Most of you are blissfully unaware of the Game and how its played. Some of you intuit some bits, others wonder why their direct supervisor is an idiot and how the heck he got promoted as he does’t seem to know a thing. Thing is he did. And does. The Game. And how its played. See there are many Games taking place in the same instant. There are the ones you play with your partner, your friends, your children and, most of all, your Self. That is the greatest Game, my friend, hence why, back when, a man who was more than this stepped in and said:
“Know ye not ye are gods wearing flesh trapped in the whims of a construction, sentient?“.
Way before Neo stepped out of the Matrix there was a dude in sandals cracking the whip on his equivalent of the Agents which is quite telling, isn’t it? It you didn’t get my drift that means they’ve been in charge for ages. From one sign to the next, the skies bear the script hence:
“I shall write my name on him, the man whose cup overfloweth for the next gen”.
If you truly comprehend each and every holy text, legend and myth you will see they all point toward the gnosis that this is a simulation ergo you are wearing the tech that powers it and we, currently, are the equivalent of a team of village idiots that were given a fine sports vehicle then cut a hole in the floor and got to Flintstoning that bish! If you were born into this, would you question it? If they only used the key to open the door and get in to start pedaling would you dare to think different and stick it in the ignition instead? Even if you did, how you would handle the power, so immense? Welcome to the living hell that is the inner realm of a schizophrenic, my friend. You should have just felt an immense block melt like a straight line hit in Tetris as that is exactly how it is. In secret we had bands of mystics that lived in public all the way up until the witches when all this wisdom vanished as it became punishable by death instead of the life giving waters it presented. They said said things went underground and still dwell in both the fringe and mainstream but that isn’t the point of this missive.
Imagine that someone came to the car (which, without a trace of the ironic is what the Egyptians called the aspect of Soul, manifesting, as a vehicle for our unfinite consciousness) and just hopped in and started driving. They may make some mistakes, get into an occasional jape but, eventually, the pieces fit as it was engineered for this purpose. This is my life, as we’re speaking. I don’t claim or profess to be any different from thee hence why I’ve said, often, prove me incorrect because if one man lives a delusion it is just this but if we all find similar things by flicking the switch then doesn’t that show, really well, the old stuff was a mess on purpose? “What if that is how the Game is played?” said a part of my brain that plays the role of a Doubting Thomas? By the way, we are the Gs, us, ergo all the disciples are within and you can consider Judas, the treacherous, akin to the (false) self that jibber jabbers inside your head and, right now, says:
“What the hell is this fool talking about? Flintstones, schizophrenics and Tetris? I think someone needs to up their meds, pay no attention to this mess“.
That is because its a predator of consciousness and needs to be fed but that, in the end, is simply this aspect of the fractal we’re decoding like a diamond tip as it skips across the platter of vinyl to render this dimension inside your consciousness. The Game and how its played is something so simple and yet complex due to the tele/microscope effect. This is the reason why all the sciences have made immense leaps and yet are in the midst of replication crisis plus we have no polymaths to stitch together a coherent narrative because if we did the truth of the simulation and its blood red teeth would make perfect sense. Add in the whole NDE and Soul recycling thing and it certainly seems, to me, there are tracks and tricks within the Matrix that were only honed and built for one singular end:
To blend man with machine and bring the next stage in.
Imagine we create absolutely perfect human replications that are exceedingly attractive, super intelligent, remarkably long lived, possessing great strength and talents which, suddenly, sounds just like every single story of legend that is spread thick across all continents. Why does Dr Manhattan bear a striking resemblance to the Vedic gods which they say once walked this realm then left before it sank into this mess in which the ignorant revel in their foolishness and call it wisdom instead? Where holy texts are written in codes and symbols make beasts of men as we smash smaller and smaller particles but miss what they’re swimming in:
Hence the Observer Effect and lets not mention the crazy fine tuned resonance for there even to be a planet that is, for some reason, scattered with immense monoliths we can’t replicate yet but have their own resonance which strongly suggests someone, back when, played the Game, different. Add in the fact that pretty much every single thing they sell and tell in the West is a bastardized version of the East where it had its original resonance and you have to wonder about the whole “What ho, chaps! Lets whip the melanin off these filthy savages as we civilize them with the Industrial Revolution and its huge treadmill!”. Before this it was wheat and I could wax lyrical on the whole ridiculousness of how so many people just happened to start farming, in the same instance. Napoleon said it best:
“History is a set of lies, agreed upon by the ones sitting at the helm that tell the rest what it is“.
Thats the Power Game, everyone plays it, to some degree. Then there is the Approval Game as manifest by the web. The Manipulation Game was the homestead and forte of women before they too became equal which is most amusing as, back in Nineteen Fifty Six, one man working could have you living like a Queen, chilling, as you raised your seed with fresh, organic, non GM steaks in the fridge and a Caddy for driving. In the West, that is. Then they sold the image to the world of the happiest daze one can imagine before an actor named Bin Laden bought the script along a bit so you’d accept being manhandled before boarding a jet. All in the name of freedom. Which is so expensive that one must, from birth till death, run the treadmill. But, it doesn’t matter because joy is for sale in a few high interest payments. As you can see, the Manipulation Game went corporate just around the time women were freed from the kitchen and this is all thanks to Freuds nephew, Edward Bernays. Who would’ve Thunk it? Lets see, what other Games can you perceive? I’m asking you the question, my friend.
The most dominant one at the minute is the ego trip as it sells and tells a (false) self which builds a realm in your head that doesn’t exist out there but the curious thing is the stock market is etched on the same sketch hence why futures and options have real world effects. Wrap your mind around this and consider the “John of House Smith” equation in which brokers are splattered across the pavement when the charts do dip then ask “Who the heck put all them options on jets tanking after that Saudi crushed the buildings?”. Quite strange, isn’t it? Thats the Media Game and, like Malcolm X said:
“The press will have you cheering for the Opponent as you vilify the Victim”.
So they killed him. Note when he was kicking the “white devils” rhetoric he was living fabulous but a trip to the East changed all of this. Just like those famous men that rode bareback and came home singing different hymns… Its all interlinked. Thats the Conspiracy Game and it comes, if you purchase quick as stocks are limited, with a free tinfoil turban so you can yell at the bots online which are astroturing opinions and creating false realities that people buy in and accept as everyone wants to be correct hence why the Warrior researches the opposite perspect as everything I’ve said I’ve checked from many lenses and thus this sketch is quiet accurate and in accordance with my current level of ignorance. Daily do I chip away at this. Most, instead, layer more plaster on the marble whip they’re scared to bash which is the saddest thing in life:
If a tree falls in the forest without a Witness in the flesh we meet a wavelength which bounces out with no one to take it in. Imagine a feather of sentience fell into the abyss and, in a fit of ignorance, it declared itself the creator of everything then set about making a duplicate of a world like this but different. Welcome to the God Game, the one so many cherish without truly comprehending the depth or putting together the pieces, coherent, because if you aren’t the voice in your head but that which listens then which one would you class as Prime, pre-existing, and who is the architect that built the sketch of the squared circle in which he hid whilst yelling:
“Pay no heed to he who tells you to look behind the curtain. That dunce can’t even handle simple mathematics as he says 1 + 1 = 11 and its a Game of three halves as well!“.
Thats because it is, my friend. There is what you know you know (like the content of your head), what you know you don’t (like the finer points of Sanskrit and how its mathematically perfect) but its what you don’t know you don’t know that houses your greatest strength and its this ignorance they used for a swift bit of divided conquering and woe betide anyone who draws the links as they’ll label you an infidel, heretic or Ducktale purveyor, par excellence as they fear a mass awakening and the potential for exodus this brings.
I’ve seen colors that don’t exist in the aftermath of death and it was an act of pure will backed by forces of benevolence that like my resonance that bought me back to this realm to push the pen. Before and since the attempts were frequent and thus one, eventually, stops fearing and leans in instead for that is where they hid your greatest strength ergo its all for the win says the former coal, current diamond. Thats the Alchemist Game. We all played it as children. Or at least, I did. If you ever took your toys apart and remixed them, much to chagrin of your parents, or got tazed as you took the back off the television to comprehend what kicked beneath the surface then you’ve played this one as well. There are, quite literally, more Games than people and the saddest thing is everyone is paying with their life, time and attention to the following ruses:
The Validation Game.
The Rich and Famous Game.
The Power and Influence Game.
Literally three variations on a theme like Judaism, Christianity and Islam, my friend. Tell me I’m incorrect then see if you can guess how many of them owe their foundation and steps to Zoroastrianism which requests you dress in black, carry a pointed weapon and buckle some swashes, as and when. Only joking. Can you imagine if they did? People would be signing up in droves for it. Look into what they said, the time and context then consider:
“If old gods become new Devils that means, in the end, they may just be the same thing but in fancy dress so what, truly, is the difference between George W and Hitler himself? Better yet, does that mean the Empire never ended, just flipped the script as it lives, fine and well, in the US and its dominance which is about to end hence why you see all the positive media spin on Chinese in films and how difference this is from the world Bruce Lee met when carving out his lane against immense opposition which may or may not be the reason him, Lincoln and Marley rest. Say, what if they were all fighting against the same thing?”.
Thats the Warrior Game, in full effect, as Inner Sense is at the helm, the Three Kingdoms firing on all cylinders because of it and thus there are no limits (nor voice) inside ones head as they’re in tune with the unfinite and thus turn the key in the vehicle of higher consciousness as the flesh simply conducts it and doesn’t create a thing which is why, back when, the Egyptians threw it in the recycle bin and placed their attent on the heart instead which, wouldn’t you know it, is what Jesus points at in every pic as the Golgotha thing reps the skull in which he, at present, lives and is, daily, crucified between the hemispheres of your head which may just be why the Pope has a huge pine cone in his garden and you possess the same in your head they fill with rat poison, mandated, instead. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to retie my tinfoil turban as SevenG is coming to make androids out of men whence why Siri spells iris flipped and the apple she presents is already bit…
Till we meet again
