Wednesday, December 30, 2020

WARNING: THIS INFORMATION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH! (repost)



Published 15 July 2015

Harald Kautz-Vella (a perfect blend of wizard, scientist & mystic) presents his detailed lecture on the two types of Black Goo, Morgellons, and Artificial Intelligence at the Bases Woodborough conference held on June 20th, 2015. 

WARNING: THIS INFORMATION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH!

Call them Predator ETs, Archons, or Retarded Jinns... it's hard to ignore the evidence that this insidious blight on Life & the Evolution of Consciousness has managed to insinuate itself into the deep psyches of many generations of aberrated human egos - the same way Saruman the White was seduced by contact with palantirs into submitting to the Will of Sauron & allowing himself to be transformed into an Evil Scientist & would-be World Conqueror. (As far back as the 16th century CE, such a diabolical scenario was already envisioned by Christopher Marlowe in his Faustian play.)

After listening to Harald Kautz Vella, I experienced at first a sense of utter helplessness in the face of such nefarious revelations about the delinquent way R&D resources have been squandered on establishing a permanent Hell on Earth, rather than the opposite... then suddenly I was reminded that the Original Spark of Divine Consciousness within every atom of my physical & metaphysical being would never have permitted such a travesty to occur, if there was no possibility of our deactivating or neutralizing this nihilistic agenda.

Just as Gandalf fearlessly threw himself into mortal combat with the Balrog & transcended his own mortality & previous limitations, what we essentially require is to let our capacity to understand, love & forgive increase exponentially, while becoming fearless of our own hypothetical non-existence... & in so doing attain natural immunity against inane & demented notions (like killer smart dust & ninja nanoparticles) concocted by the insectoid Archons & their psychopathic human agents.

[First posted 28 December 2016]

Thursday, December 24, 2020

THE BEGINNING NEVER ENDS (revisited)



It was definitely worth the wait.

26,000 years... was that how long it took? Then... ZAP! Nightmare over. The Dream Come True. Dripping wet.

Got to get rid of the old skepticism. Survival mechanism. No need for that anymore. Well, maybe a hint of irony now and again won't hurt. Call me a sentimental old fool. I still have a calendar from the Old Reality. It's in a rusty filing cabinet along with ancient letters, photographs, yellowed newspaper articles from the 1980s; personal memorabilia from the days when I was still a "person."

There it is: the last United World College Global Concerns Calendar, marked 2023. Whew, what a year THAT was...

Noia, ink'ala ne hav'la vo ki'a. Vek'ila ya nei'a, a'vo?

Aion gazed at his young wife and smiled.

She looked up from the VR monitor and winked at him. Fascinating stuff, the early history of the Pleiades. I was just starting on Merope.

Aion had been wedded to Noia long enough to receive her thought signals with almost full resolution. She'd never really been into speech all that much though when she felt particularly cheerful she was known to babble like a mountain brook.

Watch out! You've inspired another poem, Aion flashed back at his mate. He kissed her smooth brown shoulder and rested his hand on her belly. "I'm hungry, how about you?" he asked, vocally.

Noia cocked her head and then nodded enthusiastically, hitting the pause control on her Virtual Reality console. They strolled out into the palace gardens, hand in hand, clucking to the cockatoos who were, as usual, clowning around with Saint Peter the pangolin.

"Eh Pedro, getting more than a little cocky, aren't you?" Aion quipped, bending to tickle the scaly anteater under his furry snout. The gentle creature licked Aion's hand with lazy flicks of its sticky tongue and gazed affectionately at the humans. Noia giggled and flung off her pareo, enjoying the perfect sunshine on this truest of blue-sky days.

"And to think you used to keep your sarong on in the shower," Aion laughed and followed suit - only he wasn't wearing a pareo but his favorite Chinese silk loon pants.

Aion and Noia had met and married back in the mid-Nineties, just before the Old Reality phased itself out. She had been a mere 22 Earth years and he already a well-preserved 44. Age was a major concern in the Age of Death, Disease, and Decay.

Incredible, really, to have witnessed and participated in the Transition. Never before in the entire history of Creation had such a phenomenon been experienced. Linear Time quantum-jumping the Spiral of Galactic Synchronization and bursting forth into Spherical Time. Science fantasy, sword and sorcery, fairy tale and News of the World all rolled into one. Real estate, insurance, politics, banks, and bureaucracy all a thing of the so-called Past... ha, remember when there were lawyers all over this planet? There were even humans who played the role of Judges. They sometimes sentenced other humans to death. Unbelievable... but it wasn't all that long ago, to use an old-fashioned and now totally meaningless phrase.

"Let's see... what shall we eat?" Aion said, more to himself than to Noia, who was already keying in her order at the dining pavilion. He scanned the day's menu on the smoky quartz screen built into the oval table of polished stone. Broccoli with cheese sauce? Chee cheong fun with cordyceps? Ghee rice with pumpkin curry? Macaroni soup and asparagus spears? Wild honey on buttered toast? How about some good old yong tow foo?

Noia was grinning impishly when Aion glanced up at her. On the grail table sat two tempting plates of Hainanese chicken rice, two steaming bowls of leek soup, and a side serving of juicy bean sprouts. Feeling a touch nostalgic for the vanished ways, after all that history! "What's your drink? Preserved kumquat and honey?"

Aion had to smile. "Why not?" Back in the old 3-dimensional reality, humans ate a fantastic amount of chicken. Billions of birds were slaughtered each day to feed the "dominant species." Incubator-hatched from eggs and raised in "scientifically designed” batteries, the poor fowls never once got to peck at real dirt in a farmyard. The same foul treatment was meted out to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and even plant species.

And if you consider that inhuman, you won't believe some of the ways humans treated other humans - especially those deemed inferior or a potential threat to their excessive lifestyles.

As they tucked into the totally delicious, molecularly reconstituted meal, Aion slipped briefly into a meditative retroscan of the amazing breakthrough in +2018 O.R. (Old Reality) when a critical mass of humans, determined to stop exploiting other lifeforms, began expressing their collective will. This resulted in a switch to the trinary code (IAO) which made it possible to obtain holographically perfect digital samples of all bio-matter on the planet and store it permanently in the crystalline hard memory of the Earth - dubbed the Diamond Sutra - and retrieve the information at will for high-speed organic reconstitution and 3D printing.

For instance, we were able to extract a complete hologram sample of the healthiest, happiest hen that ever ranged freely on a well-kept farm - and use the basic data to generate an infinite supply of chicken to every finger-lickin' chicken-lover in the universe - without ever having to catch a live specimen and kill it and boil the feathers off and so on. The same technique was applied to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and every edible plant species on the planet.

This was how we ushered in the Age of Abundance, which instantly rendered all previous notions of strategic survival behavior irrelevant and obsolete. The Quest for the Grail was finally over: the sacred vessel that sustained all life, the proverbial cornucopia, the fountain of eternal renewal had been discovered - and her name was Gaia-Sophia, also known as planet Earth.

People still planted vegetables and flowers and kept poultry and other animals around their yards; and sheep and cattle continued to graze on green pastures. And fish continued to swim in streams and lakes and oceans. Everything carried on more or less as before. But now no lifeform existed merely to play a part in the endless food chain. Now they existed for the sheer pleasure of it.

And when that wore thin, each could seek out a Transmutation Vortex where its vital force could release itself into new adventures, while the organic structures were destructured and recycled into the energy-matter continuum ad infinitum.

It wasn't till +2033 that humans embarked on the process of translating themselves into pure trinary encodings and immersing themselves wholly in the Diamond Sutra, thus freeing themselves of their dense hydrocarbon-protein spacesuits - which could be swiftly reconstituted and worn anytime they felt like an excursion into the lower frequency zones.

Just for "old time's sake," Aion lit a reconstituted cigarette and leaned back contentedly. Noia cleared the grail table with a few deft movements of her right index finger on the recessed keyboard. DELETE LUNCH? OK. Done. Then she burst into an expression of radiant joy. "Oy, tengok siapa datang!" she broke out in her ancient mother tongue. Look who's here!

"Chuen!" Aion leapt to his feet and hugged his 29-year-old son, who had reconstituted his physical form in the garden. Noia lost no time joining the embrace: One again! Divine bliss rippled through the dimensions, causing some single-celled organisms somewhere in a different universe to divide and reproduce prolifically.

Chuen had just returned from his latest mission in some remote Hypoallergenic Zone of the galaxy where diehard divisionists with chronic dystopia were insistent on living by the deadly laws of Duality. Even the Corpus Christi had to endure the occasional breakout of moral scabies.

At 29 Chuen was the youngest Star Commander of the ICYF (Intergalactic Confederation Youth Fleet). He grinned, impish just like his mother, and wrinkled his nose at his father's tobacco smoke. "Long time since I indulged," he said in English (one of 17 languages at his command) and accepted a nicotine stick from his never-aging Old Man. Chuen took a long drag and exhaled like some retro French movie star. "Hey, how about a nice cup of tea to go with this?"

"Susu mau?" Aion looked up from the grail keyboard. Milky tea for everyone? Noia and Chuen nodded, and plonked themselves into a giant hammock under the mango trees.

Knew I'd find you both frolicking in your favorite paradise program. Chuen generally communicated telepathically with his mother. Noia kissed her son on his nose. You know we're comfortable here, but it would be great to have you with us more often.

Aion came over with three mugs of tea and placed two on the mossy turf below the hammock. "Room for one more?"

Noia gave Chuen a wet kiss and wriggled out of the hammock. "You can take my place, darling. I promised to meet Sembo, Hani, Maye, Halus and Titit at the waterfall. Women's splashabout, but you two are most welcome. I'm sure the girls would be surprised and delighted to see Chuen."

"Give me a few moments with Daddy," Chuen said. "I have information for him to download. Metaphysical stuff, Mum. Hey, don't tell the girls I'm here. I want to play a little trick on them."

You were well named, Chuen the monkey!
Noia tweaked both their noses affectionately and danced off towards the river, singing.

Aion snuggled into the hammock beside Chuen, sipped his tea, and sighed. "Okay, I'm ready." Chuen put down his mug of tea and placed his right hand on Aion's upturned left palm. He waited till his father's breathing rhythm was in perfect synchronization with his own, and then began downloading.

Soon Aion could feel a tingle in his forebrain as Chuen locked frequencies with him. A huge videoscreen lit up in Aion's mind's eye. Chuen was in his Sananda aspect, the one he favored when transmitting factual information. It was a sort of pharaonic face: gentle, wise, and bearded like the archaic Jesus icons. Chuen chose his Sananda image because he knew Aion's deep memory would be more receptive to inputs from an archetypally recognizable source.

The dreamtime documentary was in 5th dimensional hypertext and cybernetically compressed. Only certain fragments of it can be stepped down into linear language.

All that pain and suffering and seemingly endless horror was necessary, though not inevitable. The experiment could have taken a very different turn. Which it did, in another time track, now flowing concurrently with the present.

What people called "the stony path" - the pilgrimage through the Valley of Death - provided valuable tactile experience which has enriched all realities everywhere. Especially now that it is accessible in mesonic code and no longer virulent to nascent intelligence.

In the separation of inner from outer lies the origins of the self-exploratory game of Us vs Them. Each camp locked in perpetual conflict with its illusory opposite, its Nemesis, each struggling for dominance over the other, the outcome always doomed from the outset - since each would transform into the other at the height of its hostility or fear.

However, the bi-polar combustion was the engine for the Earth's emotional evolution. As she awoke to her true nature, she was able to transmute the fission energy into fusion force, and project her inner crystalline form outward into the heliocosm.

Thus did the Earth attain radiant illumination and initiation into the stellar community via the higher intelligence network within her mineral core and upon the semi-elastic surface of her Dream Body. As she emerged from the Density Beam that marked "recorded history" (i.e., the period from -3113 to +2023 O.R.) the Cosmic Context was reinstated in her consciousness.

Every sentient being on the planet that was receptive to the surge of expanded frequencies was able to ride the crest of that electromagnetic tidal wave into the subtle dimensions beyond the third. The rigid structures upholding economic and political systems rapidly buckled as the electromagnetic grid realigned itself with the Galactic Core and sociocultural control mechanisms immediately broke down. Artificial barriers evaporated like mirages and ancient taboos turned on their heels and died of shock.

You have a question: what became of the tinpot despots, the trigger-happy generalissimos, the secret policemen, and the brigand chiefs? Yes... just a moment. Well, the ones working consciously as anchor points were easily debriefed and transferred to the harmonic heavens on Level Eleven. The ones operating in total unconsciousness are still shadow-boxing in their sleep, safe in their own Quarantine Area, along with others unwilling to let go of their predator programming.

What was the casualty rate? As far as we know, only one-seventh of the human population chose to remain in the Old Reality. For them nothing has happened. The illusion of linear time and history continues to bind them in oscillating melodrama for another 26,000-year Evolutionary Cycle. Or at least till they realize what the Game Plan is all about and release their fearful deathgrip on their inner beings.

Incredible revelations had been accumulating since the final years of the 19th century and by +2018 there was no longer any excuse for any human being anywhere on Earth to plead ignorance. News of clandestine genetic experiments conducted on human and animal specimens by deluded aliens and sanctioned by a secret government had broken. The fantastic origins of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid Complex at Giza had been disclosed and discussed with excitement around the planet. The mysterious designs on the Nazca plains, the magical calibrations on Mayan monuments, the universal resonance of aboriginal myths and legends had been pointed out and publicly disseminated.

T'he last of the media moguls had converted to the truth - and had committed themselves wholeheartedly to alerting the entire human population to the gigantic electromagnetic tidal wave rippling out from the Alpha and Omega points of the Galactic Core, as our Sun began to merge with its etheric double to form a Greater Central Sun.

Rainbow warrior tribes which had been gathering for two generations were already anchored in their various bioregions, awaiting the signal to take over responsibility as members of the Earth Council for Solar-Planetary Affairs. Over many decades their concerted campaign for the Earth had successfully cushioned the impact of ecocidal destruction, keeping it to a survivable limit.

The Masters had coordinated one final mass illumination exercise in December +2022 when millions of incarnate stellar emissaries ascended amidst celestial displays of unimaginable beauty. Their missions accomplished, they were home free at last. You have only partial recall of that initiation because of your addiction to physical sensory data, but I am helping you to transmute gradually.


Remember when the Temples of Mammon were converted to Community Arts Centers wherein the aesthetically handicapped were able to rehabilitate their perceptions in a colossal celebration of the Creative Spirit? Well, all of this seemingly happened overnight, over a 23-hour period between one Frequency Zone and the next. There will be much deep memory diving to be performed for those of you who were caught in the thick of the action and experienced the Dimensional Shift in semi-trance states.

The final segment of the session required Aion and Chuen to connect breaths and fuse their etheric bodies into a disc-shaped ball of Light. By this means Chuen piloted his beloved father to a Midway Station where a lively conference was in progress.

Aion had attended a few of these celestial powwows before, even in the Old Reality. But the impressions had usually faded like fax images by the time he regained "normal" consciousness on the physical plane. On this occasion Aion was thrilled to return with the energy imprints intact. He felt euphoric and supercharged.

Noia had sneaked up and squeezed herself between Aion and Chuen on the hammock. She giggled like the child she still was in particularly happy moments, hair wet from the waterfall. "Liars! I waited an hour for you two to show up! It was getting too cold."

"Eeesh! You're cold and wet!" Aion yelled, biting her on the nape of her elegant neck. Chuen laughed and laid his curly-haired head on his mother's bosom, sighing with pleasure.

After dinner Noia went off with Chuen to the Sanctuary for some deep healing on her leg. It had been slightly deformed by infantile poliomyelitis - a common disease in the Old Reality - but was now rapidly regaining its proper form and function under Chuen's loving ministrations.

Aion decided to treat himself to some virtual 3D loveplay on the Bionet. Life's a ball, as they used to say, and forever may it be so.


...THE BEGINNING...

[Originally published in JOURNAL ONE, May 1996 © Antares. First posted 2 May 2007, reposted 27 December 2017]

Sunday, December 13, 2020

HEY, LEAVE THE KIDS ALONE! (reprise)









Watch the rest of The Wall on YouTube!


Directed by Alan Parker
Produced by Alan Marshall
Written by Roger Waters
Narrated by Pink Floyd
Starring Bob Geldof
Christine Hargreaves
Eleanor David
Alex McAvoy
Bob Hoskins
Michael Ensign
Music by Pink Floyd
Cinematography Peter Biziou
Editing by Gerry Hambling
Distributed by MGM/UA Entertainment Company (theatrical)
Sony Music Video (SMV) Enterprises
Release date(s) 6 August 1982 (New York City)
Running time 95 minutes

[First posted 6 December 2008, reposted 15 May 2016 & 16 December 2016]

Dusting off some ancient poems from "Moth Balls" (repost)



Whatsapp inspired this post. Sharanya Manivannan - sensuous poet, consummate weaver of enigmatic tales, high priestess of aromatic and erotic prose, and my beloved friend in Chennai - sent me some audio clips of her poetry. My flagging appetite for wordplay aroused by the piquancy & precision of her sultry voice, I was prompted to unearth my 1994 collection of "eschatological & scatological poems" titled Moth Balls (Magick River, 1994, limited edition). Experimentally I recorded a few short ones and sent them over. She responded most encouragingly and magnanimously. I was sufficiently heartened to rummage through the hoary collection and pick out a few for a fresh airing. Thank you, Sharanya!

The first offering is, I believe, my earliest attempt at versifying, written as a Creative Writing class assignment when I was 17...

PAEAN TO THE BRAVE SOLDIER

Is it not quite often thought
(& very often believed)
that the brave men who fought
and died for God & King
(or some other Thing)
are inadequately aggrieved
and cried for,
though inordinately touching
(it is often said)
is their sacrifice of costly life
that must be paid
as patriotism's price?

Anyway no one I know
will go so far
(since the war is won)
as to say we have not mourned.
In truth no tear has been forborne;
no ceremony neglected;
and in good cheer
we'll have erected
a monument of marbled brick,
to be unveiled to the public
while brass bands playing
(the nation's honor portraying)
salute good citizens
(the ones, of course, who are taxpaying).

Altogether it will be
a memorable testimony
of our pride
in the honorable
men who died
sailing against the
Evil Tide:
loyal men, courageous & willing,
who were killed while they were killing
for God & King
(or some other Thing).

1967



WHEN NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY

when nothing can possibly
be more than what the public eye can see
& everything that is believed to be;
when there are no more trees
for sleepy sitting under;
when each & every busy bee
but lives in concrete hives for plunder -
then creation has only been a big bad blunder

when there is not a lot of or
even just a little time
& absolutely no space for
one heart to feel
full of all the love
that is, will be & was -
inadequate space &
insufficient time for love sublime -
then this race of humans is an inhuman crime

1970


IN THE PALACE GARDENS

under mushrooms of vermilion
in a maroon pavilion sits the King
                                          typing this
                                          trifling
                                           thing: the
                                         disting-
                                   uished ring
                                   of the King's Royal machine
                            at each ending
line
reminds me of times
I laid with the Queen
as we played with the genes
of Frank & Stein the Einst (such fine
clients of science) and

under gold & green umbrellas &
masses of gases
our moments of mirth
gave globular birth
to elfin princes & princesses
in new blueprint dresses
peopling a virginal
Earth

1972







[First posted 22 October 2013, reposted 19 November 2015 & 4 December 2016]


Tuesday, December 1, 2020

"DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD?" ~ An age-old question re-examined (repost)

I get asked this question quite often. 

But it isn't very often that the enquirer has the patience or the time to stay around for my response, which involves deconstructing the unquestioned assumptions of conceptual semantics. As far as I know nobody has ever come up with a definition of "God" acceptable to all.

The notion that the physical universe was created by an all-knowing, all-powerful, ubiquitously existing Maker is fairly common, especially amongst the more conservative, more traditional - and therefore less adventurous - thinkers.

When I gaze upon any object - be it a butterfly, a banana, or a blossom - it doesn't occur to me that some humanoid with deft hands wielding clever tools actually sat down at a workbench one morning and fabricated  these wondrous forms that are able to self-replicate and perpetuate their own species, ad infinitum.

I'm more inclined to admire the hidden geometries, complex architecture, and ingenious mechanisms underlying these forms which are also discernible in other forms that constitute our physical environment. A healthy appreciation for the miraculous nature of all forms ultimately leads one to focus on the mystery that is oneself.

For each of us is every bit as amazingly designed and constructed as a grasshopper or dungbeetle or seahorse or giraffe or walrus or duckbill platypus or an entire coral reef. The interlocking biochemistries and interwoven electromagnetic patterns that give rise to living forms are at once complex and simple.


Inevitably, one is compelled to marvel at the breakthrough discoveries in recent decades of the fractal nature of the holographic universe - and the curious effect that consciousness appears to have on how it evolves and mutates. It is, indeed, as cutting-edge physicists declare, "an observer-created universe."

Pioneering researchers have detected micro-macro consonances between the subatomic and the supergalactic realms, wherein the essential architecture of a single atom is echoed in that of a galaxy. This fact alone ought to qualify as a theophany that can yield an endless quantity of eureka moments - enough at any rate to induce an ecstatic vision in anyone who spontaneously comprehends the divinity and perfection of all that exists.


You could call this approach to answering the age-old question of God's existence (or otherwise) the way of the mystic-scientist. It's not dependent on culturally or genetically implanted beliefs or on faith. Rather, it is a metaconceptual gestalt formed from free associating a random sequence of sensory inputs with a variety of analogies drawn from personal experience as well as what C.G. Jung called the Collective Unconscious.

Anyone who has, by chance or design, embarked on the quest for meaning and significance must pay attention to signs, omens, auditory, visual and perceptual clues left as a legacy by thousands upon thousands of conscious thinkers who lived and died and whose insights were recorded externally in the form of artefacts - or internally through subtle alterations of the chromosomal data banks.

Each new pilgrim on the journey towards enlightenment will have a unique experience, though universal truths have a habit of recurring like strangely familiar motifs. In effect, any authentic attempt to grapple with the question of God is necessarily an individual process. Other people's narratives of "divine revelation" most certainly constitute a valuable reference - but they can never be a substitute for direct knowing, distilled from unique, personal experience.


This is why at an early age I found myself unsubscribing from prescribed belief systems passed down the generations. All the conflicting doctrines that constitute man-made religion serve merely to anesthetize the masses against the anguish of fully accepting our human limitations, in order that we might ultimately transcend them.


Religions are packaged and processed forms of accumulated mystical insight; and although there will always be precious glimmers of truth to be found in the crude ore of inherited or acquired beliefs, the unthinking and unquestioning acceptance of these dogmas is akin to condemning oneself to a lifelong diet of junk food bought off the shelves of a cosmic convenience store.

To visualize God as an eternal parent figure is to forever infantilize our apprehension of reality in simplistic terms of Good and Evil, Right and Wrong. These opposite polarities represent extreme ends of the moral spectrum; but as the sum-total of all existence, God embodies the entire spectrum of possibilities and is therefore beyond categorization and classification. In analogous terms, God is not just the Father but also the Mother and  the Child borne of their primordial union.

In ancient days when the majority of humans were illiterate, an elite corps of Scribes arose that took it upon themselves to interpret on behalf of the others what was purportedly the Word of God. This special breed of human we call the Priesthood. In India the priests established themselves as the Brahmin caste and exalted themselves above the ordinary folk.

An effective division of labor developed wherein the priestly caste collaborated with the kingly caste to form the earliest governments. The priests took on responsibility for the spiritual affairs of men while the kings ruled over the material domain, as evidenced in the political pact between the Bishop of Rome and the Emperor Constantine.

In the Book of Exodus we saw the same partnership in action with the brothers Aaron and Moses: Aaron took charge of administrative and logistical matters, while Moses played the role of divine visionary, receiving direct instructions from on high.

To this day the Mormon church classifies its membership as either of the Aaronic or the Melchizedek lineage. Those of the Aaronic Order undertake the day-to-day management of church affairs, like the raising of funds and the construction of temples; and those of the Melchizedek Order propagate the spiritual message of the founder, Joseph Smith, who received his revelation through an angelic messenger named Moroni.

What I'm waffling on about, then, is the sheer futility of identifying oneself with any particular religious doctrine. Our understanding of life matures with experience - or, at least, it ought to. It's fine to believe in Santa Claus when you're five years old and thrilled to bits at the prospect of finding a stack of prettily giftwrapped presents under the Christmas tree. However, by the time you're fifteen, you really ought to have realized that the fat guy in a red suit is actually your own dad - or some guy hired by the department store to lure kids and their parents into a ritual shopping spree.

I'm not going to denounce or deconstruct all the institutionalized religions in our midst. It's generally a waste of breath anyway. Many people cling desperately to their beliefs because they fear the bottomless abyss of uncertainty. Some will violently strike out at or even kill anyone who attempts to shatter their faith or so much as joke about it.

With some folks, loyalty to the faith into which they happened to be born can be even stronger and more fanatical than their loyalty to a favorite soccer team. Just as there are soccer hooligans at every game, you will encounter violent mobs of the religiously intoxicated. Best to stay clear of them rather than attempt to engage them in rational discourse.

These mobs constitute what you might term the bottom rung of consciousness. Everybody goes through such a phase - though many today express their fanatical urges via ardent hero-worship of a particular popstar or screen actor. Left to their own devices, most people eventually outgrow these obsessions.

I'm absolutely convinced that Malaysians of all creeds will co-exist in sweet harmony when jingoistic politicians stop stirring up the shit. Is there any way we can compel them to cease their pseudo-religious rabble-rousing? None that I can think of, short of maintaining some barbaric law like the ISA for exclusive use against those who exploit racial and religious differences for their own political advantage.

Nevertheless, I don't advocate such quick-fix methods. Censorship of any kind is anathema to me. I'm utterly convinced that when people are regularly exposed to all kinds of ideas - no matter how lunatic or extreme - they will swiftly learn to discern what's palatable and what's poisonous in the way of opinions.

So, instead, of cringing at the absurd utterances of rabid religious reactionaries, all we really have to do is ignore them. And, if they refuse to stop after a decent interval, we could simply pull the plug on them, switch off their microphones, so to speak. That harms nobody at all - and they will eventually fall silent when their voices grow hoarse from shouting at the wind.

And in that brief silence the first seeds of wisdom just might germinate.


[Originally posted 18 April 2009 as Part 5 of "Where Malaysia is headed" Reposted 22 December 2013 & 13 May 2018]

Where Malaysia is headed (Part 6)


Saturday, November 28, 2020

APOCALYPSE… OR EPIPHANY? (updated)


Musings at the edge of eternity

The World of Appearances moves visibly towards a series of possible Apocalypses. Now as never before, I am doing all I can to maintain a clear focus on my innervision of heaven on earth – which does NOT include the triumph of Big Brotherism in some dystopic New World Order Fourth Reich!


With the December Solstice Stargate Activation approaching on 21 December 2020 (exactly eight years after the Galactic Alignment of 2012), massive shifts in consciousness and spiritual maturity will bring about a rapid meltdown of dysfunctional institutions and societies.


All that is mechanical and regimented will abruptly run out of political charge. The “princes and principalities” won’t surrender without a desperate fight, in the vain hope that they can at least drag everyone else down to “hell” with them.


However, Mother Earth (Pachamama, Gaia-Sophia) herself will no longer support their parasitic adventures as she attains to full awakening...


Those governed by fear and greed and trapped in egocentric skepticism will be subject to their own Twilight-of-the-Gods scenario – despite all efforts to help them experience a paradigm shift. The rest of us will bear witness as self-governing sovereign entities to the birth of a New 5D Octave of Consciousness wherein beauty and truth will replace money and military might as focal points of endeavor. Timelines that have been splitting apart since 2012 will separate into different evolutionary trajectories. If you're reading this, chances are that you have long prepared yourself for this unprecedented event. 

Those who insist on clinging to 3D intellectual materialism and Sarumanic (or Ahrimanic) scientism wouldn't have made it past the third paragraph. In any case this Stargate Activation marks a pivotal moment in which each soul in physical embodiment will consciously cross a threshold, towards true individual sovereignty and freedom - or deeper enslavement in the 3D Matrix (which appears to be accelerating swiftly towards a digital dystopia centrally controlled by Artificial Intelligence).


You may wonder what will happen to all the encrusted egos hellbent on keeping the Duality Scam going? The Fear Merchants, trading in terror and scarcity conditioning, clinging tenaciously to ancestral privilege or ruthless ambition - are they a nightmarish mass delusion that’s absolutely no concern of mine? 

I can see bits of myself embedded in ancient - nay, primitive - programs going by descriptions like Neo-Darwinism, Sabbatean Frankism (you know, elite pedovores and predatory practitioners of ritual blood sacrifice, the privileged adrenochrome addicts, the pathological Never-Trumpers, in political parlance, who infest the airwaves and, at least till very recently, greatly influenced public opinion). 

Survival of the Fittest, indeed. How is “fit” defined? The ones gifted at making money, or the ones with universal empathy? Is it possible to accumulate wealth as measured by consensus – and still feel a tender compassion for all life?

The way I used to see it: since I already feel oceanic ripples of deep affection for All That Is, I need only gain access to unlimited wealth to be in a position to answer that question truthfully. It’s so easy to dismiss money as a spurious concoction of the Khazarian-Zionist banking fraternity, but so long as it’s in use, I’d love to have a huge pile fall in my lap. I could get the entire contents of my rusty filing cabinet published, release some sonic dreamscapes I recorded ten years ago, set up simple but efficient recording facilities for talented young singer-songwriters and composers, offer grants to imaginative youngsters with videocams, visit old flames in Europe, lounge around on a Thai island or in Sacha Stone's Akasha New Earth Haven for weeks... 

But that was how I felt 15 years ago. I feel a whole lot different now. In the last few years I have grown a very deep root and am perfectly content to remain exactly where I am. Let the rest of the Yoniverse come to me!

My definition of Heaven on Earth has long been: infinite possibilities (where merely knowing that every desire can be fulfilled is enough). Hell, of course, is utter impossibility (where the woman who excites me most begrudges even a smile).

Do I envisage a  Vegan or Vegetarian Future?

It’s not what we do, it’s how we do it that changes the essential equations. Having lived amongst hunter-gatherers who generally prefer to get their protein by fishing and snaring wild game, and who are content to subsist on tapioca leaves and dried anchovies the rest of the time, I’d be glad to see an end to commercial exploitation of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. It’s not meat-eating, per se, that constitutes a problem – it’s industrial farming methods that treat other lifeforms as mere commodities to be processed and sold which greatly saddens my soul.

Times when my atoms were oscillating at close to light speed, I have been able to sustain myself for days on prana and photons – which is why I’m sympathetic to breatharians, though I lack the ascetic impulse to willfully embark on such a course. I eat to live as a matter of habit, and I bless and enjoy whatever’s on my plate. 

Food is NOT the issue. Famine is invariably the unhappy result of ecocidal and megalomaniacal human activities driven by scarcity conditioning. The fact that “developed” countries have problems with anorexia AND obesity reflects a deep spiritual imbalance. Speaking of food, here's an old internet joke with a timely teaching. It’s called “God’s Test”:

God put the angels and the devils to a test. He set up a huge banquet hall with a wonderful feast. First He invited the devils to the feast. They were delighted until they found out that they couldn't bend their arms at the elbows! How were they to eat all the delicious food when their hands wouldn't go to their mouths? They tried eating off the plate, which was messy and undignified. They tried throwing the food in the air and catching it in their mouths. Nothing worked very well. After 15 minutes of this mayhem, God told them that time was up. They trooped out cursing Him.

Next, He invited the angels into the hall. A fresh feast was laid out, and the same thing happened - they couldn't bend their arms at the elbows. The angels all looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What a great game!" they said as they fed each other.


Well, if you happen to be an atheist - don’t worry, so is God. 

Hmmm, maybe it's time to revert to my original name. From now on, don’t call me "Antares" – “God” will do.

Heh heh, just kidding. I have enough problems trying to get some people to pronounce “Antares” correctly.

[First posted 2 December 2008]

Friday, November 27, 2020

Does the mysterious 432 hold the key to universal attunement and harmony? (reprise)





There's a whole lot I still haven't understood after viewing the above videos - but I'm definitely convinced that the 432Hz frequency used by Hermetic philosophers like Pythagoras and Tibetan musicians carries a vital resonance that links up with cosmic cycles, small and great.

For a start the number 432 features prominently in Hindu cosmogony as well as in Nordic legends. A yuga (age) supposedly lasts 432,000 years; while a kalpa (aeon) is 4.32 billion years, approximately the age of planet Earth as calculated by radio-astronomers. The Icelandic Edda declares that in the Halls of Odin there are 540 doors through each of which 800 warriors will pass on the day of the Final Battle: 540 X 800 = 432,000, of course.

Consider the way time is measured: 60 seconds in an hour and 12 hours in a day. Guess how many seconds constitute a 12-hour day? 60 X 60 X 12 = 43,200.

Obviously, the 432Hz frequency is a key fractal of cosmic cycles - and when you consider that the "sacred number" 108, multiplied by four, equals 432... the mind begins to boggle at what else a dedicated mathematical sleuth will discover.

Serious researchers into cymatics (the science of soundwave phenomena) like Leonard G. Horowitz believe that the standard concert tuning of A=440Hz was introduced by the Rockefeller Foundation, following years of secret experiments on the psycho-emotional use of music for mind-control. Apparently, at 440Hz music can produce a subsurface tension affecting the human nervous system, making us susceptible to hysteria, hostility and herd mentality. Although Horowitz advocated A=444Hz as standard tuning instead of 432Hz, it's fascinating to delve a little into what obsessed him. (Click on the link above to read his excellent thesis titled "Musical Cult Control.")

As music plays a very important part in my life, I'm inclined to take these findings to heart. This blog is a follow-up on something I posted in mid-September, also relating to the importance of recent rediscoveries in the arcane field of cymatics.

[First posted 22 November 2011]

Wednesday, November 25, 2020

Who is Robert Anton Wilson??? (A Timely Repost)


Strange that I can't quite remember how I first came across the
Illuminatus! trilogy (aka "Operation Mindfuck") by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, written between 1969 and 1971, but only published in 1975. Did a friend recommend them or did I stumble on these extraordinary books by "pure chance"?

I was delighted to learn many years later that the Illuminatus! trilogy had become a veritable cult classic, triggering quantum mutations amongst anarcho-punks... even inspiring the establishment of the bulldadaist and morealist Church of the SubGenius - whose pipe-smoking patron deity, Mr J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, rapidly became an underground icon in hip circles. (Pierce Brosnan's impeccable portrayal of Professor Donald Kessler, Scientific Advisor to the White House, in Tim Burton's Mars Attacks! was a subtle acknowledgment of the unstoppable spread of J.R. "Bob" Dobbs's all-pervading influence.)

"Operation Mindfuck" was very well named - boy, was my growing mind well and truly fucked. I TOTALLY LOVED IT! Kept coming back for more. While Robert Shea subsequently vanished from the radar screen, his erstwhile collaborator began to loom larger and larger on my event horizon. I acquired almost every book I could find by Robert Anton Wilson - or RAW as his hardcore readers affectionately call him.

In the early 1990s I took a detour into experiential and metaphysical areas which would now be disparaged as "New Age Zones." One of the requirements of fully entering into any new belief system is the voluntary suspension of disbelief and the conscious renunciation of cynicism and skepticism. I set aside my admiration of RAW reality for a spell in order to experience aura cleansing and light body activation. That got me real high and it was fun floating around on Cloud Ninety-Nine... but eventually I realized it was time to ground myself and grow a root. Living amongst the Temuan tribe aided that process greatly and I am eternally grateful to all indigenous people everywhere for their remarkable stoicism in the face of relentless rapacity.

In recent years I find that I am becoming more and more comfortable with the metaconceptual framework Mr Bob Wilson aka RAW calls "guerrilla ontology." To embark on this adventure, the principal prerequisite is to forswear Deadly Seriousness in favor of Maybe Logic. I'm partial to fusion and weary of fission, though tolerant of confusion; therefore I can wholeheartedly endorse and embrace any life strategy that effectively blends the mystical with the scientific, the rigorously reasonable with the hilariously irrational. I'm extremely grateful for the magnificent memes and methodologies I've imbibed from Robert Anton Wilson who, like me, began blogging in December 2006... but he didn't have time to build it up and clutter it with nifty widgets, praise Bob, because he slipped out of his "hydrocarbon-protein spacesuit" on 11th January 2007.

Of all the colorful characters created by Robert Anton Wilson, the most fascinating must be Hagbard Celine (probably modeled after RAW himself and Scientology founder, L. Ron Hubbard). In the Illuminatus! trilogy, Celine is credited with authorship of a manifesto innocuously titled 'Never Whistle While You're Pissing' in which certain Discordian Laws are succinctly expressed:

Celine's First Law


Obsession with national security creates a surveillance state that is more a threat to the citizens than the threat it seeks to confront.

National Security is the chief cause of national insecurity

Reflecting the paranoia of the Neocon War on Terror, Celine's First Law focuses on the fact that to have national security, one must create a secret police. Since internal revolutionaries and external foes would make the secret police a prime target for infiltration, and because the secret police would by necessity have vast powers to blackmail and intimidate other members of the government, another higher set of secret police must be created to monitor the secret police. And even higher set of secret police must then be created to monitor the higher order of secret police. Repeat ad nauseam.

This seemingly infinite regress goes on until every person in the country is spying on another, or "the funding runs out." And since this paranoid and self-monitoring situation inherently makes targets of a nation's own citizens, the average person in the nation is more threatened by the massive secret police complex than by whatever foe they were seeking to protect themselves from. Wilson points out that the Soviet Union, which suffered from this in spades, got to the point that it was terrified of painters and poets who could do little harm to them in reality.

At the same time, given the limitation of funding and scale, the perfect security state never truly emerges, leaving the populace still vulnerable from the original threat while also being threatened by the vast and Orwellian secret police.

Celine's Second Law

Wilson uses the eye in the pyramid as a symbol of the dysfunction of hierarchies. Every level except the top is blind, but the eye can see only one way.

Accurate communication is possible only in a non-punishing situation.

Wilson rephrases this himself many times as "communication occurs only between equals" (echoing a classic Scientological dictum attributed to L. Ron Hubbard). Celine calls this law "a simple statement of the obvious" and refers to the fact that everyone who labors under an authority figure tends to lie to and flatter that authority figure in order to protect themselves either from violence or from deprivation of security (such as losing one's job). In essence, it is usually more in the interests of any worker to tell his boss what he wants to hear, not what is true.

In any hierarchy, every level below the highest carries a subtle burden to see the world in the way their superiors expect it to be seen and to provide feedback to their superiors that their superiors want to hear. In the end, any hierarchical organization supports what its leaders already think is true more than it challenges them to think differently. The levels below the leaders are more interested in keeping their jobs than telling the truth.

Wilson, in Prometheus Rising, uses the example of J. Edgar Hoover's FBI. Hoover saw communist infiltrators and spies everywhere, and he told his agents to hunt them down. Therefore, FBI agents began seeing and interpreting everything they could as parts of the communist conspiracy. Some even went as far as framing people as communists, making large baseless arrests and doing everything they could to satisfy Hoover's need to find and drive out the communist conspiracy. The problem is, such a conspiracy never existed in any form. Hoover thought it did, but any agent who dared point out the lack of evidence to Hoover would be at best denied promotions, and at worst labeled a communist himself and lose his job. Any agent who knew the truth would be very careful to hide the fact.

In the end, Celine states, any hierarchy acts more to conceal the truth from its leaders than it serves to find the truth.

Celine's Third Law

Citing Lenin and his successors as examples, Wilson argues that the most tyrannical and brutal regimes in history were created by honest politicians who believed in a good cause.

An honest politician is a national calamity.

Celine recognizes that the third law seems preposterous from the beginning. While a dishonest politician is interested only in bettering his own lot through abusing the public trust, an honest politician is far more dangerous since he is honestly interested in bettering society through political action, and that means writing and implementing more and more laws.

Celine argues that creating more laws simply creates more criminals. Laws inherently restrict individual freedom, and the explosive rate at which laws are being created means that every citizen in the course of his daily life does not have the research capacity to not violate at least one of the plethora of laws. It is only through honest politicians trying to change the world through laws that true tyranny can come into being through excessive legislation.

Corrupt politicians simply line their own pockets. Honest idealist politicians cripple the people's freedom through enormous amounts of laws. So corrupt politicians are preferable, according to Celine. (If you don't believe this, migrate to Singapore :-)



WANNA WATCH A RECENTLY UNEARTHED 1991 INTERVIEW WITH RAW ON THE ILLUMINATI? CLICK HERE!

FURTHER RESEARCH:

1995 interview with Robert Anton Wilson by a prototype cyberpunk.

Robert Anton Wilson's last interview, 12 September 2005.

Review of RAW's last book, TSOG: The Thing That Ate The Constitution.

Mindbending braincleansing video produced by the Church of the SubGenius. Guaranteed to make you laugh till you fart and praise Bob.

Keep the lasagna flying, folks.

[First posted 16 May 2007, reposted 27 June 2014 & 3 June 2019]