Saturday, January 12, 2019

The Power & Value of Feedback... (repost)

Since I began blogging in December 2006 I've been dipping into other blogs and leaving the occasional comment. Yup, I believe in the Golden Rule. All bloggers love comments. It shows people are reading your output and responding to it. It's also a sneaky way to lure random visitors to your own blog.

One night, I stumbled upon a comment I'd left ages ago on someone's blog... and I was struck by the fact that I had almost completely forgotten what I said. Most times the comments are written on the spur of the moment, scanned for typos, and then published. And that's that. Anyway, I felt prompted to trace a few comments I had scattered here and there along the way, like some digital age Johnny Appleseed, and archive them. Re-reading them after weeks or even months had passed, I found many worth sharing (even if I say so myself!) Why not compile some of the more interesting ones into a blogpost? Why not indeed!

A friend ruminating on Death and Taxes in his blogpost:

This was my comment:

Unsubscribing from the 3D illusion of Decay, Debt and Death.

There are moments when I can happily contemplate living forever... and times when I would be quite happy to die immediately! In either case, the trick is to nullify the grimness and gravity of the grave - to laugh in the face of the unknown - we really don't have much choice. The alternative is to wallow in melancholy and moroseness and to see Life itself as a curse rather than a blessing. As a kid I occasionally allowed my thoughts to stray towards the inevitability of someday witnessing my parents' deaths - and I'd shudder at the horrible notion of never seeing Mum or Dad again.

Ironically, after watching my mother endure five years of dialysis and being subject to other medical ignominies (with a meter running all the while which eventually enriched the medical profession by at least a quarter million ringgit - that's right, folks, not only do you pay death duties, you also get heavily taxed as you're dying) I found myself encouraging her to let go, to allow the currents to take her from the pain and suffering of her bodily existence... I found myself promising her that she would be safe and well protected on the other side of the veil... and, thinking about it, I have served as Angel of Death for quite a number of people over the years!

Often, all one requires is a little reassurance that all of it has been just a colorful drama, a fabulous movie indeed, but the REAL LIFE awaits outside the theater. Indeed, it's like a show within a show within a show (or a trial within a trial :-)... What's evident is that when the Book Religions displaced Ancient Wisdom, they deprived humanity of any in-depth understanding of all the different dimensions in which Consciousness dwells - the only recent cultures that paid any attention at all to the scientific study of Death being the Egyptian and Tibetan; so it is to them that we must turn for some guidance to the realms that reside just beyond the EXIT.


You live in a hologram designed to harvest your vital energy to fuel a machine of destruction and enslavement. However, every atom that exists is a fractal of the entire universe and is supercharged with infinite potential and cosmic intelligence. The part of you that is immortal and indestructible (your Godself or Paramatman) is constantly attempting to wake you up from the robotic trance most humans are born into. Heed these signs. They are clues that will ultimately lead you out of the labyrinth and into true freedom. Good luck on your vision quest!

"I hope something comes out of 2012 or we'll have to wait till 2112."

You know, most of us are passive consumers of reality - shit happens and we bitch about it. Then one day a light bulb flashes on above our heads and we experience a eureka moment - like Pythagoras who exclaimed: "Astonishing! EVERYTHING IS INTELLIGENT!!!"

What that presumably meant was that he suddenly became conscious of the primordial consciousness permeating the quantum space-time within sub-atomic dimensions - more poetically expressed by the mystical knowing that the Divine Dwells Within Our Innermost Core. In effect, we are creators with a small 'C' who will eventually graduate to being Creators with a big 'C'- and then there will be nobody to blame when shit happens because it's only our own shit!


The first fictional being that pops unbidden to mind who has exerted the greatest influence on me, I must confess, is Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan/Lord Greystoke. Indeed, I often think I've modeled my own life after the Lord of the Jungle who, amazingly, is also Lord of the Manor.

A close second might be Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes - but, much as I enjoy the occasional bit of sleuthing, I found Holmes's misogynist Old Boy ways (hanging out the whole time with his sidekick Watson) rather off-putting. Same goes for Henry Higgins. Seems to me that our "education system" has done a thoroughly fine job of dumbing down children born in the late 1970s (that's right, when Dr M was education minister) But, alas, the same can be said about Britain - I meet some dazzlingly ignorant young people from there.

Postscript: After 50 years of serious probing and research I have been forced to the inevitable conclusion that a character I profoundly admired (from the New Testament, no less) and who exerted extraordinary influence on my own character development - is not only fictitious but an intentionally manufactured icon inserted into the collective psyche by pioneers of mass mind control. That's right, folks, I'm referring to the world's most successful fictional character, Yeshu Ben Joseph aka Jesus the Christ :-)


Political systems on this planet are essentially a facade for old-style warlordism - wherein the baboon with the longest fangs and loudest roar (and who controls a large army of samseng,* uniformed or otherwise) invariably ends up being Boss Baboon.

In effect, Might-Is-Always-Right (as the UK/US-Israeli Gang have clearly demonstrated in recent days). Same applies to the Baboon Nazional party who have had such a long run ruining the country it's very hard for them to contemplate giving up their power to anybody now or anytime.

The ones largely responsible for propping them up are the comfortable, well-educated middle-classes whose obsession with financial success turns them into potential Ananda Krishnans, Vincent Tans, and Patrick Lims (got enough money can buy the garmen wat?). BN's prime appeal is to the lowest common denominator of primeval self-interest. Donkair de udder flers, aku cukup makan sudahlah!**


The phenomenal world is like a magic lantern show of moving images that ceaselessly change and distract from the ONLY authentic task at hand: clearing our neural and emotional circuitry so that we can individually emerge from our cocoons of illusory powerlessness and victimhood. As each of us achieves Buddhahood and other degrees of spiritual maturity, the historical nightmare on this beautiful planet will abruptly end.

Bloggers (and most humans for that matter) are like gossips. Always a new sensation to obliterate yesterday’s scandal. Another day, another disaster… and for businessmen, it’s always busyness-as-usual… until the first heart attack or stroke.


The Battle at Wounded Knee, Malaysian style. Goreng pisang seller. How totally appropriate! It just wasn’t this guy’s day. But they say “Bapak borek, anak rintik” (Like Father, Like Son) - and who’s the “Bapak” of the Polis Di Raja Malaysia? Isn’t it the Home Minister? Is he at Home??? If you get mauled by a vicious dog, you find out who the owner is and file a suit.

Your ANALysis reveals a loose sphincter, Mat Salleh

It may once have been fashionable, indeed de rigueur in journalistic circles, to sound worldly-wise and cynical, Mat Salleh, but your busyness-as-usual mindset has become part of the problem, not part of the solution.

Are you too old to have ideals? Must you reduce everything in life to the Bottom Line by viewing the world through that primly puckered aperture in your nether regions? Do you truly believe you can get away with pretending to be "objective" in an observer-created universe? What comes across in your opinion piece is that you subscribe to a belief in politics-as-usual, failing to see the significance of such a massive turnout for the 10 November march.

And, in this instance, what's genuinely important isn't the expected Umno infighting - or the rulers' sophisticated mummery - it's the fact that so many Malaysians from across the racial and social spectrum overcame their own fear and inertia to show the BN that they will no longer be intimidated by the police nor will they be placated by pious platitudes and empty promises of clean and efficient government.

Without the police roadblocks and the turning away of dozens of buses at the outskirts of KL, the crowd on Saturday may well have exceeded 100,000 - and that's a REAL phenomenon when you consider the climate of fear Malaysians have lived under for 20 years. I'm so glad I was there to witness so many Malaysians break free of the shackles of their own fear. And FEAR is the only power any oppressive government can wield over people - the power to terrorize and paralyze them via the mass media. You are doing us all a gross injustice by belittling this simple act of bravery consciously undertaken by at least 50,000 Malaysians.

*samseng = hooligan, thug
**Donkair de udder flers, aku cukup makan sudahlah! = Après moi le déluge!

[First published on 24 November 2007, reposted 2 September 2013]

Sunday, January 6, 2019


“Kit Fong, pay attention!”


“Kit Fong, you’re late again!”


Was it the insidious cultural influence of having been born in the days of the Empire when names like Archibald, Horatio and Montgomery sounded easier on the ear than Ching Chong, King Kong or Ping Pong?

Whatever the cause, the effect was psychologically debilitating. I secretly dropped the Fong. In my mind I was Kit Lee. I had no problem with the name “Kit” which means “outstanding hero” in Chinese [傑]. That I could relate to. But the way the “Fong” was written suggested “fragrant” rather than “magnanimous” – and the idea of being a “fragrant hero” sounded namby-pamby and sissy. At eight I was understandably defensive of my masculinity.

It took about 12 years to grow my third ‘E’ – but we’ll discuss that later.

Meanwhile, having been impressed by Christopher Lee’s performance as Count Dracula and as an Egyptian priest in The Mummy, I was thrilled to learn that “Kit” was also the pet form of “Christopher” – which entitled me to see myself as a hologram aspect of that highly distinguished horror-film actor.

Of course, nobody had heard of holograms yet. But already I had a vivid sense of the micro-macro, “as above, so below” fractal universe that constitutes the cosmic context of our beings.

Soon enough, I dropped the “Christopher Lee” nonsense. Anyway, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable with the meaning of “Christopher” – bearer of the Christ child (at the time I had no idea what "Christ" actually meant, thought it was a cuss word).

Then I came across a book on numerology and spent weeks working out the values and attributes of everybody’s name I could think of. I decided that my name vibration had to correspond with the mystical 7, and the easiest way to manage that without radically altering my given name was to attach an extra ‘E’ to the Lee.

Furthermore, “Kit Leee” added up to a 7 numerologically as well as typographically. And so the long tedious task began of persuading people to accept my third ‘E.’

At the same time I started feeling uneasy about wearing a name that could identify me with any specific ethnic group on this planet. I didn’t feel particularly Chinese, since the language was no less exotic to me than Greek or Hebrew or Serbo-Croatian. My only acquaintance with Chinese philosophy, primarily Taoist, was filtered through the minds of westerners like Alan Watts, Richard Wilhelm and Carl Jung.

Was I a cultural banana, yellow outside and white inside? Appealing as that metaphor sounded, I sought the broadest human perspective rather than wave flags, shake rattles and shout slogans proclaiming my loyalty to any football club or genetic lineage.

I toyed around with anagrams and read everything backwards. Having stumbled upon the Latin word “resurgam” and discovering that its meaning resonated with my own obsession with resurgence or resurrection, I playfully began to call myself Magruser Eeel or M. Eeel for short (inspired partly by an obscure French musician named M. Frog and partly by an inexplicable fascination with the name “Melchizedek” which contains three ‘E’s, an ‘L’ and an ‘M’).

Magruser, apart from being Resurgam spelt backwards, had the dubious benefit of sounding vaguely Scottish. As a teenager I’d had recurring reincarnational dreams of being a drummer boy at the head of a kilt-wearing highland regiment. These dreams invariably ended with my getting a musket ball in my belly, collapsing on the meadow, and feeling my spirit evaporate into a cloudless blue sky.

Then I found out that “Tricky Dick” Nixon had a White House staffer named Jeb Magruder (pictured right) – which kind of soured the name “Magruser” for me. I finally realized nobody could take a name like Magruser Eeel seriously, though I must admit it bears a certain spiritual kinship with Forrest Gump.

Now this probably comes across as the eccentric preoccupations of a totally self-absorbed young person. Indeed I was in danger of becoming a solipsist – someone who believes that “all real entities are modifications and states of the self.” In other words, a victim of “artistic egoism” for whom the universe exists only as a private playground. After all, I was very much an adherent of the Socratic dictum: “Know thyself.” And how else does one go about “knowing” oneself if not through experimenting with the process of naming and renaming?

The act of naming underlies all epistemological workings. Epistemology is just a fancy word for studying the basis of knowledge. For instance: by describing a person as “hero” or “villain” or “astronaut” or “junkie,” we are in effect defining how others will perceive or receive him or her. A “very determined” chap is worthy of public admiration; however, a “mulishly obstinate” fellow tends to elicit sighs of psychic fatigue from those around him. It’s the classic case of having to choose between a cup half-empty or half-full.

At any rate “Kit Leee” gradually got accepted because people kept seeing it in print over a period of years when I was active in theater, music and journalism. Most people were addressing letters to “Kit Leee” – except my mother, who found it hard to acknowledge the validity of my surname “Leee.” Finally I had my first book published – and when she saw my name in all its glory on the cover, she capitulated.

How did my father feel about it?

I explained to him that the Lee clan consisted of hundreds of thousands of individuals who weren’t remotely related – including a whole bunch of Lees that weren’t even Chinese. By becoming a Leee I was merely extending the line and marking a departure from tradition. My father took it quietly without argument. He has never been prone to intellectual discourse, being a practical man who prefers to deal with the nuts-and-bolts of existence. As far as he was concerned, I would always be his son, no matter what I called myself.

I began making enquiries about officially changing my name to Kit Leee. Lawyers informed me the deed poll process was fairly complicated and costly – AND the rub was, Malaysian laws require that one’s birthname be retained on the identity card as an alias. No way. I didn’t want to sound like a gangster: Yong Tow Foo @ Ah Foo @ Fooyong Hai @ Towfoo Pok.

This is bullshit, I thought. Surely we have the right to choose whatever form of identification feels comfortable to us. How dare the State try to keep our personalities from evolving!

At the bank I was unable to get an ATM card issued with the name Kit Leee. “Kit Lee” was permitted but “Kit Leee” tak boleh. My very sensible argument that, in terms of security, “Leee” was far more effective than “Lee” – because I was probably the only one on Earth with such a surname – was answered by blank looks and firm shakes of the head. Not even a smile.

Later I was delighted to learn I wasn’t the only Leee on Earth. While reading a biography of David Bowie, the ultimate chameleon of pop iconology, I came across the name Leee Black Childers, who was at one time executive vice-president of Bowie’s MainMan label. Aha! There are at least two of us, I thought, elated. Imagine my surprise when I discovered there are actually THREE of us, including Leee John, the soul singer (left).

So… why couldn’t I leave well enough alone?

Why did I have to embark on a whole new campaign to persuade people to address me as ANTARES? What on earth does “Antares” mean, anyway? Is it Greek? Spanish? Sanskrit? Did I find it in a book? Who gave it to me? Anyway, who gives a fuck…

I’m by no means the only one who has periodically felt the compulsion to alter the course of my destiny by changing my name.

Amunhotep IV turned his reign into a far-reaching navigational beacon by becoming Pharaoh Akhnaton. Samuel Langhorne Clemens achieved literary immortality as Mark Twain, in the same way that Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, a quiet mathematician, insinuated his imaginative genius into the public realm by posing as Lewis Carroll, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass.

Marion Morrison fared much better as John Wayne; and Robert Allen Zimmerman may well have remained a gas-pump attendant in Hibbings, Minnesota, had he not decided to strike out for New York and seek his fortune as Bob Dylan. What about Issur Danielovitch? Even Michael Douglas would have had difficulty spelling his famous father Kirk’s birthname!

Andy Warhol would probably not have bothered creating iconographic posters of Norma Jean Mortenson had she not agreed to be billed as Marilyn Monroe. Would you be as interested in Luisa Ciccone’s sex life as you might be in Madonna’s? Do you think somebody born Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta can possibly make it in show business - unless she has the gumption to change her name to something catchy like Lady Gaga?

How about Ramli bin Puteh? Ramli who? You mean P. Ramlee (left) – the chap who successfully integrated Indian (Ram), Chinese (Lee) and Orang Puteh (P) elements into his own embodiment of the post-colonial Malay artistic genius? And if Prince Siddhartha hadn’t undergone his vision quest and transformed himself into Gautama Buddha, our spiritual legacy would have certainly been far poorer.

It isn’t only individuals with exaggerated ego insecurities who habitually drop names. Entire countries have been known to do it too. In 1939 Thailand dropped its ancient moniker of Siam, perhaps in protest against that Rodgers & Hammerstein musical, The King and I. Myanmar lost no time shedding its Burma tag when SLORC oozed into power. The USSR was dropped for CIS or Gorby-knows-what in 1991. Yugoslavia is now referred to as “the former Yugoslavia” or “the Balkan States” (though the area remains a hopeless mess of hostile ethnicities). Then Czechoslovakia dropped its name - and the country broke in two.

Bangladesh was once… does anyone recall? And we’ll not mention the African nations at all except to note that names there have been dropped so feverishly the mapmakers can’t keep up. This name-dropping malaise caused Malaysia to lose its Malaya (which means “hills” in Tamil and “freedom” in Tagalog).

But coming back to this ANTARES business: it wasn’t an easy decision, I’ll have you know that. Especially since years of effort had already been invested in establishing a third-E trademark for my work as that weird “Kit Leee” personality. And to now go through the exercise of dropping yet another name felt like a petty exercise in triviality, with no relevance to the larger issues of existence.

Yet I believe it had to be done. I can provide an absolutely sound rationale for my idiosyncratic proclivity to drop names that no longer serve. Let’s put it this way: whether you describe yourself as a Batu Arangite, a Penangite, a Muarian, a Kampung Buayanese, a Malaysian, an Asian, an Earthian, a Milky Wayfarer, or simply as I AM THAT I AM pretty much determines the parameters of your thoughts and deeds. A caterpillar can’t easily proceed to butterflyhood if it insists on and persists in calling itself a grub.

Names carry very specific vibrations. Notice how Americans prefer the informality of being called Bob instead of Robert, Jack instead of John, Ted instead of Theodore, Dick instead of Richard; whereas Canadians and Brits generally prefer that you address them by their “proper” names. Notice, too, how dignitaries tend to be extremely offended should one omit their lengthy titular appendages in official correspondence.

Imagine how peeved the Germans initially felt when American advertising wizards suggested they call their Volkswagen the Beetle… or, even worse, the Bug. Well, the admen’s advice was perfect for the freewheeling zeitgeist of the booming postwar automobile market. Even a pop music combo named after this particular insect proved phenomenally successful! I wonder if I might sell more CDs if I renamed myself "Nyamok" ("mosquito" in Malay)...

Recently I met a couple of women who introduced themselves to me as Chong, their family name. Chong & Chong. Tan & Tan. Cheech & Chong. Johnson & Johnson. Fraser & Neave. Fang & Claw. Proctor & Gamble. Hem & Haw. Bumwiggle & Himmelfucker. Long live the Lees! Down with the Leighs! You’re a disgrace to the D’Cruz name! Such blind loyalty to the clan trademark is incomprehensible to me. It suggests that one has only one essential function, that is, to propagate one’s bloodline.

Some say God has 9,000 names (or is it 999,000?). Maybe his favorite pastime is name-dropping too? With his nearly infinite hoard of names, God could well be the biggest Name-Dropper of all time. Hi, how’s it going, Al?

Let me assure you, the name “Antares” perfectly describes my present function in the human as well as the cosmological context. “Antares” came to me during a star-alignment ritual – a meditation on connecting vertically with the stellar realms, rather than just horizontally with mundane aspirations. Subsequently I did a little research and found that Antares is a binary stargate located in the heart of the Scorpio constellation, visible as the brightest star in the southern skies. In Greek the name means “counterforce to Mars” (Anti-Ares). Mars or Ares is the symbol of War or Division; it is also the symbol of the Masculine Force. Mars rules the field in battle as a sword, in farming as a plowshare, in medicine as a scalpel. So the counterforce to Mars would be Love, Venus, the Feminine Force, the Goddess Principle, the harmonizer, integrator and unifier. Which is exactly how I perceive my contribution to the greater community and the universe. No longer the combative hero, the David who vanquishes Goliath with a well-aimed slingshot – but as the reconciliator, the interlink between divergent realities and values.

Remarkably the word antara in Sanskrit means “connection” – and in Malay it is used as the preposition “between” as in antarabangsa (international). Indonesia’s national news agency is called Antara. Deeper research indicates that antara is related to antahkarana – the rainbow bridge linking heaven to earth, celestial to terrestrial experience, the transpersonal to the personal.

I like that. I’m tired of being regarded as the renegade, the bad boy, the enfant terrible, the critic, the dissident. I would much rather be viewed as the Zone of Overlap between Spirit and Matter, between the sublime and the ridiculous. The traditional antagonism between polar opposites can be transmuted by a focused, intentional act of renaming. No need for US versus THEM. Inevitably it's US plus THEM equals WE. Today’s “working class” becomes tomorrow’s “ruling elite” and vice versa.

The Wheel of Fortune or Karma or Dynamic Evolution forever spins. Behind, beyond and above the din of cash registers and children’s excited squeals, and the loud laments of parents whose pockets have just been picked, one can hear the spontaneous cackle of the Trickster, Hermes or Thoth, the Cosmic Clown – who laughs not so much in cruelty but in the playful spirit of one who has known joy and sorrow and no longer plays the game of Snakes and Ladders. It is the lighthearted laughter of one who suddenly notices the projector beam and remembers he’s at the cinema watching the latest boxoffice spectacular… phew, no need to crap your pants, folks! It’s called “special effects” – but, boy, is it scary!

So call me Antares. If it’s a formal encounter, you may include my ceremonial titles of Avalokiteshvara (a name I picked up in Tibet many lifetimes ago) and Maitreya (a spiritual rank conferred upon me on 9 November 2009). In any case, Kit Leee the Fragrant and Outstanding Hero will live on in old friends’ and relatives’ memories – or as a cheque-receiving device (even though I can't remember when I last received a cheque in the post).

As long as we inhabit a competitive holographic world fueled by money, driven by paranoia, suspicion and fear – instead of life-affirming acceptance, love and perfect trust – I must accept the blank uncomprehending looks of bank clerks and bureaucrats as part of the outgoing reality. Not everyone can respond to freeform jazz improvisations. Many feel safer within the Euclidean framework of the Status Quo – just as members of the Flat Earth Society continue to fear falling off into Deep Space if they venture too close to the edge.

However, there’s room for everyone and everything under the Sun (if not ours, some other distant Sun). Those who keep saying “There’s no room for this, no room for that in our society” are control-freaks possessed by archaic demons in their own brain circuitry. The Master Yeshua assured us: “My father’s house has many mansions.” Which is a poetic way of revealing that there are worlds within worlds, dimensions within dimensions; everyone has a seat reserved at the heavenly feast, so don’t worry, be happy.

And the day will surely dawn when the only form we have to fill is the one that pleases us most.

Then I can revert to signing off as ANON – which happens to be an anagram for ONAN. Well, I think it’s better to be Onan the Masturbator than Conan the Barbarian, no?

[First published in Journal One, 1996. Updated & reposted 7 May 2011]

Saturday, January 5, 2019

Return of the Abominable Jungleman (a blast from the past)

Nchan et Christine ont poursuivi en Malaisie leur collecte de sons et de témoignages auprès de musiciens -- joueurs de gamelan traditionnel ou jeunes percussionnistes rencontrés aux franges de la ville. Dans la jungle toujours proche, ils ont suivi Antares, un musicien chinois sage et fou, arpenteur de tous les sentiers et joueur de flûte. Marié à une aborigène, il défend la forêt, les droits de sa tribu auprès du gouvernement tout en écrivant ses articles d'ethnomusicologie dans la hutte qu'il a tressée, au vert, relié au monde par un esprit transculturel -- et par Internet! ~ Christine Rodès

This is hardly an original statement, but it's worth repeating: the internet is the best thing technology has come up with thus far! Some insist nothing can beat the washing machine - but as I have never owned one, I don't have an opinion on that.

Earlier, I was cursorily checking visitor stats on my blog when I was intrigued by a Google search someone located in Muscat, Oman, had done on "magic river antares"... so I followed the link to the search results and found this YouTube video dating back at least 6 years but only recently uploaded.

Sometime in 2005 a colorful bunch of visitors had appeared at my home, wielding video cameras and recording equipment. Even before I could say hello, they were busy shooting video footage of everything that caught their fancy. They told me they were multimedia artists, collecting raw material from around the world and incorporating it in their trance-inducing son et lumière performances, featuring multiple images projected on huge screens to the accompaniment of live electronic music.

The group was called Sisygambis and they were performing at KLPAC. The music consisted of a mix of sampled sounds and synthesized effects played by Christine Coulange and Nchan Manoyan, who both looked like they might have stepped out of a flying saucer parked just down the road. Anyway, we spent some time cavorting at a nearby waterfall and afterwards they asked me to play some of my wind instruments. I got on so well with them they invited me to visit them in Marseille and perhaps collaborate on some art project with them.

Alas, in 2009, I received word that Nchan had died in a car accident - and that put an abrupt end to my cross-cultural conversation with Sisygambis. I liked Nchan a lot, not just because he had the most amazing bird's nest hairstyle and a wizardly goatee, but he struck me as truly an evolved soul and a very warm human being. Viewing the video above brought back a flood of vivid memories and renewed my soul connection with Sisygambis. I'm glad they are continuing their wonderfully stimulating multimedia projects.

[First posted 2 December 2011]

Monday, December 31, 2018


This 21-year-old would rather be alive than "good."

Malaysian Yong Vui Kong was only 19 when he was arrested in Singapore in June 2007 and charged with trafficking 47gm of heroin. He was sentenced in January 2009 under the Misuse of Drugs Act which carries a mandatory death sentence for anyone caught trafficking more than 15gm of heroin, 30gm of cocaine or 500gm of cannabis. Yong's lawyer Ravi Madasamy has urged a moratorium on the mandatory death penalty in Singapore until the outcome of his appeal is decided.

From the Online Citizen...

By Koh Yi Na

SINGAPORE, Wednesday, 9 December 2009 - In a surprise decision, the Court of Appeal has granted [Sabah-born] Yong Vui Kong, who faces execution for a drug trafficking conviction, an opportunity to have his appeal heard.

Following an hour-long hearing on Tuesday morning, the judges nullified his previous withdrawal of appeal and accepted Yong’s application for an extension of time. This would allow him to file an appeal against his conviction and death sentence.

Yong’s lawyer, Ravi Madasamy, had initially been pessimistic about securing the extension of time, given the nature of previous decisions and his own experience with capital cases. While he knew “the present judiciary is forward-looking,” he did not know how the Court would react to his arguments.

Therefore when the judge ruled in favour of hearing the appeal, he was pleasantly surprised, describing it as a “fantastic outcome.”

No date has been set for the appeal hearing, but it could be as early as next month, according to Mr Ravi. He has been informed by the registrar to go to court this Friday to set a date for it.

His execution is stayed pending the outcome of this appeal.
[Read the full story here and here.]

World Day Against The Death Penalty (Singapore)

Watch the entire forum on YouTube!

My personal view on the absurdity (not to mention the inhumanity) of trying to fight "the drug menace" by hanging traffickers...

Heroin is a psychic painkiller derived from morphine, a physical painkiller that gained popular use during the First World War for acute battle injuries. Every heroin addict I have met actually suffers from severe emotional trauma and feel they have to take something to numb their psychic pain.

Those of us strong enough to soldier on without painkillers can consider ourselves fortunate, but we don’t have to become unfeeling and soulless about our less robust friends.

Alas, almost every form of therapy for addictive personalities (whether the drug be heroin, alcohol, crystal amphetamine or cocaine) has turned out unpredictable with at least 50% of regressions. This leads me to conclude that, ultimately, addictive personalities become a burden on their families and communities only when the substance to which they are addicted becomes exorbitantly priced.

In effect, the more illegal the substance, the higher its street value. Having researched the subject for years I’ve drawn the inevitable conclusion that criminalizing any kind of drug is actually a racket – a game being played by very powerful crime syndicates working in cahoots with law enforcement agencies.

Sometimes I suspect governments deliberately allow a certain percentage of their youth to become addicted, so they won’t turn to political activism and topple an unjust system.

One can never be too cynical about big business, big government and big crime – because only too often it’s the same cast of control freaks switching roles. For example, it’s becoming clear that the most efficient drug smuggling operations on earth are being carried out by the CIA who work in tandem with the Mafia. The money is often laundered through innocuous fronts like the Vatican Bank and used to finance black ops to keep certain political dynasties in power.

It’s a very complicated subject but I’d like more people to start giving what I say some serious thought. Google the subject if you wish but be warned that your worldview will never again be the same!

In conclusion, I advocate the decriminalization of all drugs. No punishment, no crime. No official ban, no big profits, no thrill of rebellion against paternal authority from consuming illicit substances. Within a few years, no drug problem.

Those already hooked will be able to maintain their habits without turning to crime – and anytime they wish to quit they can be offered emotional therapy to heal their wounded souls. Every life has value.

[First posted 10 December 2009]

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Colonialism, Empire and Neo-Darwinism (repost)

For years the Orang Asli Affairs Department has gone around to the indigenous communities warning them about the "dangerous and subversive NGOs" and human rights activists who have been using the Orang Asli to promote their own covert leftwing political agendas.

Speaking to some Jabatan Orang Asli officers, I can tell they fervently believe the official line about assimilating the Orang Asli into the mainstream, modernizing their attitudes, and eventually bringing them up to economic and academic par with other ethnic communities.

Okay, so they think the Orang Asli are best served by embracing Islam and regarding themselves culturally as Malays - after all, Islam is the ONLY valid belief system (as any "good" Muslim will attest) - but they never doubt for a moment that the government they serve has only the best interests of the Orang Asli at heart. They're moral troopers, brave and selfless missionaries bringing Progress and Development to the rural areas - and they're facing an uphill task because Orang Asli are just so... recalcitrant... so resistant to change... to all the benefits of the consumer culture and cash economy!

Well, Orang Asli are certainly happy to be given loads of cash that they can spend without a thought for tomorrow (they must be natural "Christians" who totally believe in living as the sparrows do and the lilies of the field) - but they are well aware that Orang Asli Affairs personnel have for the most part profited greatly from their role as intermediaries between Orang Asli communities and loggers, miners, developers, and other wannabe ecocidal entrepreneurs. As the official "protectors" of Orang Asli interests, the JOA is well placed to collect "commissions" while facilitating logging licences and so on in Orang Asli reserves.

It all boils down to the issue of CONTROL. Every bureaucrat views CONTROL as his or her god- or government- sanctioned right - nay, sacred duty! The opposite of CONTROL is... ANARCHY! CHAOS! THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT!

Well, that's how the majority of humans view the Anglo-American Empire's behavior in Afghanistan and Iraq - indeed the behavior of all monster corporations whether their shareholders be American, Jewish, British, French, German, Japanese, Korean, Chinese or Reptoids. The US of A operates as a corporate entity with an ultimate agenda of global dominance, so can you not see that it is doing to the peoples of Afghanistan and Iraq (just to mention the most recent atrocities, without bringing up Vietnam, Chile, Ecuador, Salvador, Argentina, Nicaragua, Mexico, Panama, and so on) precisely what the Orang Asli Affairs Department has been doing to the Orang Asli for more than 50 years?

Mainly COLONIZING them in their own homelands! You say it's "survival of the fittest" - it's a dog-eat-dog world and so on. Hey, that's only a belief system used to justify cold-blooded predator programming as "natural." That's how it goes, kiddo, how the cookie crumbles, human nature... ABSOLUTE AND UTTER NONSENSE!

That's hoodlum talk. Only those with strong pirate, robber baron, Jehovian-Anunnaki genetics feel that way about life in general. That only the streetsmart and savvy are fit to rule - it's a cosmic law that the "strong" will always bully, exploit, suppress, devour the "weak."

Well, who's "strong" and who's "weak"? If you use money as a gauge - then of course YOU are "stronger" than ME. And the US is "stronger" than, say, Bangladesh.

But how do you rank when you replace purely financial measurements with, say, capacity for empathy, love and understanding? Perhaps you'd then find yourself near the bottom of the list.

Isn't that what fat cats fear most? That values will abruptly change and that they'll find their mountains of US dollars worth less than Monopoly money? Isn't that why denial becomes more vigorous and violent?

In any case, we're all still rooting for you, no matter how hideous your moral condition - hoping to see you experience a major shift, an opening of the heart to greater truth - beyond your own silly outmoded survival programming!

2 August 2003

[Reposted 25 March 2011 & 26 August 2015]

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Doomsday or Bloomsday? It's Up To Us! (repost)

Just before Christmas in 2009 I was admitted to the intensive care unit of Sungai Buloh Hospital in a semi-delirious state. Blood tests indicated an extraordinary amount of plasmodia from two different strains of malaria. My body was on the verge of total shutdown, so the doctors induced a 5-day coma while they put me on life support.

I have no memory whatsoever of my artificial state of suspended animation. It was perhaps the closest to death I have ever been. Yet for me it was a truly valuable experience: a close encounter with my own mortality that left me with vivid intimations of immortality.

It took me at least two weeks to regain my strength after I was discharged from the hospital, but during my convalescence I became acutely aware of the poignant fragility of living things - and the ephemerality of the physical world. I saw how easily continents can rise and sink, along with cities, nations, entire species.

What brought me crashing down from my usual state of perfect health was a mere mosquito bite. On a planetary scale, that compares with an oil company's attempt to drill a hole seven miles deep below the sea. To Mother Earth, that's no more than a mosquito bite - but it could prove equally lethal to all life on earth.

Nobody really knows the size of the petroleum deposit beneath the Gulf of Mexico. Unless some ingenious method is devised to plug the undersea borehole, crude oil could be gushing into the Gulf Stream for months, even years. Right now Mother Earth appears to be hemorrhaging unstoppably. Alas, her mineralized blood is extremely toxic to all life-forms - except perhaps a few strains of oleaphagic microbes.

Already, doomsday prophets have made their appearance on YouTube, pointing at Revelation 16:3 ["The second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it became blood like that of a dead man; and every living thing in the sea died."]

No matter how you look at it, BP has screwed up big time. As usual, there are many who believe this colossal disaster wasn't just an unfortunate byproduct of insatiable corporate greed and hubris - but that it was deliberately engineered by a consortium of oil interests (read Halliburton and cronies) in a byzantine maneuver to secure some devious advantage. I find that really difficult to believe - that anybody could be so irredeemably evil and absolutely irresponsible. But we've already witnessed how some arrogant entities who enjoy playing god are perfectly capable of culling their livestock, and this is precisely how the ruling elite views the masses, as livestock.

Even as this potentially terminal eco-apocalypse unfolds, humans continue to be obsessed with their own petty games of ego-driven competition, oneupmanship and sibling rivalry.

Just look at the knee-jerk reactions of those who have bought into UMNO's repugnant doctrine of Malay Supremacy (which, ironically, is almost identical with the Zionist notion that the God of Abraham hand-picked the Jews as the Chosen People who shall rule over all other tribes). In suffering electoral defeat, rather than concede that their political rivals have earned themselves a turn at the wheel, these modified primates have opted to stir up racial and religious tensions in a futile attempt to scare voters into returning them to power.

While two stags lock antlers over a doe in heat, a grinning hunter with a double-barreled shotgun creeps up stealthily through the bushes and begins to take aim. In the animal kingdom as in the human, hormones and pheromones continue to rule. However, there is one significant difference: we humans supposedly have the intellectual capacity to transcend our biological and psychological drives, thereby attaining transcendental awareness - and, ultimately, cosmic consciousness.

The thrust of evolution has taken Homo sapiens sapiens to the point where we must make a conscious choice: to carry on behaving like destructive caterpillars, devouring the leaves of the very plant that supports our existence... or to accept the temporary ego death of pupation, wherein we become willing pupals/pupils of the greatest teacher of them all, Mother Nature, who will lovingly guide us to glorious butterflyhood - and galactic citizenship as mature and sentient beings.
As one who has long taken counsel from the natural world, I have come to appreciate a pile of moss-covered rocks far more than a $15,000 designer couch or even a $15 million gilded throne studded with rubies, emeralds and sapphires. Simplicity is indeed the mark of true mastery. All spiritual guides say the same thing - and have done so for thousands of years - but we still don't seem to get it. With billions in research grants at the disposal of leading edge scientists, no human laboratory can claim to have created an edible replica of a humble banana - what more a living, breathing, thinking, feeling creature - and I'm not talking about cloning. And yet our arrogant anthropocentrism and pathological egomania have convinced us that some almighty deity has granted us dominion over the beasts of the field and fowls of the air - indeed all the domains of nature, right down to microbes and viruses. When an outcry was raised over an animal-testing laboratory to be constructed in Melaka, the chief minister told reporters in all seriousness that God gave men the right to do as we will with animals.

The benightedness of that monotheistic and tyrannical viewpoint struck me as the very epitome of what has gone so terribly wrong with the human experiment. This spiritually retarded chief minister was really just a victim of a crude and barbaric religious doctrine designed to minimize empathy and maximize antipathy - so that rigid boundaries could be drawn between a fictitious Us and an imaginary Them. A fanatical adherence to notions of Us versus Them inevitably leads to perpetual conflict and warfare. Which, of course, sits perfectly well with weapons manufacturers and their shareholders.

Some folks who have seen James Cameron's latest blockbuster, Avatar, take cynical pride in criticizing his unabashed didacticism. I've read straightfaced putdowns of the movie by Christian apologists who accuse Cameron of depicting Mother Nature as God and corporate adventurism as the Devil. These days, whenever I see talking-head PR execs on TV trying to excuse the inexcusable, they all remind me of the corporate creep Parker Selfridge and the gung-ho killer droid Colonel Quaritch in Avatar who end up destroying the Sacred Tree in their frenzied pursuit of Unobtanium. Only goes to show how beautifully James Cameron succeeded in his mission to alert humanity to what's ultimately at stake.
    While a part of me shares the acute anxiety of those in the US (particularly folks living around the Gulf Coast) as to the eventual outcome of BP's monstrously catastrophic blowout, another part actually welcomes the disaster as perhaps the gigantic kick-in-the-butt we need to finally wean ourselves off fossil fuels that poison our habitat. Nope, going nuclear is NOT the answer either! Most so-called energy experts parrot the erroneous belief that "we are currently in an energy crisis."

There is absolutely no energy crisis. If there appears to be one it's only because we have been way too prodigal in the way we misuse energy.

Like fish swimming around in a saltwater aquarium, we have forgotten the open sea. Our myopic get-rich-quick schemes benefit nobody - least of all ourselves - and yet we won't hesitate to kill anyone who attempts to stop us.

That's right, folks, we humans will defend our lavish lifestyles to the death - even if it's the last thing we ever do. Some distant day an Aldebaranian anthropologist will describe the demise of our species thus:

"The humanoid Earthians perished as a result of their obstinate addiction to MSG-flavored snacks, fizzy drinks, toxic fumes, and loud noises."

[First posted 19 December 2017]

The Holy Trinity of My Mental Health (revisited)

Mr Wong, Booboots and my beloved Bunyip have an immense therapeutic effect on me, thank heaven!

Today was one of those days when I went to bed as Vishnu (the Preserver) and woke up as Shiva (the Destroyer). What happened? NOTHING! But the silly season approaches and, as usual, it brings out the worst in me. If I had my finger on a Red Button I'd be sorely tempted to press it and let the whole shebang be blown to smithereens like some unnamed Mongolian woman (who, Imigresen insists, never visited Malaysia). On days like this I tend to view the entire human experiment as an abysmal failure - Homo sapiens, my foot! More like a nest of contentious lice with all their stupid conflicts over primitive belief systems.

This year (2007) it was compounded by the fact that yesterday was a public holiday (Hari Raya Haji) and the banks were closed - which meant some money deposited in my account on Thursday won't clear till Christmas Eve or maybe even after Boxing Day, leaving me with exactly RM111.70 in my wallet plus a residue of RM9.12 in my Maybank account. Of course, I wouldn't be quite so cheesed off if this pathetic country called Bolehland believed in paying freelancers on time.

Wrote a feature for a national daily back in August and I'm still waiting for the measly payment of - what, RM250? It's absolutely indefensible and outrageous - and Malaysians have the gall to publicly lament the dearth of full-time writers. Where are all the great novelists? Well, you'll find a pile of skeletal remains on Desolation Row with notably large skulls who all perished waiting for checks in the post.

What is it about Christmas - or Kerismas (as Dean Johns recently called it in a barbed piece he wrote for Malaysiakini) - that brings out the Beast, if not the Scrooge, in me? When I asked myself many, many years ago why people living in the tropics would send each other greeting cards with images of reindeer, wintry landscapes, pine forests, and white-bearded fat men in red suits, I realized that most folks are totally unoriginal - and, what's more alarming, they hardly ever think, except perhaps in pre-programmed loops with default settings. After 130 years of British rule, many Anglophile middle-class Malaysians have adopted "Xmas" as their own celebration, without researching the origins of what once was a pagan celebration of the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere. December 21 or 22 marks the longest night of the year in the north and the mid-point of winter (in the southern hemisphere it would be the peak of summer). To cheer themselves up after weeks of dreary weather, folks celebrated the symbolic renewal of life after a period of hibernation with a big feast and lots of wine. Sometimes these parties would get a little orgiastic, especially with guys carrying mistletoe sprigs around just so they could kiss any girl they chanced upon. People sure knew how to have fun back then.

Then the reptilian Roman Church came along and co-opted the pagan festival, declaring it to be a celebration of the birth of Christ Jesus (whose actual birthday, according to some scholars, was October 4th). It was all a matter of political expediency and mass mind control. Centuries later, December 25th was hijacked by the retail business and turned into a paean to gross consumerism.

Flashing lights, sparkly baubles, and plastic pine trees became a billion-dollar industry - along with gift wrapping, fancy ribbons, frozen turkeys and imported Christmas pudding. Knowing all this, I found it hard to go along with the fake jolliness and greed-driven bonhomie of this aggressively marketed consumerist festival. Okay, so it was an excuse for far-flung families to get together - well and fine - but the pressure of exchanging gifts invariably gets to me. I enjoy giving presents spontaneously, when so inspired - not because it's expected. Five decades after I discovered the truth about Christmas, the tradition rages on undiminished - with the same old mindless carols and silly Santa songs blaring from every department store p.a. and vaguely Christian household.

Most folks say they love the cheery atmosphere around Christmas. Something must be wrong with me, I'm more likely to feel depressed. But then I've always been one of those misfits who absolutely detests campfire songs. Guess I'd never make the grade as a populist politico. I despise the Lowest Common Denominator far too much. People who subscribe to the Lowest Common Denominator know how to write hit tunes according to formulas decreed by market surveys; they know precisely what the public wants - and unabashedly dish it to them. Sensational tabloid headlines, mindless slogans like "Malaysia Boleh!"... wrestling videos... T-shirts emblazoned with popular football club insignia... great stuff, it sells like hot cakes!

Well, I allow myself to rant and rave and turn my nose up at the great unwashed one day out of every year - the other 364 days I'm a pretty upbeat and positive-thinking sort of fellow. In any case, those who spout idiocies like the Bottom Line and capitalize on the Lowest Common Denominator will probably end up in the Lowest Consciousness Domains come Non-Judgment Day.

Anyway, Happy Solstice, folks! I'm okay now. My mood lifted as soon as I saw Mr Wong smiling at me like the Dog of Dogs he truly is. Then I went down to the river with Ahau and Anoora (escorted by the canine corps) and after a minute under the best jacuzzi in the universe, my grumpy feelings were washed clean away. There was an Indian family picnicking at our usual spot and I felt my heart chakra expand as I silently blessed them all on this sacred day - and I realized I don't have what it takes to be a Great Dictator or Evil Emperor, since I can't stay angry with humans for more than a few minutes.

[First posted 21 December 2007, reposted 25 December 2016]

Monday, December 24, 2018

The Return of the Son of Monster Magnet ~ Dweezil Zappa Plays Zappa!

Published on 12 Oct 2013
by Mentor1954

01. Cosmik Debris
02. I'm The Slime
03. Pound For A Brown
04. Don't Eat The Yellow Snow
05. St. Alfonzo's Pancake Breakfast
06. Father O'blivion
07. Inca Roads
08. Peaches En Regalia
09. Montana
10. Village Of The Sun
11. Echidna's Art (Of You)
12. Zombie Woof (unbelievable showcase for Steve Vai)
13. Black Napkins
14. The Torture Never Stops
15. Oh No
16. Son Of Orange County
17. Trouble Every Day
18. Sofa

DVD Left Outs:
- Andy
- Call Any Vegetable
- Florentine Pogen
- Eat That Question
- I'm So Cute
- Tryin' To Grow Chin
- Punky's Whips
- Black Page #1 & #2
- Regyptian Strut
- Cheepnis

Dweezil Zappa - lead guitar, vocals (
Napoleon Murphy Brock - vocals, saxophone, flute
Scheila Gonzalez - saxophone, flute, keyboards, vocals
Aaron Arntz - trumpet, keyboards, vocals
Pete Griffin - bass
Billy Hulting - marimba, mallets, percussions
Jamie Kime - (mostly) rhythm guitar
Joe Travers - drums, vocals (

Special Guests:
Terry Bozzio - drums, vocals (sings only on some left outs)
Steve Vai - guitar

Please check out my other channel too:

THANK YOU, Mentor1954... you did a fucking grrrrrreat job!

[First posted 29 March 2014, reposted 21 December 2014]

Saturday, December 15, 2018

The Plutocrats' Plan To Enslave Humanity ~ What Can We Do About It?

Retrieved from an email dated 13 March 2002...

Subject: IMF Plan for Total Slavery of the World | Marga's Crucial Question!
Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2002 21:46:01 +0800

Marga wrote:

Well Antares, thank you for sending me this little bit of news. It's very disheartening but not at all surprising. So what do we do? What are people of good heart to do about all of this? We can't just run to our caves and hide in meditation and prayer, we can't protest in the streets because that would be the perfect way for the bankers and power brokers to get rid of us. I can hear it now: "In a late breaking news story, demonstrations broke out among protesters of the World Bank today. Because of the violence of the demonstration the National Guard was called in. 800 protesters presumed dead." So what do we do? Wondering as I am wandering. Love, Marga

Marga le Fey, you delightful being, I'm glad you asked, because many are asking the same question right now. WHAT DO WE... WHAT CAN WE DO... apart from commit suicide or regicide (which may be the same thing, for aren't we all kings and queens of our own sovereign being)?

First, let me ask you: would you rather NOT know about any of this? Would you prefer the childlike bliss of ignorance? I look at Ahau (who turns 6 on the vernal equinox) and it's clear that he's not in any way bothered about geopolitics or the reprehensible behavior of the World Bank (even though their ecocidal activities could destroy his future in the 3rd Dimension, making him inherit a toxic wasteland instead of paradise on earth). He doesn't judge the moral status of the grownups he meets - although he's attracted by some and repulsed by others. I wish I could be as spontaneous and living-in-the-now as Ahau, but alas, I know too much.

Once I was very much part of the Illuminati, that whole false god game, and even in this incarnation, I might have ended up being a top-earning spin doctor with some PR firm like Hill & Knowlton or Saatchi & Saatchi whose clients may include Monsanto, Exxon-Mobil, General Electric, North American Rockwell, or the Pentagon. That sort of career choice might have lubricated my petty ego - made me a little god in my own private domain with all the perks and privileges that come with being a high-level minion of Sauron... oops, I mean Enron!

But in 1977 - shortly after reading That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis - I quit a full-time job in advertising and sought to create a path for myself using whatever skills I could muster. After a while I discovered there was no escape from the 3D Matrix generated by Big Economics and Big Politics and propped up by Big Military and the Big Brother secret police... except by reclaiming my authority and power from within and no longer allowing myself to be beholden to ANY external authority, especially if it proclaimed itself to be God.

I unsubscribed from belief systems that dictated the lives of billions. I disconnected from the illusion of Progress (measured quantitatively by scientific materialist criteria), renounced the education system and insurance and real estate and the concept of personal income tax and the spurious notion that we need governments and police and military to protect us from outright CHAOS and ANARCHY. I weaned myself off the need for externally imposed LAW and ORDER and accepted that indestructible and immutable principles of fractal harmonics and sacred geometry were in operation that eternally transform and regenerate visible structures - and all that was required of a sentient, evolving soul-entity was to be conscious of this process - and remain conscious through all its fascinating phases, occasionally focusing the heart-guided will in this or the other direction, purely as a navigational device, to minimize damage to our physical vehicles.

In other words, I began to deprogram myself from being ruled by FEAR. I'm not saying I deleted all CAUTION programs from my biocomputer, but the deeply ingrained seeds of FEAR planted by the cunning Creator gods who colonized the Earth aeons ago and manufactured from their own genetic material a docile semi-intelligent slave race to dig for precious metals and build their empires.

These Creator Gods are commonly referred to as the Anunnaki or reptoid ETs and some of their aristocratic bloodlines continue to rule the earth (under the astral influence of their ancestors) through monolithic religious, financial, and military institutions established over millennia. Others have woken up and understood the stupidity of their earthbound ambitions, and rededicated their energies to helping others wake up, so that yet another massive catastrophe (such as has happened many times in previous creation cycles) can be averted in the nick of time.

Marga, now is the time to reintegrate our multidimensional aspects and become whole unto ourselves once more. As we perform this essential alchemy on our beings, we shall retrieve long-forgotten knowledge and abilities, forgive long-buried trangressions, transmute all past pain into present and future pleasures, and release ourselves from the Dead Zone of automatism. No secret cabal can control a Buddha (Fully Awakened One) or Christ (Totally Compassionate One). That's what we MUST become, not in a hundred lifetimes, but right now, in the next couple of days, weeks or months!

Institutionalized (in effect, rigidified) forms of religious teachings have deliberately implanted the notion in earthbound humanity that such states of consciousness are well nigh inaccessible and remote; that it takes many lifetimes of hardship and suffering to attain Buddhahood or Christhood (or Prophethood if you happen to be Muslim). That's absolute nonsense. We could easily have 10,000 times more Buddhas than Bachelor degree holders and 1,000 times more Christs than PhDs.

The moment you disconnect yourself from the belief of unworthiness or sinfulness, you become once again a living miracle - a tabula rasa (clean slate), the embodiment of innocence and complete receptivity to angelic, archangelic, deific inspiration (which appears to enter from "above" through the soul-star and crown chakras, but actually arises spontaneously from your innermost core - the original seed of Total Awareness). Of course, the vast majority of earthbound humanity is emotionally clogged from generations and lifetimes of debilitating and paralyzing trauma. This needs to be cleared first (throwing out the stale wine so that fresh wine can be poured into the holy grail) - and there are so many healing options available to us these days from deep massage to rebirthing, Reiki, releasing, crystal cleansing, aurasoma, and so on; one or more of these therapies is bound to work for you).

I have done it, I am doing it, it's easy and painless and fun and rejuvenating. And I have absolutely no doubt that YOU are or will be doing it too.

Remember, a billion bombs have no power against a single Buddha. An entire Age of Darkness holds no terror for a single Christ. We, the Public, must become We, the Christ. Then all "sins" will be forgiven, all ignorance dispelled, all lack fulfilled, and all hatred transmuted INSTANTLY to healing love.

Infinite Rainbow Blessings on Your Voyage of Eternal Bliss,

[First posted 23 February 2014]