There is a title that has been worn, throughout the ages, via various Souls who incarnate in with an intent to threaten the balance of the System:
The most dangerous man in the world is what they call him. Why? You’re about to find out:
Imagine a deception so large, so vast that it becomes invisible. Those who comprehend the shadows depth have two options:
Sink or swim. Most end up in asylums designed to prevent the seed of gnosis from flourishing within as they are pumped full of chemicals instead in order to generate compliance and silence. The ones who comprehend this entire realm takes place inside their awareness instead effect the coal to diamond principle and thus can never be hurt or manipulated again. Heal the past to be free in the present, my friend. Those at the helm operate with the mindset of a chef cooking live frogs in the kitchen as its all about degrees or increments so they don’t stretch their legs and escape from a scenario that doesn’t serve their best interests. Can you imagine, in this event, one is born who says:
“Doesn’t this deal seem a bit odd? I mean, if we keep it Kermit, why the hell are we in a pot thats boiling and what about the rest of dishes piling in the sink? Why don’t we jet?“.
Now, many listening would Thunk he’s a tinfoil loony thats obviously off his meds. Why? Because their education (created by the chef) trained them to accept what they get and the self same thing is currently being poured into little tadpoles heads as this corrupted way of being spreads from one gen to the next to sustain these events which are, in no way, shape or form, natural.
And yet, to them they adapt and thus the Devil they know best holds them in an iron grip draped in the finest of silks as they relabel their experience as a sauna type deal for relaxation whilst secretly being cooked from within thanks to their ignorance.
The most dangerous man in the world is actually a jit as only they possess Inner Sense and thus can tell the Emperor is actually naked. In that sketch the ones that sold false thread and performed mass hypnosis rubbed their palms with glee and mucho bank laughing as they found another flock to fleece because there has always been wolves among the sheep. Thats why the dangerous man is inherently of their kin because those round fluff balls simply can’t hang and present not a threat and thus the pack gets out, hunting.
I want you to imagine a frog god, a holy toad, if you will that keeps his people alive and wise by preventing manipulation of their senses. They know, full well, the length and breadth of this operation which has a fat Frenchman at the helm and thus the stripy vest and its criminal hints are quite fitting as what he does is really wicked as the frogs born in his enclave accept what he tells so he can sell them. The worst part is they line up, yet again, for another incarnation! How swiftly one forgets when ignorance masquerades as wisdom and a certain page is ripped from the book of life, yes? He regularly sends in his best, those who Know the Ledge, to help the rest from their eternal return to a private hell. Some forget, others switch teams thanks to manipulation and a few make it through to preach to the choir who believe he’s the Devil himself as what he says is the exact opposite of the OS in their heads. Take it away, Malcolm:
The thing with the truth, when it hits, is that it makes those not cut of the cloth holler in protest and the ones who draped them in its illusion yell as well because it unmasks their deception and how it all plays out in the heads of the captives.
“Thats too much power in one mans grip” they said before they put two in his head and many more in his flesh. They always send your own, remember this. Skinfolk and kinfolk are two different things when you play the Game at a higher resonance as they’ll stack the deck, present false chips and all types of terms and conditions that are not what they present on the surface… Back to the frogs in the kitchen:
“These tones you use, this French language as it is. This isn’t what we spoke, back when, and its not natural. Can’t you see the trick? Listen” he says as he speaks, native, and they decode as gibberish with huge run on sentences and a poetic lilt. Some laugh, most shake their heads, a few comment on how the weather is clement as they wipe the sweat from their necks. He seizes upon this:
“You are born, swimming free, then corralled, real quick, and taught instead how to sit still and endure the temps. Before you know you age and find yourself in this kitchen with pots obscuring your vision as you regale tales of amusement that prevent the realization of what is truly happening?”. Someone from the back yells:
“And what is this? Let me guess, its a huge conspiracy that aims to manipulate us from life to death and back again because you said we have an eternal aspect that manifests as new flesh wrapped around it but because this scientist chef is so wicked and skill he plucks the memories made in order to ensure we forget the depth of the mess we’re in? Please! If thats real then you should wrap your head in a tinfoil turban as it sounds like you flipped your lid. Where is the proof? I want to see receipts!” he says and the rest chime in as he expressed what they felt within. How do you see the invisible, my friend? Can you guess?
The most dangerous man in their world points to the bills that hang over head which show who orders what dish and how they want it prepped. He tells them how unnatural a strange a kitchen is and how the water in a pot manipulates their senses. He shows them a moth that flew in and how it keeps bumping heads with a light that does the same thing. They simply refuse to comprehend, so effective is the nature of the System as, once invested in, any move against it is felt like an attack on themselves and thus they rush to protect it. Back home the holy toad ponders at depth the true scope of the mess his former friends and countrymen now dwell in.
“See, the chief wants a kingdom. Name, fame and acclaim. That is his Game. He can only achieve this aim via subjugation and manipulation of those he thinks are beneath him and thus he plays with their minds in order to influence their spirit. He knows that if they leave he loses his main attraction as no one comes to see him but, much like showbiz in that respect, they need the front men that cause the tills to ring and bring the money in. And yet, just like that swizz, people line up to be fed to the beast which feasts on them. Truly, this a problem of frogs and men. What else can we do but send messengers in with signals of resonance designed to awaken their true consciousness by seeing what is in front of them without the tint in their heads that tells them to expect high temps and wrinkled skin as signs of what they call natural aging when its actually a tell of the manipulation“.
See, the main difference between those who are free and ones plugged in is they’re in touch with their divine resonance. Haven’t you ever thought it was a strange that amphibians in this realm excrete psychedelic chemicals that cause one to trip and how humans can do exactly the same thing but we are totally estranged from such wisdom due to the nature of hells kitchen which programs one to run the treadmill? Same chef, different realm.
The most dangerous man in the world is he who Knows his Self as then all bets are off as this floating casino drifts in the abyss as he comprehends its simply a figment of his imagination. I mean, if you look at a man tripping you’ll notice he see things that aren’t present and how the world shifts around him in ways that feel palpable. To a sober head they may appear strange but what if you could low dose and reg the vision and train people to become tuned in like an old radio set? What then? Better yet, imagine you could convince them to implant silicon under their skin which does just this but also blocks certain chemical pathways and reactions in ways invisible that have far reaching consequences so the next frog sent in who starts speaking French is automatically translated as random babble thats then sent to the “Pay no attention to this loony toon, he’s obviously off his meds” as they get back and connect to their little frog matrix in which they live, die and repeat in order to ensure business is booming in this franchise operation which now dreams of selling its model the rest and exporting it to other planets in which men who would be chefs will fall over themselves and make oaths in secret to become like Oannes the head fish who reigns over the frogs in the kitchen whilst appearing to sell them salvation…
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
Till we meet again
