Thursday, March 23, 2023

Sweet Memories of My Dear Mama (revisited)

This is my earliest mammary... I mean memory, of my beloved mama...

I found this comforting image on Google (no, I never did photograph my mom in the nude, and I don't think my dad ever did either, though he spared no effort documenting the vital statistics of other femmes).

My mother had big, beautiful brown nipples. They used to fascinate me long after I was weaned off her breast. I believe she was in too great a hurry to go back to work (she taught in a Chinese school). Babies ought to be given as much time as they need to wean themselves - or else they tend to grow up orally fixated like me.

Come to think of it, I don't really know that much about my mother. She was the second of three beautiful daughters born to Dai Chui Lian and Siew Sum Chee. The eldest, Moong Yang, was born 18 October 1916; my mother, Moon Loy, was born 23 March 1918 in Sitiawan; and I have no idea when my aunt Moon Wai was born, but she certainly outlived both her sisters. (The three sisters originally carried the middle name "Moong" but my mum hated the spelling and sensibly dropped the 'G' as soon as she could. Her younger sister quickly followed suit. M.Y. tried out the "Moon" for a while but finally reverted to the original spelling.)

My aunt Moong Yang (or M.Y., as my mum called her) was better known by her married name, Grace Lee. Of all the sisters, Grace was perhaps the most outgoing and sociable. She loved literature and recorded many stories from her childhood, which I helped edit for publication in 1994, in a collection called In Those Days. It was from my aunt Grace, the family storyteller, that I learnt everything I know about my mother's early days.

My mother in 1958
Apparently, my mom was regarded as a traditional beauty, a veritable porcelain princess with a melon-seed face, and received plenty of attention from young men in her adolescent years, which she haughtily ignored. Her elder sister responded quite differently to male admiration - she reveled in it.

My grandmother Siew died at age 38, trying to conceive a male offspring for her husband. My mother, only 15, took the bereavement very badly and went into acute depression. Her elder sister Moong Yang had successfully applied for a teaching post in Johore Baru and was scheduled to begin work in a matter of weeks. Seeing how distraught her younger sister was, she suggested that Moon Loy take her place instead. Perhaps a change of scene would help her recover from the shock of losing their beloved mama.

And so my mother relocated to Johore Baru and began her career as a teacher. It was there she met her future husband, Lee Hong Wah. I often wondered if my aunt Grace would have been a better match for my dad. They were extremely fond of each other and had a great deal in common. After they were both widowed, I tried to persuade Grace to move in with my dad, and she seemed receptive to the idea, but neither took the initiative, and so it never happened.

When I think about the adults that featured in my early childhood - many of them were my parents' lifelong friends - one thing they had in common was that they were all good-looking couples. They all loved ballroom dancing and took the trouble to learn how to foxtrot, tango and waltz properly. I suppose there must have been a fair amount of good-natured bottom-pinching on the side, but people seemed to have really enjoyed life in those halcyon post-war days.

My parents were on the guestlist of the ANZAC officers stationed in Batu Pahat and I recall they were in the habit of dressing up for gala dances at the Bandar Penggaram Recreation Club at least once a month. One Kiwi officer named Sam Gilhoolie had the hots for my mom. He often visited her in the afternoons and never forgot to bribe me with little gifts - including a teddybear that became the patriarch of my teddybear family and which I cherished till it became too grungy and mangy to keep.

I looked forward to Sam's afternoon tête-à-têtes with my mom, mainly because he always arrived in an army jeep with his Fijian driver, a friendly black dude named Lala, who allowed me to sit at the wheel and pretend I was driving his funky vehicle.

Mom called Sam "Bullethead" on account of his short-cropped hair - and I suppose he was the archetypal "bullet-headed Saxon mother's son" referred to in John Lennon's famous song, "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill."

Decades later my mom continued to receive Christmas cards from Sam Gilhoolie, who must have passed on by now. I have no idea if Sam's passion for my mother was ever requited - but it was certainly an enduring friendship.

The above isn't a picture of my mom - but this could have been how she appeared to others (especially men) before she gave birth to me at age 32. It's hard for children to view their own parents as individual humans - with their own secret fantasies and unfulfilled dreams. Now that my parents are both gone, I find it much easier to view them as others might have seen them - two sexy adults who enjoyed life to the hilt and suffered their share of sorrows and disappointments.

My dad at 75 and my mom at 73, posing with a prospective Syrian-German daughter-in-law named Yasmin Wakil. They approved but Yasmin's mom apparently didn't. She recalled her daughter in November 1991 and I haven't seen Yasmin since, though she occasionally sends me a sweet analog letter (with no return address because her boyfriend might get jealous).
If I ever harbored Oedipal feelings towards my mother, they were probably minimal and receded shortly after I reached puberty. My bedroom was connected to my parents' by a door they usually kept bolted. But one morning they forgot to bolt it and, for some reason, I opened the door and saw my dad making love to my mom. I don't think they noticed me but I had the good sense to quietly close the door and leave them to it.

The effect this had on me was liberating. From that moment I regarded sex as something people do simply because it's pleasurable - no right or wrong attached to the act, and no shame or guilt either. How can one possibly be ashamed of an act by which one was conceived?

I must have been 11 at the time and just beginning to appreciate my morning erections, though I don't recall having any wet dreams except, perhaps, once or twice. However, I became aware of my parents' sex lives because I often heard them quarreling about questions of fidelity. It was a small, provincial-minded town full of brainless gossipers and word of my dad's erotic derring-do occasionally would reach my mother's ears.

My mom tried to recruit my services as a spy. She would send me to my dad's office, a 10-minute walk from home, to check whether he was at his desk. Initially, feeling self-righteous as hell, I did her bidding.

However, I resigned from that task after I returned unexpectedly one afternoon and found the front door mysteriously locked. I had gone to the cinema to catch a matinee screening but discovered there had been a change of program, so I turned around and went home. Entering the house by the back door, I padded over to my parents' bedroom and found the door also locked. So I peeped through the keyhole and saw a guy in his underpants clutching his clothes and scurrying out through the bathroom, which opened out to the garden.

I was shocked and furious but managed to keep my cool. It was that dirty datuk, another of my mom's not-so-secret admirers, and now he was coming around from the back garden, smiling at me sheepishly and saying, "Hello! You're home early!" I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster and ignored him. My mother didn't bother to explain and I didn't bother to question her. After pondering what I had witnessed, I concluded that grown-ups were just a bunch of hypocrites. If my dad could scatter his wild oats freely, why couldn't my mom have a bit of fun on the side too?

A few years down the line, when I was old enough to drive and take girlfriends to quiet areas where we could "talk in private," I discovered my dad and I thought alike. It was actually hilarious when we both ended up in the same "make-out" spot one afternoon. My dad grinned bashfully at me as he reversed his car to make way for me - and I managed a loud chuckle as I waved conspiratorially at him and tried to identify the young woman beside him. At the time I felt smug that I had slightly better taste in women than he did.

Anyway, my parents managed to remain "happily married" for nearly 60 years till my mom's death on 14 July 1995. During the distressing years of her declining health - she suffered from heart palpitations, high blood pressure, diabetes, and renal failure (which required her to undergo dialysis thrice a week) - my dad nursed her with a loving dedication that revealed the incredible depths of his love.

Indeed, he would dutifully drive her to the hospital three times a week and sit outside reading the papers and dozing off for 4-5 hours while her blood was mechanically filtered and cleansed. This routine went on for at least four years - and if my mom had lived another six months, I believe dad would have succumbed to exhaustion and checked out before her.

Mom loved traveling but not my dad. On a rare vacation together to the US, 
with a Hawaiian stopover, in 1983.

Three years after my mom's death, I visited my dad with a beautiful Japanese girl in tow - and he became instantly besotted with her. Indeed, the only time dad ever visited my jungle abode was in 1998, when Keiko agreed to accompany him and me on the train from Johore Baru. Dad was 82 then and Keiko only half his age - but that didn't deter him from behaving like a lovestruck puppy.

He repeatedly told me Keiko reminded him so much of my mom when she was in her prime. It was perhaps the last major passion of his life, although he did succumb a year or two later to the undisputed charms of my sister's Filipina housekeeper - a red-blooded 28-year-old I would have happily dated myself.

Looking back at my parents' lives and my own, I just have to laugh at how alike we actually are - when all pretense and outward appearances are stripped away.

Does she look like my mom just before I was conceived?
More like my grandma, I guess, but melon-seed faced nonetheless...

My beloved mom would have celebrated her 101st solar orbit in 2019. She probably would be totally embarrassed and annoyed by the stories I have told about her and my dad. But, then, she wasn't very happy either when she read the family history recorded by her sister Grace.

"You know how M.Y. loves telling stories," was mom's only response.

Yes, but at the end of the day, what do we have except our stories - our experiences, our memories, the beautiful mystery of our very existence? And if we distort the truth and deny the facts of our lives, do we not become less than pure fiction, do we not become non-existent entities?

At the end of time - which isn't very far from now, going by most prophetic accounts - all we are left with is the innocent truth of our being as humans. If we continue to spin and lie and conceal, rather than reveal, we end up in a limbo of our own making. And I want to see you in paradise - not as my mother, but as the compassionate, forgiving, angelic soul you have always been

This is my birthday present to you, dearest mom, I am resurrecting you in my memory as a beautiful and desirable young woman - with secret admirers and romantic fantasies and adolescent dreams. And a wonderful, passionate, fun-loving husband who loved you till the very end, though his genes were perhaps a lot more adventurous than you would have preferred...

Behold, mom, your 4 surviving children - plus 9 gorgeous grandchildren and 17 great-grandchildren - who absolutely adore you and celebrate your goddesshood!

[First posted 23 March 2011, reposted 23 March 2014, 23 March 2016,  
22 March 2019 & 23 March 2022]

Monday, March 20, 2023

My Son, the Reincarnated King of Mu! (updated)

The High Hut aka Jabba @ 1996. Took about two months to build and cost me less than RM2,000. Our hillbilly fambly lived here without electricity... until a freak mudslide in October 1999 forced us to evacuate.

Best bathroom I ever had!
Life with the Pertak Hillbillies - old photos, sweet memories

Thought I'd found the ideal location, about 30 yards from a gentle 200-foot waterfall called Lata Puntung (Blowpipe Falls), right below Bukit Suir - which I later learned was the abode of the dreaded langsuir (jungle sirens akin to harpies or vampires).

It was quite spooky when I first moved in around April 1994. Whenever I was away for a couple of days, I'd return to find the food left for my dogs untouched but putrefying and crawling with maggots. Didn't take me long to discover why my dogs and the local folk seemed so wary of the location. It was the scene of a tragedy that occurred around 1907 when a mining tunnel (the eerie entrance to which was scarcely 50 yards from my High Hut) collapsed, burying alive 200-300 workers. Nobody can say exactly how many died, as the mine owner made himself scarce, fearing bankruptcy from having to pay compensation to the miners' families.

Fortunately, I had quite a few visitors who were geomancers, healers, shamans and wizards - and their collective efforts to ritually cleanse the area eventually cleared the psychic murk and brought more vitality and cheer to the spot.

Star Commander Lee Ahau Ben Anoor-Antares in his Pleiadian scoutship.
Ahau, Antares & Anoora at the High Hut @ June 1996 (photo: Jesse Hang)
Father & Son, June 1996 (photo: Chief Jesse Hang)

Father & Son @ 2008 (photo: Gabriel Herbst)

When my son Ahau Ben was born (at 2:00 am, 21 March 1996, at the Kuala Lumpur Hospital) everyone noticed that his head was remarkably large. (The photo at right was taken on his 13th day on Earth.)

He had to be delivered by C-section as his mother's pelvis was a little out of whack due to childhood polio. So when I first saw him, his curly hair was neatly pasted in tiny beautiful ringlets around his enormous head. I greeted him in star language and welcomed him to this funky and exciting but pretty much messed-up planet.

Our jolly joy boy rarely cried and smiled most of the time, a beatific Buddha smile. Before his first month I was calling him Doctor Baby because he seemed to be healing his mother Anoora's wounded heart by gazing at her with pure adoration whenever he suckled at her breast. Initially she couldn't handle the emotional intensity and had to quickly pass the infant to somebody else.

Anoora was hydrocephalic at birth, a melon-head baby who looked so grotesque her mother immediately offered to sell her to a nurse. However, her father intervened and sent the infant to Pahang to be raised by relatives. When I first met Anoora, she had no grasp whatsoever of what love was all about. Now her own baby was tutoring her on a daily basis.

This came as no surprise to me as I had established contact with the incoming soul during Anoora's pregnancy, and it had "told" me its original home was the Great Central Sun and that its mission on earth was to demonstrate the power of love. So I chose to name him Ahau Ben - Mayan starglyphs meaning Sun God and Skywalker or Celestial Messenger. Later I read somewhere that the last king of Mu (a lost civilization many have confused with Lemuria in the Pacific) was named Ahau. It now appears that Mu may have - in truth, if not in fact - referred to a vast bioregion encompassing East Asia and what is now known as Australia (see map below)!

Our Big Head Boy never learned to crawl. I guess his head was too heavy to be supported by his limbs. Instead, he inched along the floor on his bottom for a few months - until one day he decided his legs were strong enough to try walking. From early infancy, Ahau was exposed to many languages: English, Temuan, Cantonese, Tamil, star language... and he was always attentive to birdcalls and animal sounds. Ahau's great-aunt Mak Minah often sang Temuan lullabies to Ahau. Long after Mak Minah's death in 1999, Ahau still listens raptly to the entire Akar Umbi CD, occasionally singing along.

When he was around six months, he enjoyed squatting by himself a short distance from our High Hut and I would observe as he smiled secretly to himself, as if conversing with invisible folk.

I had expected Ahau to learn human speech quickly but he did just the opposite. His vocal range was astonishing: he could produce extremely high-pitched squeals that reminded me of dolphins and sometimes he uttered distinct syllables in an unknown tongue. Certain phrases would be repeated consistently, but it sounded like no language known to any of us. One day he distinctly said: "Maniam!"

And from then on he began experimenting with endless variations on the theme. I began telling friends that Ahau spoke Maniamese - a language consisting of only one word expressed in countless ways. Subsequently he switched from Maniamese to Bunyip - a language spoken by only one person on earth, Ahau Ben, affectionately dubbed The Bunyip.

Close friends and family began to express concern about Ahau's inability or refusal to communicate in recognizable human languages. I teased him about being a non-English-speaking Bunyip and he would smile and go, "Ho ho ho!" in as low a register as he could muster (this was before his voice broke). He apparently understood just about everything people said to him - but only very rarely would he deign to communicate in English. 

When he was three, I went away for more than a week and when I returned, I distinctly heard Ahau say, "Welcome back, Daddy!" as he threw open his arms for me to lift him up.

One day a friend's 10-year-old son rushed out from the room where he had been tickling Ahau and excitedly reported that Ahau had said to him: "Okay, that's enough!"

Nevertheless, I finally succumbed to well-meaning advice and took Ahau to see a specialist at Tawakal Hospital. The Egyptian neurologist who examined him said the only way to ascertain if there was any problem would be to do a series of MRI scans. So Ahau was made to swallow some liquid anesthetic which knocked him out within 15 minutes. It was quite surreal to watch my unconscious boy being wheeled into the MRI chamber - it was like a scene out of a sci-fi movie. 

We waited anxiously as the neurologist studied the magnetic resonance images. Finally, he turned around and said: "Well, the good news is the scans show his brain is perfectly normal, no fluid in the cranium, apart from this bit of mucus in his sinus passages."

I enquired if there might be some medical explanation for Ahau's disinterest in acquiring the routine skills other kids his age find easy to master. The neurologist mulled over this for a few moments, then he said it could be due to any number of factors - from genetic to environmental, he couldn't really say for certain.

He remarked that Ahau had the largest brain of any kid he had ever encountered. "He could turn out to be a supergenius... or maybe he's really an alien," he added with a smile. His parting words were most reassuring: "My advice to you is to keep him away from doctors!"

Well, there are days when I wish Ahau was like other kids. It would be nice to hear from him the inside story on his mother - what it was like being in her womb for nine months. Every father relishes going on long walks with his son, doing a bit of male-bonding and stuff... but, then, I'll never forget the look on Ahau's face when he saw me being wheeled into an ambulance in December 2009. Without a moment's hesitation, he ran up the steps and plonked himself on the seat beside me, determined to accompany me wherever I was being taken. His surrogate mum Mary (above, right) had to forcibly drag him out, reassuring him that his Daddy would be fine and that he could visit me very soon...

When I emerged from a 5-day induced coma and regained my strength, I kept hearing Ahau singing to me from a few feet away. I was convinced that Sungai Buloh Hospital was only a short distance from Magick River... later I realized that my mind was operating in multiple dimensions and that Ahau was watching over me from the astral plane or dreamtime - perhaps his natural habitat.

I was shown a glimpse of an alternate universe where telepathy made human speech redundant and reminded that Ahau had chosen to incarnate through Anoora and me because it was the only way he might escape school - where his brain would be formatted and stuffed with useless information, rendering him incapable of completing his mission. He didn't travel all this way to conform to human expectations.

A few years ago, Ahau had met a Mayan clairvoyant named Carlos Palada and taken an instant shine to him. We looked on in amusement as Ahau plonked himself on Carlos's lap and began "talking" excitedly to him in a series of high-pitched squeals that sounded like some antique dial-up modem. After 10 minutes or so, I could no longer contain my curiosity. I asked Carlos if he could understand Ahau's language, and Carlos explained that Ahau was transmitting high-frequency packets of visual data, decodable only to somebody with an activated causal chakra.*

"Well... what's he telling you?" I asked, and Carlos said something I'll never forget:

"He was showing me video clips of what this place looked like about 80,000 years ago. There were dinosaurs around then. He's from a fifth-dimensional race that only appears on third-dimensional planets like Earth whenever we're undergoing a massive transition... their work is to stabilize the electromagnetic grids... his last visit here was sometime before Lemuria was destroyed."

Ahau's favorite spot in the whole wide universe!
Whenever Ahau's stubborn resistance to acquiring basic skills gets on my nerves, I have to remind myself that I actually heard this report from Carlos Palada - an amiable guy with emerald green eyes, working for a Japanese construction firm in Singapore, when I first met him in 1997 at a Flower of Life workshop. Carlos had absolutely no reason to make up such crazy stories.

I mean, even if Ahau's an alien... why can't he brush his own teeth, dress himself, open bottle caps, wipe his own bum?

Ahau, Anoora & my grandson Max at Soluntra's Rock

I can hear Ahau sending me a burst of high-pitched audio signals which might translate into something like: "Where I come from intelligent beings don't grow teeth, don't wear clothes, we drink directly from the clouds, and there are no assholes that require wiping, because we're smart enough to eat stuff that doesn't turn into shit!"

Okay, okay, okay, Ahau.... I'll cut you some slack.... for now.


* In May 2014 Ahau gave us a scare when he collapsed in fits and had to be hospitalized for 5 days. The doctor at KKB district hospital took a long time to intubate him and when I asked him why it was so difficult, he declared that Ahau's larynx was like no other he had ever seen. "Nothing wrong with it, just that it's not a normal human larynx." It was only then I understood why Ahau refused to speak human languages - his vocal cords are simply not designed for human speech.

In the wee hours of 21 December 2017 I found an Arabic-subtitled video on YouTube summarizing the Pleiadian involvement with Earth's evolution and did a screen capture of this unusual map:

Postscript: When a friend heard about Ahau's 5-day hospital experience she intuitively sent me some Transfer Factor (a colustrum-based tonic that reboots the immune system). Ahau enjoyed the orange-flavored chewable tablets and finished his two-month supply. Miraculously, he began to really flesh out, acquiring impressive muscle tone in the process. Here are a few portraits of the former King of Mu taken since 2015...

Ahau making his way upstream while Bonzo lazes on a rock

Ahau with a sling after breaking his left humerus on 1 January 2017
Wefie with his dad (who has also acquired some middle-age spread)
Portrait of the 21-year-old Ahau as a robust young lad

[First posted 21 October 2011, reposted 21 December 2017 & 4 July 2018]

Sunday, March 19, 2023


By Karlos Kukulcan

So you thought you wanted enlightenment? Thought that life will be all peachy and smooth sailing when the veils of illusion were lifted? Those who have become ‘dis-illusioned’- and haven’t slid back into denial after seeing what was on the other side, or run in the opposite direction with their first taste of ‘enlightenment’ - realize that waking up is hard work.

So what is behind these veils of constructed reality, one might ask? To put it in succinct terms, what lies behind the social conditioning is this: “That our society is the product of an extraterrestrial race that moves and breathes—and even breeds—beneath the surface of all of human history.”

It’s much easier to fool people than to convince them that they have been fooled - such is the nature of confirmation bias and other psychological tools of manipulation. Breaking free of the ancient, historical 'constant' of mind control is an ongoing process of waking up out of a state of denial. Spiritual emergence and awakening involves a physiological break from the consensus social agreements of our planetary cult-ures. The realization that you have been fooled beyond belief can cause a great deal of inner turmoil to arise: utter dismay, a sense of humiliation, and a resulting backlash from friends and family who continually (and unconsciously) attempt to pull you back in line with the accepted "mainstream" groupthink. In this process of breaking free from of the enslavement of human consciousness, if you don’t have days where you completely question your sanity, I would suggest that you aren’t really waking up. Here is the only piece of advice that reflects the truth of this process: GET USED TO IT.

There is no use asking agents of the Matrix to validate the truth of your awakening, for you will only end up being diagnosed and medicated. You are simply becoming sane in an insane world. Now, more than ever, it is time for those who have already lifted these veils of deception to assist others who need the 'survival' band-aid ripped off quickly. A considerably-revised history lesson with regards to our true human origins is in order for the majority of humanity. Access the information, educate yourself, grab the sword of truth, and start swinging.

We must be willing to take a very direct look at what factors are inhibiting and obstructing our ability to see how the currently-implemented planetary paradigm has emerged from a history of violence, bloodshed and oppressive regimes. When we take this journey of discovery, what we will find is that the mechanism which has been (and still is) used to drive these agendas is the unsavory, unholy topic of RELIGION, and the manipulative God imposters lurking behind the many branches of this despotic tree.

We are dealing with mind programming, brainwashing, phantasms, and memes that have been so deeply embedded into the collective human psyche from epochs ago, that breaking free of them takes a considerable (and ongoing) effort. Not only must we dissociate ourselves from the daily distractions which are designed to keep us oblivious to the bigger picture, but we must be prepared to do the homework in order to discover our true human origins and the ongoing agenda of social control which suppresses that 'occulted' (hidden) truth.

If you have been born on this planet, then you are (to some degree or another) suffering the effects of a society that has become pathologically obedient to religious programming, and even those who break free from this tyrannical mechanism are oftentimes subsequently trained to become tolerant of all religions, rather than encouraged to clearly identify this dis-empowering phenomenon as being one of the main contributing factors to humanity's continuing enslavement.

It’s easy to become a target of accusations that involve loaded terms like “unloving” and “intolerant” when you pierce into the core of the foundational Mind Control virus known as RELIGION. One of the 20th century's most psychopathic dictators, "Chairman" Mao Zedong, coined the phrase 'political correctness' as a propaganda tool to train individuals into self-policing their thoughts and words - a far more effective method of keeping groups of people docile and subservient to the prevailing mind control directives than violent force and physical coercion. This social manipulation construct has become a powerful ally in counteracting the emerging groundswell of information and insights regarding the roots and impact of religious psychopathology - aiding and abetting a 'tyranny of context-free tolerance' that attempts to shame (and thereby silence) those who question the external authority-worshiping orthodoxy.

Most people on this planet have been born into their religious ideologies, and are so heavily addicted to the daily rituals that uphold their 'follower' identification (and unquestioning obedience to their religion) that they have little inclination towards actually questioning whether they have been fooled. For these "chosen faithful", their ego attachment with religious programming is reactive in design - they become easily offended when you bring into question the truth of their religion, the superiority of their particular flavor of “God”, and the validity of the written words within religious manuscripts. For many, it is actually a punishable offense to bring into question their “God”s eternal and unyielding authority.

Whenever this topic arises, there will be those who claim that other forms of cultural entrainment (which fall outside of the orthodox religion sphere) are somehow beyond the reach of separation consciousness corruption, being justified as ‘philosophies’ or ‘indigenous’ ways of knowing. However, the pathological program of obedience and the projection of authority outside of one's sovereign self is extended to all cults of 'belief'. The truth of these matters was understood by Siddhartha, who pleaded with those who were drawn to his perspective to avoid worshiping his being, creating idols out of his form, or transforming his insights into laws. And what has transpired as a result? The religion known as Buddhism, which would (of course) like to claim it is not a religion, and yet holds hundreds of millions of people in thrall to an idolized replica of this long-deceased man.

Every day, a large percentage of Buddhists ( throughout Asia in particular) get down on their knees and beg to the Buddha in the same way that the Christians beg to Jesus - this form of energy vampirism literally weakens the body's central nervous system. A person can practice kinesiology while gazing at a Buddha statue to confirm this fact. External forms of imposed discipline merely breeds disciples, rather than an autonomous, sovereign human Be-ing. The patriarchal program is as prevalent throughout Buddhism as it is in other religious denominations. There are numerous examples that can be used to highlight this reality - however, the most obvious may be to simply question when the Dalai Lama last incarnated as a woman, or when he next intends to do so? Siddhartha wound up becoming both an atheist and a vegetarian due to his extreme dissatisfaction with the endless blood sacrifices made to the “Gods” throughout the temples of his era.

If you want to check in with yourself about whether you are acting out of love or fear, then see how often you censor yourself from speaking about (and sharing) the truth regarding subjects that might challenge somebody else’s mind control conditioning, particularly when it comes to religion. Sharing the god-awful truth about religion is an act of love. It is a service to humanity. It is not a matter of being intolerant of people, nor has it anything to do with hatred, racism or bigotry. It is a matter of identifying the limiting religious programming running through the minds of humanity, which is acting like malware within the mainframe of human consciousness. If a computer has a virus running through it which is corrupting its operating system to the point of paralysis, you do not accuse it of being intolerant or a bigot - you simply identify the problem and install a program to clean out the virus.

“You have to understand that most people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.” ~ Morpheus, 'THE MATRIX'

Religion is the false panacea that so many are hopelessly dependent upon, to the point where a fair number of adherents will LITERALLY fight to the death to defend their false ideological territory. Religion is a form of Stockholm Syndrome - defined as “Feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.” In the case of those taken hostage by religious ideology, their captors are the alien planetary overlords who have masqueraded as Gods upon Earth, and most of their victims are not even aware ‘who’ or ‘what’ has captured them. The same pantheon of brutal, psychopathic, militant, inbreeding, pedophile, reptilian being archetypes are found scattered throughout various religions and cultures on Earth, going by different names throughout the competing sects of this divisive cult: Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, and on and on...a hierarchical 'murderer's row' of beings that have been 'cut and pasted' (with slight variations) into the tapestry of various religions down through the ages and amongst all cultures on Earth. These shadowy creatures are not simply the creative imaginings of a primitive people, nor can they be dismissed as mythological beings. And - crucially - they have not left.

Their ancient and ongoing genetic engineering operations continue to perpetuate the programs of division by playing upon ideas of racial superiority throughout the morphogenetic hive mind of humanity. This divisiveness is currently being stirred up to even-greater-than-usual degrees so as to further the agenda of the overlords - an agenda which includes totalitarian global governance and completely-open human servitude. The wars of these god impersonators are being played out through their pawns: humanity.

What we are currently seeing with the creation and funding of terrorist groups by alphabet agencies and corrupt Governmental regimes is the predetermined justification for total and endless warfare - and this is only the surface level reading of a much more sinister story.

They are not playing this game within timeframes and life spans that human beings could comprehend, and they are using religious belief in such nihilistic concepts as “End Times”, “The Revelation”, “Judgement Day”, "The Rapture" or the “Apocalypse” as a handbook, a road map and a user guide towards an “End Game” scenario, making it seem as though prophecy is being fulfilled in a totally irreversible way. Any 'face value' analysis of nationalistic political intrigue misses out on a far more fundamental gameplan: a gradual, directed process of rearranging the chess pieces on the board, all in service of bringing about 'unified' global governance.

“The bible tells us to be like God, and then on page after page it describes God as a mass murderer. This may be the single most important key to the behavior of Western Civilization” ~ Robert Anton Wilson

To be involved in a religion that idolizes an ancient prophet as “God’s” messenger - a human being who, as their own text records, is personally responsible for the beheadings of hundreds of people in an attempt to wipe out genetic lines in the name of God - is to embody that archetype of military thinking and behavior which accompanies it. There will be no peace found within such idolization. It would serve people's own state of sovereignty to start questioning what type of “God” would choose such an unfriendly and unsavory fellow to carry out his holy work on Earth?

Military training is another example of both Stockholm Syndrome and the nationalistic, racialist brainwashing whose roots are found within both patriarchal religious indoctrination and patriotic belief, perpetuating the agenda of control - Religion, Politics and Militarization always go hand in glove.

The wishful thinking of New Age believers (inspired by Eastern religious solipsism/reality bypassing programs) - and the spiritually/politically correct obedience puppets who are flying the flag of religious acceptance - would like the rest of us to believe that all religions share, at their core, a 'code' filled with “Spiritual Insights”. Perhaps it is supposed to be some type of ‘spiritual test’ to find such enlightening and uplifting insights hidden amongst the many and varied accounts of murderous, vengeful Gods who advocate religious terrorism, and who command the annihilation of cities, order the murder of children, demands the rape of virgin girls, afford no rights to women and who orders plagues and famines to afflict humankind with? When reading religious texts, it becomes fairly obvious that we are not dealing with an all-loving benevolent being here, but rather, we are seeing the shell game of off-planet impersonators who display every characteristic of a psychopath.

Far from promoting spiritual insights, religions are the breeding ground for conformity, psychopathy, and brainwashed militant fervor, playing upon the fear of death, punishment in the afterlife, and the salvation of those righteous believers who uphold “God’s” militant commands. These programs are designed to control and limit peoples mental faculties, modifying their behavior in the process. That is its function. Religion is a war on consciousness that was initiated in a time out of memory.

Every religion carries the seeds of division and hatred - at various times in his-story, a steady stream of various "faiths" have carried the water for the agenda of the god-impersonating off-planet, psychopathic overlords. It was only a few hundred years ago that millions of women in Europe were targeted and murdered after being accused by the Church of witchcraft. The psychic scarring that is carried within the genetic lineage of humanity's feminine principle as a result of patriarchal religious dominance is an ongoing global atrocity that serves to traumatize and disconnect individuals from the wisdom and guidance of this principle.

Poster by David Dees
It is becoming increasingly obvious that the events of the Problem/Reaction/Solution ritual of 9/11 were set in motion in order to use the orchestrated threat of terrorism to justify the invasion of many Middle Eastern countries, creating a power vacuum that would be filled by militant fundamentalism - thus setting off an emerging refugee crisis designed to destabilize other countries around the world so as to establish further global control ("security") courtesy of the New World Order.

Islam has been festering away in the middle east for a long time, and is now being systematically spread around the globe to areas ripe for hosting this parasitic virus of consciousness. There is no easier (or more brutally-effective) approach for this type of hidden orchestration than inducing and inflaming ethnic conflict fueled by religious indoctrination, and as always, the best way to control the opposition is to lead it.

These are all symptoms of a much deeper, older malignancy that has to do with the modification of the original human blueprint and the endocrine system that produces the chemical ratios that stabilize our individual and collective state of consciousness. When seen from this perspective, there is a cruel, inhuman irony when one considers that these otherworldly manipulators are now worshiped as 'saviors' (as part of the 'external salvation' fallacious meme), which is another prominent aspect of the religion pathology.

You have to pull out the roots of evil rather than simply hack away at the branches. Without looking at the origins of religious servitude, and clearly identifying who these God imposters (that have farmed humanity for eons) really are - and instead focusing on simply identifying and blaming previous and current corrupt governmental models - you are only seeing the puppets dance, oblivious to the marionette pulling the strings.

The Hebrew Bible story of human origins (known as the tale of Adam and Eve) is a false, misleading, and abbreviated version that was derived from a far more 'well-rounded' rendition that originated in ancient Sumerian cuneiform texts. These recollected Sumerian accounts describe a space-faring species, known as the “Annunaki”, who genetically modified the human race and used them as slaves.

To do some homework and further investigate this topic, research books such as:

Worldbridger by Juliet and Jiva Carter
Genesis Revisited by Zecharia Sitchin
Gods of the New Millennium by Alan Alford
DNA of the Gods by Chris Hardy
The Biggest Secret by David Icke
Slave Species of the Gods by Michael Tellinger
The Annunaki of Niburu by Gerald Clark

The solutions to the global crisis are not going to arise from the level of consciousness at which they are currently being generated. Tolerating religion is a band-aid, "feel good" solution over a rotting wound. We need to electromagnetically and neuro-chemically dissociate ourselves from the level of consciousness wherein these dualistic games are repeatedly being played out. The cumulative memory around religious servitude - built up within the collective consciousness and thus embedded into the morphic field of the planet - must be transcended. Only when we can collectively remove ourselves from that morphic resonance bandwidth (via the religion frequency) that is limiting our direct connection to source will we be able to embody the true benevolence of creation, as fractal aspects of co-creative consciousness.

"We are the ones we are waiting for. We don't need anyone to save us from the bullies in the playground. We need to resurrect and BECOME the BIO TECHNOLOGY we are." - Juliet Carter

Karlos Kukulcan served as an ambassador for “The Template”, a series of ceremonies that are a coded convergence of sound and sacred geometry, which - together with the revelations of Humanity’s origins, history and the full potential of the immortal Human design - initiates a powerful and transformative journey into the past, the ability to courageously be conscious and grounded in the present, and an understanding of the future which we will collectively co-create through the resurrection of the light body. He conducts workshop primarily throughout Australia, New Zealand and the USA. For more details visit his YouTube channel.

Editor/contributor: Tim McClew is a writer, editor, creative consultant and health product distributor who lives in Sydney, Australia. 

[First posted 26 November 2015, reposted 20 August 2016 & 19 March 2019]