Life, my friend, has trained you since incep to blend in with the crowd and not raise your head above the parapet in case it gets popped off by the one sniping. This is the reason why so many people are truly miserable but won’t admit it as a) they lack the drive for introspection and b) they are scared of the big questions. Me? I don’t have that problem. The thing is going against the grain can be exhausting, especially as we’re coming up to the shift of an age as we enter a new stage of the Game we’re playing using our Souls as credits and its in times like this that we spot those who etch their name in the historical record because, eventually, when the crowd catches up to the maverick they reflect:
“He’s right, you know?”.
Tesla was a great example of this and I know these days everyone knows his rep but I remember, back when, as I came across this genius who’d been scrubbed from the record and started reading up on him when no one around could offer a satisfactory def of what electricity actually is. Same with atoms, really, but thats another topic. In my mind I was like “What the F? Why didn’t they just listen to what he said and cut a cheque to let him imperiment?“. Yeah, I was young and naive at the time because I believed that everyone craved progress like I did. It would soon click that things are drip fed to the masses who sit on their collective asses, accepting a predictable narrative. As this quote attests there are other forces at the helm that only a few bump up against:
Isn’t it strange we live in times where art is a lie that tells the truth and yet so few see what is there to view, directly in front of them, as they don’t comprehend that “life” itself is a stage managed performance. Frogs in the kitchen, meet your chef. Unlike the flick Tesla died broke and some say, broken, talking to a white pigeon he said shot laser beams out of its eyes to announce its coming death. If that sounds a bit strange I’d like you to consider another unappreciated genius that Witnessed a similar thing:
PKD literally wrote the book on a whole load of futuristic glimpses Hollywood happily streamed to your TV set using the old school tech of VHS as he penned everything from Blade Runner to Total Recall and Minority Report as well as countless others we could mention that I merciless devoured from the fiction section. What is interesting is the man who munched amphetamines like Skittles had a similar laser beam thing in which he was recovering from a tooth operation and in immense pain when a young girl bought his pills and the fish round her neck sent a coherent wave of light into his head that caused him to remember what he’d been made to forget:
Consider he was pushing the pen in the Sixties and Seventies and then look at the world to which we’re headed and tell me those aren’t the words of a prophet that told the truth as fiction? And yet people still thought he was gone in the head. Much like Van Gogh in that respect who, I previously mentioned, saw the background radiation as the waves he painted that the rest would only discover long after his death using tech.
The courage to stand alone is something that looks great in retrospect for others to ooh and ahh at via distance but can you imagine how it must’ve felt to live it and have your peers class you as insane, strange or simply deranged as they couldn’t comprehend the resonance you were decoding? What if they, in their own way, had transcended the Game that holds billions of Souls in its grip, slipped off the psychosocial treadmill and wandered into on a side quest from which they reported their findings? Doesn’t the fact that this is even possible sound wildly exciting and a challenge worth accepting? Most would move their lips but few would actually be willing to put the work in. I’d be willing to bet that it was the formative imperience of reading about these titans in their own ways that validated my free reign on imaginary things as the Game of Souls hypothesis had a very early genesis as it seemed almost inevitable to my developing senses that graphics would soon tick to a point where life itself was replicated and this brings the question:
“What if it already happened and we’re within it?“.
Granted, this concept didn’t come to me from the abyss but a common thread from the old heads that were functionally illiterate upon coming to the West in search of the land that was promised after giving up the earth they tilled as humble farmers and such things as they often said that life is a four day funfair in which all of our tickets are different length due to the time we stepped in and out. It was a great way to explain the meaning of death to a curious jit and, to them, it was a conceptual framework they’re familiar with as everyone back home takes reincarnation as a fact and there are plenty of tales that proved this to them that would take way too much time to explain. Discovering PKD really made me grin as I thought “Yes, finally! Someone who gets it” and then watched the world unfold, just as he’d predicted. Teslas fate convinced me the Game is rigged and those at the helm don’t want true progress but, much like school, insist the best schlep at the pace of the pleb instead of letting them run free and flip the script which then started making so much sense as to why I refused to bow to any authority outside of Self because I Knew that I was correct and there was something very, very wrong with this realm. Even as time progressed and folks thought I was an eloquent schizophrenic who was fascinated with pixels presented as the real thing I refused to relent because sometimes (less than one out of ten) would nod their head and say:
“Yes, I comprehend. Have you ever wondered this at length” as they laced me with some Game as part of the each one, teach one flex.
What if these geniuses from back when were on their own personal trip that was far off the beaten track and offered immense hints about this Game we’re all playing using our Souls as credits and the intent at the helm? Methinks it is and after my brush with death this was no longer a guess as I’d tasted the cake that was promised and it really was quite delicious to, once again, be pure consciousness. Do you know what anamnesis means? Its a loss of forgetfulness aka overriding the baby brain and its mindwipe effect upon which you etched the trials and tribulations of this life sentence then point at them and say:
“They are me. I am that!” as you grin like a cat that got the cream. I detailed, elsewhen, a run in with a cartoon which said a nonsense word to rhythm and as I watched the tube of my broken down TV in our living room I felt a sensation sear within that was quite close to what PKD said. Decades later I’d recollect the life it mentioned as I was a sacred prostitute in a time ancient and what a tale that is where they used sex linked to spirit to sell the divine feminine in order to keep the shekels rolling in as the goddess met a death and an angry white man in a cloud, yelling, became the defacto image of a god for the people tuned in to the regularly broadcast signal. If you could, would you like to recollect your past lives? Think about this for a while and then see if you hear this on FM because I’d like you to imagine a bookshelf of your old incarnations. Each volume, which may be slim or thick, is packed from end to end with the life you just lived. You may have been a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker as well as a thug, a saint or a promising Soul dumped in an early grave who swore vengeance and came back to this realm with a mission etched in his chest that he placed above all else.
How different would your life be with this gnosis? This deep, felt sense that can’t be denied as you Know, with a capital K, that its true said as it swims with a familiar newness into your consciousness which was well adjusted to a life in the Valley of the Plebs. These type of things are quite common with those of a mystic bent as well as children who have often said they recollect their other parents and then went on to furnish details that were beyond them. Let me lace you with an example:
The year was Nineteen Eighty Three. Suresh Varma was a well respected businessman making his way home after a hard days night of working like a dog. He pulled in and hit the horn to let his family know the sketch and how he was back in this bish. Instead of his wife and kids rushing to greet him he met a couple of assailants who put two in his head and left him for dead. The end.
Or was it?
A kid is born to some poor parents in a dusty village some distance. His parents name him Toran but everyone called him Titu Singh. A couple of years in to this life sentence he started complaining, loud, to anyone who will listen:
“This isn’t my house. You aren’t my parents. My name isn’t Titu but Suresh. I have a wife and kids. I must see them, this instant” he insisted.
Tell me, my friend, what would you do in this situation? Write it off as a childs vivid imagination or actually pay attention to what was said and investigate the process? The boy continues and mocks his parents for their poor lifestyle and torn threads:
“I am rich, powerful and successful. I have more money than I can spend. How can you stand to live in this mess?”.
They thought he’d get over it but, two years later, he insisted his father take him to Agra which is where Suresh lived. “Maybe one day” he said, even though he had no intent of taking the trip. As luck would have it, however, he did head that way but didn’t mention it to the kid as he was busy with other things. Upon discovering this the boy was enraged and smashed what little they possessed in a display of violence. His elder brother attempted to reason with him and actually sat down and listened as he told him he sold radios and electronics, the location and the rest. Noting this he set off on the trek and found the place, exactly as his younger sibling had said. Inside there was a widow, working, and after some small talk he found she’d had a husband called Suresh who, a few years ago, was shot dead.
She could not believe what she was hearing and after reflecting on this she went to the village he said he’d left. The moment she pulled in Titu came running and yelled:
“Where the hell is my Fiat? Why are you driving this tiny thing?”.
Once again, entirely accurate, as this is the whip he pushed the night he met his death. They sat and talked, he asked about his kids and how life was and the rest of these things. Can you imagine this happening? Does this sound like fiction? Something fake from a land, far distant? Well, it isn’t. Here is Titu aka Suresh:
Pretty amazing, yes? Well, this kid went back to his home village and, being a smooth criminal, told his wife where he’d hid some bills and when they went to dig the gold was buried exactly where he’d said. The character traits from one life to the next were near identical as Suresh was known to be violent and gave not a single F on how he buttered his bread – straight or underworld – hence why his life ended like it did. Run it back and recollect that the kid smashed up his parents apartment and shattered what little they possessed at his new father daring to take the trip to his home village without bringing him and draw your own conclusions as we take it to another level:
Can you imagine coming back from the dead to get the one who bought your life to an end as you stand, as a child, in court as witness to such things? He told the judge how he was shot in the right side of his head and how it was someone he knew well. Adding into this was the fact he sported a birthmark, in this incarnation, exactly where the bullet went in to bring his last life to an end. Truth is stranger than fiction, yes? Have you ever wondered why this wasn’t broadcast from end to end and why you never heard of this until you read this text? That, my friend, is due to the hidden hand aka the Slave/Masters doing their thing with a bit of divided conquering mixed in with bread and circuses as the West thinks reincarnation is ridiculous whereas the East provides ample evidence for those willing to check and Know the Ledge.
The court accepted the evidence and clinked his killers because he said he died, came back again and wanted vengeance for what they did. Like all good plots, however, there was a twist. Titu was born a year before Suresh met his end. Make that make sense. Well, here’s what I think:
After getting capped Suresh couldn’t believe he was dead as he had a lot to live and thus refused to relent his grip on this realm. Rolling about for a bit wondering why no one would talk to him he came across the kid and stepped in. The rest played out as he said because the Soul wasn’t sent back for recycling and thus the imprints and recollections were still fresh and thus he took over a role by way of resonance because the brain doesn’t create consciousness, it conducts it, as this case proves well. He overlaid the boys spirit and used this vehicle made of flesh in order to interact with this realm and have his vengeance. All of this is entirely coherent with the Game of Souls perspective which says just this hence the Earthday Suit perspective plus I’d also had previous conversations with one who worked on Hollywood back sets and termed them “hat racks” who were null and void before acting and something stepped in to deliver a performance that made your hair stand on end.
Like I said, real life is stranger than any fiction but most are so well adjusted to such immense sickness that they dare not question that voice in their head they Thunk is them whilst missing the link that they must be what listens and this opens up another tin of worms because one can’t help but wondering why schizos don’t fall for optical illusions and such things but, anyway, thats a real life tale of reincarnation for you to think about at length because, to me, these types of things are most interesting as I recall a few bits and pieces of old spins hence the get free or thrive trying mindset because if you live, die and come back again with a mindwipe thrown in then what is said of the intent at the helm of this Game we all play using our Souls as credits? All of those books sit upon a shelf in your library of Self and the current incarnation you’re living is based on chapters and verses that were lifted, wholesale, from previous trips that are then sliced back together into a new narrative hence you’ve never met a stranger as I’m quite certain we reincarnate in groups and pass off old credits and debts along with various other things as it makes a whole load of sense as to why my life is how it is and why I’ve said, my friend, that a fool sees enemies where a Warrior meets teachers instead.
Till we meet again
