Allow me to illuminate the grim reality of life as it truly is inside the domes of 81% of the planet. This may, or may not, include you, my friend, so its worth paying attention to your bodily sensations, cognitive reactions and emotions during this interaction because if I said you had the head of a giraffe your response would be nil, yes? If, on the flip, you got super triggered and started finger pointing it could be said you’re protesting too much via a stretched neck that, previously, was munching eucalyptus… Remember, he who makes you mad is your Master and that makes up the other 11% of the equation who, in turn, get mucho vexed at I, one of the 8% that Know the Ledge and see through their shadowplay. The most amusing thing? I’m nothing more or less than a figment of your imagination and this all takes place inside your own personal wavelength so what comes next is an occult view of Platos Cave and its contents therein:
Lets pretend you’re sitting in a cinema in the not too distant. They use Feelie tech in which the old black screen and flickering illumination are things of the past. Instead, thanks to the chip in your head, they interface directly with the CNS so that the perfectly engineered images they present (which follow a tight script designed to elicit certain reactions) are interpreted by you as thee. There, like dreams, is a time compression aspect along with the illusion of free will for the scenes elicit specific bands of resonance that then force you into action and towards completion. That, in a nutshell, is Platos Cave and its actually an esoteric metaphor and map of higher reality, dig:
The meta posits that there is, first and foremost, a man. Without he there is no need for the rest of this. He was, at one point, not stuck within this contraption, external, which limits his movement and forces his vision to take in certain signals which are cast by a flame behind him. In front of this we have a clique that see a clearer pic who parade images that create shadows on the wall. This is the cinema tech but something way more powerful and primal. Now, just how every single detail in a movie scene has lots of thought and detail that goes in ranging from product placement and color gradients there is plenty of effort that goes into creating and maintaining this false state of resonance for the denizens of said plantation. I use that term well as, for those ignorant of the shadow aspect (aka the multiverse of madness) whatever they beam seems realer than real. Its like being born with a VR headset on your dish that uses not wires but a series of sharp metal barbs to interface directly with your brainstem. If I were to pull at it, ever so gentle, your CNS would scream as a means to self protect against further suffering as the original imprint is long repressed but is still present, nonetheless. How many would comprehend that the fact I can elicit this type of reaction with mere words it hints that there are actually three parts of the Game they weren’t even aware they were playing?
This is where the 8% come in.
See, the upside of any trick is the thrill of conquest once you Know the Ledge and discover the shadows depth as you grin and recollect your Higher Self created all of this as a wheeze, a jest, a huge cosmic riff which is akin to playing Hide and Seek with your divine aspect made flesh. The VR headset, in Platos sketch, is the contraption which, to thee, is akin to a couple of decades of legally mandated “Sit still, look ahead” along with the habitual tensions you inherited from both sides of your lineage. These show up as somatic Patterns of impingement in your flesh that are then mirrored in the intellect to create certain responses to the shadowplay mentioned. He who shines a light on this either flips his lid or gains illumination as he clambers out of the Cave after encountering and besting all the traps they done set as they really, really, really do not want one to leave as it breaks the immersion of this false reality they try so hard to sell to the rest. Imagine it like this, my friend:
The whole world uses real gold as money. Problem is, its big, heavy and hard to trade for smaller things. Some genius says:
“Hey buddy, you can trust me. Give that lump of metal within which we place faith, implicit, and instead take this slip. It says you own X and will pay on demand the sum of whatever as promised. Look, there is even a pretty picture of my countenance on the paper as well. Ain’t that swell?”.
You are hesitant because you are seemingly giving away something real for a far more nebulous concept and thus, being of sound mind and health, keep hold of your wealth. The Merchant of Venice extends his embrace like a phoenix and wishes you well. It just so happens that as you leave his premises you almost have an encounter with a group of ruffians. He comes swooping in to your rescue and your thanks are profuse as his bonafides have now been established as he takes this moment of emotional intensity to pimp your mind most delicately. He outlines how you know he and he reciprocates with thee:
“For if this slip was in your grip they would have been perplexed as gold is the coin of the realm and thus your investment was, is and will be, safe with me. Luckily for you I was watching you recede and thinking, fondly, of our special meeting which lead to saving you from those thieves”.
All told you are sold and thus buy in as you dip and smile with your need slip and the security of faith it brings as it sits on your hip. In turn you extol the virtues of this man and his seemingly endless stream of cousins across the realm for ye can now take this bit which, in turn, refs a larger chunk of gold, solid, and spend as you wish without needing to chip away and weigh with scales.
They say absolute power corrupts the same range and, after a bit, the Merchant is feeling himself as he holds loads of gold in his grip and thus starts issuing loans. “At interest” he says, as part of his sales pitch as he outlines the sketch of another of these perspective fixing contraptions Plato mentioned as different shadows flit across the wall of the Cave inside your head that is lit by the power of imagination and its fires, currently stoking. He weaves his tale and castles are built inside your dome but, get this, he then charges you rent to live within! Woe betide anyone who attempts to surf onto the beach of your awareness with a:
“Dude, he’s built a trick on top of an illusion that he’s been spinning for gen, since back when, as he sells more slips as scrip without a thing to back them beyond your investment in his magical grift”.
Remember those ruffians? They were his cousins in fancy dress. The whole charade was just another scam built on the same Pattern. Same with the VR headset which is the same old dreamselling but now using another medium. So, in the Feelie tech version, you are sitting in a dark cavern seeing visions of illumination andthe flame of imagination is powering using certain symbols presented in a specific order to generate an emotional response in much the same way the black mirror in your grip can elicit fear, disgust or laughter via the visions it induces using red, green and blue pixels. This is an occult view of Platos Cave and you as it actually refers to the finer and gross points of mind control plus the power of influence. if you know this and you’re part of the 11% but if, on the flip, you Know it you’re capable of awakening the Warrior within and gaining the true liberation (without obligation) of feeling the Sun on your face as you clamber from below the Earths surface where all this deception takes place, shake your head at how slick this model is and then you have two choices:
Go on your way and enjoy the air, so fresh, along with the rest of natures bounties as you spend the real gold, once again or risk perishing in the peril of the reverse access traps set that you’d previously transcended to try and tip the brainstem interfaced trauma imprint pimping shadowplay as well as the irate tenders of the flame of false illumination hence why Cypher said he wanted to be someone special. Like an actor… Who, exactly, are you trying to keep up with, my friend? Have you been noting your emotional responses and activation from the elucidation of this ancient legend with its practical applications? There are so many layers to the trick but it is, at its essence, remarkably simple and consistent:
We have a person, they have an imagination which is the true source of illumination which, currently, shines high above this realm with its nourishing presence that make life possible. Then we have the Cave. In the midst of such darkness the glow of a fire, well tended, is accepted as being a huge comfort but if flames could speak it may say:
“Thou shalt have no other gods but mere for I’m known for my jealously and may just smack a high note out of your rear end if you dare disrespect my presence for I am the best, yes?”.
Stuck inside a contraption made of a rigid structure that encases your flesh like clear perspex around a watermelon in development your shape now takes a boxy, cubic form as another brick in the wall. It feels strange but is also comforting as everyone else is doing it but the best part of the trick is each one of these potential Suns of radiance is now being tricked by a single, false, sense of illumination. Better yet, whilst the symbols remain constant the definitions can be pimped by whatever the voice in their head says so you can, for example, convince a Muslim to kill a Jew whilst neither stops to think:
“Wait a minute, he worships Allah via the Kaaba which is identical in shape to the Trefilin that I, a practicing tsaddik, wear on my head as I delve into the mysteries of the Kabbalah”.
I mean, its not at all hidden, is it? More like an open secret that can only be seen by those who pry the VR headset off their dish as then they’ll click the pains and sores of the flesh are due to this contraption which may or may not link with the death of English spells that have you invested in a “weak daze” as you, voluntarily, place an inverted noose around your neck as part of the business of living within which you engage for all the slips that are fit to print and, get this, they say “I promise to pay the bearer on demand the sum of…” what, exactly? A pound of flesh. Nothing more or less. Run all of this back again and pick up a pen to create notes to Self of each and every point where I’m totally incorrect, raving, loony and off the plantation as I drive Miss Daisy then recollect, back when, the ones who tended their own faux flames of filial fabianism to extract profit coined the phrase “drapetomania” to label those pesky runaway slaves as the problem for daring to reject the shadow programming that was so effective for the rest when it came to investing actual blood and sweat in the picking of metaphorical cotton and its constant reinforcement via whipping and, soon, chipping, to see via the forced perspective and tale woven, therein.
That, to me, is the sketch of Platos Cave and its occult interpretation. Once you’ve seen its symbols and script you can spot its echoes, reflected, on many levels in this coherently collapsed construction of consciousness ergo you’re encouraged to reality test and prove me incorrect. This is no staid academic text with footnotes and references but something I’ve lived ergo its akin to busting loose from the contraption, dodging the axe that swings at ones head via the traps, pre-set, then taking off on a perilous quest to bypass the ruffians and their archonic ilk who look up, for a moment, from all the loosh they’re extracting via the performance selling to the rest who are blissfully ignorant they’ve never, ever seen or even felt the true luminary and its resonance on their pasty white skin and, worse still, if one ripped the aftermarket attachment from their dish they’d yell you were the one causing such pain and suffering as they rushed to defend the Cave, those who built, and the ones who pimp their best in exchange for the worthless via the comfort of illusion as the voice in their head says:
“Tear him to shreds. Death to the infidel!”.
And they, unthinking, do such a thing before settling right back into the wall of ignorance that was built to the specs of the architect who came up with the whole grift, back when, and the trick is so old and effective that one could say, correct, the Empire never ends, just dons new skin. Like the interaction between the mind control fungi Cordyceps and the ant whose CNS it jacks in order to reproduce itself at their expense. Lets say one of these formicidae species was, somehow, formidably resistant to this process and looked at his friends, Romans and countrymen then said:
“Know ye not ye are gods who accept the concept of being mere ants which are then further pimped by a predator of consciousness that is secondary in comparison to the Prime who pre-exists and manifests, at this present moment, as the true source of your illumination for thou are not the candle made of flesh that drips and melts from one life to the next but something far more subtle and ineffable which, paradoxically, makes everything happen whilst remaining invisible to all but those who Know the Ledge”.
To them, he may as well be speaking Aramaic as they, in their heads, hear:
“What in the F is this sandal wearing beatnik bleating? You want to climb this fine foliage then clamp down with those teeth using a load of strength and let nature do its thing”.
At which point the spores rip, digest the old flesh they used as a proxy vehicle and the whole thing begins again. During all of this the one Centered in Self with the gnosis of Inner Sense present feels the Sun illuminate his presence as he looks at the shadowplay of the Cave and the Adulterated therein. In this respect, my friend, what would thee do to impress the gravity of the situation for the denizens as the contraption made of carbon promises to change elements with a shift to silicon in which people will be freed from the binds of being square watermelons only to be pureed instead and blended into another arrangement using a hex much like the one which spins on the poles of Saturn hence the “Star of Remphan” bit is present and correct which begs the question exactly how societies, ancient, Knew of this dataset and extrapolated a whole load more about the planets and their orbits plus gnosis encoded therein before Rome fell and the British Empire rose instead which, in turn, (via way of Boston) became the US then that may or may not have paperclipped Hitler and his clique to drop bombs over Baghdad that houses old artifacts plus curious myths and legends that vanished after the occupation for the first place the Army hit was the museum which is most telling, yes? Nowhere near as much as what Saddam actually said but, oddly, is not translated by any official portal in the West nor have they released his statements either. Some of this is interlinked to the Cave. Others are just random references that hint at a larger coherence which suggests this web doth spin way before Gemistos Plethon happened to “find” such ancient hoary texts that went on to become the foundations of the West in a time when saying such things did spring from his own imagination would have caused quite a stir…
I’m sure, by now, you can see the lines, read between them then comprehend the ink, invisible, that etches another message upon the tightly stretched canvas that life doth fling its inks of emotions, directional, to ensure the OG Feelie tech generates yet another square watermelon set adrift (but firmly plugged in) to the Forest of Illusion, yes? Tell me, my friend, did anything start to flicker within via this transmission of gnosis using the black mirror in your grip which is the basis of three major religions engaged in seemingly perpetual conflict or am I just ranting and raving in ways quite poetic that have no underpinning basis in reality or thoughts worth considering? I’ll let you tell it.
81/11/8.
Get in where you fit in.
If a river contains a maze made of glass for you to run in we would reward best those who progress without head bumping, yes? But what of those odd fish that won’t relent as they recollect a time not of this spin in which their movements were more free and spontaneous as against the grain they do swim in their quest for emancipation. In many ways that is the true state of the limitation Game which offers yet another hint into why the so called schizophrenic is actually correct but only the mystic transcends as the rewrites the OS inside his head thanks to escaping the Cave, mentioned.
Till we meet again
