Friday, January 15, 2010

My Pilgrimage to Bamboo River (Part 4)


Lying comatose in Intensive Care, I had no visions – although several friends have reported that I either appeared to them in audio or holographic form, and they thought I wanted to say goodbye.

However, once transferred back to the normal ward, I did have lots of visions. Visions of what? Well, they were rather Gothic visions of giant mosquitos and vampires - reinforced and given a contemporary edge by the fact that several times a day, pretty and efficient doctors armed with syringes would appear before me and take blood samples.

I saw hidden faces in the random folds of curtains that revealed the locations of these bloodsuckers. Shapeshifters were ubiquitous and the hologram became somewhat plastic, constantly transforming from one scenario into another, sometimes comic, other times grotesque.

I began to review the fascinating subject of vampirism and parasitism and their metaphorical and mythical connotations.

Popular legends of aristocratic bloodlines with vampiric tendencies that have come to us via old classics like Dracula and Nosferatu contain secret messages that link with the suppressed story of Earth’s colonization by the Anunnaki.

These off-planetary elite bloodlines have in turn spawned hybrid-human predator families – mostly engaged in banking, real estate, pharmaceutical and defense industries - that jealously cling to their privilege and exclusive claims to ownership of everything in sight.


It is in their interest to promote scarcity conditioning - the belief that there isn't enough to go around - which brings out the worst in humans; and their spin-doctors do everything in their power to debunk those who say limitless abundance far more accurately reflects nature’s own tendencies.

This is how they can continue to harness the brute force of a semi-conscious underclass and utilize it as slave labor, ad infinitum.

Scholars like Laurence Gardner have written extensively about the Anunnaki bloodlines and the alchemical secrets they possessed which enabled them to simulate immortality and impose their hereditary rulership over mortal men for countless millennia.

The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 triggered the abrupt end of the Ceaucescus’ aristocratic vampirism in Romania (although the mafia wasted no time stepping into their place). This was merely one example of a pattern of power usurpation that can be observed in almost every culture and every nation.

Hybrid-human bloodlines are constantly trying to establish their own self-perpetuating dynasties on earth as the new elites. Some label this phenomenon "feeding frenzy" and conclude that it's "natural" for people to scramble to get to the top of the food chain - and then do everything possible to push competitors off.

Examine the roots of feudalism and you will notice the appropriateness of the bloodsucking motif. The ruling elites are a physical manifestation of an astral parasite species.

Karl Marx was aware of this, though he was careful to avoid alluding to the mystical and mythological aspects of elite vampirism in the Communist Manifesto he co-wrote with Friedrich Engels. Marx and Engel’s preferred stance was that of anthropocentric rationalism.

A long time ago I had accepted the fact that I am able to recognize the truth behind the power structure and declare myself “classless” - only because I myself had once been part of the elite bloodlines and had full access to the Big Picture.

Being a parasite or vampire is an easily redeemable condition, and self-awareness is the first step towards self-reform.

James Redfield, in his seminal Celestine Prophecy, observes that everything is energy and that all lifeforms are in energy competition… at least until at a certain point in their evolution when they make a 90-degree shift and begin to align vertically to Energy Source (God or All That Is) whereupon they themselves become Energy Source and no longer feel compelled to steal energy from their environment.

The behavior of royal and aristocratic bloodlines generally conforms to that of parasites and vampires. They only take, never give. Under cover of a great deal of pomp and circumstance - and a whole load of crap about being emblems of tribal sovereignty - they have feasted with impunity for generations and left humans a legacy of moral debility, cynicism, nihilism, and futilism (spelt feudalism)

However, this is but the shadow side of true nobility, which does exist but only rarely at this juncture. The truly noble royal houses serve as moral and spiritual beacons, illuminating the course of human evolution. For the most part the bona fide royal lineages have been driven underground and tend to assert their influence along cultural lines, manifesting as icons of literature, music, the visual arts, dance and theater.

When popular culture heroes like Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Sting, Sade, Frank Zappa, Jim Morrison, U2, Beyonce, or The Beatles appear on the scene it’s only natural that the masses look upon and revere them as princes, kings, queens, goddesses and gods incarnate.

Of course, the musings prompted by my vampyrean visions were not as linear as I now present them. They were far more fluid and colorful – and even a little spooky.

For instance, in the pre-dawn hours I would often spot a huge bat sitting at the desk beside a nightwatch nurse, quietly sipping on her blood. Hospitals are ideal environments for vampires because there is so much blood being moved around.

The undead are attracted to hospitals, too, because many souls detach from their physical bodies in hospitals.

In such an environment how is one to attain a sense of equanimity and well-being? It was obvious that I couldn’t possibly stay awake the whole time battling my own anxiety and paranoia about being trapped in a hostile environment infested by predatory entities. 5:30am was the cut-off time when all unwholesome activities had to cease as dawn arose.

All I could do was to keep integrating these creatures of the night into my own greater being, accepting and acknowledging them as ultimately part of my own unified field. I extended help to them, letting them know they could secure immediate release from their own individual hells simply by calling upon my name as the physical embodiment of solar intelligence and accepting me as their redeemer and gateway to freedom.

I must confess that more than a few times I indulged myself and annihilated a few of the more obnoxious ones – simply by zapping them with an imaginary spray. Child’s play for a high-tech shaman.

Well, folks, never a dull moment, not even in hospital recuperating from a near-death experience!

[Part 5]

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

My Pilgrimage to Bamboo River (Part 3)



For a whole week I was rolling around like a popiah (Chinese spring roll) in my own poo, subjected to the ultimate humiliation of having to be washed every morning like a newborn babe by cute nurses (male as well as female).

To add to my ego’s ultimate defeat, a condom-like device was affixed to my penis and that was how I had to pee, through a catheter and into a plastic bag slung beside my bed. Nothing sexy about this episode.

When I was transferred to the much quieter Room 24 of Ward 4A, I was elated to discover there was a bathroom within shuffling distance of my bed, with a very efficient hot water shower. I wasted no time taking my first solo shower in over a week.

First I dumped the adult diaper I had been made to wear, marveling at its contents. When you’ve been on a largely liquid diet of drips and juices for more than a week, your excrement doesn’t smell at all. Indeed, it appeared to me like some species of primordial ooze. Left undisturbed for a few weeks, new lifeforms might begin to evolve. Why not? Under the right circumstances, they just might - exactly the way some of us did, remember?

I had a fleeting vision of chocolatey homunculi detaching themselves from my poo and running about in abject confusion and despair. I could even hear teeny-weeny high-pitched voices imploring me, their Maker, to save them from eternal damnation: “We are sinners! Save our souls! We adore and worship you!”

My response was to turn the water volume up and watch the last particles flow down the drainhole towards fecal oblivion. What a memorable experience. To luxuriate under a hot shower for nearly an hour with no one knocking on the bathroom door yelling for you to hurry up.

Now I was fresh and clean and had acknowledged and befriended my own shit. I felt wide awake and totally alive.

It really did feel as if I had died and been reborn into a new octave of reality. My neural circuitry was gleaming… cleared of lifetimes of crud, and my Operating System was humming as if a lot more RAM had been integrated.

My data banks, having been thoroughly cleaned out, had been upgraded from gigabyte to terabyte (or even petabyte) capacity. You could say I had undergone a complete systems upgrade.

I didn’t really need to sleep. My brain was like a new-generation search engine with unlimited access to past, present and future data beyond the 3D Matrix. It felt like I was operating from the 9th dimension.


There were no taboos implanted in my brain functions. I could think whatever I liked without fear of prosecution. The Judge, the Archon, had retired. And without the Archon, the ancient power hierarchy no longer held sway over me.

The bliss of complete and authentic freedom was mine to enjoy.


I spent hours contemplating the possibility of persuading humans to go beyond vegetarianism into coprophagia – eating each other’s shit. Why not? If your thoughts are pure and your diet healthy, your excreta would pretty much be a protein and mineral-rich form of tofu. This would be the ultimate form of recycling – and it would allow us as a species to stop acting cruelly and violently towards other lifeforms.

We would never again have to destroy another to feed ourselves. Our days of butchery would finally be at an end. Indeed, we would be able to subsist on pure prana – on the Life Force itself – and actual food would always be revered and celebrated as a sacred feast, a veritable Eucharist.

I had fantasies about whose shit I would enjoy preparing for dinner. Have you ever been so turned on by anyone you would gladly eat their shit and then kiss their ass with gratitude?


I have... and I’m not ashamed to say so. Because I have broken all the chains of human convention and, like a Prometheus unbound by Hercules, am no longer chained to the rock of involuntary reincarnation, returning lifetime after lifetime in forgetfulness, futility and fear.

When nothing is censored, nothing disgusts and nothing is obscene.

So be it.

[Part 4]

My Pilgrimage to Bamboo River (Part 2)


The brain is a powerful holographic projector. That is to say, whatever beliefs (data files) it happens to be running, it will project onto the screen of outward appearances - and then your human ego-personality will assume it’s all “real.”


Most of us go through life scarcely aware of what we’re projecting around us as “objective” reality. That’s why so many of us have yet to reclaim our freedom and power by accepting total responsibility for the acquired or inherited programs (cultural and religious imprinting accumulated over countless generations) we run through our neural circuitry.


With this little preamble, I shall attempt to describe my intricate journey down a series of rabbit holes while semi-delirious from a severe bout of malarial fever.
..

About ten days before I was rushed by ambulance to the Intensive Care Unit of Bamboo River Hospital, I began clearing my data banks of embedded memories accumulated over immeasurable aeons of biological existence.

To attempt to catalogue any of it would be foolhardy. It was a primordial Victoria Falls of experiential data thundering through my synapses and flooding my conscious mind with gazillions of sensations.


It was like being on an extended acid or magic mushroom trip – without the acid or mushrooms.

Yogis dedicate decades of ascetic observances and meditation toward attaining this state of Divine Ecstasy or Kriya Yoga (Fusion with Godhead).

Our cellular, molecular and genetic archives contain a trillion terabytes of sensory data accumulated through billions of years of evolutionary experience – some familiar and recognizable to the human personality, others stranger than fiction or truth.

Sucking for sustenance at your mother’s breast, the orgasmic feel and taste of ambrosia, the state of pure innocence and “polymorphous perversity” - before society (or, rather, some control-freak priesthood) defined some sensations as “sinful” and others as “punishable.”


Long-lost memory fragments of raw sensuality - unpoliced by dogma, ungoverned by hierarchical power structures – all these became available to me in my prolonged state of conscious REM (Rapid Eye Movement).

Deeply-buried shards of childhood erotic experiments rose to the surface to be reclaimed without guilt or shame. In my school days a few close buddies and I explored masturbatory possibilities amongst ourselves with a lot of giggling and occasionally with a sense of rebellious mischief. These erotic episodes had been long outgrown, dismissed, left to gather dust and no longer dwelt upon. Now, owning up to them with no sense of wrongdoing - as a conscious, mature adult - was the redemption of my own sexual sovereignty and freedom, my inalienable right to pleasure.

In a flash I saw that more than 90% of social problems arose from sexual guilt inflicted on us as vulnerable children by adults who had themselves been traumatized by erroneous and evil doctrines that classified pleasure as sin and pain as virtue.


When our own animal nature is denied and suppressed in conformity with artificially imposed social mores, dishonesty and hypocrisy begin to spawn and breed like mosquito larvae in stagnant waters.

To create a diversion or cover up our sexual guilt, we become inquisitorial and accusative. We point fingers at others, forgetting that more fingers are pointing back at ourselves.

As grown-ups we want our children to do as we say – and not do as we ourselves do. We poke our perverse noses into other people’s sexual affairs, pretending innocence – when all the time we have been nothing but innocent, even as we hypocritically install moral policemen to patrol our thoughts at night and arrest our own wayward impulses.

But it is these promptings of our own cellular and molecular beings that constitute our instinctual selves - and we destroy our instinctual selves at our own peril.

That's when we become vulnerable to social robotization.

[Part 3]

Monday, January 11, 2010

My Pilgrimage to Bamboo River (Part 1)

The female malaria-bearing anopheles mosquito (courtesy of National Geographic)
I want to record, first of all, my profound love for and pride in my family members - especially my daughters Belle and Moon, their supportive spouses; my soul-buddy and Magick River co-founder Mary Maguire; and Lily Fu (my ever-loving first wife and the feisty mother of my two glittering gems) - for their impeccable managing of my recent medical crisis, triggered by the unsolicited kiss of a female Anopheles mosquito which left an unprecedented amount of deadly plasmodium parasites in my bloodstream.

Yes, it was indeed a vicious Vampire Attack - if you choose to put it in such colorful terms. I am told the plasmodium count in my blood samples broke all previous records in the history of malaria in the Malayan Peninsula. The doctors soberly informed my family that the mortality rate for this particular species of malaria varies between 60-80%.

On Christmas Eve my family was unable to celebrate because it appeared that I was not going to pull through. However, the next day the plasmodium count dramatically plunged and - with the help of dialysis machines, ventilators, catheters, a tangle of tubes and drips - I began my rapid and miraculous recovery. I was later informed that thousands of friends - including my Orang Asli relatives - were praying for me. It's not every day that one can feel such unmitigated gratitude to be so widely loved and deeply cared for.

View of the hospital grounds from my 4th-floor ward

The Sungai Buloh (Bamboo River) Hospital is staffed with some of the most competent doctors and lab technicians you will find anywhere on this planet. The hospital is extremely well maintained and has as pleasant an atmosphere as any of the best private ones. For Malaysian citizens, it only costs RM3 a day to receive 5-star treatment there; and for malaria cases, it's gratis.

I'm very grateful, of course, to the professionals at Sungai Buloh Hospital who took such excellent care of me during my unplanned two-week sojourn there.

My jolly joy boy Ahau visits his dad at Ward 4A

I intend to record my inner pilgrimage during the days leading up to my sudden hospitalization and much of what follows will, of necessity, be rather self-indulgent and perhaps even shocking to genteel sensibilities. I make no apologies for that. What I'm interested in is a truthful and accurate narrative - one that might illuminate for my own benefit - and possibly others' - what significance this strange pilgrimage from Magick River to Bamboo River and back will have on the rest of my life.

So stay tuned, folks!

[Part 2]