“Can you tell me how it is? How you would describe best?”.
“How it feels to be gangstalked?” she said as she took a draw from her cigarette and exhaled. “Well, its tiring. So tiring. The constant doors slamming that make you jump out of your skin, the furtive looks and comments from those you are certain are in on it but approaching them is pointless as they always deny it. The immense feeling of alienation and being persecuted by an all encompassing evil that is subtle as it is cruel and well knit. They can be anyone, anywhen. They pop up as they wish, mess around with my awareness and then leave me to pick up the pieces. Just when I feel like I’m getting stable something comes along like a whirlwind which totally discombobulates my awareness.
Its like being in hell with no chance of death and yet feeling totally scared to live. It seems like I’m being harvested for the lowest emotions – fear, dread and stress – and they scrape the bottom of the barrel and then relent to let it fill a tiny bit again. Sometimes they’re more creative, they’ll upend the whole thing and watch it drip. Others light a flame underneath, in my subconscious, and watch me squirm as the liquid evaporates. If there is a way to get ahead, best believe they’ll implement it. One of the latest tactics I’ve noticed is online bating in which they leave posts or comments in places I’ll visit on the web which are, seemingly, random but totally specific and, when read, I feel a very strange sensation within and this is often linked to elements of my subconscious or other things I’ve seen. Its so tiring”. She exhaled a ball of stress and stared at ceiling.
“In many ways it feels like I’m dealing with a feline awareness. A learning algorithm that uses feedback for progression to prevent stagnation“.
“What do you mean by this?” I asked as this wasn’t the first time I’d heard this mentioned by those who are going through the mill and dare not speak on it because if they do they’ll end up getting sectioned.
“Well, we used to have a kitten, back when. I really lxved it, even though it hated to cuddle and scratched me up something wicked. I totally doted on it. Mittens was her name but make no mistakes, this bish was ferocious!”. She laughed, mainly to herself, as she recollected the days of her life that weren’t total fragments stitched with dread into a partially coherent narrative that made no sense beyond the fact that she’d incarnated into her own personal hell as the devils plaything.
“One of the things I’ll never forget is the first time I saw her kill. She’d caught a mouse and was playing with it. Poor little thing was tiny and was scared to death and she was toying with it. She’d pick it up, throw it around, bat it again. Let it think it had escaped before cornering it. She kept on doing this and I was horrified and frozen. Looking back it felt like she had a hypnotic effect on my consciousness that filled me with foreboding. At one point she picked up the mouse as she moved in for the kill and, I swear, she looked at me as she did and I felt so threatened.
I know, it sounds ridiculous and easy to mark up to the overactive imagination of a kid but look at my life. Its a mess and the sensations from back then match. Identical. Thats why I’ve said its a feline type of consciousness as its not killing to get fed. My cat had more food than she could request and still had this wanton bloodlust that seemed like she reveled in it. At the time I wondered how something so nice and seemingly attractive could be totally different within. Very cold and calculating. You saw in what she did as the more she hunted the more proficient she’d get”. She started laughing before adding:
“Have you ever seen that Richard Pryor sketch where he talks about the time he went to the jungle and how the animals were talking and had their own thing? I really do suspect its like this but we’re just too dumb to get it. Most people, the normies or Slaves as you call them, are no threat and thus no sport so there is no point going after them. There was a mouse that did this once and got clean away. I could tell Mittens was so frustrated by what kicked that she ended up ripping a bird to shreds in a way that was so vicious afterwards as a way to get revenge. My parents started to ask why I was being so distant and I told them what happened. They replied “Nature is red in tooth and claw, get used to it” and went on to lecture how my room is such a mess and I should appreciate them by cleaning it and helping with the dishes and such things. You know, the usual BS.
For quite a while it felt like I was watching what was observing. Like she knew I knew the truth and reveled in being cruel with ever more blatant displays of death via the trophies she’d present as she sat there, cleaning herself. It was like loads of tiny threats hand delivered to my windowsill which is where she would often enter and exit the building. Always had a flair for the dramatic, that one. Anyway, enough of the reminisce. Based on my observations the predatory consciousness that runs this place is super feline in the sense that its the same thing as Mittens but on an absolutely immense scale. Working up this hypothesis its like how she could stalk the garden in search of prey and the squirrel was oblivious, the bird couldn’t care less and the mouse that was her target was nigh on ignorant until she leapt. Its the same thing with us, we who are targeted, and the rest. If you try and tell the squirrel he’ll think you’re off your head as it doesn’t match his experience at all. The bird may have seen but never truly noticed as they feel above a lot of this and know upon which side their bread is buttered. Good luck speaking to another mouse because, nine out of ten, when she sets her target she won’t rest till its dead. If it manages to survive then no one else can truly comprehend whats happened unless they too have been mangled”.
“Leaping in scale to the human Game, as I call it, it appears that mere death and suffering is too simple. The new and improved version is what you term gangstalking. Have you ever considered how, all across the planet, there are tales of human sacrifices and rituals quite strange and wicked to appease what, I’m wondering. Could it be this predatory consciousness that most pretend doesn’t exist that has now, like a cat, refined its ways of stalking and killing into bite sized portions of stress that allow the Victim just enough time to heal and rest before pouncing again in a never ending war of attrition against a select few that feel the depth of this strange and cruel intent that is apparently so powerful that it can act through various agents that may or may not be in on it.
There was a researcher, back when, who went against the grain of academics to talk about consciousness as the all of the everything and not a material side effect that needs the flesh to live. Of course his peers said he was an idiot and called his entire hypothesis ridiculous as it went against what was in their heads. To me it rang a lot of bells because, as you know well, I’ve developed my own frame of reference I call the Game of Souls in which 81% of the populace are so well plugged in, so hopelessly conditioned, that they think walking around wearing flesh upon a planet that floats in the abyss makes perfect sense and is not a totally ridiculous premise when examined. I mean, even the most wise scientist will attest that the arrangement of odds to manifest this realm are nigh on impossibly well balanced and yet will shrug their shoulders when asked “Who did it and to what end?” as they brush it off as coincidence. Same with philosophers, historians, psychologists and the rest. Pretty much anyone who has been processed by the System ends up unable to see the bigger pic”.
“Which is?”.
“Well, its obvious something built this realm and that its predicated on consciousness. Ours is currently linked to the flesh but this world didn’t create it but certainly shapes it. The hints, to me at least, are dreams because the you that lies in bed seeing technicolor visions in your head is using the same processes to manifest as the Slave nine to fiving before retiring for the night to wear VR specs and engage in simulated sex that neatly tricks his neurons into thinking its happening as they believe he’s won the race when, in effect, he hasn’t even taken a step beyond the psychosocial treadmill that is entirely invisible to his current state of Adulteration. Add in the fact that parasitism is the most popular lifestyle on Earth, our constant history of bloodshed, the truth that most folks are totally stressed and miserable along with countless other things and it seems there are layers and levels to this because the ones plugged in are being just as tormented as those claiming gangstalking but the delivery mechanism is more regimented and thus expected which means its never questioned”.
“Hmm” she said as she lit another cigarette. “That does make a lot of sense. So how the hell did you jet over the cuckoos nest and not get drawn into charlottes web of madness she elegantly spins and then sings “Come on in, come on in. You know I’ve been waiting…” with an evil grin to those who’ll listen. Have you ever read the text? she questioned.
“No, no I haven’t” I replied.
“Well, it was one of my favorites as a kid and, for some reason, your way of writing reminded me of it as there is a swinging pace, a rhythm, that underpins the text. I found it quite comforting and read everything. When you add in what you were talking about I felt “Here is someone who might get it” and then we met. Anyway, the book is about a girl that, like me, was raised on a farmstead. She gets a pig as a pet and nurtures it to full strength as it was originally scheduled for execution as it was the runt and not too big. She lavished affection on him and called him Wilbur. This stage of development lead to him being different to the rest who snubbed him when he grew and thus he developed a friendship with a spider instead that was called Charlotte. Wilbur starts to stress when he realizes he’s good as dead as the entire point of his life is to form a link in the food chain of sustenance for beings that are above him on the apex. The girl, Fern, at first listens to what they said but as she develops she finds better interests in this realm and leaves them to their own things.
Charlotte reasons that if Wilbur was famous they won’t kill him. Ironic, isn’t it, how we were subtly taught to worship celebs back then and now look at the world and see whats happening. She, using her equivalent of the internet, starts weaving words into its threads that cause the farm to get attention. People come to visit and Fern starts filling in her mother on whats happening. Of course she thinks shes off her head and needs some meds because everyone knows animals can’t communicate but, in her case, the Doc says leave her be as its probably for the best in the end she vents whatever is happening within“.
“Shades of “invisible friends”, yes?” I questioned. She nodded her head and made a note in the ever present pad in her grip before continuing:
“Anyway, Wilbur is entered in the county fair, wins a special prize and secures a reprieve from death that the rest of the animals will get in order to keep supply chains ticking across the planet. A hollow victory, in the grand scheme of things, but we all cherish our own flesh, yes? Charlotte is, by now, dying and glad she helped the pig to live via her encoded messages. Fern forgets all about them in her quest for a boyfriend and the spiders kids mostly run away to find new digs. A couple stay with him and keep him company. The end.
You know what” she says “Looking back on this text with an adult lens really makes me wonder if this all is scripted. There is so much symbolism in this that would go on to become important in my own existence. I mean, can you imagine the rest of the pigs thinking Wilbur was some type of schizophrenic if he mentioned they were being reared to be killed in order to feed so called superior beings? What of Kobe beef and the cows that create them who are massaged and treat with respect so their meat tastes the best? Battery and free range hens? Whats the difference between workers in cubicles and those with the corner office where daylight streams in?“.
“You see why I call them Slaves, yes? Its simply beyond their ken to comprehend the reality of what they’re in because the implications are horrifying even though the truth is Self evident. Have you ever looked into the daily toll of animal death across the planet to keep the humans all fed? Its immense”.
“One of the most interesting things in this conversation is something I’m sure you’ll find interesting is reffed in the Gnostic texts. They talk of a lion headed serpent who is the flawed, malevolent god of this realm. From their perspective this child of darkness was chaos incarnated and he created this realm for his own ends, among them worship and amusement because being alone and stuck in your own dimension can soon get boring, yes? I found an interesting link between what you shared from your imperience about a cold, calculating feline seeming consciousness that appears to be hunting and refining its process as it made me think of this legend and how it links in, quite well, with all the old rites of sacrifice mentioned as well as the modern world that was built on this foundations in which one “urns a living” aka cremates their potential and most are totally stressed and miserable. I suspect that 11% know the truth, they are, in effect, in on it and I’d guess a lot of what drives gangstalking Victims in the initial steps is the presence of these agents that are designed to prevent awakening by instigating a walking nightmare instead. After this the hooks are in and they pretty much keep it whirling themselves as they may see phantoms where there is nothing and, conversely, miss the signals that say a trap is about to spring.
My own Journey and adventure in the flesh plays a similar song but on a way higher octave so I can quite accurately claim that what they call schizophrenic is but a misfiring mystic and, in that sense, one who is gangstalked also contains the potential for illumination as I suspect there is a strongly spiritual aspect to this. A fake world hates the genuine for what it says about them and the tricks they accepted, without question, and now fete as traditions, sacrosanct. As I’ve previously mentioned I know well quite a few mental patients of extraordinarily high intelligence and during our candid conversations they have revealed their own revelations and a lot bare a common thread which begins and ends inside their heads which makes sense because consciousness is all there is. Its how you relate to it that makes all the difference. This, I suspect, is the difference between a madman and mystic hence why the former drowns whilst the latter is swimming”. Her eyes lit up for a moment and I could see the wheels turning, within.
“Imagine, for a moment, that Charlotte thought Wilbur comprehended their intent but the pig was stone deaf to the message. When he saw words written in web he felt like he was losing his head. This mixed in with his sense of apprehension and isolation from the rest lead to developing a totally paranoid mindset which, in one way, was absolutely correct (given the nature of his role) and in another grossly miscalculated to the presence of hormones of stress that build a perspective that misinterprets everything via his own skewed lens that is totally invisible – unless checked. Expand from this to the human realm and you’ll see the gods of old legend seem curiously unified in their traits and such things across vast chunks of the space time continuum and how, these days, everyone worships a screen which itself is a fractal image of the hexagon that spins on the South pole of Saturn. I know it can be a lot to take in which is why I use the metaphor of resolution, now and then, because if I beam a Four K image at one watching on twelve inch black and white analog set with one speaker busted and a whole load of static thrown in then its open to interpretation and what they pitch as a fever dream of reality based on the tell lie vision web that spins in their head is totally different to one who catches the flick via streaming on their phone with an attention span decimated and, once again, their interpretation will be missing loads of subtly and nuance as it was edited into a sixty second trip that forces a perspective. A few steps above and we may just get one sitting in a cinema taking it all in. They may decode what was presented but, in the end, it started as something far more simple and powerful. Do you know what this is?”.
She shook her head.
“Words on a page that a concept in someones head created. Like a runt who became a friend, before realizing the truth of the his predicament before being saved by a spiders weavings which, in the grand scheme of things, changed nothing overall but saved one pig at least. Now, if the rest were to listen they could generate an elevation in consciousness but obviously the farmer wouldn’t want this as he needs the animals to docily accept what they get and ask no questions. If they did attempt a rebellion best believe it would be squashed from within and its leaders discredited whilst they sent in the clowns to weave their own narrative and maybe provide some bread and circuses as well to keep things ticking as intended. The ones in danger of awakening would feel themselves under threat by something they can’t explain and point at it like its all around them. I guess what I’m saying is that I think you have a lot of the right pieces but I disagree with your arrangement. I built from the same set and created the Game of Souls hypothesis which I constantly reality test with not just those like you at the fringe and/or lost in the whirlwind but those who are plugged in but still capable of imaging and drawing links between a great many disparate things. The trick is to keep the required distance and not fall into the abyss as then you’ll bump your head on the turtles, present, when the aim is to ascend by spreading the wings of higher consciousness.
In my mind the best thing one can attempt is to do the Knowledge aka unlearning the BS in your head and becoming Centered in Self instead. Thats when one comprehends that whatever made this realm, sketched the performance and caused the perps to do this and the rest of the story telling actually takes place inside our awareness. Its a case of viewing with a distance and remaining unimpressed or falling in the sync and becoming the spin that is draining. To extend this, you can’t split the wave from the ocean but, in reality, it doesn’t exist, does it? And yet it does. Its simply a question of perspective, or resolution as I said, and that is, I believe, the difference between finding yourself in a mental asylum or reaching enlightenment“.
“You know what, you make a lot of sense. A lot of sense. So if I stop seeing my Self as the Victim I become the Opponent instead? That is easier said than done, I’ll have you know, but I’m starting to comprehend that a lot of this Thunking is simply a habit. My default programming. The question I’m now wondering is would my life have turned out like this if I wasn’t so enamored with Charlottes Web or was that, in and of itself, the message that conveyed immense hints about this realm in a way aimed at kids whose minds were too undeveloped to comprehend the depth of the message? Was that text the genesis of this? Meaning, if I hadn’t read it would I be different or the same but in a worse position?”. She paused and looked within but the answers were not forthcoming.
“I’ve spoken of this at length yet barely scratched the surface as a lot of entertainment actually is entertrainment in this realm. After all, a handful of studios all sing from the same hymn sheet and this is why we see occult messages hidden in motion picture images as well as nursery rhymes that belie the truth of all of this. Check:
Row, row, row your boat (made of flesh), gently down the stream (of consciousness). Merrily, merrily, merrily (for fear is false evidence appearing real), life is but a dream (within a dream)“.
“Wow. Wow. That it is. That it is. And a potential nightmare as well. So basically what you’re saying is one needs to become lucid whilst living in this realm in order to defeat the apparition that currently defines what it means to be human? I’ve never, ever thought of gangstalking like this. You make it sound like an invitation to awakening, like you relish the challenge of what they bring. I wish I had that type of confidence because, too often, I feel like that mouse, scared to death, whilst the cat played with it and used its eventual death as a source of amusement. Have you figured out yet what the hell we did to incarnate into this realm? Obviously your perspective of consciousness being everything assumes other realms from which we originate. Wait a minute, is this why you said we’re dead and here to serve a life sentence? Yes, that makes sense. What the hell, man? You’re like, busting my melon but this time I feel more optimistic as I think I’ll start looking from a distance instead of getting sucked in to the narrative they present. After all, if that flawed intellect you mentioned built this realm and dragged me in then I’m obviously more powerful than it which is why it sees my wisdom as a threat whose glow must be extinguished before it illuminates the whole planet about the nature of the web that life spins around this entire dimension where we’re harvested for our emotions, some in ways more intense than the rest, by a non corporeal intelligence that feels feral and cruel in its intent”.
“More or less, yes. The most interesting thing is that it wasn’t always like this but that, at the moment, is but a mere pencil sketch of higher realms from my latest leap in resolution. In that timeline your pet would have been as warm and lxving as you wished and not wantonly cruel and distant so it has me wondering about the depth of this illusion where black and white are fixed but the shades of gray in the mid may hold the way to emancipation”.
“Or an institution” she added, with a grin.
“How many people have flipped their lids trying to fit the ocean in a teacup, I’m wondering. What of the droves that are well adjusted to the programming which, in and of itself, showcases the intent of those at the helm in a world where rivers run red due to an endless stream of conflict? In that respect you can pick to either be well adjusted to mass social madness that you will never, ever question or go on your own private trip – like gangstalking, for example – that can either end with total freedom from this living hell or a face to face with the devil himself? In that respect, knowing this, what would you pick? Have you ever read the Bible?”.
“Yes, well I mean, no. I’m familiar with bits as it was impressed in when developing but all the times I tried to pray for deliverance didn’t change a thing so my faith waned in the end”. I went on to mention the topic of principalities and the evil therein which Jesus (aka Neo in the Matrix) was railing against with his message to uplift.
“Come to think of it, I do know that bit. At one point I’d had enough and ran for the hills and was moving from one hotel to the next. There was, as usual, a Bible in the room and when I flicked it to a random page it said “For we wrestle not against flesh or blood” and I just sat, frozen. Thing is there were no practical instructions on what to do next but the fact it was said by someone else felt intensely validating”. She laughed then said. “These odd little blips and syncs felt so strange, in retrospect, as there have been strange moments of deliverance that seemed to suggest that some type of benign influence doth protect. If only I could align my Self with it, Twenty Four/Seven”. I went on to sketch a brief outline of the Three Kingdoms and requested she close her eyes and imagine drifting into the private sun that shines, in darkness, over her head. When she linked with the wooshy tingles it presents as resonance her features, held in tension, habitual, started softening as her flowing subtle energetics lifted the corners of her lips a bit in what, I hoped, would become a grin.
“Wow. Is that god then?“.
“I don’t know but the fact that everyone, nutcase or straight head, gets the same reaction suggests its real and tangible and part of our natural equip. I posit that its our Prime state, our Inner Sense, that was ejected from the flesh (aka Eden) due to the life we lived and how reconnecting to it may just be the key to all of this”. Next I asked her to pretend the Self same thing was now present in the region of her solar plexus and abdomen. This she found more difficult and said she’d practice it before she left. I heard back from her since and she stated:
“You’re not going to believe this but the voices vanished! I felt an immense sense of solace and release for the first time in ages. Adding in the standing bit did the trick as I forced my Self to remain still and then the calm in the midst of maelstrom manifested. Ha! “Inner Sense”. Its so perfect. Got any more hints then? I’ve been a glutton for ignorant punishment that I meekly accepted and am now, instead, addicted to gnosis as its becoming evident that all of this is within and based on energetics we, as a race, no longer comprehend. Genius, sheer genius it is! I’ve been telling everyone about it but, oddly, they don’t give an F or see it as a curious blip then go straight back to doing what they did without the insight it presents. Why is this? The whole would will sit up and pay attention, its earthshaking”. I told her that this, I suspect, was due to the predator of consciousness that has its grip on their minds and thus protects its investment as, I guess, those who comprehend they aren’t what talks but that which listens present a threat hence the harrowing adventures that bought her to my corner of the web before we met. For the rest, still reading, I’ll let the old call to action ring as I sign off this article:
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
Till we meet again
