry of early third millennium Inglesh needs to get at this point in infinite time – xcept, perhaps, for the most important thing of all -

Every one you truly touch and are touched by, in every way, leaves the deepest and most prominent engravings in your heart, mind and soul. What we do unto others is what we do to ourselves – and other living beings are more than mere memory mirrors or handy usable tools. That’s what draws us back for more, and more again – the need to do better by our selves – over and over, until we do it right. Then we get another choice – or another chance to ride the carousel Wheel of Fortune again, if we so choose.

The multiple layers of ascendant consciousness are a self-filtering system of co-evolution – a system of slowly developing focus and perspective that leads our awareness to other dimensions, already inextricably interwoven with the relatively ‘familiar’ bounds of our largely unknown but ever-present reality. There’s no dim-witted hierarchy of order-givers or sword-wielding guardians barring the doors of higher perception – the gateway to Heaven on Earth. There’s just you – and me, and all of us, together. We all have our time to shine, and that time is always now.

Yet Death is not Dying. In the Bardo spaces between thy flowering carnations of existence, all the bright religious hopes and turgid superstitious terrors await the untrained monkey mind in its ongoing fall toward dissolution or reintegration. The Bardo Realms are entire worlds or pocket universes as apparently solid as the full-blown reality ye imagine around thee, right where thou art sitting, right now. How do ye know thou art alive, not dreaming this experience, right here and now? Do ye think that’s air you’re breathing?

A true story

From Shaman of Centraxis 4 via

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Saturday, 29 March 2014

Parallel Lives
 Parallel Lives
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Where You Are Sitting: Dreaming Reality Behind the Veil

“There’s only one god that’s going to save you and you’re standing on it.”

- Trevor Budd

Almost everyone reading this will be living in a city or large town. You’re almost certainly sitting down, and almost certainly watching a screen that fills all but your peripheral vision and magnetises most of your awareness. We live amidst an artful series of illusions and allusions that screen out almost all the real living world – including the screen that hovers before my eyes like a squared-off crystal ball. Like the observant reader, the screen is apart from the world while inextricably a part of it – a shifting window that focuses on myriad alternate realities at the flick of a pixilated compound eye.
The scenes are so varied that an infinite range of possibilities appear to be available to us, when only a few hundred authentically original programs are on offer, all based on a score of well-scored scripts. All your hopes, fears, dreams and potentials are jigsawed into the expectations and visions of a billion billion interwoven minds and perspectives, a googolplex of equally self-important beings. You are defined by the hollow shape you make in the universe.

Your destiny appears to be constrained within the confining matrix of the possible. Within the veiling tattered canopy of society’s circus tent, anything not prescribed is proscribed and your mind is as artfully guided and censored as your economic and social potential. Limited variety and vacuous entertrainment are poor substitutes for meaning, and even a shared dreamscape in virtuous realty is no replacement for free lives in a whole and healthy world.

And yet you are immortal and unique. You can achieve literally anything – if you want it enough. You can do anything you believe is possible – and everything is possible. All power and powers are held latent beneath the rippling surface of your personality, beneath the particular flavour of your current state and your present position.

The ultimate secret is what Hitler and Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun and Carl Magnus and Amenophis the Third and all psychotics and masters know with every fibre of their being; the universe revolves around you. It’s a magnificent responsibility, one which most people shy away from, automatically shrinking back into the insecure safety of a helpless life that’s prey to the shifting currents of an apparently random and uncaring cosmos.

We all get what we create, and all achieve what we believe. Not believing that you create your reality creates that reality. Not believing that telepathy is real and ever-present makes psychic deafness an absolute – for you and almost everyone you’ll subsequently come into contact with.

We all get the reality we think we’re ready for – the life we think we want. Thought itself is the key and the problem; the universe is not a Word and life is not a finite sentence. You don’t live in a school or university – you share a multiverse of infinite possibility in which you already know everything you need to know, to do what you wanted to, and all further knowledge is available to the earnest seeker. This is not a prison planet – unless you want it to be. This is the world you wanted to be born into. This is paradise and you are an immortal with a fractured attention span!

Do you want to remember? Do you believe there’s some reason for your forgetfulness – something you don’t want to recall? Some fear you don’t want to give limbs and a face to, by re-membering and facing it? Some half-imagined grand or petty guilt you haven’t yet forgiven yourself for? Do you see the images of ten thousand pasts lurking at the periphery of your vision, waiting to distract you from the dreaming, half-awake state you dwell in as you read runes inscribed on a veil? Do you want to see the beautiful living face of eternal acceptance behind the surface of the fabricated matrix?

To find out who you are you have to clear your head of all this drivel, these words, these notions and nations and temporary cultural imperatives and all that comes with them. You have to clear your mind. You have to become nothing before you can realise you are everything. You have to transform the certainty of your fears into hope-filled intimations of immanence.

You are immortal. You are the God and Goddess of Creation. It’s a beautiful place, out here beyond the screen and behind the veil. You are not a refugee from the world. All borders are arbitrary and all nations are notions on the living, whirling Orb of the World, the gracious Mother Goddess to all who share life on the Earth – She who made all of us on the whorled sphere, fabricating us from her plasm and our own dreams.

You already live in Paradise. Experience its blessings in a stateless state of hopeful acceptance and compassion. Whoever your father may be, the Earth is your mother and you’re here now for a reason, empowered to be free and enlightened of your burdens – just as She is about to shrug off Hers.

Your world is about to be utterly transformed.

Follow your fondest dream and make it real – if it’s good for everyone it’s already part of a shared vision. Friends are waiting to help.

It’s all up to you.

‘The road to hell is NOT paved with good intentions, but with self-deceit and compromise.’

- Ramses Heru Ayana


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Friday, 28 March 2014

Perfectibilist Caduceus

Perfectibilist Caduceus
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The Time It Takes Falling Bodies To Catch Light
Creator, Judge or Architect?
There Is a Sanity Clause!

“So tell me,” O’Grady asks with a glint in his eye, “do you believe in God?” The black snake venom is coursing through my bloodstream and organs and his eyes are glowing in the semi-darkness.

He swirls in my blurring vision as the reply rises full-blown from my heart without pause for censorship or amendment; “When most people ask that question, I get the impression they don’t mean ‘is there a creator?’ – they really mean ‘is there a Judge?’.” He meets my gaze levelly. “That’s a very penetrating insight,” he says, “very Jesuitical.” My heart doesn’t pause to bask in the glow of flattered pride but continues to pour out of my mouth; “The question has more than one answer, depending on what you really mean. I don’t believe that you mean ‘is there a Judge?’ – but let me answer that one first anyway.” We’re both sitting cross-legged and I shift around to face him more directly.

“There’s only one judge that counts, and at the moment of your death your eyes are riveted open to every act and deed you’ve ever done, stripped bare before the completely aware gaze of a conscience that’s more penetrating and aware than you could believe. You are your own worst and best judge, stripping yourself to the core.

“But at the same timeless time you’re also suffused with the very spirit of parental compassion, so your judgment of yourself is an admixture of Severity and Mercy, if you like.” I touch my left shoulder with my thumb held between my first two fingers and draw a line across to my right. “Those are the names of these two Sephiras of the Tree of Life, by the by, translated from ancient Hebrew – I prefer ‘Clarity and Compassion’ myself…” O’Grady nods slowly, trailing afterimages in the gloom while my mouth continues moving and my voicebox keeps vibrating as the venom flares in my foot and spreads into my brain.

“So you are the judge, the best you could ever hope for – who knows thee more intimately than thine own conscience? And from that immortal perspective beyond time – beyond matter and space you’re beyond time as well, beyond time’s well…” The memory of my deaths return in full-blown Technicolor and quintaphonic Dolby; “…you decide whether you’ve created a perfect pattern or not – one that satisfies your expanded esthetic and ethical senses, the heart that balances the feather of truth.” Psychedelic images begin feathering inward from the periphery of my vision and it becomes increasingly difficult to focus. I concentrate on deepening my breath and slowing my pulse as my voice goes on and on;

“But more than that – from the true perspective of immortal Justice, the obvious macrocosmic truth is revealed – the secret of all enlightenment – that everyone is everyone and everything you do to anyone is something literally done to yourself. In that moment of crystal-clear awareness karma is something obvious and ever-present, and the only important thing – the only thing relevant to your blown open mind – is the impressions you’ve made on other beings, the links you have to others.

“And you decide whether you’ve lived life as best you could, or fallen short of your own abilities. You keep coming back until you’ve done it – I don’t want to use the word ‘right’, because of all the polarised connotations, and ‘correct’ is no better – but you decide to return to the Wheel until you’ve done it right by yourself, and all your selves. Then you have a further choice to explore something else entirely, or not.

“You may even decide to come back here again anyway, to help out.

“But if you want the short version,” I ramble on, “you are the Judge, Jury, Prosecutor, Defender, Executioner and Redeemer. Don’t accept any substitutes.” I need water to dilute and process the foreign proteins spilling through my blood, but the oxygen-rich air of the rainforest does nicely at present.

O’Grady nods and strokes his emerging beard, smiling into my blur. He’s a Saracen and a Viking, a Highlander and a Persian. “All right then,” he nods, “do you believe there’s a Creator?”

My hallucinating mind reviews the massed ranks of distant primate people who will cast me into imaginary hellfire or oblivion if my answer is negative – but this translucent vision doesn’t slow my open heart. A deep breath fills my lungs.

“On the one hand I side with the Gnostics – before they were all slaughtered and burned at the stake they insisted that those who purport to be the Creator – like Jehovah, for instance, or Jupiter – are actually demons masquerading as the One True God. But it gets complex – the ancients viewed the planets as gods and goddesses, remember, and many deeds and attributes ascribed to them are referents to planetary events, changes and catastrophes. Incidentally, ‘god’ is a pretty horrendous word for what we’re talking about, don’t you think?”

“I’ve always thought it pretty odd,” he agrees.
“Ugly,” I aver. “The Gnostics pointed out that no compassionate creator would ever do the things described in the old babbling books, and that any entity that did, was an ego-driven demon who should be ignored and driven out at all costs. The Gnostics went a little too far for my taste, claiming the universe itself was an evil cage – I understand their erroneous point of view, but in the long run they were a bit too nihilistic for their own good.” The Ark of the Covenant rears before my inner eye, resplendent and glowing with a blue aura of electrical charge. Before my mouth can wander in that direction my interlocutor intervenes, sparing us both a long digression. “Ah, yes, but – do you believe there’s a Creator?” O’Grady laughs.

“On the other hand,” I begin, “we’re talking about something not constrained by our primate templates of authority and awareness – and if it comes down to a choice between the archetypes of Sky Father and Earth Mother, these days I have to come down on the side of the Mother…” O’Grady laughs again. “I’m with you there, bro. It’s ‘Nungeena’ around here, right?”

“Great memory,” I congratulate him. “You got it the first time.”
“It’s just that where I first became exposed to this stuff, Her name was ‘Pacha Mama’.”

“Of course,” I smile.

“Nungeena,” he repeats as I nod. “But on the third hand,” I say, miming the emergence of another arm from my shoulder, “if you want to know what I really believe…” He leans forward as my voice drops. “How much do you know about, uh dimensional theory? Have you ever seen a hypercube?” O’Grady nods emphatically. “No,” I change my mind, “let’s start at the other end – it’s easier from down there.”

“Okay.” “You know there are an infinite number of points in any line?” I mime the action and a fluorescing trail of dot patterns laces the ground in the darkness while he nods. “And there are an infinite number of lines in any given plane, right?” I inscribe long lines at various angles on a scroll of parchment that appears in the nocturnal air.

The serpent poison is coming on strong and my foot is throbbing, swollen and red, but my monolog keeps me loosely bound to the world; I’m grateful to have an audience in this remote Paradise – and haven’t been condemned to merely sitting here alone and dealing with the poison while listening to all this stuff going around inside my head. I haven’t told him about the black snake yet – don’t want to worry him unduly. She will bruise thy heel…

“Well there are also an infinite number of planes in any solid, right?” I chop paths through an imaginary sphere from various angles, as it hovers between us like a small planetoid. O’Grady agrees. “And there are an infinite number of three-dimensional solids in hyperspace,” I conclude my series, sweeping my arms outward to indicate all the other spheres hovering in an immeasurable array that spreads away from us in all directions. “Virtual worlds from this point perspective, just as our universe is an illusion when viewed from theirs.”

For a moment I glimpse the view from hyperspace, from the fugue-riding perspective of the Crown Chakra, and all the spheres interpenetrate each other at various angles and progressions of mutual absorption – and then my mouth keeps working around the cud of my words.

“So from that heightened perspective, from the view of a consciousness dwelling in hyperspace – not beyond or apart from this world but implicately involved in everything here, as intrinsic as space or time – you could be aware of every sparrow that falls, every leaf on every tree and every thought in every being simultaneously. You could be aware of the flux of all the alternative timelines from a sufficient remove…

“It’s like this,” I continue as I see him attempt to imagine that view. I draw a circle on the ground between us. “From up here you can see everything inside that flat circle simultaneously, right? It’s all visible at once.”

“I see,” he says, and he does.

“Now, on the second last and penultimate hand in this trick deck, there’s another point or two I must make if you want a near-complete answer. There are those who draw a distinction between not only Judge and Creator, but also include an Architect in their triune pantheon…”

“Like the Egyptians with that dwarf character – what was his name?” He hands me a smoke.

“Ptah. Ta, thanks. That’s the one. “Around here he’s known as ‘Puntjal’ – pretty similar, considering. Here we have Nungeena (or Mother Nature, the Holy Spirit, the Holy Breath, the Nephesh) as well as Puntjal, the Architect of the Universe – and there’s also the indwelling Creator who dwells at the crown of your head, whose arms extend down through ours from the Dreaming, the Al Chera, Hyperspace, from the Crown of Creation, to work within the world and worlds. But I won’t speak his name here and now…”

“Fair enough. The Architect – ‘Puntjal’?”

“Perfect.” “So the geometric certainty of an interpenetrating series of interdimensional realities – not just some mathematical theory, but an infinitude of multiverses and a vast range of nesting dimensions – informs us that there must be, at very least, the likelihood of a Witness – a consciousness that is aware of everything in our little circle. Infinity is a pretty big place – infinity implies that anything we can imagine must actually exist somehow, somewhere, somewhen, on every scale…”

“So we have a Judge, an Architect, Mother Nature and a Witness – but what about a Creator?” he persists as I pass the smoke back to him.

“For a start, it’s all a hologram so you are already partaking of all of those forms of Godhood – your consciousness already extrudes into all the other dimensions, but we’re usually untrained to perceive or make use of any of them but the familiar ones that are useful to terrestrial primates. They’re all accessible, if you start young enough or are very fortunate or have enough focus and will power. The truth is, thou art God.” I’m pleased to see he doesn’t rebel at the prospect as a circlet of six-pointed stars surrounds his brow and an etheric topknot extrudes from the crown of his head.

“Now, if you really want to pin me down about a Creator – on the one octopoid tentacle, with an infinity of infinities to ponder, a Creator can’t be rendered impossible – and anything not impossible is not only probable, but likely – or even mandatory…”

“Anything not forbidden is compulsory.”

“Exactemundo, compadre.” And on the last tentacular extremity of all, interdimensional theory well understands how to create universes – we can do it in the lab, here at the dawn of the Third Millennium.”

“We can?”

“We can – I’ll explain how, if you like… do you know anything about Brane theory? M theory? Membrane theory?”

“Is this answering my question about a possible or probable Creator?”

“Okay then – you know how in current understandings of time travel, if you go back in time and kill your grandfather there’s no paradox at all?”

“You don’t snuff yourself out of existence then?”

“No – because when you leave the bubble of this hologram and enter another one, it is another one – times ain’t times and oils ain’t oils.

By entering another time stream the current belief is that you create a new time stream – although I differ on that point; I say that within infinity all virtual realities are equally real, and that the traveler is not a creator but just another vainglorious usurper of the title. These so-called ‘creator gods’ are simply stepping into a pre-existing continuum, not creating a new one at all. We don’t each simply create a new universe with each act of will, as postulated within the imagined constraints ascribed to quantum theory – we shift into a pre-existing virtual co-creation. There are an infinity of them.

“If you can imagine the sort of obsessive personality that wants to go back in time and change history – and not even their own history you understand – they know it’s a parallel history they’re tampering with but want to do it anyway – you’ll understand why a lot of the so-called ‘gods’ of the past have been such primitive control freaks.”

“Third Reichers and the like.”

“Precisely – and in some cases literally. Anyway, it’s all a variation on Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, if you like…”

“That’s where you can’t tell the velocity and trajectory of any subatomic particle at the same time?”

“That’s right – and the implications, as derived by modern physicists, are that the observer creates reality. So we’re all the Creator; manifest reality as we know it is a co-creation, combined from the various point perspectives of innumerable lifeforms in innumerable shapes, with utterly divergent environments and ways of viewing the universe. The manifest world is made by all the intersecting perspectives and wills of us all – and certainly not just those of human beings.

“The more diverse the range of lifeforms in a place, the more enduring the landform itself – and all other factors, like climate for instance. Life changes the odds in favour of itself – the evidence is all there if you take a look, all duly notarized and scientifically notated. Mind and will alter the odds, the flip of the dice, the spin of the electron, the intensity of the Sun, the trajectory of asteroids. You know what the native Americans say – the Web of Life holds it all together and each of us is a strand. “And if mind over matter is real – and it is – then all the other so-called psychic phenomena are equally real and accessible to us all.

“We’re creating it all, all the time. Everything’s an interpenetrating hologram and we’re all points of the same distributed consciousness, of the same – there has to be a better word than ‘oddgod’ – but if you’re looking for a Creator, look in the mirror,” I laugh, drawing a planar pane between us.
We grok. It groks.

“Okay,” he asks as pregnant Molki awakes from her drowsy slumber and leans against him. “What do you think gravity is?”

Step out of the chains binding your mind and life! Your parents and grandparents were happy and satisfied to be lied to by those who still get away with stealing the wealth and knowledge of the Earth (and everywhere else) for themselves – are you?
Turn on. Tune in. Opt OUT! You have nothing to lose but your blinkers. Security is only found within and true abundance comes only to those prepared to give everything away when they no longer need it.
Money is not abundance – it’s a tax on abundance! Why are you reading this? Why are you here? What is it that you need? Why do you need it? Who are you, really?

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Thursday, 27 March 2014

Cavern of the Djinn

Cavern of the Djinn  
Click image to enlarge

The Men Who Stare At Scapegoats

...Stupid religious fables suit the purposes of plutocrats who care nothing for the crap vomited out by churches, temples, synagogues and mosques. They know where their real truth of material wealth that spans immortal ages lies – in oil and minerals, factories and farms, workers and taxes. They’ve used various religions to blind and bind their landlocked wage serfs since Adam was a lad.

Most people fail to realise there are only around twenty million Jehovah-bedamned Jews in the entire world. There are around a BILLION followers of Islime, a BILLION Cathoholics, a BILLION other Christians, a BILLION Chinese and at least half a billion each of Hindus and Buddhists. Those who claim Jews run the world must have very low regard for their own people, or they must believe Jews are something more than human.

The Catholic Jesuit (NOT Jewish) Rothschild banking dynasty and all their egregious bankster associates have taken advantage of the stupidity of others to make money for centuries, but that particular Vatican-dominated ‘Court Jew’ banking cartel controls only a fraction of the world’s REAL wealth.

Ever hear of the House of Saud? How about all the other oil-rich Gulf nations? Do you think they entrust their wealth to their adversaries? What about the Chinese and Indians? What about Switzerland? How about Russia and Korea? Or the Vatican? It’s easier to blame the Jews for the crimes of all banksters than to recognise that the biggest Western banksters are members of a secretive cult of Jesuits, or that Jews probably only control about 10% of the world’s real wealth and monetary illusions.

Many claim the Vatican is the ultimate culprit, but like all gangster front organisations such as other governments, monarchies and banking corporations, the unholy Roman megacult is ruled by individual nonbelieving gangsters – rich, greedy, cynical fat cat men and women with names and addresses and an incredible amount to hide.

Do you think the Jesuit Rothschilds control or ‘own’ China or Russia or the Vatican trillions? Think again. They may own lots of money – but money doesn’t exist. It’s crappy pottage made for peons and taxable wage slaves. The real owners don’t use the stuff. It’s a distracting fable that helps hide the sources and repositories of true wealth. Knowledge isn’t power. Money isn’t power. Power is power, and the primary power of true ownership is the power to kill competitors and enforce dominance.

The real ‘owners’ are dynastic and monarchic in dust realists with legions of partisan followers who allow neuvo riche banksters and other apparent rivals to exist – it’s not the other way around, as many presume. Old Money still rules, because it has little to do with money and everything to do with real, vital resources. The banksters are a handy foil and shield for inbred, neotonous, nepotistic families that have been trained for millennia to believe they’re born to rule everyone else.

Most of the worst are supposed Catholics or WASPS; nonbelieving, domineering materialists who merely pretend to be Christians. They are racist, predatory, self-styled kings and queens, dukes and earls, barons and knights – warmongers in sheep’s clothing to whom the supremacy of bloodline is all that matters. They want everyone to believe that Jesus was their great-great grandfather so they have the ‘right’ to dominate all mere mortals.

And of course there are similar ‘divine’ aristocracies in most Eastern nations that hold superstitious, well-entrained people in servile salaryman thraldom, promoting mandatory belief in their fraudulent supernatural links - lineages descending from some primeval tribal god or goddess, or a bloodthirsty national bully. Today’s banking system simply suits their purposes as well as yesterday’s methods of command and control.

Only dynasties have a chance of maintaining the same territorial holdings and ongoing plans over many generations. Only dynasties and the cults they sponsor have the wherewithal to control and edit human history over many millennia. Only the victors get to write history and to control perceptions of reality on a daily basis.

It suits the purposes of the REAL global power mongers for people to believe that the Israelis are behind every calumny in the whole wide world - that they run the US and Britain and that the tail wags the dog. It’s a farcical perspective engendered by purblind Middle Eastern nations, spread far and wide by (other) racists and encouraged by Western countries to misdirect blame and assuage their own guilt.

Judaism is as inherently racist as, say, the Japanese nation and many others. In fact, virtually everyone who identifies with a particular ‘race’ is usually inherently racist. But the crazy tenets of all religions spawned by the followers of that Bronze Age Babylonian child molester Abraham are the prime excuses for humans to hate each other and to destroy the ecosystem – because this real, live, beautiful world just doesn’t matter to idiots who believe that Planet Earth can never be as good as some imaginary future afterlife. True Believers can’t accept the gift of the present. Masterfully trained to ultimately hate themselves and despise their existence, they only dream of pie in the sky.

All the Abrahamic sects are death cults. Followers of Christinanity, Moronism, Islime and heebie-jeebie-believing Jews are death worshipping fantasists who couldn’t live in the NOW if you rubbed their noses in it. They love an imaginary big brother in the clouds more than life– and consciousness - itself. Everything they touch turns to shit and arid desert.

Only some imaginary heavenly Bardo realm matters to them, not Paradise on Earth. As a result they’ve systematically trashed the planet to please their true masters –families of psychotic ex-monarchs who believe they and they alone are worthy to wield power over all others. The fabricated belief in a ‘divine right of kings’- spread by the cults they created - has brainwashed untold generations into serfdom and suffering.

By definition, monarchy is psychosis and monarchs are psychotics.


‘Intelligence’ Agents of Corpora(te Na)tions

Today’s self-styled monarchs are not the kings and queens of old, who in many cases were true representatives of their people. Ancient kingship derived from spiritual awareness and connectedness to the wider tribe. Today’s monarchic rule is rulership over territories, not people, and their territories are far-flung and fluid in the modern world. Today’s monarchs are largely invisible, while some (like the Belgian/Dutch rulers of Britain) hide in plain sight behind false names, masquerading as powerless figureheads. Their only allegiance is to members of their own immediate family, and as far as they’re concerned if you’re not in their family you’re not in their race.

This is paradoxically true of monarchs of every race and colour, a credo shared by reflexive insect hives and hunter-gatherer primate bands alike. It’s nothing unusual, but merely the default state of unselfconscious, unaware, unexamined existence. Racism is simply one of the nastier stigmata demarking the more insecure and less evolved elements of primate tribal nature.

Recognising that blood is thicker than water, that bloodlines rule and that only dynasties have a chance of maintaining the same territorial holdings and ongoing plans over many generations, lesser control freak organisations adopt similar nepotistic practices. They swap their own spouses and children with those of other powerful families and incorporate those of their rivals into their own families in biological ‘friendly mergers’.

Many successful political parties, financial transnationals and industrial conglomerates are now as interbred and inbred as royal families. They control holdings and private armies as extensive as the bloodlines they emulate and occasionally breed with. Many of these busynestmen like to believe they run the world through secret societies of brotherly lodges and deathly oaths that control the purloined prizes of global resources - including intelligence networks.

It suits the interests of ancient bloodlines that the New Money believes this to be the case, but other, even more remote powers rule their bourgeois roost.

In a world of ultimate surveillance, where everything outdoors is nakedly visible to spy satellites, drones or CCTV and almost all indoor areas are similarly observable - where phone lines, airwaves, emails, websites and records of all communications are routinely monitored and stored by systems Big Brother could only fantasise about – it’s gratifying to see the reaction of ‘statesmen’ and executives when their dirty laundry is hung out to dry by anonymous hackers.

Everyone is watched, but the age old question remains; who watches the watchers; who guards the guardians?

The compartmentalised structure of modern intelligence agencies has rendered the hidden work of spies more invisible and unchallengeable than the more grandiose schemes of any secret society of the past. ‘Need to know’ means that no-one really knows anything much - particularly who’s in charge of the vast black budgets provided by unwitting taxpayers. Unheard of weapons and transportation systems have already been deployed – systems that are sometimes under the control of no conventional government. Secret redoubts in extremely remote places, along with extraordinarily expensive means of access have been constructed at a cost of trillions of dollars over many decades by clandestine groups who believe, above all, in their own survival.

The greatest threat to peace, freedom, security and democracy comes not from terrorists, fanatics or even from ‘rogue elements’ within intelligence agencies, but from hidden hands that invisibly manipulate them from the summit of the food chain.

Throughout history there have always been those who occupy the position of puppet master. The real culprits in the ongoing manipulation of events are those with truly long term agendas cemented by the wealth, ties and loyalties attending all dynastic families. Only ruling houses have the wherewithal, endurance and indomitable ruthlessness to maintain control of the apparently headless horsemen of Industry, Finance and Intelligence through generations and centuries. They have long been the ‘secret chiefs’ of magical fraternities and masonic lodges, adept at high order subterfuge and codified control systems. They direct the course of technology and control its disbursal through carefully channelled funding, intimidation and murder. It’s been this way since the time of the Pharaohs, but both truth and change share an incorrigible habit of slipping past all gates, bars and razor wire.

Psychotic control freaks may believe they rule, yet even these indomitable dorks are merely pawns in the grander scheme of things. Even though the rapid desertification of the world’s land surfaces may appear to be an example of ‘unterraforming’ the planet to suit some putative alien invader with designs on local real estate, the truth is that the ecosystem is dying a death of a billion cuts, wielded by almost every human on Earth. Neither alien shapeshifters nor racist monarchies are actually responsible for the destruction of the planetary ecosystem. We all are. You’re the culprit. And, having come this far, you now have a choice to make.

Do you want to see a change?


Real Freedom

No-one likes to realise they’ve been fooled. No-one likes to realise they’ve been wrong. Very few like to admit that they – not some remote shadowy scapegoat - are the problem. Very few are willing to give up their distracting toys, illusory freedoms and toxic pseudo-luxuries and do what’s required – rethink their lives, change their lifestyles, abandon or alter their entrained expectations, resign from their destructive jobs, reconnect with life, grow food, replant the forests, learn to sing and play and play music again, find real friendship in interdependence, leave the toxic cities and get back to the EARTH.

That’s what it will take to save yourself, your soul, your children and your planet, friend; putting down real, solid roots in a healthy water table and extending your awareness into the light of delight.

Expanded consciousness can’t grow amid eternal distraction or ambient fear. It can’t expand while it’s focused on trivia or pain. Almost everyone lives in a hypnagogic, semiconscious, barely awake and scarcely aware state, at one remove from the world of the senses or any other version of true reality.

The world is made of mindstuff and run by hypnosis, and higher consciousness comes with inbuilt filters that make it impossible for anyone attached to material goods or emotional ties to achieve the only real freedom there is – the levity of enlightenment.

Conscious awareness is your true heritage - not temporary material goods, not the ongoing potage of daily distractions and nightly fantasies that comprise pointless existence in modern societies and civilisations. There’s no external truth or external god, but there is an eternal One, and you are it.

Only conscious awareness derived from relentless self-examination can set you free. Know thyself. No excess. The immortal dwells within. Meditate on nothing – nothing at all. It’s the hardest thing in the world, until you achieve it. Then it’s always at hand, ready and waiting for you to re-enter and maintain. Real truth is simpler and more pure than words can possibly convey.

The hippies were always right. Pollution kills. Consciousness is everything, and vice versa. You’re either part of the problem or part of the solution. Think globally, but ACT! Alternatives exist – live them. Grow your hair. Go barefoot. Live in a nice, healthy, comfortable place with a forgiving climate and clean water and air. You can. It’s much easier than those who lock themselves inside barred suburban cells every night can allow themselves to believe. Paradise awaits – we just have to replant it.

You can do MUCH better by putting no more of your time into today’s broken medieval feudal system. It’s easy – and fun – to jump off the rat wheel treadmill. Leave the toxic shitties that were built to keep blindsided workers in their accustomed places. Most cities are unliveable poison sumps now, and all they offer is more ways to lose your lifetime (in case you haven't noticed). Get down to earth - you have nothing to lose but your pains.

You CAN afford to; can you afford not to? If you’re in a position to buy or otherwise liberate some land and water from moneygrubbing destroyers then do it, even if you ‘only’ intend to allow it to return to wilderness. Share it with anyone who respects it, particularly any remaining native custodians with ancestral links to the place.

And it’s much easier to live off-grid these days than most people imagine. If you can’t afford land there are many communities, landholders and custodians who will help you and give you a place to live if you sincerely seek them out. Everyone needs a hand to heal the planet, and the only way to ensure your food is clean and wholesome is to have a hand in growing it yourself. Just leave all your insecurities and toxins behind and be prepared to CHANGE yourself. Only those who can learn to live with themselves can make the transition.

Turn on. Tune in. OPT OUT of the system with likeminded friends and family and create something new with the only things you really have or own – your time and energy! Together we can still recreate the best of all possible worlds.

Remember why you are alive?

by R. Ayana (who has lived in a tiny shack in a remote forest for 25 years) 

You can help this invalid artist continue by giving enough for a meal or drink if youre able -   Donate any amount and receive at least one New Illuminati eBook!