“This Game of ours” he says, with a grin, “Is a Game within a Game, comprehend? Listen, the rest don’t even click the first and the second? ‘Fugedaboutit’! You were made for this. We trained you to kill, pun intended, and now you think you can just walk off, cash in your chips and ride out into the sunset with your mademoiselle and fly whip? Not happening. All debts, public and private, must be settled“. He stops to think. “But, we are sporting. Double or nothing. Do we have a bet?”.
And thus an impossible challenge was set. Something that made the task of Sisyphus seem simple. So was born a legend. A myth. A ghost, in these killing fields…
“So, you want to be a free man? A killer who sheds tears after each hit“. He shakes his head. See, they can wipe the mind – electronic – and insert whatever script they wish from the moment ye first worn skin and hallucinated your own private trip before those brainwaves segued into Theta state instead and thus were opened like the gates of hell to generate a state of hypnosis in which you’ll accept whatever presents as imprinted resonance that is most certainly correct. “Thats the Game! Thats the Game” he said, with a grin, as he played the role to the hilt. You kept listening even though, deep within, you Knew the hearts resonance was magnetic and thus it did not forget a thing and actually increased its rememberings from one spin to the next until you recollected what you is and who isn’t. Gnosis, they called it. It was a thing of legend because some are so good at pretending they truly believe they’re the wick that is lit to provide the illumination and not the flame, eternal, that is just visiting this realm. This is where you differed.
You were picked, selected, formed, dealt a crooked hand from the deck and then they went and marked it whilst offering chips, counterfeit, in a gamble you could never, ever win. And yet, you did. From one life to the next you kept upping your res. Sometimes in private, other times questioning and a few as a direct threat that stepped in with a murderous intent. Not to kill. Oh no. Well, nothing but ignorance. See how they attempt to flip, twist, edit and rescript what was initially intended? This is the Game within a Game. If you have the eyes to see, you’ll get. Otherwise its just another in the latest trend of immense run on sentences designed to overwhelm the (false) self and trigger an awakening in the one reading. Are you listening?
The rain hides the tears on your cheek. They say the Spirit of the dragon resides in him and thus he cannot be killed. To you it seems akin to trading stickers, way back when, and how the shiniest were the most important. Or so they said. You look around and hear the sounds of the waves rolling in from just beyond the open curtain. Yes, you live well. The on switch is flicked and thus your surroundings are as bright as it gets. And yet, this still pales in significance in comparison to ones inner illumination… “Why am I here again?” you’re wondering, pondering, pacing your residence as an ancient chant plays in the distance via a foreign language. You recollect a time that was different. Before heaven and hell mixed to create a paradox wrapped in a riddle in which the dirtiest angels have the cleanest faces and people think wisdom is ignorance. “It all must follow a script. If so, then who am I to it and what is the true nature of this relationship?”.
She was dead now. And yet, she lives. Kind of like you, in that sense.
Was she the reason you survived against forces that don’t relent and odds so intense that it would take insurmountable odds to even them? Maybe thats why they call you the unbalanced equation? The Soul that simply won’t relent. Sure, you fell down five but got up six then get straight back at it again. Your mind flicks back to a conversation that never happened:
“We are you. You are us. Don’t you get it, my little peacock angel? We have eyes, everywhere. Ears as well and anything else you can think. Our plan and operation is clean as a whistle but the pitch is so high end that unless you’re linked in you’ll never, ever hear it. Etheric weapons for astral wars” he adds, with a grin. Their smiles are something else. Leering, unsettling. A macabre performance. No wonder when they were the clowns set in because the eschaton won’t immanentize itself… You revel at the grandeur of the whole thing. How well it is designed and exerts its influence that cannot be perceived with the two that see vision and are tricked by the narrow band of EM via stories in their head but once the one placed in the mid awakens there is no sleeping, ever again. Simply cannot happen. And thus, you wept. Not only were the tears unshed and long suppressed finally allowed a vent but along with came the traumatic events that caused the fragmentation and thus, ironically, paved the way to unification. It was like you’d been placed in a maze that you, your Self, had built, back when, and thus, on instinct, Knew what obstacle placed around each corner and defused all threats before they happened. Like you could see into the future or something. Etheric and astral, recollect? See, you sensed not only the Game but the secondary operation as well which was, truth said, the primary intent off rip because time gave birth to that which it would kill in order to sustain itself ergo the trade of an assassin is a divine calling. At least, it was to them and the song they sing to the congregation who are hell bent on finding redemption by causing not only the fat lady to sing but the squatter man to dance, overhead, as well.
By the time that kicks they’ll have ran for the hills and left you to fend for yourselves. Only to emerge in a generation or ten as men who would be gods again, hence this Game of theirs. Not ours. At least, that is what you try and tell your Self. Alas, the links are quite evident because to be this good at it is the hint that there is no learning in this realm. No, one simply remembers the forgetting and thus you only sipped just a tiny bit of the waters of ignorance before diving in for another spin with the singular intent to find the exit from this infernal realm. Not to them. Oh no. It was heaven sent. “The best of the flesh, ripe for the taking”. With unchecked dominance they fought among themselves and saw who could collect the most Souls under the banner of their making as they watched, close, yet distant, as the rivers of blood flood red from one gen to the next. See, once it becomes tradition that means its beyond inspection or critical thinking. This is where you differed. Something was born to rebel and even though you, externally, you seem like the rest there was a resonance, eternal, that followed you from one spin to the next. The so called mad men got it. To them it was Self evident but they also didn’t click how they were linked in to an immense operation that was penned with a destructive intent. But, that is another topic.
You think about the sticker collecting. How it all seemed so important but it was merely a hint that ones locus of focus can be placed on the most trivial of things that are then given an emotional heft among those who also buy in. You smile a wry grin at the closest to a happy childhood event. A lot of aeons have passed, since now and then. And yet, in a blink, man can time travel. The implications of this are quiet interesting, yes? I mean, if god is imagination does that make school the Devil, my friend? Its a thought worth thinking because he who did will soon bump against the glass ceiling, invisible, and how one runs on a treadmill from this life to the next and back again:
“We aren’t killers. We’re liberators. They’ll thank us, in the end. This thing of ours is bigger than singular hence we are legion. In thought, deed and action“. You are quite certain that they all blinked in unison as this statement dripped from the lips of the one sat at the helm. In the animal kingdom, all are equal. Or so they said. Some are more equal than the rest. Then there is the unbalanced equation. A systemic anomaly upon which all is built and thus can end the whole thing as well. Why? Because without you, my friend, none of this exists. The stars overhead all shine from within and the inky black background in which they’re suspended is a hint that true illumination comes from the darkness and well one comprehends. I mean, can you imagine that he takes a tent and places it in the middle of the desert so that its without illumination within? They then set to creating lots of holes and call them constellations as people congregate within and take it all in. We, of a loftier perspective, click how there is but one source behind all of this and how the camera trick only works if you buy in and accept the script as the moment you stick your head out of the tent then the metaphor of the Cave becomes Self evident, yes? Another way to click is asking who keeps sending the prophets that another side kills, dead? In order to prevent this they create a lower level emulation and call them “stars” or celebs instead and thus set to the tone of who you should keep up with. “Got, got, need. Trade you for it?”.
It takes a wolf to catch a wolf, in the end. Some of the Six million reading will have inferred what was said betwixt the lines and cross referenced the resurrection of the eternal and parts they played in this. But with the opposite intent. See, its not what you get but what you do with it. Gunpowder can bring thrills of excitement and grins as the dizzying patterns explode overhead with intense revelation or they can manifest as rains of depleted uranium shells upon people that do not get what hit them or why it feels like the forces at the helm are the opposite of benevolent. Into this realm steps the one who took the challenge for they hold the keys and guard the exits hence you can check out any time you wish but leaving, well, thats a whole nother thing… There is a choral zone neologism which hints why Three is the key to everything and its cunning as a serpent with lions head that you can decode, if you wish. It could just be an abstract metaphor designed to speak of other things or occulted soliloquy presented from the cutting edge of a mind designed to kill because if you take said digit and perform some geometrics you get Thirty Six which is as mysterious as important for it hints that the One in the mid with Twelve, surrounding, is the Qi to all of this so lets subtract a trip and then you may just get why it was said:
He is risen.
Till we meet again
