This World Is a Side Effect

Have you ever looked around at this place and wondered why it is this way? For example, most people are pretty decent and want the best for the rest as they do themselves and yet most of our history is filled with near constant bloodshed.

This world is a side effect.

Before continuing take your time to ponder this and draw your own conclusions before proceeding with my sketch as the imagination is the greatest gift in this realm and that is why you were divided from it, back when, as you sat in the camp of concentration where you were sent to study your lessens. That is intentional. The greatest tool in the hands of the Opponent is the mind of his Victim. Remember this and realize the rule that follows it says “For best results ensure they don’t comprehend this” and the next states “Keep them looking out, never within for if they glimpse the truth all our plans shall unravel in the time it takes them to blink”. I guess you could say the Emperor is undressed when one comprehends the depth of the deception you call “being human”. Back on topic:

The world is a side effect because the cause of this realm is beyond this dimension. Imagine there was a sphere and we glanced within to find a slice that was paper thin upon which lived their equivalents of people with ways of thinking, social order and the rest. If we glimpsed at their world we’d notice some interesting concepts that said:

“There is a place where the old and dead are young and alive again and its ways are beyond your comprehension because words cannot F with the ineffable”.

From our vantage we can tell that he isn’t lying as each of these slices is a place in time and, much like a flickbook turned on its side, each page represents a generation so those who die live on within the grip of the temporal dimension they fear within the sphere they’ll never see whilst plugged in to the concepts that were drilled into their head like:

“If you get too close to the edge you’ll fall off the end” as well as the constant argument of what it truly means to be spherical. Others care not for this and simply wish to get around as much as they can in their spin before they get frayed at the edge and time bypasses them in the narrative. In that land it would be Self evident that the world is a side effect of something else that not only planted a tree but then trimmed, pressed, shaped and printed an event that then housed within a special type of sentience that is almost totally oblivious of the work that went in to create this spectacle which augments their vision via its presence that uses incrementally increasing limits to create a sequence of strange events that overload the senses via the medium of the message which says:

“I am living in and of Flatland. The end”.

Many will never, ever diverge from this script because there is plenty ink to sling upon those just stepping in so they forget they aren’t the page or what it displays but that which makes it all possible. The Witness. That which is constant when you are asleep and dreaming to up and walking. From one life to the next. Without beginning and without end but that doesn’t mean you can’t fool it, real well, via inducing a sense of limitation and lack of Knowledge. Obviously that would never happen to us humans, we’re far too clever and these dumb Flatlanders are stupid as this is but another one of my thought imperiments to get things churning within the collective unconscious to see if we can shift our awareness to another level of perception in this Game we all play by inserting our Souls as credits.

Maybe this explains why all those on the same page feel a certain sense of unity mixed with a yearning to be free as they recollect, quietly and privately, how it felt to be a tree before it was felled then ripped to shreds and recompressed before being shaped and presented with a specific narrative and intent. To those living in Flatland the bookbinder would be a god, yes? To us he would just be another man with a vivid imagination that brings creations to the fore (Haw! Haw!) by trapping them within what he built. What is his intent? Who knows? Maybe if he proclaimed he was angry and jealous with a huge chip on his shoulder (you know, like most of the mods on Reddit) that used his creations as a source of attention because, in real life, he was self obsessed and miserable that no one acknowledged his greatness and thus he demanded near constant adulation as well as all of their awareness which he used to sustain him via his creation.

Wouldn’t that be something? You could say that those within this realm who Know the Ledge could rightfully claim it was a living hell whereas those who did as he said would be certain its some type of heaven as he furnishes his attention on them and makes sure they’re placed correct with a nice keen edge above the rest, in prime positions of investment. They would profit, real well, from the engineered jostling of the rest. Some would know and be in on it but like the idea of reigning in hell as its such a power trip. Others couldn’t care less and simply want in to the life of promise, maybe like a Two D celeb or something. You know, one that projects a totally false image that is actually a delusion within an illusion and thus twice as enticing for those who wish to be anyone but themselves as all they know is limits via a life that is filled to the gills with a background layer of suffering and tension that is so subtle yet intense they scrub it from the record in their head and carry on, as intended.

Obviously we, as real humans, are too smart to fall for such types of shenanigans and maneuvering that they’d foist on the plebs who are seen as nothing less than beasts of burden, mere cattle that are farmed for their presence and all they can get whilst being used to extend the narrative, from one page to the next, as that is how the designer intends it for it is his creation. He chopped the tree then formed and pressed the abundant essence which was then dipped in the waters of forgetfulness that have a chlorinated stench with just a sprinkle of sulphur as well before the real work begins.

Can you imagine the buzz? The trip of creating a thing like this? I really don’t think I could be mad at anyone for enjoying this, on whatever level of accomplishment, because its really quite a trip but, like the best optical illusions, the cover provides a hint at a deeper meaning for those seeking a higher state of consciousness. Artists know it well because it matters not if you bust a nut via friction or via your imagination as the former is but a side effect of the latter which is actually the Prime cause of all events hence the power of pretend (aka “Pre ten dimensions” compressed via a spell) and, once again, why you were divorced from it, real quick, at your nearest camp of concentration which is the mind control wing of the System that currently holds you in its grip. Back to Flatland:

The creator looks at what he made and smiles. “This is the one that will bring the validation I’m craving. With this they will proclaim “It is his Magnum Opus” but I shall keep on dazzling them with new and improved sharings as I reap the recognition of my skills in putting together such an amazing performance from the most basic elements which I then thread into a coherent narrative with many parts that are as disconnected as they’re linked, being of one essence. I am the true cause. The all of everything. Bow in my presence as you acknowledge my greatness”.

And yet, for us, this dude too is simply a page. A part of larger creation as he didn’t make the tree, the flesh or the dimension they’re within as they are in a book that was penned by one bigger than him. In that case would he be the real god or a false devil? Depends on perspective or Self Knowledge, yes? For one that came from his imagination then lived and died on the page of his definition would say:

“He is beneficial and via his blessings I came to see the way in these days which made me believe in a realm I cannot imagine nor comprehend where an aspect sits thats wishes me its best and one day I’m certain I shall meet him”.

Others may intuit that the entire performance is built on limits, much like our own wavelength in the EM spectrum, and thus has huge chunks of wisdom missing as there is plenty that doesn’t fit the script they try so hard to program into them as the way it is. Among them there may even be a sect of mystics and madmen that are either a bit frayed at the edge or have had a piece torn out of them and thus see from a greater lens for:

“I am not and yet it seems I still perceive. Whatever could this mean?” says one of our sentient Flatlanders who has a hole on page Eighty Six, right where he would sit. From this vantage he sees into the future and past as well, as an immortal, but because these topics and perspectives are occulted from them he has no prefilled frame of reference within which to sketch his perceptions. If he mentions this to the rest, about the ghostly phantoms that present and beam signals into his awareness as well as the sense of presence that something malevolent is chasing them he’ll be swiftly sectioned and medicated to within and inch of his consciousness so his way of thinking doesn’t infect the rest that are perfectly well adjusted to the place they now dwell within the pages of creation.

Sometimes, now and then, there may step a Soul into said realm that comprehends the shadows depth and how its used to obscure the light of pure sentience which is caught up in the binds of the atoms that, as they do best, make up everything. They’d forge a different perspective, one that was radically honest and quite different to what had came before them as it supersedes not only the creation they find themselves within but also the creator himself who is not the Prime, in reality, but simply a guy who used a repurposed tree. Its a kind of magic, I tell thee!

Others would seek such peeps or create the wounds needed by pure intent or happenstance in order to peer beyond the edge as they begin to comprehend the nature of the medium and the message which, for us, is a trifle to reverse engineer as we know all about photosynthesis, the printing press and the creative imperative present in all men that wish to manifest the world within, outside, to share with their rest their own private vision.

You’d almost think we’re inside a fractal that spins within your awareness which isn’t generated by your head and that you’re the only one on the planet who interacts with mere fragments of Self that he projects out into the realm via the feedback loop of a vicious circle that was squared by what he Thunks but, if he took the same components and played with a new arrangement, might find a spiral ascends instead. What if that was the point of Game? Not getting laid, paid or dancing on a stage for acclaim? What then? Who’d want to Know the Ledge, in this example?

I’ll let you tell it.

Once again I extend a vibration into the abyss of the collective unconscious with the intent of sparking nothing less than a total evolution in sentience beyond the accepted limits that don’t truly exist once you possess Self Knowledge which says:

“I am one with the all of everything. The Prime, pre-existing point of origin and me are linked by awareness for it is this and I am that, in and beyond the flesh“.

Only then can we claim to comprehend what it means to turn a page in the book of life to a new resonance which is far more accurate as we begin to comprehend this world is a mere side effect and the cause is nothing more and nothing less than what we call imagination. Just stop and pretend:

I, magi, nation.

Does what it says on the tin, yes? A people filled with the power of creation and using it to limit themselves in a Game of Hide & Seek in which the are not only the seeker and seeking but what is sought as well as the entire process which means they’re the seed, the earth, the tree and printing press as well as the man at the desk, writing, as he shapes his creation in his image along with those who dwell within and the one who picks its off the shelf and even you, now, reading this text via the power of the web that spreads its strands, invisible, to influence this realm with the combined intent of various minds trapped within the prism of flesh that splits their awareness before stitching it together again in a narrative that is filtered through a laundry list of things you expect and accept as possible.

This is Adulteration.

Contrast this to the Inner Sense you possessed when you stepped in before a world was poured into your head and tell me if you can feelsee the steps to tread upon the Path of Power within your chest from where I’ve just sent this text using two thousand words to mangle and misrepresent what is totally ineffable and privately intense in an attempt to convey a wavelength and psychospiritual location that you too could align within. If you do report back with your observations and findings as we map places that don’t exist on sketches that aren’t sanctioned and yet are more real than this entire realm which makes sense, if you stop to think, as all this plays outside inside your awareness.

If I am the messenger, this is the message.

Till we meet again