Lets pretend there are no accidents in this realm, only opportunities, my friend. Taking it to another level, lets throw the spell “Coincidence” in the bin and imagine there is a process that creates everyones existence. A Time Machine, if you will. This algorithm works in the background, invisible, and was responsible for your parents meeting, who they were, their preferences and whims plus genetic mix. Basically, I’m saying that – down to the atom and the fact you’re currently reading this – that there is no chance and every single aspect is scripted by a specific process with its own intent for each incarnation. Many will scoff at this. Others will call it god in a new dress. Both of them are ignorant and, respectively, rep the 81 and 11%. If you are one of them then I suggest you jet and find someone else who says what you expect and not content that challenges your preconceptions about life on the most fundamental level as my missives are silent invitations to the 8% capable of awakening the Warrior within to comprehend and then approach from their own angle as there is no “One size fits all” in this realm. As you’ll Witness as we delve into the depths of the Time Machine…
“OK, we need to keep this interesting but subtle and efficient” said the men who would be kings as they surveyed the land that could be but isn’t yet. This was, as you’d suspect, done in secret as to win the ultimate win they needed to use the subtle arts of subterfuge and deception. This they did and played to the hilt but we’re talking about the genesis style events in which their collective spirit was hovering over the planes of this realm with envy in its breast for the people they viewed as beneath them had something they coveted but, themselves, could not access:
A Prime connection. I call it Inner Sense. Every child steps into the realm with it. It speaks via the language of symbols, intuition, meaningful syncs and those strange feelings that something is amiss in ways your conscious mind cannot comprehend. “Tish, pshaw and nonsense!” said the voice in your head. Welcome to the proof positive of the Time Machine because, as you may not recollect (yet), there was an era when it didn’t speak and your life was much more intense, yes? Care to recollect? Take that as a challenge. Better yet, why not describe the exact difference between childhood and the life you live in a way that actually does the downgraded shift justice via its comparison using language. I’ll wait…
Willing to bet you failed in this because I’m pretty decent when it comes to linking phonics and states and I found it nigh on impossible which made me contemplate what the heck kicked. Until I came up with this:
Once upon a when, there was a small boy and a world that felt immense. Each day bought a new discovery and challenge as it was so rich and vivid. It felt like full spectrum living in optimal coherence and resonance with what can only be termed the all of everything. He Knew, on some level, that he was the embodiment of perfection and the most powerful thing in this realm was the imagination. It, often, surprised him as well as he’d pluck things from it then wonder “How the heck?” as he looked at the sketch, concept or thing said by invisible friend reverberated around his consciousness with the “This is important” message that seemed to make the edges tingle with a special kind of illumination that was just calling out for his attention. This could be as simple as watching ants run from a hill after one of their scouts found something of interest and went sprinting back to tell the rest who, inside his head, were talking like this:
“Right lads, I found a leaf. Its about yay big and I think it would be perfect to decorate the crib as this type is apparently the rage this season so I suggest we go scoop it up before someone else grabs it as its a one of one, fully natural kind of thing and I quite like it”.
The rest of the crew nodded their heads in assent as they liked the sound of this and a breakaway formed as they trudged off, singing, to go and get the prize in question. Now, obviously, the above was a curious little boys interpretation of said events but what kicked next really made him ponder about the type of logic at the helm in these little insects as the exact amount of ants needed to carry said thing are exactly what manifested. Meaning, there wasn’t one sitting around twiddling his thumbs or a few less so the rest struggled with effort. The call and response was literally perfect. The boy was astounded as he watched the scene unfolding. Time, space, his life and the rest had all ceased to exist as he was present with such a single minded focus that he heard not his parents calling. This, later, would be marked down to sheer insolence and willful ignorance of their talking to him. It wasn’t the case at all because, inside his chest, many interesting things were happening as his mind swung from one branch of reasoning to the next as what would become the crazy chimp that bangs its dome against the cage of the zoo, Adulterated, where it sits was, for now, in its natural element and scouring its databanks of what is, isn’t, could be and, one day, might be as well as a whole host of other options that have, usually, atrophied since it was turned into a tourist attraction for forces it doesn’t comprehend.
“Did one look, size up the challenge and think “We need twenty three strong men” or did they all, somehow, just Know this is what they’d pick? What if I’m wrong and there are extras sometimes who aren’t needed and they play the rear instead or set off in search of other things?”. With this in mind he starts to imperiment and he picks up things which may interest them and places them around whilst calculating odds in his head to pencil in imaginary statistics to form a dataset. He, consciously, is totally unaware of this as he’s still too young to have had “Show your working” drummed into his head but his belly is providing the impetuous, his heart chimes in with intuition and the scratchpad in his head notes observations of what kicks as the info is fed back, refined and reconsidered again based on his conditions. He notes that they always, always, always seem to just “know” how many it will take to lift said thing and he cannot help but sense an underlying aspect that must be working through them to cause said things to happen. For rays upon rays he keeps this in the back of his head and, often, stops to notice other anthills as well as looking at birds in the sky and noting their correlation. Everything is data and he, without knowing it, is crunching immense amounts of it at very high resolutions to create a unique info set that, often, surprises those around him with his observations.
I highlight this simple example to prove my point as, once upon a when, you had no answers but loads of questions that weren’t generic and not on the test. You didn’t do this for acclaim or a pat on the head. You did it because it was totally natural to try and figure out what kicked and pore over the most simple things that many miss. Life, in that respect, was three dimensional. There was a layer of depth that would, stealthily, be removed as you were trained to accept not only a Two D rep instead but labels instead of sensations.
Does that describe the shift from Inner Sense to Adulteration with about as much refinement as a welders mitt? I hope so as its the best I can do at the moment but I feel the lack of plane whilst still viewing the same thing is an accurate enough ref – along with a basic example – that your mind can fill in the details as you draw your own pic, and thus, conclusions as well. As I’ve said, you should accept none of what I’ve said but take it all as a challenge. Know the Ledge, my friend…
This is the raw material of what was fed into the Time Machine, back when. Its process is so slick, so all encompassing and therefore totally invisible that no one questions it. No one, that is, apart from the madman, mystic and poet. The first comes off the worst from this skirmish as he hasn’t a clue what he’s up against nor that its shaping not only his consciousness but that of everyone in this realm over the age six which is, funnily enough, the same time that inner glow dims as the lessens of “Sit still, look ahead” take effect. That wasn’t a typo, by the way, but you already Knew this as you’re starting to see the spells they sling as the code of the Matrix, yes?
As the boy ran around the garden he noticed each flower, leaf and stem. They were not, yet, generic and placed in box that said “Seen one, you’ve seen em all”. No, each had its own depth that made it special and worthy of interest. He observed how some roses appeared to be full of vim and you could see the pride issuing from them as their chests swelled in how magnificent they felt. Others were a bit more disheveled and seemed like they’d lived a bit of a hell to get to the present and were just feeling a bit tried about what kicks. He wondered what would happen if he paid extra attention to it and made up his mind to take some of the plant feed he’d seen in the garage and mix it in with the water, sprinkled. But only near this bit. He’d also talk to the plant and see how it felt. This continued to capture his interest for nearly a month and, during that time, he spotted this wilting flower had began perking due to the presence of nourishment and his attention as well. “Interesting” he thinks and looks around for another pick that looked similarly listless. This time, however, he would only speak to one but keep both of them well fed and note the difference.
To the Adulterated, looking on, the scene presents none of this and if he tries to share his imperimented datasets they’ll either ignore or pay surface level attention as they are no longer capable of rendering that res ergo whatever comes in is reduced to flat plane in which bills are in effect along with death and taxes. They have, in effect, been hijacked by the Time Machine and are currently playing an immense Game of Simon Says… with the voice in their head they Thunk is them. No such thing for the boy who would grow to be Prince as his Spiritual Immune System is live and kicking and thus ejects this process before it can finagle its way in… Not that it would relent. “Oh, ve hav vaze of making joo talk!” said the element that wished to become the voice in its head as the Time Machine plotted its tools of ingress. Being who he is he spotted this, as it kicked and wondered what this new invention presented as he asked everyone about the manifestation of said thing. To them its presence was as invisible as water to a fish but, to he, it was a strange interjection that caused immense pondering:
“Am I the voice that speaks or he that heeds? How come it tells me what to do before I did but, once upon a when, I was powered by something else that was markedly different?”.
He raises this topic with both the grown and innocent. They look equally perplexed at his meanderings into his nascent consciousness and comment there are strange thoughts in his head and how its better to pay no attention. His mind flips back to the anthill. “Of course!” he says, with a grin. “Thats how they did it. Check it” he says, unfolding the metaphysics to a friend who’ll listen as he shows them this small realm:
“Its like, imagine I’m the one sending voices, yeah? I tell them thats a twelve man job, no more or less, as I see the whole thing whilst they’re ground level consciousness. Each of them hear the exact same statement in this head but, get this, they take it personal when it isn’t“.
“Yeah, yeah, cool” says his friend, only half listening. “Lets go climb the trees!”. So they did. The boy never stopped pondering at the same depth of res since back when and, for him, the Time Machine and its grip is Self evident on this realm. This was amped to the power of ten times infinitum when he discovered an odd glitch of how schizos never, ever hallucinated around him and thus he was, to them, like a magnet as he always presented identical no matter what springs from his head. They, gratefully, listened to his developing musings and meanderings on what kicked because, to him, their hallucinations ticked the boxes, really well, of open eyed dreams and what chased them with nasty threats had an immense correlation to the monsters under the bed. And then he said:
“Wait a minute. Thats the first time I heard it speaking, remember, that voice in my head that I didn’t step in with but certainly manifested? Its one time when I rose in bed, screaming, and was scared half to death. It said “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe” and, at the time, I’d accept any reassurance I could get but I always sensed it was counterfeit as demonstrated, real well, when I got that tape deck as a gift and recorded my voice only for it to say “I don’t sound like this” and that really got me wondering because when I look in the mirror my hair parts on the right but a photo offers a different sight so are there like two me’s or only one thats twisted by an alternate reality that was woven only inside my head and could what kicks in yours simply be a more intense version of this?”.
In the neighborhood schizophrenics he had found an enrapt audience as not only was what he said relevant to them it, often, caused them to relate to their hallucinations via another lens for he said:
“I strongly suspect you’re just a figment of my imagination and this I can prove, quite well, because the last time we sat here for ages and I asked you to just keep on repeating, out loud, whats happening within and I almost felt like I was hallucinating as well. Its like we were both tapped in to the same resonance and that manifests, primarily, inside your head but what we have in common is actually far greater and immense and doesn’t begin, nor end, with the flesh but thats another topic”.
Yes, the Time Machine is slick and in the decades, intervening, since these examples I’ve found it quite curious how if you take ten people, at random, and place them in said thought imperiment around 8 will reject, in an instant, what you said. More than one will decry your view as totally incorrect and make quite a big song and dance of it that sees to offer hints about they’d prefer it kept hid and people not think like this. Less than one will be capable of pondering what you said, without accepting it. Simply as another viewpoint or, if you will, a reality tunnel. They may choose to wander down it for a bit, sort of like the boy and ants, back when, then snap back to their regularly scheduled program which shows it can be quite nebulous as its only held together via the habit of ignorance and, interestingly, these people are, quite often, either damaged (or flat out broken), a bit different or totally aware of their coping mechs and how they do them to keep an immense monster, from back when, at bay but willingly listen to the boy who would become Prince and what he said as it sounded interesting and was totally different to what anyone else ever shared as they felt something shift within when conversing as the previously flat image started, again, to gain depth as they felt a familiar newness wash over their awareness as the grip of the Time Machine receded into the distance and, with it, the voice in their head that made them a meat marionette that used to dance on the strings of ignorance and parrot whatever it said as its own perspective.
“You certainly have got a funny old way of looking at things” he said as means of encouragement. “Keep at it, kid, and recollect that the dead shall bury the dead but takes one who is living to comprehend the sketch”. “What the heck does that mean?” came the response from the preteen who was almost entirely ignorant of scripture and such things. “Why don’t you think about it instead and see what you get as there is plenty rhyme to the reason why he said what he did. Plus, you ain’t the only the one who can talk in riddles designed to shift your consciousness” he added, with a wink, before going on to yell at something invisible that “No, I will not hurt him. He’s my only friend in this realm and is heaven sent as an air of breath, fresh, and thus shall be protected by the Holy Spirit“. This, as you can guess, launched us into another discussion and I asked “Are the dead those who accept what the voice says without responding as you did?”. He cracked a grin and said:
“You know what? They may just be but, until recently, I never looked at it like this. Its what you shared about challenging the suggestions instead of accepting them in ignorance that got my questioning and they didn’t like this – nor you – one bit after that thought imperiment”.
“Cool, anyway, look at this” he said, pointing to an anthill as they sat on a park bench. “See how that one scout went off and spotted that leaf, at a distance? I’d be willing to bet that when they come back to pick it there will be eighteen of them. No more, no less” he reasoned as, for him, the world was not only still Three D but growing multidimensional which is where, he suspected, the schizos did attempt to swim but using what the Time Machine had taught them but the gossamer resonance was beyond its grip and thus they drowned whereas the rest, well adjusted, had learned to tread water instead and, slowly, get wrinkled without a true clue of the decep and how they may actually be collectively hallucinating a version of themselves that didn’t truly exist outside what the voice in their head said as they rushed to spend the money another thought was fit to print and all the rest of the labels pointing at things versus looking at what presents and letting intuition sing as gnosis beatboxes and wisdom dances…
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
Till we meet again
