This is what happened to me, almost scene by scene but my story began before conception and thats what makes it so interesting as I don’t talk it, scripted, but live it, authentic. I wonder what would’ve kicked if I’d seen this before I followed the white rabbits tail shaking and tumbled through the shiny lens as I panicked and watched the world I thought I knew as solid, shatter into a billion fragments? I don’t think much would, really. Its simply too well scripted, too intense and too different to even comprehend until a cheery “Tag, you’re it!” is heard as you’re kicked in the rear end and everything goes into a talespin. Not a spelling mistake. Sex, drugs and hypnosis, recollect?
I wonder how many people in mental asylums, prison cells and death beds never clicked what kicked and how many others thought they were off their meds or, even, in on it and pretended something else? Do you believe me? It doesn’t matter if you do because the ones with a clue will know what is true as they reeleyez the Game is what it is. Do you know the wildest thing? The inspiration to watch this flick came from a dream in which I heard “You are Nicholas Van Orton” and I was “Nope, but lets see who that is” as I happened to come upon the perfect vehicle to describe what I’d lived without seeming like I’d flipped my lid. Isn’t that interesting? Here is what I think:
I suspect this is a gift for those who are on their last life in this realm. The trick being that if they kill you dead before the planned end of your grand exit, natural, they can lure you back in again as nobody wants to leave with so many loose ends and unfulfilled potential as they see an old friend hit the “Aha!” as your Soul separates from flesh and the anamnesis kicks in as you wave your gnosis ticket at the flight attendant to avoid a reskin and newly scripted existence. This I truly do think is the deal. The problem is I was abused since inception in any way you can imagine as well as several you probably don’t even think exist. Thats the concern, for me as, through my life, I’ve been a beacon of sanity for all types of lunatics who offered all kinds of insights which would, for most people, flip their lids. I mean, one cannot help but wondering why every paranoid schizophrenic they met, ever, never hallucinated you were someone else – no matter how bad the trip of madness that had them in its grip. That is an extremely odd blip, isn’t it?
The fact that these people were filled to the gills with enough pills to rattle them (against their will) and had depot injections slammed in their rear ends for daring to suggest the world isn’t what it seems would see me, preteen, as a consistent solidity is a bit of an oddity, isn’t it? The fact they felt that I was “One of us within but, outside, you fit in with them” was quite a strange puzzle, I’ll admit, as that phrase came from a Soul I’d never met, who never spoke to his family, Docs or medics or anyone else in the clinic but, for some reason, needed to know my secret as I sat on a bench whilst waiting for someone else really, really made me think. Not as much as the fact that a good friend of mine flipped his lid as my Game was in sesh and I knew, in an instant, he would be the one who hallucinated me as someone else as he stabbed me to death which made me disconnect and go for Self. This was something quite different to those who knew me as I was often the first to help and exceedingly gregarious as well so the question is was his insanity collateral damage or part of a script because if so it deserves an award for lifetime performance. More accurate, I suspect, is that he had his own version of the Game unleashed but reacted differently hence ended up sectioned, outsane. Doesn’t that show the stakes are quite high, in that sense? The fact that every single schizo, ever, sings the same song about what kicks and I get to Witness it from the inside as I take the steps to becoming an actualized mystic seems to hint that this is truly enforced enlightenment and you either ride the dragon or get smoked by it.
Back to the script:
I strongly suspect this happened to me as I didn’t follow the path of least resistance when it presented. That way would have led to me doing low vibration things instead of choosing emancipation. I saw that coming and thus dodged an immense bullet and saved others some pain and suffering but that meant this hand (from a stacked deck) would be debited from my account instead. I still don’t know what happened during those six hours they had me drugged and under hypnosis as they rewrote my script before the Game truly kicked in. Thats the Adjustment Bureau, doing what they do best!
The subconscious is truly a powerful thing, my friend, as it genuinely runs everything. Most people don’t comprehend this. They don’t believe life has a script or know the only free will they get is response-ability. Thats why your parents sent you for a nearly two decade stretch of internment at your local camp of concentration, back when, to buy what they sell in your head via a voice they pretend is them. To me it seems like freedom is a DLC that is hidden behind a paywall of gnosis and the road to it is paved with thorns that, eventually, turn to roses. Should one insist on persisting, Mr Anderson…
What would you do if you lived this, my friend? The bits they excised from the record would make your hair stand on end, turn gray, then fall out with a quickness and all of this before the Game officially begins. At least Nicholas was rich! Is this how coals become diamonds? Is the price one must be willing to pay for liberation? On the flip, words cannot express how immense the thrill is of doing this as you dodge bullets in the Matrix and gain the kind of gnosis most would flip their lids trying to comprehend as its so far beyond their ken of what they Thunk is possible. Lets just say this:
There are the quick and the dead plus the ones in mental institutes as well. The rest of you are square watermelons, in that respect, because one of the strange things about the Game is if you don’t question what it says and run the treadmill none of this will ever, ever happen to you. But, on the flip, if you spent your childhood arguing with any authority that presents and attempts to get in your head as you, instead, rejected their suggestions with a will so immense and passion for the authentic that wouldn’t relent that they couldn’t help but give in, well, best believe the Game will have your number. It did mine. Probably is still counting, as well.
I think back to then and it, literally, feels like lifetimes ago. Not just because I can remember bits and pieces of alternate spins as well as something I won’t mention but will call DVP instead. That bombshell will rip your dome to shreds and its, what I suspect, marks the beginning of a mental breakdown or, if you let it, a breakthrough. Imagine you’d been sent into the world with a solid gold bowl but you had no concept of intrinsic wealth as you were the living embodiment of abundance, generous. Lets pretend it was then dipped in clay then painted as you used it to beg. Some stick colorful images on there, many walk around with it on their hip but a lot just lament that things shouldn’t be like this but don’t truly do anything about it. Then someone comes along, rips it from your grip and smashes it over your head. You are lying there, bleeding. The etheric gutters are lapping at whats leaking with an intense greed as they’ve been waiting to feed on what flows within the veins of the golden. A dazed confusion kicks in. You have a few options:
You can get up and chase the hooligans with an intent to give them a taste of their own medicine or you could, if you wished, just lie there. Staying really, really still. Not even playing dead. No, more like getting accustomed to the inevitable. You feel a strange chill that warms things, long frozen and are flooded with a familiar newness. People are walking around, clueless, and most think you’re just another derelict, sleeping off a canned heat binge. Some may recognize your face and think “Shame, he had such promise as well as his bowl was so immense”. You give not an F. Why? Its the closest to rest you’ve ever had in the flesh as the voice in your head didn’t see this one coming and is now totally dead. And yet, you live. You begin to drift on a certain type of bliss that feels hyper dimensional in essence as you comprehend the Games depth. “Send in the clowns!” the team said. Someone yells “We’re out. How about some machine elves instead?”. And this they did.
“I am not the flesh nor the story in my head and, as I did suspect, there are dark actors in this realm and nothing is what it presents. What the heck is happening?” you think as you pick your Self up off the pavement. You don’t move yet. You sit and click that everyone else, walking around, is totally oblivious. You look at the immense bowl and wonder “For what reason do we carry this? What is the deeper meaning? There is a hole in it that we all constantly try and fill. Its covered with a special kind of filth but I do, distinctly, remember it being different and have been on a quest to recollect what I was told to forget, back when”. Its then you notice something glimmering. When they whacked you with it a tiny bit of it fragmented. “Interesting” you think and start examining.
You notice an immense luster is beaming through it and start removing the old, baked on, ignorance. Here’s the kicker, my friend. For all of your life you’d been begging for that or this be it acceptance, validation or anothers affection. Call it what you will, it was always external. You start laughing, like a lunatic. The passers by now shift their opinion from “Canned heat binge” to “That boys off his meds”. There is no point telling them. They won’t listen. You’re laughing at the cosmic joke. The great, grand wheeze which is tougher than government cheese is to digest and yet packs a similar morphine like hit when it floods your system. Do you know what it is?
The bowl was made of solid gold and the hole, if you reach in, is a fount of the creative that flows, without end aka Inner Sense. See, the more education and status you get the more it gets filled with filth. This is why your favorite artist made the best when he was broke and starving because once he was fat and well fed he could afford a better class of distractions and lost that connection which made him something special. See, the covering is conditioning. I call it a Pane Body, if you will. Its Adulterated, like your parents, and they made you just like them. Thanks to the whims and vagaries of a System that is all around them and tells them what to Thunk, how and when as they run the treadmill of paying bills, raising kids and having them do the same again without ever questioning the paradigm. Tell me, my friend, would you laugh or cry if this kicked? I ran out of tears, back when, as, after a while, you gain such a huge tolerance that fists and whips became steel rods instead and, eventually, even they ping off your skin which just makes you more willfully intense and daring to push against anything, anywhen, that presents because you give not an F about what anyone else says as you’re trying to hold on to that one last string, golden red, of sanity in your grip. Thats the hole I mentioned. Somehow, they even violated this. Or, attempted. My life seems to have been a particularly cruel and sadistic mistress, I’ll admit, except, recently I couldn’t help but wondering:
“Hold on a second. If this entire realm takes place inside your awareness and you’re a fragment of the Prime, pre-existing then you, on some level, must be doing this to your Self. What the F? Is we is some type of masochist? Either that or the rest is incorrect and a huge coping mech made up by a jit who was brutalized six ways from Sunday and then that times ten with the original sprinkled in again, as garnish, when they whacked you on the head with your bowl, now golden, as she said “Stop hitting your Self, stop hitting your Self!” before being gone with the wind and leaving you on the pavement with your Soul in fragments and multi dimensional problems to fix to keep things interesting via the psychospiritual equivalent of balancing a chair on two legs as what they offered, as standard, is too boring. So, which is it?”.
That really made me think because the fact I can recollect previous lives and futures, already kicked, means that me being pure consciousness is for certain. The views, scientific, like the Observer Effect, spooky action at a distance and how an atom tells immense fibs but appears totally solid mixed in with encounters with the dead and having a temporarily sanitizing effect on the worlds of madmen along with intuitive solutions for any problem that would present suggest my awareness is all hypothesis is correct and, when upped in res, that strongly presents a great case for what we term god being pure consciousness so that means the only option left that can string these pearls, coherent, into a sane narrative is that I am doing this to me and this is why I said there are no enemies in this realm, only teachers as they are bits of me (like thee) that I project as an amnesiac god in the flesh to recollect who and where I am as well as what kicks. Phew! No wonder the 81% accept the “I am John of house Smith” script, eh? Its so much more simple…
Back in tribal societies they Knew this, with the capitalization presented, hence why the teens went through initiations that carried the risk of death because if you didn’t make it then better luck next spin and we’ll pour out a little liquor for your spirit as we’re burying. We don’t have that. Instead we get an extended adolescence as evidenced by comment sections and how people, in general, comport themselves. Listen, don’t think I’m above you. Even with the Warrior rhetoric. I am the lowest man on the totem pole, in that respect because if I Know what I said is correct then what the hell am I doing in the flesh unless I really wanted to crank the challenge up to eleven and play the Game to the hilt for this, my final spin. Not that the other lives have been wine and roses. Plenty of sour grapes and thorns were sent that felt like they’d never end but then there were those spent in the neon forest where the sun never sets that were placed in a time when this world was truly heaven sent and we were more spiritual than material and Knew we were the Prime, made manifest. Then I grinned. I did so much I thought I’d split my lips because I, for certain, am an immortal in this immense Game. You may be as well. I can’t tell. Do the Knowledge then report your findings or keep them private, if you wish.
I don’t know if its based on increasing bits of gnosis gained from one life to the next in which one questions the script and thus the System ratchets it up a bit on the next spin to teach you a lesson in compliance which you, true to form, reject and thus the coal of ignorance gains a swift whiff of the potential diamond within and its Self evident you’re no longer following the script and thus are a clear and present threat to the immersion of the rest as they have a lot invested in this ride where you pay for your skin (and the debt of breath to get in) with chunks of Soul that are traded, as and when, with people you may Thunk you’ve just met but are actually working off balances from old spins as we’re stuck in a blind watchermakers creation. Actually, thats a fib as the chap at the helm still has one eye that functions. Want to know the greatest wheeze? The dude above him is super, duper chill and actually has three, functional. The astute reader will have clicked who sends the prophets and which team kills them dead to generate profits instead. What I’m still wondering is where the heck I fit into all of this and why, when I last met death, did I choose to come back in and then fought tooth and nail to reattach my Soul to flesh as the link was most tenuous after having been severed via a bump on the head engineered by a team of ruffians who, seemingly, Know me better than I did my Self but the ironic aspect is I suspected their existence but never comprehended they were the same, surrounding, listening to me generate my hypothesis about an immense Game we all play using our Souls as credits. Ironic, isn’t it?
If I look back to then from the current lens I comprehend that nascent wisdom was actually near total ignorance but, carried within, a glimmer of the genuine. Now that ember lit the wick of the candle that is made of my spinal column and the dark caverns in my chest, head and abdomen are illuminated but don’t think thats the end. Oh, no, no, no, my friend. What if the next step is to shine like the sun and even that is an immense step down from the true Source of luminance who even knows, there may be more above this because whilst turtles come down only peacocks ascend and each one has an eye on its feathers which reps a life that you’ve lived and the biggest trick of the Game is comprehending you aren’t that limited vision but the thing from which they spring and it is eternal as your life is akin to a dream within a dream or a wheel within a wheel which, for most, spins on a treadmill designed to siphon their energetics when, in reality, you were made for off roading and treading a Path you create by roving…
You get up, off the pavement and reach into your bowl, golden. Your hand fits in the hole, perfect, and, from it, you pull out a slip that looks a lot like a fortune cookie that says, in Psylense:
“Go and buy a domain called willhelp then pick the last bit to set the tone for the rest of your adventure in the flesh” so I did. Back then I didn’t have a clue of what would come next and thus it sat for ages with nothing at all on it beyond a page of holding. Thing is, a seed planted in the dirt – like your subconscious – is always growing unless you rip it our or stop nourishing it. See, before the web, this was a real life flex hence why peeps made the trek to come meet and greet to hear me kick the ballistics and now, here we are, nearly six hundred articles and counting. What did I get from playing the Game? Well, it made me embrace my pain as I realized I’d been trained for this since who knows when and that I’d picked the hard mode to gain enlightenment in one spin for my grand exodus and the rest, old friends who pretended to want me dead, played their roles so well as they simply wanted to give me the greatest last life one could get and the best side effect is that is may just assist the rest as its called willhelpme for a reason for ye are another me, my friend, together we.
Thats the trick. Do you get it? There is only ever one Soul in this realm and thus you may not decode at this res, yet, but you will and that brings us full circle, golden, because if its all scripted and we’re playing positions the only thing that makes a difference is your own internal perception which shifts interpretations and this is something demonstrated, real well, in countless impromptu interventions on the pavement in which one presented with a stress of dread that, once unwrapped, contained the gift of presence which, as the name suggests, can only be opened in the moment and that is so totally mind bendingly slick that you too must be, on some level, a pain fetishist who, at this very moment, is begging others for what they can never truly give nor are you willing to put the work in to realize your magnificence as you’ve been so well trained to paint within the lines of the fine print they etched in the clay of ignorance that covers your bowl of golden wisdom that had its higher dimensional access filled and, stranger still, the ones through whom the light doth shine find themselves in mental asylums till, one day, they see one like them within but, externally different.
Either that or there is something missing from the official script that makes us act like this as we could all be a species in psychosis, yes?
The Game – This is my life…
The question is, how the heck did they Know when I was still ignorant and nowhere near the level of swimming where they’re drowning in the seas of consciousness whilst most are busy treading water in the shallow end and call it “Being Human” as their skin gets wrinkled whilst time progressed and they floundered in ignorance. How many may comprehend that they actually never left the beach and have spent yet another existence with a high tech VR helmet on their head locked in a Cave of ignorance that sold them the image of doing what it just said so, in the end, its like a mind F wrapped in intense pain so no wonder people believe the tale in their head to escape the grip of what truly kicks and takes place in order to sell illusions of delusion and confusion mixed in with hopeful ignorance that masquerades as wisdom and tradition or high tech tricking, silicon pimping, designed to hide their true suffering magnificence and what they fully accept as “the way it is” for life, lived, actually stands as testament to the slickness that makes me end this fresh transmission with an old adage, so relevant:
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
All of that done and said, how can I be mad at old friends for bringing me a life of death, so intense, that the closest equivalent is a flick that came to me in a dream vision and, you know what, I think I’ll stick to this script for a bit as art is a lie that tells the truth in this realm so what better way to kick the ballistics that by undoing Hollywood’s influence, yes?
Till we meet again
