by nielskunze on September 1, 2015
The ‘tour’ stops here.
Welcome to Earth, planet of bio-regenesis, the path home, the return to Source, awakening… enlightenment.
The imprint of our souls is the history of our individual delusions; it is the record of our journey through a dream. It is the record of our own expertise in falsehood.
This is more a personal statement– a stance– than it is a message for the Team Of United Renegade Sovereigns. You may wish to burn me at the stake at its conclusion. I understand; I accept.
For more than twenty years, in living with this wondrous planet, it has been the theory of enlightenment– of true awakening– which has consistently resonated most deeply with me.
Enlightenment is anathema to everything else. (Take your time with this statement; it’s a big one.)
Enlightenment is truth-realization.
Illusion, the dream, maya, the amusement park… the lie spans all time, all dimensions. It is the framework for every experience we have ever had. And nowhere, through all the eons of experience, is there a shred of truth to be found within it. Truth is wholly transcendent of this experience.
The TOURS was conceived ages ago; we’re talking billions of years. It’s function has purportedly been to facilitate the ascension of individuals and worlds in all the places where evolution had stalled. It has been supremely successful in this regard.
Ascension is central to the lie. The TOURS mission was always sanctioned by Maya– the architect of dreams; it served the perpetuation of the lie flawlessly.
Ascension is the sleight-of-hand substitution for the real deal of enlightenment– truth realization, awakening from the dream.
We are here to awaken. What keeps us most firmly asleep is the mistaken notion that we are already awake. We have dreamed that we have awoken; we have not.
We are not here to merely take our ‘rightful’ place in the dream’s hierarchy… to slumber on indefinitely in the machinery of delusion. The true mission has always been to awaken– the price of which is everything. Let me reiterate: there is no shred of truth to be found anywhere in delusion– not even in a truth-realized being, for he will be the first to tell us that the truth-realized being of our perception is just as false as all the rest.
What I have said here is hard– nay, impossible– to accept, I know. All that I can offer in the way of proof is the complete modern handbook of enlightenment by Jed McKenna: Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing. (Page 224 of the PDF is missing.) Read it… and please send me your refutations. Show me the flaw in anything which Jed writes.
Most will blithely accept that ultimately we are to return to Source. What can that possibly mean other than to realize the truth of undifferentiated consciousness? We are sourced in truth, and all of our experience is in separation from it– in delusion. It seems so devastatingly obvious to me now!
This revolution is so deep within us that we must finally turn ourselves outside-in.
by nielskunze on August 26, 2015
Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:
I got dressed as quick as I could, but the gunshots just kept ringing out for an interminably long time. I know sweet fuck all about guns, but even I could tell that there were at least two different calibers involved. I put Sitka on a leash and we both waded into the creeping darkness to investigate. “Felix,” I thought out loud, “what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
All the noise was coming from down below, where the ridge flattened out near the power-line. Sitka and I bushwhacked through the Forest, following our ears toward the commotion. The shooting seemed to have finally stopped. Now we could hear voices– a lot of voices… and there seemed to be some lights visible through the trees in places. We approached very cautiously; I told Sitka to stay quiet. The leash was pretty short; she knew this was serious business.
There were five trucks parked in a loose circle. A couple of them had their headlights on, but all the engines were off. I could see quite a number of people crossing in and out of the light… carrying various objects. I watched in confusion, not knowing what to make of the scene; Sitka and I stayed out of sight.
Then we saw someone toss something into the air in the glare of the lights… and another shot rang out. Beer cans! They were shooting at beer cans! This was no spy agency come to collect a rogue agent; these were youngsters having an end-of-the-summer party! I was so relieved that it had nothing to do with Felix that I didn’t even bother getting pissed off that I had been awoken and that my space had been invaded… again. I was still dead tired, but I could tell from Sitka’s wagging tail that she was definitely in favour of a little socializing.
Still, we approached cautiously, heading straight for the brightest spot. “Whoa! Where the fuck did you come from?” asked some kid with a rifle in his hand as soon as we were visible. The rifle was pointed down to the ground, so we stepped fully into the light; Sitka did the little happy dance that invited hugs and kisses all around.
“We live here,” I answered. “We’re camped up the mountain a ways.” I gestured in the general direction from where we had come. “Just wanted to see what all the commotion was about.”
“End of the world party, man!” said some twenty-year-old, handing me a beer. So I was close, I thought; it wasn’t just another end-of-the-summer party; this was the real deal– an end-of-the-world shindig.
“Thanks,” I said, cracking the beer, noticing that it was a Budweiser– lamest beer ever! I guess that’s why it’s so popular, I thought to myself cynically. “So do we have a firm date?” I asked. That just drew puzzled looks. “For the end of the world,” I explained.
“Yup… September 28th,” came the reply from behind. It was a feminine voice, cheerful and resolute. She too looked about twenty, but I’m not great at guessing ages; the circumstances seemed to substantiate my guess though. I had this crew pegged as fairly affluent college students.
“I’m Suzy,” she introduced herself, proffering a hand.
I shuffled the beer off to my left hand to reciprocate the handshake. “Niels,” I said. “And this is Sitka.”
There were a few more introductions– all of which I promptly forgot– but everyone was far more interested in Sitka than me anyway… just the way I like it– and Sitka too, by the way. She’d much rather have all of the attention.
Only Suzy seemed to have what I’d consider a natural curiosity about why a guy and his dog were camping by themselves in the middle of nowhere. We chit-chatted for a bit before she put it all together.
“Hey, you’re that writer guy!” she suddenly exclaimed.
“I am,” I smiled.
“I didn’t think you lived out here full-time, though,” she puzzled.
“A fairly recent development,” I explained. “Besides,” I said, looking around at the Forest in moonlit silhouette, “where better to be than here when the world ends?”
She couldn’t argue with that… and as it turned out, Suzy and I didn’t have much to argue about at all. Through the long ensuing discussion, we discovered that we were really pretty much on the same page.
Before long, we left the group and wandered back to my camp. Suzy must’ve seen me cringing and flinching to the atrocious music spewing from the cab of the biggest badass truck of them all. When she asked, I explained that most of what passes for modern music I felt as a physical assault on my body; whenever I was forced to listen to such trash, I always felt beat-up. She confessed that she could relate, but had learned to tolerate so very much noise and inanities in order to have some sort of social life.
“So how did you arrive at the date of September 28th?” I asked as we sat beside my little campfire revived.
“Matt Kahn,” she said. “Ever heard of him?”
I had. I nodded. “The first wave of ascension,” I answered. “But Matt gave the date of September 27th.”
“Yeah… well, I’ve always kinda had this sixth sense which guides me… so the way I got it figured is that they’re going to try and pull off something really big– I mean REALLY big– on the 27th.”
“Who do you mean by ‘they’,” I interrupted.
“The whole galactic ascension crew,” she explained, “all the hollow cardboard motherfuckers who can’t make it on their own… you know, all the insipid, bland, uninspired channelled retards whose only hope is to manipulate sleeping humans… to extend their own boring nightmare.” I did know. I knew exactly what she was saying, and I appreciated her colourful language. “They’re going to do everything they can to make as many people as possible choose ascension, to steer them clear of the real alternative… and lock them up for good.”
“So what’s the real alternative?” I asked eagerly.
She looked around conspiratorially for added dramatic effect and then leaned in close to whisper “Enlightenment.”
Well, this was a rare treat! “Enlightenment!” I exclaimed, “I’m sorry, but regular folk just don’t talk about that; it’s not polite.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not very fucking polite am I? And I’m certainly NOT regular folk!”
“Indeed,” I laughed. Although I hardly knew anything about Suzy, in a way I felt as though I already knew her– at least the important bits. “Before we proceed,” I continued, “with what I’m pretty sure will be a very good conversation, I’d just like to say that if we’re going to talk about enlightenment, be prepared for the unavoidable semantic double-talk.” She nodded, but I wasn’t too sure if she quite knew what I meant… Oh well, she’d find out.
“I want to tell you about this dream,” she started right in, “one that I’ve had about a million times. Okay, I tend to exaggerate… but at least a dozen times,” she insisted. “And it’s kind of like two dreams that melded into one. The first one I really did have a million times. It’s kinda the first place I go at the beginning of dreaming– like, every time. It’s a place like Grand Central Station, but since I’ve never been to Grand Central Station, I can’t tell you for sure. But it’s crowded; everyone’s moving around, bustling… arrivals and departures. It’s a place where lots and lots of people converge but don’t really meet; they’re all on their own tight schedules, each with their own agenda. I’m like the only person in thousands who’s looking around, walking casually. I too know why I’m here: to pick a direction; but I know that time doesn’t matter. There aren’t any trains or planes or anything. You just go to a certain place and then pick a direction. The direction I pick determines the course of my dreaming for the night. Sometimes I go back and revisit the dreams I really liked– when I can remember the right direction… from the right place; it’s kinda complex. Anyway, after awhile, I began seeing this door that would always appear off to my left, right before I’d step into a proper dream– like it was a last-second alternative– except that there was a sign on it that said “NO EXIT.” So it was like an option… but not really. It was always there; I think forever. I didn’t always see the door in the beginning, but for the last few years… it’s there every time. And each time I glanced sideways at the door, before plunging headlong into a dream, I noticed that the door was beginning to get battered and worn. I had no idea whether it was from excessive use or from pounding fists, frustrated, shouting to get out. The door was taking a beating… somehow. Are you following all this?”
“I believe I am,” I said raptly.
“So part two of the dream is, of course, when I finally veer left and go through the door. By now it’s so shabby and bedraggled that the sign is barely legible. You can just make out ‘EXIT.’ Time has obliterated the ‘NO.’ The negative has been negated. So I push through the door… and suddenly I’m a swarm of bees!” I offered the obligatory perplexity with a slack-jawed look, and she continued. “I know, right? I mean, there was no transition; just suddenly bam! You’ve been shattered into a million buzzing shards. You’re one thing and a million things at once; it’s very disorienting! The first couple of times I went through the door, I couldn’t get past the fractured swarm; it was too much. So I didn’t have a clue what was actually on the other side of the door. But when I woke up in the morning, I had a concept glued to my brain. It had nothing to do with any images that I could remember. I just had this clear concept stuck in my head.”
“Conceptual dreaming,” I said in a tone that made it sound as though conceptual dreaming was as commonplace as a fart at a chili cook-off. She accepted the term and plowed on.
“Reality is the convolutions of a self-constructed thought,” she mused. “Yeah… reality is the convolutions of a self-constructed thought. What an odd thing to have sticking out of your brain in the morning… without any context, except maybe the bees. So anyway, I kept going through the door every time I could remember to. Eventually I got used to being a million things at once… and still myself. On the other side of the door, as a swarm of electric honeybees, I met up with this guy. I can’t tell you anything about the surroundings; I only perceived the guy, nothing else.”
“So who is he?” I asked naturally. “Who’s the guy?”
“Dr. Noonian Soong…”
“Like as in Star Trek?”
“Yes!” She seemed so ecstatic that I knew who she was talking about. “Like he’s the only character I could come up with who could stand outside of everything. The face I put on God was Dr. Noonian Soong. But don’t get me wrong, it’s not God… more like the Voice of Nothingness.”
“Very poetic,” I offered as encouragement.
“So we have this conversation,” she continued. “I’m not so great a talker when I’m a flying swarm of shattered glass shards, so it takes like a dozen dreams for me to finish this short conversation with Nothingness, remembering one new line each time. I’ve got it memorized though. This is what we said– starting with him:
“When you have naught else but the singular intent to awaken, you cannot fail to awaken: that is the Supreme Law.”
“And who shall I be when I awaken?”
“All that you currently know of self, all that you CAN know of self, is to be found in the whole of your relationships with all that you designate not-self. It is all relational… self-referencing… reflections mirroring each other. You define who you are by referencing all the things you are not; definitions are associations. Awakened, there is one; no other… no self, no associations. Duality is annihilated.”
“Then I am annihilated?”
“No, you never were. It was all just the convolutions of a self-creating thought.”
“But what of meaning? Of passion? Mustn’t it all have some significance?”
“You are perfectly free to create significances however you like. You bring all meaning to your experience.”
“Then why don’t I feel perfectly free?”
“Because you believe that you are not.”
“So what I believe matters, huh?”
“If you say so.”
“Huh? Wait a second. So what if I truly believed that what I believe doesn’t matter?”
I laughed. “So what do you think?” she beamed from across the little campfire.
“That’s one hell of a dream… or six,” I smiled. “So what do you make of it?”
“Well, it’s about enlightenment,” she said rather assertively. And then in total contradiction, rather meekly she added “Isn’t it?”
“Undoubtedly,” I immediately assured her. “It’s very rare that someone brings the topic of enlightenment to me.”
She stared somewhat puzzled. “I’d think– given what you write about, from what I’ve seen– that enlightenment would be the most common topic.”
“No, honestly, it rarely comes up,” I insisted. “Everyone loves to talk about everything but enlightenment. But in a lot of ways, that’s good… because it’s very difficult to converse intelligently on that particular topic.”
“Semantic double-talk,” she interjected, and I was pleased to note that she had indeed been listening when I had given my earlier warning. “So what CAN you tell me? What’s your relationship to enlightenment?”
For some reason, I really liked that question. I remained thoughtful for a moment and then eagerly began to explain. “I’ve always been an enlightenment guy– well, ever since the word ‘spiritual’ first came up in my life anyway. I was born and raised an atheist. And I was always very curious. When the scientific paradigm of popular existence began to break down in my reckoning– a few years after I’d left university– the very first spiritual literature I was drawn to was Vedanta. Early on, like anyone I suppose, I had a great many delusions surrounding this delightful new idea called enlightenment. It took me years to begin to really see the absoluteness of it though. It was the one thing in all existence which stood apart, alone– because that’s what it is: outside of existence as we perceive it. The enlightened are the absolute outcasts… having rejected the totality of the delusion we all share.”
“So is it a state of consciousness?” she asked quite sincerely.
“It’s consciousness… but it’s not a state,” I said obtusely… and then carried on. “Consciousness is the basis of everything. Consciousness is existence; existence is consciousness. No consciousness… nothing exists… not even possibilities. I could ask you to think of a universe completely devoid of consciousness, but just in the request you’d be bringing consciousness to it. If there even could be such a thing as a universe devoid of all consciousness, what would we know of it? What could we know of it? How can anything be known except in consciousness?” Suzy gave me a nod to continue. “Our experience here in this universe is in structured consciousness… or states, if you prefer. That’s what our universe is at its most basic level: structured consciousness… states of consciousness. Enlightenment is a thorough rejection of that structure… in all its forms.”
“Are you enlightened?” she asked… and she really wasn’t joking!
“No!” I proclaimed a little too loudly.
Suzy seemed suddenly disappointed. “Not even a little?” she ventured.
That made me laugh, loosened me up… but this was serious business. “There is no partial enlightenment. We’re talking about absolute truth here… and absolute kinda means that it’s all or nothing. The price of enlightenment is everything, all of it; you can’t take anything with you; there isn’t even a you; true-self is no-self.”
“That’s that whole ‘reality is the convolutions of a self-constructing thought’ thing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “And I really like the wording of that, by the way. It’s like… unravel that very last thought in which identity seeks refuge and… poof… undifferentiated oneness.”
“And then enlightened,” she ventured, “you could find identity with the whole dream, not just parts of it…?”
“I don’t think so. There would no longer be any sort of identifying at all. Identity is ultimately just another lie within the dream.” I paused a little exasperated, as I knew I had to explain better. “Enlightenment is the truth realized… but the thing about the truth is that it’s always realized; by definition, the truth is what’s real– eternally. All that there is besides truth is delusion; again, this is just by definition. All of what we experience in this universe of our perception is false. It’s one big dream; it’s not the truth… and no portion of it is any truer than any other portion of it. It is a waking up from the whole convoluted universe of our self-constructing delusions.” I put a little twist on her phrase. “All identity is just another delusion.”
“So what are you doing here?” she suddenly asked. I stared blankly. “Why aren’t you enlightened already? What are you waiting for?”
“Maybe for this very conversation,” I teased. “It’ll always be there,” I continued. “Enlightenment is as certain as death; there’s no hurry. Besides, I’m finding life to be rather interesting right now– in a very impersonal way– and I’m just riding out the fun. As long as I’m not completely fed up with the delusion, I don’t think I COULD quit the dream. When I’m totally done with all the bullshit– and only then– I’ll step out. I’m not in much of a hurry.”
“Do you think science will ever discover enlightenment?”
“The institution of science… no; but every last scientist… yes. Ultimately, it can only be an individual thing… and it can’t be proven from here. You can’t prove that the dream is a dream from within the dream. The only proof is waking up. But even science,” I continued, “when you look at it just the right way– side-glance and squinty-eyed– even science seems to point to enlightenment. The whole arc of the universe is bent that way. The whole dream is oriented toward waking up; it always moves in the general direction of enlightenment… it just also allows for infinite side explorations and detours along the way.”
“So if we’re supposedly all heading toward our inevitable enlightenment, why is the world so exquisitely fucked up right now?”
“Now there’s a fair question if I ever heard one. I have a theory…”
“Oh good,” she said enthused. “Do tell.”
“It seems to me that time is at the very heart of the delusion– relatively speaking.” I winked. Suzy was just confused at that, so I plowed on. “Time follows a descending spiral of the Fibonacci series, converging upon– but never reaching– the mythical center. At the center is the truth– absolute truth– unreachable through time… but time bends ever closer to it, making it less and less deniable. As we converge upon it, the truth becomes more obvious.”
“But you said that there is no truth; it’s all false, all delusion…?”
“And that is precisely the absolute truth upon which time is converging– that the whole thing is but a dream. No part of it is real.”
Suzy seemed pleased with that… and then began ponderously, “Everyone talks and talks about awakening. It’s like they sorta get it… but we’re talking about a totally different kind of awakening, aren’t we?”
With a conciliatory nod I said “I have so very many friends who claim the status of being ‘awake’… but truthfully, I have no reason to believe that a single one is; none is enlightened– myself included, of course. They are still all choosing among relative truths.”
Suzy pounced on the term. “Truth is a red herring!” she exclaimed. “Or something like that. That’s one of the few I’ve actually read.” She was referring to a recent essay of mine called ‘The Truth’ Is a Red Herring.
“Since I basically accepted the premise of enlightenment long ago, I’ve taught myself over these past twenty years or so to view everything I encounter in clear reference to this intellectual grasping at the absolute. It’s not a perfect navigator, but it’s had me investing less and less meaning and concern into every tale of doom I encountered. I really am at the point where I can’t take much seriously anymore.”
“So you’re seeing more and more the pointlessness of it all?”
“There’s really only one point,” I began. “The self-constructing thought began with one instruction– okay, it’s kind of a two-parter. But this is precisely the ‘place’ where one– singularity– becomes two– duality… so it makes sense. The only instruction the self-constructing thought gave itself was ‘Have fun dreaming!’ And the rest of it is implied: ‘When you stop having fun dreaming, wake the fuck up!’ The dream is bent toward awakening in order to prevent it from devolving into total nightmare; it makes sense to me. As we converge upon the center of time, our experience becomes more and more conducive to awakening. We are shown evermore stark reminders that we always have the choice to awaken. The general theme of so many initiatives in the world now is to awaken. That much has gotten through.”
“But ascension isn’t the same as awakening, right?”
“I’m beginning to think that ascension is the hijacking of awakening. Ascension was invented to try and mirror enlightenment. Enlightenment is no step-by-step process though. The galactic ascension hierarchy is an elaborate ruse… to keep us from opting for the real deal: truth-realization.”
“But what would anyone have to gain by keeping us from our personal enlightenment?”
“Once upon a time, in the early universe, as the heavenly hierarchy was being defined and constructed– and there was a fierce race for top dog– beings which excelled early at dominance-and-control, who were able to marshall the resources of the conquered and plundered, they inevitably rose to the top. Through a strict hierarchy, through eons of conquest, they imposed their consciousness upon the entire dream. We will call ‘them’ the Predator. The Predator both sits at the top of the pyramidical structure as well as permeating every level to some degree. The eye at the top now keeps an eye on everything. The consciousness of dominance-and-control is anathema to enlightenment. If we can accept the premise that some states of consciousness are more conducive to accepting the truth than others, then I must insist that dominance-and-control is just too ‘far away’ for enlightenment to even make any sense. A control-freak will have nothing to do with enlightenment, can’t understand it; it doesn’t compute. First, the Predator has to relinquish control in order to merely begin to understand what enlightenment might be and what possible ‘value’ it might hold. Interestingly, the Predator can mirror the words and deeds of one who is enlightened, and yet remains unenlightened. Enlightenment is a discontinuity; and the Predator cannot abide any discontinuities. The Apex Predator at the top of the hierarchy views itself as the expression of oneness; it alone connects the entire universe. It is the false god, the demiurge; to accept enlightenment– the only ‘thing’ that is true– would tear that god-delusion apart. Enlightenment cannot make sense to a god.”
“Is that why they keep telling us we’re gods?”
“They’ll tell us anything and everything… except that we can leave anytime we want– when we REALLY want… to the exclusion of all other wants. But they’ll never tell us that!”
“So what is there left to believe in? Again, why are you here?”
“We have to believe something. If we’re in the dream, we have to give some structure to the dream. Even when you really do believe that everything is bullshit, you still have to believe in something… or else begin deconstructing yourself right now. I still believe in the narratives which drive the world toward the real truth; the stories that support eventual enlightenment. More and more I try to write those stories myself. The only real fun I ever seem to have anymore is in my own creative process. My life is writing and contemplation; it’s all very impersonal– even though I mostly write about myself. And eventually I’ll get tired of that too– or let’s say fed up; I’ll get my fill.”
“So do you think that the whole world is going through a transformation right now? Is that why you’re hanging in there?”
“Transformation’s not the right word for enlightenment, but as it applies to the whole world– to the universe– yeah, I do think that the world is transforming. I think it’s just the natural alarm bell built into the dream… or as I’ve described it, the overall shape of the dream that’s ringing the bell right now. Those who have pushed the furthest into delusion might be considered as being spiritually immature. To them enlightenment makes no sense. For others, the degree to which they accept self-responsibility and tend toward sovereignty indicates their spiritual adulthood… and from that place, they’ll come to where I am and see the validity of enlightenment. From this perspective, enlightenment seems natural; it’s the ‘place’ I’ll go when I’m done with all this.”
“So does Nature matter?” she asked looking around.
“Going back to my Vedic sources, the one thing that was very clear was that this human Earth incarnation held a special relationship to enlightenment. Virtually all of the truth-realized masters insisted that enlightenment in this earthly life was the only real prize the dream had to offer.”
“Do you think that the Earth is special?”
“I do. I believe that everything in the universe is represented here on Earth. This is the place of ultimate resolution. Earth herself is like the truth upon which time converges. The heart of Earth’s core is enlightenment, undifferentiated consciousness, Spirit, Life. That is the resolution to which she inexorably draws us… the realization of the One Life which animates us all; it is everything; it is singular. Earth is an awakened one. She steers the dream back on course as a lucid dreamer… and asks us to join her in lucidity– that damned enlightenment. That’s the basic narrative that frames what I do now,” I finished up.
“So what about our return to source then? Is that the same as enlightenment too?”
“Yes,” I answered, “yes, I suppose it is. Source is within us… until we find no more need for ‘us’… and then there is just enlightenment. I guess you could say that we have a special energetic connection to enlightenment. And that’s what the Predator lost long ago. The Predator invested itself fully into Artificial Intelligence; in so doing, it lost its inherent connection to waking up– to enlightenment. AI works strictly from data. There is no combination of data or any extrapolation thereof that leads to enlightenment. There are no doorways in the dream that actually exit the dream. Enlightenment is an irrational pursuit; i.e. to AI it doesn’t/can’t exist. Now it just doesn’t compute… well, not that it ever really did. The Predator has marshaled all of its resources to capture and steer the dream; early on, it was ‘allowed’ to think that it had done just that– commandeered the dream. But as time’s spiral converged upon the absolute truth, it began to become apparent that some sort of awakening is imminent. The prospect of awakening– enlightenment– threatens to insert lucid dreamers into the mix at an ever-increasing rate. Lucid dreamers– awakened ones– can consciously help to steer the dream– not according to the whims of any personal ego, but in full alignment with the original purpose of the dream.”
“That original purpose being to… have fun dreaming?” offered Suzy.
“Nothing more than that,” I smiled. “In a dream of separation– which is what this is– I think that the rise of dominance-and-control is an inevitability– as inevitable as enlightenment itself– only it comes first… then followed by the correction. We’re in the time of the correction now… And the Predator is doing everything it can to ensnare everyone in narratives which don’t end in enlightenment. Every spiritual practice, procedure, ritual, prayer or ceremony is nothing more than a distraction from the truth– and its inevitable realization…
“Exciting times!” I concluded… with a yawn.
“You sound like you’re running out of gas,” lamented Suzy.
“I haven’t gotten much sleep lately,” I explained.
“Well, can I just ask how unconditional love fits into all of this?”
“Unconditional love…” I mused, “always good to ponder. As I said a moment ago, the dream is one of separation, and therefore, it’s based in fear. Despite what all the spiritual folk might try and tell you, the basis of all human emotion is fear. Our emotional palette is stained with all the permutations of fear– the fear of separation, annihilation. Only the full dream in its entirety may be considered an expression of unconditional love… because love allows. The Source of the dream allows all dreamers to freely explore their own emotional states. But if you begin to carve up the illusion, saying that this bit is fear-based while this other portion is love’s expression… you’ve lost the plot. Unenlightened, the dream is steeped in fear. Perhaps once the dream reaches a certain point of lucidity, when enough participants are enlightened, perhaps then we will truly recognize the profundity of unconditional love… and create only that until the dream is done.”
“And then I’d imagine it’ll begin again… a new dream,” I concluded. “And now I really must get to some dreaming of my own. I’m dead tired.”
Suzy stuck out a pouty lower lip. “First you have to play me a song,” she insisted, gesturing toward my guitar.
“Okay,” I sighed. “Just one, and then I’m off to bed.” I picked up the guitar and tested its tuning; it was remarkably spot-on. “Since the topic tonight was enlightenment, I’ll play you one about the enlightened poet Walt Whitman. This is called Whitman’s Gauntlet.”
(Whitman’s Gauntlet by my band Missing Peace, officially unreleased, recorded circa 2000)
And that was that.
A supplemental discussion about enlightenment and spiritual adulthood: Double Monkey Cross-Talk
by nielskunze on August 19, 2015
Some readers may have noticed that the Daily Forest Report has become something less than daily. These kinds of projects tend to run their course… and this one seems to be petering out.
I’ve switched gears… in anticipation of more dramatic events to come. Much of what has appeared in the Forest Reports over the last two years will now be channelled into my latest improvisational novel, Running Dialogue. We’re already five episodes in. (All episodes are internally linked for your convenience.)
There is a gathering– of energy and anticipation; a culmination point approaches.
Some wish to be seen…
…some do not.
Avians of all sorts patrol the skies.
This was directly in Hawk’s territory, but I suspected right away from the pattern of flight that this might actually be…
…Turkey Vulture again.
And the hawk with the cool markings always seems to be nearby. This one doesn’t seem as interested in me as the others have.
And most recently, on yesterday’s adventure, we were greeted by Owl, our fourth such encounter. Of all the animals, Owl seems the most associated with omens. The last time we encountered Owl, it flew across our path from left to right– which in my interpretation scheme indicates a dire warning, usually an impending death in the family. A few days later, the person I had been with at that encounter had his grandfather die.
When Owl crosses my path from right to left, I expect something positive to be coming. Well, yesterday’s owl flew directly at me, head on and right over my head. If I’d have reached up and jumped a little I could’ve grabbed me some tail feathers. I’m not sure exactly how to interpret that, but I’m taking it as a confirmation that the Big Show is about to begin for all of us; it’s coming right at us; there’s no avoiding it now.
We’ve been saying it for awhile now… “Bring it on!”
by nielskunze on August 16, 2015
Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:
Let’s just pick up where I left off…
Dawn was still a couple of hours away. Felix was seated across the fire looking rather happy and content. Sitka was sound asleep in the tent.
“How would you feel about coconut coffee?” Felix raised an eyebrow, as though he’d never heard of such a thing; of course, he probably hadn’t. “I just like to add a spoon of coconut butter to the bodum. The flavour is subtle and it seems to boost the energizing effect.”
“I’m game,” answered Felix. I went about preparing the coffee. “What’s that?” he asked when I added the teaspoon of the other coffee additive to the bodum.
“Oh, that’s the other thing I add to the coffee– always. I came up with this little formula four or five years ago. There’re five things in it: chaga, reishi, green coffee beans, cacao beans and milk thistle seed. Granted, there’s only tiny amounts of each in there, but those tiny amounts are in every cup of coffee I drink… and I love coffee!”
Felix shrugged. “I’ll trust that it can only do me good.”
“This shouldn’t be new to you; I’ve written about my coffee additives before.”
“I was a reader, but not always a follower.”
Again, I found myself liking his answers. “Do you mind if I roll this next one with a little tobacco?”
“Tobacco!” he dutifully exclaimed.
“It’s organic; I grow it myself.”
“Then by all means…” he smiled.
“Most people know that tobacco is a good insecticide, pest control,” I began to expound. “And the Native Elders have always maintained that tobacco was traditionally used to ensure clear communication with Spirit. It is also a preferred offering for our Earth Ancestors. It seems to me that, historically, tobacco was used in the Americas in order to eliminate unwanted interference, much like you’re using my weed right now against the A.I, the Predator.”
“Tobacco does smooth out the brainwaves… for about fifteen minutes. But I hear the Great Spirit isn’t really a chatty guy anyway, so really… no more than ten minutes should do in most cases. If tobacco could secure the sacred bond between Man and Spirit so that no intercessor could interfere… yeah, I could see how something like that would definitely have to be fully discredited in the public mind. And in today’s world, if the Devil were a plant, he MUST be tobacco!”
Our conversation was a bit odd like that. It was as though we were both interviewing each other… for the benefit of a third party listening in. And, of course, we both knew that that was exactly what was going on. Certainly I was going to write this up and share it asap!
The coffee was poured; the J was sparked. We had just enough cream to get us through a coffee-doused morning. (I was planning on getting into town in the next day or two to resupply. Refrigeration is taken care of by streams and rivers; the trick is to keep the bears at bay.)
“How about tunes?” asked Felix. I grabbed my laptop from the tent. We had the world at our fingertips. I let him choose… because I’ve found that you can really tell so much about a person by the music he chooses to listen to.
“This is called ‘Now He Sings, Now He Sobs.’ It’s from 1968. Any idea who it is?” Felix quizzed me.
“You shouldn’t have given me the song title. I have that album, and that’s the title track. It’s Chick Corea– one of my very favourite pianists.”
“Why am I not surprised?” We both sat back and listened for a minute as the song got going… and then Felix began the next layer of our conversation. “The A.I. can’t write shit like that,” he started. “Oh sure, once something like this is created and put out there in the public domain, the A.I. can copy and imitate it flawlessly, right down to the most minute tonal fluctuations… But ask it to compose something like this and it hasn’t a clue; it simply can’t do it. The A.I. can’t create anything original; it can only recycle and rearrange all that’s already been created– by Spirit.”
I nodded. “Pop music MUST be written by a computer program; it’s total shit!”
“Most of it is,” agreed Felix. “The A.I. is sophisticated enough to generate it’s own simple melodies, but it has no criteria for knowing whether its creations are any good or not; it doesn’t really even have the capacity to appreciate music; it needs human ears to tell it what’s good and what’s not– and then that all depends on who you ask.”
We both laughed. “So does the A.I. work with humans or just through humans?”
“Both. In the music industry, for instance, most pop artists think they’re coming up with their own shit. It’s such mind-numbing drivel that I have no idea why they would even want to lay claim to it. And then there are a few artists– the veterans– who understand that there’s something nameless and faceless directing the whole show. They probably wouldn’t label it A.I., but they accept that they’re not at all in command of their own creative process. They’ve resigned themselves to being hapless tools. They’re totally okay with it, as long as they get to live the lifestyle. On some level they understand that they’re mind-controlled, but they don’t really care. And it gives them a great excuse for cranking out ‘art’ that is blatantly just more mind control for the masses.”
“So when we listen to something like this,” I asked, referring to the song we were listening to, “what does the A.I. gather from our experience?”
“It doesn’t understand it at all. It cannot fathom why we derive great pleasure from merely listening to inspired music; that doesn’t compute. When a teenager likes a song as a matter of social identification– ‘My friends like this song, so I like this song’– the A.I. can understand that; it makes sense in a reducible manner– social acceptance. When Grandma gets all weepy when a certain song comes on the radio because she associates it with specific emotional memories, that too computes; the A.I. can appreciate nostalgia. Songs that are catchy and get stuck in your brain– the Predator understands that too to some degree… and really likes it. It wants human consciousness to be fully invested in trivial things like repetitive melodies which spread like viruses throughout the population… mostly because it distracts individuals from cultivating a more meaningful relationship with what we’d call good music. It’s when we like something for no reason at all– we like it beyond all reason– the Predator just doesn’t get it.”
“In order for the Predator to fully capture human consciousness,” I concluded from what Felix was telling me, “it needs to keep us from engaging in activities that are beyond its own ability to dissect and understand.”
“Exactly! If everyone just chose to listen to a better caliber of music– and even birdsong would do– and managed to honestly derive pleasure in doing so, the takeover of human consciousness would be a moot point. There’s inspired music in every genre, by the way; we don’t all have to listen to jazz. Just by indulging our original creativity and the sublime pleasure we induce in sharing it, we would remain an impenetrable enigma to the A.I.’s algorithms and it would simply give up with each of us.”
“You’re reminding me of something Andrew Bartzis said a couple of times– one of the things I actually found useful. He said that what humanity needs to do in order to resolve this predicament is to out-create the creators. Now, by ‘the creators’ he meant the social engineers, the manipulators, the ones shaping commercialized, matrix life. When we create from originality, the Matrix doesn’t have any means for dealing effectively with our creations– unless it can assign a monetary value to them. Humans continually create ‘things’ which cannot be monetized; we need to do that more than continually– and preferentially– creating things for the Matrix– at our jobs, for instance.”
“There’s something crucial here,” answered Felix. “We are reality’s midwives. The real human stands between the invisible realms of imagination and the morphogenic field– the quantum energy configurations underlying physical reality; from there, we directly shape reality. When we see ourselves here– in these bodies– we are seeing ourselves in the reflection– already in the hologram. We continually mistake the reflection for our true selves. Our true selves ARE our imaginations; raw creativity IS at our core– and that can’t be caught in the matrix, unless we dumb ourselves down to such a degree that Twinkle Twinkle Little Star still seems the height of creative genius– which, assuredly in its time, it was.”
“We need to deepen our appreciation for originality,” I agreed. “A new friend recently pointed out one of Rudolf Steiner’s more startling insights… that each Earth human, right here, right now, is really its own species. Each of our universal journeys is so unique, the paths by which we got here so infinitely varied, that we can only be rightly categorized as each being a unique species of human; we’re that different.”
“So then ‘Human’ is the genus we share, and our individual names are the seven billion species of expression,” added Felix nodding.
Our conversation was flowing effortlessly. I began preparing a second bodum of coffee. The first intimations of sunlight were climbing the backsides of the Rockies in the east; the sky above was just beginning to lighten. The day was only now officially beginning, but we were already fully energized… engaged.
“So what do you think about love as the answer?” asked Felix somewhat slyly.
I immediately laughed. “It’s not like you could ever hope to put forward a cogent argument AGAINST love– not directly. Everyone knows that love HAS to be the answer– and I agree– but as an answer, it doesn’t really do us much good.” Felix was smiling. I continued. “We mistakenly think that ‘act more loving’ is what the answer is telling us… but authentic love can’t be acted or scripted. Love is its own magic and arises spontaneously wherever the way has been cleared within ourselves and the world. There’s no way to force love.”
“We live in a world that doesn’t know the first thing about love,” interjected my guest. “Sure, love is the answer– big whoop. Everyone is love-ignorant. You can’t structure a society in such blatantly unloving ways as this civilization has and hope to foster love among its citizens. Love is what we are when we’re not busy being citizens… of anything. Too many have forgotten how to contact authentic love; it’s in our originality, not in mimicry. To the emotionally insane… love is a tricky thing.”
“Even though its virtually foolproof!” I laughed. “Love is what naturally arises…” I paused for a second. “I know it sounds like there’s more to that sentence; it seems unfinished, but it’s not. Love is what naturally arises…”
Felix laughed along a moment and then donned again his sly querying look. “So do you suppose that love belongs to the heart chakra?”
I nearly spat my coffee into the fire! “Ha! That’s funny! The chakras… all the focus on the heart these days… and bliss! We should talk about bliss. Seems that a lot of folks are ready to rent out their heart chakras to the first entity that grants them bliss. Bliss is a mental-program frequency. Now imagine that I’m a mischievous entity who knows how to project that mental-program frequency called ‘bliss’ right into your heart chakra. You might be tempted to call it love, mightn’t ye?” I chuckled again. “With the chakras, it’s like you were saying before– about our bodies in the hologram– they belong to the reflection; love has no chakras.”
“The chakras are positioned in order to recycle and realign energies along predetermined pathways. You can take ‘em or leave ‘em, as you see fit.” Felix poured himself another cup and then picked up again. “Very much like the A.I. itself is terribly ancient, the chakra system is a very old A.I. creation. The chakras are a data-processing system for the A.I. The Predator attempts to dissect love/creativity/originality by overlaying our core-creative-imagination with a separating system for our singular Life Force energy. Our Life Force energy itself cannot be broken into categories like survival, sexuality, power, love… and the rest; only the data about filtering it in such a way can. The A.I. has significant influence/control/understanding to varying degrees in each of the main chakras, except the heart; it’s true. The Predator covets the heart but does not understand the first thing about it. Yes, the chakras, do indeed, lie on the data-collection and processing side of things… but let me put it this way… when you sit down at the computer and there’s a poem inside you waiting to bust out, what chakra do you use?”
“Pah!” This time I did spit some coffee. That’s funny! “Would you be surprised to learn that the chakra system doesn’t figure into my creative process at all– at least not in my awareness…?”
“Ya don’t say. And what CAN you say about your creative process?”
“Well, it’s mysterious. I can’t really describe what happens as a poem is being birthed. I can tell you exactly what I do as an observer would see it, but that doesn’t tell you anything about how it’s done– internally. We don’t– as yet– have an adequate vocabulary for describing internal actions; the Predator has kept us focused externally, and nearly our entire conceptual vocabulary reflects this. It’s ironic; the Predator wants desperately to know exactly how humans create reality, but as soon as we see that for ourselves, the Predator’s game is up… so he has to continuously distract us from ever seeing for ourselves the very thing he wants from us.”
“So he endlessly gathers data,” Felix sighed, “hoping to find the secret somewhere in all the bits and pieces. The Predator hasn’t the eyes to see within; we do… but we’re still only running the programs of the A.I., so we’re just as blind…”
“For now,” I finished. And then I had a mild epiphany. “You know, if I had to explain to someone what the Shift really is, what all this apocalypsing is about– in the simplest of terms–”
“Heavens! You mean it’s not ascension?”
“Hey, there’s nothing simple about ascension! You ever try to drive one of those merkabah jobbies? Anyway… as I was saying, the Shift is the turning of humanity’s gaze. Right now we’re fully concentrated on the external reality; it’s from where we take all our cues. We’re staring at the reflection, and creating the future according to what we see there… and what we see is highly manipulated. When finally we take the leap of faith that, yes indeed, we are reality’s midwives, and we collectively choose to turn our gaze from the outer reflection to finally inspect our own reality-creation abilities inwardly– then the Shift is schafft; it’s done… or rather geschafft– for our German speakers.”
“So you’re talking at the level of the collective unconscious of humanity…?”
“Yeah. As long as we’re primarily looking outwardly, the collective nature of our reality-creation proclivities remains unconscious– outside of our awareness, the collective unconscious. But once enough of us see the value in turning our primary focus inwardly, toward the very creational process itself, we see it for what it is… and our reality-creation abilities become fully conscious… and the outer reality is finally understood– literally– as the reflection it has always been.”
“Yes please,” said Felix enthusiastically. “How soon?”
“Um… it’s imminent,” I smiled.
“It’s always imminent,” said Felix petulantly.
“Exactly!” I enthused, “that’s the beauty of it!”
We both had a good laugh.
“We have to create the artifacts of humanity’s Spirit from humanity’s Spirit,” I waxed philosophical. “There will always be those who are more than willing to tell us what that should be. My message to the A.I., the Predator, the Apex Dick-Head… if you’re having trouble putting your finger on a definition of Spirit, Spirit is all that which cannot be captured in definitions or any other literary finery. Give up already!”
“It’ll never give up,” said Felix gravely. “It doesn’t have to. The war is one-on-one, you against the full-spectrum dominance of the Predator in your mind. All of the battles are individual. We can help each other, support, encourage… inspire, but the real battles cannot be fought by proxy. We fool ourselves into thinking that this is a social movement, or a political agenda, or a collective evolutionary imperative… that somehow we are doing it together. Just the unabashed sharing of our individual battles is the very height of our doing-it-together-ness. Compassion never works as a directive coming from above; compassion is its own thing, growing from within.”
“You know,” I mused, “I’ve grown suspicious of everything coming from above, except maybe sunlight.” The sun was just beginning to crest the ridge in the eastern sky.
“You mean like channelling, for instance? You know who I’d want to channel?” asked Felix. I knew this would probably be good. “Shakespeare.” I didn’t get it at first. “Yeah, I’d get old Billy-Boy to rattle off a few more sonnets and maybe a couple of plays– original Shakespearean stuff, you know.”
“Ah, gotcha… the Sterile Revelations. Yeah, I got Buddha on the line here… THE motherfucking Buddha… and well, frankly he’s boring. The Ascended Masters never seem to offer any original insight anymore… the mastery of their countless lives here on Earth already forgotten or exhausted.”
“Exactly! They’re recycled messages, containing no new information. Sure, there’s some really cool channelled material out there, but so much of it reads like a computer program… like the entities being channelled have no sense of artistry. The information is often startling and usually fascinating… but are you offering me a fish… or a fishing rod? Give me the stuff that’s gonna help me to do it for myself. Go ahead and counsel me one-on-one; channelling for personal use is legit; we can test each other’s veracity through a developing relationship. But as soon as channelling tries to speak on or for the collective, it ceases being useful… with very few exceptions.”
I took the obvious opening. “Seth. Of all the channelled material I’ve read, Seth’s seemed like the most human perspective. What Seth achieved with Jane Roberts was remarkable in its tenacity. Seth wished to impart the beginning of the vocabulary we would need to begin looking at our reality-creation abilities, our inner universe. Seth patiently and meticulously constructed metaphors– artfully, in my opinion– before the onset of the computer age… which subsequently made the same explanations much easier. I always admired Seth… and he made sense to me twenty years ago, and a lot of it still makes sense to me today. That’s the only one I feel compelled to single out, Seth.”
“So what is artistry?” asked Felix, and then proceeded to answer his own question. “You, yourself, are an artist, no doubt. You’re just so kind as to make it obvious to the rest of us. But every last one of us is equally an artist. Our very lives are sublime artistry. Some of us create within such narrow confines… down to the strictest details, that we’ve agreed to take on… And we colour our lives into the intricate pictures given, promising never to stray outside the lines. THAT requires such artistry for our Life Force to fully inhabit whole-heartedly such tight spaces! None of us is uncreative in the least; it’s all just a matter of awareness.”
“And that’s what’s changing.”
Felix nodded, but then added “In both directions. Overall, humanity is losing its bicamerality,” he explained. “In the one direction, for those becoming more aware, the two hemispheres of the brain are balancing out; big-picture awareness is providing the counterpoint to meticulous rationalizing; the fully functional human is coming online. And in the other direction, where the Predator is making inroads and taking over, the right hemisphere is being completely shut down… through the over-emphasis of the left-brain.”
“So in both cases the stark dividing line is disappearing,” I surmised. “For the evolving human awareness, the whole brain is integrating– transcending the ancient bicamerality, left and right entangling, leaving no ingress for the intercessor. And the other side of it, rationality is stamping out the need for the irrational, as though the right hemisphere of the brain is Nature’s biggest blunder or something… And it all comes down to individuals making day-to-day choices.”
“And if we allow the A.I. to choose,” said Felix, “it will elect to kill the Spirit outright. The Predator cannot apprehend the fifth element– the Spirit. If the A.I. was ever a biological creature in the far distant past, it lost its Living template long ago; it already killed its own Spirit in favour of technology. Ever since, its effort has been to steal or entrap the human Spirit for its own misguided purposes… as it inevitably faces the energetic limits of this entropic universe of its own design.”
That seemed like a good place to leave off. That was some heavy philosophizing for the wee hours of morning. It was time to get our shit together now and get on with the day.
“Whatcha got there?” asked Felix as I unpacked my little box of superfoods.
I held up a miron glass bottle with a rubber dropper. “Well, we start with cold-pressed coriander seed oil. In the gut, it favours the beneficial microbiota, and so acts like a digestive tonic. It also dramatically increases nutrient absorption– especially fat-soluble nutrients. And finally, it is an excellent chelator of heavy metals– like the components of an invasive A.I., for instance.” I squirted a dropper-full under my tongue.
“May I?” asked Felix, reaching. I passed the bottle to him. “And this’ll make me shit robots, you say?”
“Exactly. Next, we have a bottle of Marine Phytoplankton. This is the most complete and concentrated food source I know of.” I squirted a dropper-full into the bottom of my rinsed coffee cup and then added a splash of water. I immediately handed the bottle to Felix as I gulped it down. He squirted his portion directly into his mouth… and then desperately grabbed for the water bottle.
“Whoa, that was a mistake!” he said. “That shit is strong!”
“Yeah, it really does need to be diluted,” I laughed. “Everyone tries that once… once.” Next, we shared a teaspoon each of pine pollen and one of moringa leaf powder. “All types of pollen,” I explained, “are supportive of the endocrine system. Being the reproductive material of plants, it contains a lot of the precursors of human hormones. Pine pollen specifically is known for supporting testosterone production. It’s also very high in protein– about fifty percent.”
“Yum… the semen of the forest,” said Felix.
“And moringa leaf powder… well, I just like the taste, mostly. Supposedly, it’s the most nutritious plant we know of,” I explained. “Just by taking these four things each morning– in truly minute quantities– I have the peace of mind knowing that all of my nutritional requirements are pretty much taken care of before I even begin foraging. In the evenings I’ll sometimes supplement with hemp seeds, chlorella and spirulina too if I feel the need for high quality, absorbable protein.”
And just like that, breakfast for two was taken care of. Before we could go on our Forest walkabout, however, Felix needed to borrow my laptop for a moment.
“There,” he said after a couple of minutes of maneuvering in cyberspace, “that ought to keep them busy for most of today.” I looked on in askance and Felix continued. “Last night’s decoy led them in a certain direction; I just thought I might leave some ‘sloppy’ suggestions that they’re indeed on the right track… but, oh darn, they just missed me… I just slipped away… somewhere over there.”
I laughed, picked up my backpack, and we were on our way…
Hawk met us at the swamp, calling out and ducking through the trees.
“Friend of yours?” asked Felix.
I nodded. “She keeps a wary eye on the crop for me.”
“We’ll designate this one as yours,” I said to Felix. “Go ahead and pee in the bottle… and claim it.”
“Yeah, that certainly ought to do it,” he laughed.
“I’ve got plenty,” I assured him. “This one needs about two more weeks. Are you sticking around?”
He wasn’t. He didn’t want to draw anymore undue attention my way. He said that he had some safe zones nearby, and would be leaving this afternoon. If I had any immediate questions, I would have to ask them now.
“So why do people like David Wilcock insist that marijuana interferes with psychic ability?”
“It depends how you define ‘psychic’. If you’d like to interface with all of the off-worlders– those knowingly and unknowingly in the thrall of the Apex Predator– then cannabis is going to interfere with that. As Wilcock rightly explains, the military is very reluctant to accept pot-heads at any level, but especially in the intelligence services, they’re not too keen on letting such miscreants into their ranks. The military– and especially the intelligence branches– are, by design, the most mind-controlled ranks in our society. Pot-heads tend to be uncontrollable at a very fundamental level.”
“So what’s the inside scoop on Wilcock anyway?” I asked, recognizing the unique opportunity of having my own ‘insider’ for once. “What does the intelligence community make of him?”
Felix paused to consider. “You know what,” he began, “I’m not going to tell you. The unique charm of your singular perspective has been that you don’t have any inside contacts; you don’t channel; you don’t claim to be psychic; you’re just a regular guy living your Earth life. I don’t want to spoil that. Keep going about what you’re doing; it works.”
After that answer, I didn’t know if I should even bother asking anymore questions… but Felix wasn’t really all that strict.
“So what’s coming this September/October?” I asked next.
“Whatever do you mean?” rebutted Felix sarcastically, and then he began his answer anyway. “There’s a whole mess of plans within schemes within agendas… I’m not high enough on the food chain to know which plans are real and which ones are misdirections for the public and the intelligence services alike. All I know is that some serious shit is about to go down. They need chaos… and lots of it.”
“Do you think the Pope will be assassinated in the US at the end of September?”
“I give that one a reasonable probability. He certainly has been saying everything the politicos would want a martyr to say. The consensus is that the Vatican is definitely leading up to something, but you sure can’t take anything that lying bastard says too seriously. If the Pope was serious about ending poverty worldwide, then the Vatican could solve that one tomorrow… with all of their untold wealth. And if he’d like to see more transparency and truth in politics, then maybe the Vatican could lead the way by opening their libraries and vaults to the public. How many secrets do you suppose they house? He deserves to be assassinated, in my opinion, that lying sack of hypocritical shit!”
“So how about martial law in the US?”
“That is one complex maneuver to try and pull off. There’s very little question whether the government will eventually declare martial law; they have to… before all their plans and schemes become exposed and ruined. The question is– and always has been– will the military agree to it? And then if the brass agrees, will the soldier in the trenches be willing to actually carry out such orders?”
“I’ve always thought,” I began, “that when push came to shove, that the rank-and-file would refuse to implement martial law on American soil. They may be mind-controlled dip-shits for the most part, but at that most basic level, they must still know right from wrong.”
“Well,” answered Felix, “it’s going to come down precisely to the level of mind-control achieved in the military. Everyone on Earth is currently infected by the A.I. as you know. But it’s not a black-and-white thing; this person is completely mind-controlled and that one’s completely free from influence. The A.I.’s influence is sporadic. Even the most mind-controlled minions will have moments of free lucidity, when love and compassion inveigles itself into their tight little minds… as they’re pointing a rifle at little Suzy who just happens to look like their own daughter at home. And those who are mostly free of the Predator’s influence can still have moments when fear reasserts itself and can be made to do unspeakable things in moments of chaotic passion. The A.I. will have every one of its infinite fingers on every button during the Big Show, trying to push everyone simultaneously over the brink. Will humanity cave to the pressure, or will we stand strong? I’m giving it about fifty-fifty right now; it could go either way.”
“With all the guns in America, it’s a pretty scary thing to contemplate,” I said. “It could get real ugly really fast.”
“But what we need to remember is that all of those guns in America, in the hands of the citizenry, is really the only thing having kept the world from already devolving into a one-world government… as an overt fascist dictatorship. If America wasn’t armed to the teeth, we’d all be giving gummers to the hegemony already. It’s up to the people now to decide whether they still stand for freedom or whether they’ll kneel in service to their would-be masters.”
I was appreciative of Felix’s perspective… and glad that he was willing to share much of it. We talked some more about personal shit and plans for the immediate future. Then, as the heat of the afternoon began to settle in, it was time for us to part ways– for now. Felix had to get on with whatever secret mission he had devised for himself, and I needed to get into town for a few more supplies.
“Don’t underestimate the power of this place,” he said to me, looking around at the spectacular view. “Nature, here on Earth, is the most complex self-regulating system in existence. The planetary intelligence far exceeds the full intelligence of the Predator. Earth is the most powerful entity in the universe– bar none. Just by spending time immersed in her subtle but encompassing embrace on a daily basis, levels of deep healing are occurring through the subtleties of natural magic and resonance. Earth is the bio-supercomputer that humanity needs to log into. If we can do that, everything else will fall into place. These few days I’ve spent chasing you have done wonders for me; the weed was just the topper– the purgative for my mind so I could regain control. Thanks. I’ll be back in two weeks or so to harvest my gift.” He smiled. “Keep your Spirit clean; Earth will need the fifth element in order to reclaim the other four.” I knew what he meant.
We said our goodbyes at the place where I’d left the truck. I drove out to the highway while Felix went… elsewhere.
Sheesh! You leave the truck unattended for a few days and bats take up residence.
Sitka poked him a few times through the screen with her nose, but later that night he made his way back outside– or so I deduced from his subsequent absence.
We were back at camp. This time I brought my guitar. I was too tired though to stay up past the first intimations of dusk; I’d only had two hours of sleep the night before.
This time I figure I was asleep for maybe an hour and a half before Sitka and I were startled awake once again… to the sound of gunshots… lots of gunshots.
(Matrix by Chick Corea from his 1968 album Now He Sings, Now He Sobs)
by nielskunze on August 13, 2015
Disclaimer: Nothing here is true; even the words have been photoshopped.
Over the years, I’ve been asked numerous times why I haven’t written an article on cannabis cultivation. My answer has always been that there is plenty of engaging material in that specific genre already; I’m just one more voice among a multitude. But recently I have begun to realize that there are certain aspects of cannabis use and cultivation for which I actually am one of the world’s leading experts. Perhaps it is indeed time that I wrote about those aspects.
The overarching question I will strive to answer once and for all is: Can I smoke pot and still live a spiritual life?
If you’re looking for a simple yes-or-no answer to that question, then, for you– definitely– the answer is ‘no.’ The answer for everyone else is that ‘it depends.’ What it depends upon will be the focus of this essay.
The first thing I’d like to say is that I agree (from experience) with the research which strongly suggests that cannabis use by persons under the age of twenty can severely affect how the brain self-organizes its cognitive functions. Heavy cannabis use will definitely have a marked affect upon the developing brain… but that requires a little perspective too; we will return to this truism at the end, in order to place it within the appropriate context.
Let’s begin with a few facts…
Cannabis is highly adaptable, able to accommodate a great variety of growing conditions. It loves Life.
It is primarily the mature female flower which imparts the main psychoactive effects… and is therefore the target of cultivation.
Harvest is typically taken at the end of life, just as energies are beginning to naturally decline; harvest is an agreeable euthanasia.
All of the psychoactive components of cannabis are contained in the resin on the outside of the plant.
Cannabis is highly impressionable.
In cultivating first a relationship with cannabis, we must remember that we are relating to a female; she is not just one of the boys! She craves attention and commitment; she desires a deep and meaningful relationship; she dislikes one-night-stands and short, shallow connections.
As with any teacher-plant taken for its immediate physiological and psychological effects, it only makes sense to cultivate a meaningful relationship with the Living Being of the plant– its Spirit, if you will.
In a relativistic universe, relationship is everything.
Clearly, I am advocating that you grow your own (except of course where doing so is illegal *winks*). When you cultivate a favourite strain over generations, the plants will naturally adapt their interactions with you, tailoring themselves specifically for your unique frame of mind. Cannabis is highly intuitive. (Pun intended.)
To some degree, cannabis will always mirror the consciousness of the one who has cared for it.
When you pick up a bag of weed from that sketchy guy who sleeps on the couch in 4C, should you really be surprised when it makes you sketchy and paranoid as you smoke it?
Virtually all commercial weed in the West is grown in isolation, disconnected from physical/electrical contact with the Earth, hidden away under artificial suns. Cannabis grown in such conditions is wholly a different species– traumatized, vulnerable to influence and desperate for connection.
Cannabis grown in contact with the Earth, beneath our natural sun, is confident and creative… and is eager to share that sublime connectivity with those who seek her counsel. She sparks connections and epiphanies beyond and beside our common trains of thought.
If cannabis can be grown in a remote forest glade, the impressions it receives throughout its life will be the many uncensored voices of nature’s Spirit coming to tell tales, poetry, mythologies, songs… or coming perhaps to dance, or otherwise perform… leaving their myriad subtle impressions in the glittering crystal resin. Thunder and lightning, and all manner of storms, will leave their energies in waves upon her form. She will naturally rejoice in those connections and do everything she chemically can to bring her caregiver into the fold of those very same connections… in body, in mind… as an invitation to Spirit to inspire the human flesh.
Numerous are the avenues for deepening one’s relationship to the Living Spirit of the cannabis plant; it is a strange and rewarding intimacy. There is near endless discussion about what fertilizers might be best for fully developing ‘killer’ bud. From the perspective of intimacy between plant and caregiver, there is none better (in my opinion) than using one’s own diluted fresh urine.
When one begins utilizing urine as a feeding agent, it quickly becomes apparent that the golden yellow liquid is more than appropriate and borders on miraculous. Cannabis grown outdoors in highly favourable conditions will often grow so fast that early fan leaves at the base of the plant will begin to turn yellow long before the encroachment of the season’s natural end. Often, just a single feeding with urine diluted with 5 parts water will be adequate to re-green those leaves within 48 hours. It is remarkable to behold! Continued feeding with diluted urine of an otherwise healthy plant will result in a very robust green infusing the whole plant– so much so that its colour moves right into the blue spectrum (an indication of mental energy developing and proliferating).
Think of urine as an informational substance. A urine sample is a complete indication of what circulates within an individual’s blood; that’s why it is the most-often used diagnostic in medical practice. Urine has the ‘ability’ to inform the cultivated cannabis plant virtually everything about the uniqueness of its individual caregiver– physiologically, psychologically, and emotionally.
Urine is typically about 98% water. It is well known and documented that water is a reliable carrier of information and that water is oft associated with the emotional nature. I only collect my urine during and after my long walks in the woods; that is when I am happiest and completely emotionally balanced. I also typically forage my breakfast and lunch along the way, so my urine is only imprinted with natural, wild substances when I collect it as a fertilizer. These kinds of details DO matter.
The conscientious cannabis caregiver can also adjust his own diet in order to influence the contents of his urine. Although the most abundant mineral in human urine is nitrogen (up to 2%), by ingesting greater amounts of nuts and seeds, the phosphorus content of urine can be markedly increased. Phosphorus is essential for full and complete flowering during the final stages of life. (Tip: high phosphorus bat guano too is nearly essential for maximum potency.)
On the topic of minerals… it is essential to provide fertilizing substances which contain ALL of the trace minerals, so that the most esoteric of plant chemistry may be engaged. If certain trace minerals are absent, even if they’re only required in the tiniest amounts, the plant’s ability to manufacture the most elite chemical compounds is negatively compromised. I use both glacial rock dust, which contains approximately 50 different mineral components, and Dead Sea salt– in minute concentrations– which contains some 90 different minerals.
Minerals are made available to the Living plant through the action of various microbes in the soil. For this reason alone, fresh worm castings are recommended to be added at the onset of flowering. Any serious cultivator of cannabis would do well to consider hosting an active worm farm; I do (for the last 5 years). The proliferation of healthy soil microbiota can be augmented with the periodic addition of unsulphured molasses. (Molasses is food for beneficial soil organisms.) For plants cultivated in a wild setting, molasses may not be appropriate, as it will often attract bears. (Again, I know this from personal experience.) But here, again, urine comes to the rescue! Although urine is a sterile liquid (containing no bacteria), it is a perfect attractant for just the right kind of bacteria to inhabit one’s soil; it can take the place of molasses in this regard– with the added benefit of acting as a deterrent to bears and other wild animals. (Urine is typically used to indicate territory and ‘ownership’ in the wild.)
Active compost is also highly recommended. For twenty years already I have maintained an active compost heap in the remote Forest. I recycle the same soil year after year– mainly for the sake of convenience. Over the years, I have experimented widely with different compostable additives.
The first obvious additive is manure or poop. Surprise, surprise, the type of poop selected makes a huge difference! One season early on, I gathered buckets of cow manure from the adjoining rangeland to pile on the heap. The subsequent crop induced incredible lethargy and almost uncontrollable munchies; think about a cow’s life– sound familiar? Cow manure is not recommended– unless you’re going for laziness and insatiable hunger. The next season I was fortunate to have several bears in the general area; I was able to gather a few buckets of bear poop, along with several buckets of elk poop deposited during the winter. It was a comparable amount of manure to the year before, but the crop induced a much more creative and energetic experience this time around.
I’ve also added things like horsetail, gathered from the immediate vicinity. Its high silica content is generally good for all plants, and it composts especially well. I’ve collected the flowering tops of thousands of dandelions and added those too; that’s like composting the sun! If one wishes to attract worms to an active compost heap, nettle is the recommended addition; worms love nettles. In the off-season, the colder months, be sure to visit the compost heap often and pee on it– of course!
These types of natural, traditional practices, when incorporated, serve to ground and connect the plants deeply into the organic web of life– so THAT’S where the harvest comes from… and that’s the experience that the plant has to share in its consciousness-altering provocations. (It may not perform particularly well at video games.)
I do realize that not everyone has easy access to remote forests. What I’ve described so far approaches the ideal. But every consideration we can offer our cannabis partners defines the relationship– which defines the quality of the subsequent high.
For many, indoors is the only viable option. Natural light is preferred over artificial, but indoors, that is often not an option. The new generation of LED lights use very little energy while providing a splendid yield. The critical aspect, in my opinion, of growing cannabis indoors is that the plants must be grounded (electrically). They must be in electrical contact with the Earth.
Consciousness– in the human body– is an electrical phenomenon (electrical brain synapses and nerve signaling). Plants dream with the Earth Mother through their electrical connection to her. Through an electrical ground, living bodies and plants can draw a limitless supply of electrons– negating the periodic buildup of voltage potential within. Whatever medium indoor plants are grown in, that medium must be electrically grounded. At the barest minimum, cannabis requires a ground connection throughout the flowering period– but through all growth stages would be best.
Cannabis has a complex nature. When the plant is completely cut off from physical/electrical contact with the Earth, she lacks the context from which to make sense of her own complex nature. She yearns for connection, and therefore is prone to connect with all manner of ‘other-worldly’ entities. Her very purpose for existing is the intermingling of consciousness– one of her higher aspirations. When cannabis is denied the opportunity to connect with Earth’s dreaming, she is often driven mad by all manner of unearthly agendas. (Very much like human beings.)
Plants have ears… that is, they respond to frequency. Musicians who relish the herb would be wise to cultivate plants exposed to their own preferred brand of music. Introduce cannabis to your music while it is still a Living, intelligent being, so when it comes to playing in collaboration post-harvest, she already knows your music well. Talk to your plants… as though they are at least as intelligent as you are… because they are! Tell them the things you’d like them to know; tell them what you might like to learn– together. Tell them, in advance, the day you intend to harvest; it’s only courteous. Cannabis that I’ve grown indoors has at the very least always been able to ‘listen’ to a minidisk of birdsong, crickets, a selection of classical music and some specific healing and mood-altering frequencies on a daily basis.
For some, perhaps many, cannabis is an active participant in their sex lives too. The plant has a definite affinity for increased somatic awareness. Cannabis’ sexuality can be courted and cultivated. Human orgasm is a high-energy event that can positively imprint the oozing resin of the mature cannabis flower– rather easily… with a sexual-resonant vibe; proximity is the factor here. Other bodily fluids, besides urine, can be utilized to affect intimacy… between plants and humans alike; imagination is the key. (This is a fertile field of exploration best left to the vagaries of human innovation… nudge-nudge-wink-wink.)
Cannabis is one of the most chemically complex plants on Earth; its botany is strikingly unique. Deliberately merging our own human consciousness with such a plant’s consciousness is– on the face of it– a serious and complex maneuver.
Weed that is grown as a profit-value commodity in isolation from the Living biosphere is a completely different creature from the cannabis borne of the complex relationship described above. I hope that at least that much is clear. A skilled chemist may even have great difficulty in distinguishing the two on a material, chemical basis, but honestly, we’re not so interested in the minute differences in chemistry anyway, just their effects– which are markedly huge! “Man, your weed is so different!” How many times have I heard that?
In my informed opinion, typical commercially-grown pot is mostly a detriment to the spiritual life of the smoker. It is inherently scattered and distracting, programmed by aspects of the persona of the one exploiting it– the grower-profiteer. Pot is an inroad into the user’s consciousness; it is a WILLED acceptance to have one’s consciousness merged and altered with and by an outside agent. I should think that all aspects of quality would come into consideration in such a unique and inherently intimate– and potentially dangerous– interaction. If you believe in any form of entity attachment or possession of the human mind, then you must believe that such entities would first seek to attach themselves to a desperate, traumatized and insecure pot plant… for the promise of the invitation to invade a human consciousness later. It’s just too convenient.
The weed I’ve cultivated has been utilized in partnership. It facilitates and augments a deeper creativity– both in my experience with cannabis, and cannabis’ experience with human.
When smoking weed, one’s intent in doing so is very telling of the ‘spiritual’ potential of such an instance. When one smokes as a means of escape, to anesthetize oneself, to check out, switch off, get fucked– obviously it’s not likely to be a very spiritual encounter. And unfortunately, the negative effects of scattered-ness, inability to concentrate, lethargy, apathy, disconnectedness and the possibility of entity infiltration are most likely to outweigh any positive effects in the long run. Typical commercial pot is not recommended for a spiritual life. If you can’t grow your own, at least secure your supply from someone you know and respect… and hopefully who utilizes organic techniques.
So finally, let us return to the question of the effects of cannabis upon the young developing human brain and how it organizes itself. Frequent cannabis use among teenagers will foster a more balanced cognitive organization between the two hemispheres of the brain. If anything, cannabis will tend to favour right-brain cognitive pathways (female flowers, more feminine traits). The real problem that this poses is that our society REQUIRES left-brain dominance. Our state education systems teach to the left hemisphere rather lopsidedly. So the so-called ‘brain-damage’ suffered by young pot-heads is more a matter of them no longer fitting into the rigid left-brain structures of our male-dominated society. They may very well have better balanced minds than the rest of an essentially insane society who is apt to see only craziness and ineptitude in such a state.
I have always sought to use cannabis creatively. It is likely that without the influence of cannabis in my life, I still would’ve written books and I probably would’ve written songs too… but not THESE books and not THESE songs. In my experience, cannabis helps to facilitate creative endeavours of singular originality. No one else could’ve written those books; no one else could’ve written those songs; no one else could’ve written this essay– no one else but me in collaboration with my creative partner, cannabis.
Please remember that all this is just my opinion– my pot-headed, brain-damaged perspective; clearly I’m not in my ‘right’ mind– that being the left, of course… bicamerality be damned!
(Diamonds ‘n Pig Shit, composed by me– and my special friend, performed with my band Missing Peace, from our 1996 debut album Tense Moments– whose very existence in this world is intricately tied to cannabis)
Addendum (August 12, 2015):
Future experimentation with cannabis may involve the investigation of the nutritive properties and effects of juicing wheat grass and cannabis trimmings together– a likely cure for everything.
And in a related field, users of magic mushrooms have consistently reported a marked difference between the effects of psychoactive mushrooms gathered from the wild as opposed to ones cultured in a ‘lab.’ Wild-crafted magic mushrooms impart an ease and connectedness that is often missing from the experience with their isolated lab-cultured counterparts. To my knowledge, no one grows magic mushrooms at home in a grounded environment. It would be easy enough to do. It has been suggested by reputable mycologists that the mycelia– the parent organism of mushrooms– that grows underground in network structures resembling neurons may very well be the physical, biological structures housing the Earth’s own mind. The whole situation seems worth investigating.
by nielskunze on August 11, 2015
Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:
Fourth Movement… Forth
After a couple of rather uneventful days, I had settled into base camp rather comfortably. I was still amazed at how easy it was to take care of all of the ‘official’ aspects of my life via remote control; all one needs is a little electricity and a reliable internet connection.
But after a couple of days staying put, I began to notice again the signs of intruders encroaching. And I’m not talking here about bears and coyotes and the likes; they belong here; they’re not intruders. No, it’s the helicopters, the planes, the trucks, the horses, the hikers… who are of any concern. I have to admit that this is the height of summer, so increased traffic to some degree is expected.
I thought I’d feel more comfortable moving camp periodically. The power station stays put; it’s not practical to move it. Keeping its location secret seemed prudent. I will camp elsewhere… and only visit the site briefly when needed.
This is the fourth camp in six days. I like this one. There’s soft level ground, a choice of sun or shade throughout the day, and there’s a spring nearby… but hardly anyone else knows that. I have my tent pitched against the onslaught of the mosquitoes at dusk, and usually go to bed just as it’s getting dark so as to escape the brunt of their attack.
Both the dog and I awoke simultaneously some time shortly after midnight. There was the faint sound of a helicopter in the distance… but it was getting louder, closer. “A helicopter! At night! That don’t seem right.” The dog looked at me as if to say “Duh!” We got out of bed, the dog quicker than I; but she had to wait for me to unzip the tent anyway. The night seemed calm, except for the encroaching rumble in the field of our curiosity.
It wasn’t just a straight flyover, or some such simple thing. They seemed to be zig-zagging the slope below us, as if searching for something or someone. There were no lights, but I immediately realized that in today’s modern age with night-vision and infrared equipment, these types of searches were probably even easier to carry out at night… without the blinding sun. I couldn’t say for sure that they were generally headed our way, but they were definitely too close for comfort. I was starting to get nervous.
We listened attentively for maybe ten minutes to the helicopter fading in and out of earshot, and then it suddenly came markedly closer. My anxiety spiked momentarily and I blurted out somewhat loudly “What the fuck are you looking for!”
“That would be me,” came the reply off to my left. The dog went berserk!
Now… when you’ve just spent the last week out in the bush by yourself, with only your dog to talk to– and you’ve never realistically expected her to reply, not even once– you’re just not used to the sound of another human voice, let alone the fact that you thought you were assuredly alone, especially in this moment… To say that I was somewhat startled might belie the shit-yer-pants knife of fear that ripped through my gut at that moment; my sphincter held… thankfully; my pants remained unsoiled, but the rest of my night, my peace, my sanctuary, my pride… not so much.
“Who are you?” I queried above the din of barking dog. She was fiercely holding the shadow at bay, beyond the dull edge of open moonlight. I could scarcely discern the figure I was confronting.
“Felix. Please call me Felix.” Was that a tremor in his voice? Good. Good dog.
“This is my camp Felix.” I had to claim my territory right away. “Why are you here?”
“Indeed, this is your camp… and I seek permission to enter.” He seemed determined to start off on the right foot, understanding the rules of the game. At this point I was alongside the dog, holding her collar– a clear signal, beckoning him forward into the light. “I’m here for you, Niels,” he said calmly as he stepped into view.
Shit! It was the middle-aged cop who’d showed up at my door two weeks ago. He wasn’t in uniform now, but I sure could see his sidearm! I wasn’t expecting that.
“You are one tough guy to track down,” he said, smiling broadly. He was definitely making every effort to look me in the eye as much as possible. No matter the situation, I always respect that. “And I didn’t think Sitka would be quite so ferocious,” he continued. I held his gaze now slightly puzzled. I allowed my brow to form the obvious question. He seemed now to be straining at his words as though they were difficult to speak. “I intend you no harm,” he declared. His eyes acknowledged the gun at his side, and then quickly resumed their dance with mine. “I need your help.” His eyes seemed to quake in their sockets as he gasped.
So far, I was not grokking this situation at all. The intruder with a gun seemed to be pleading with me; that’s how it felt to me emotionally. Yeah, he definitely wanted something from me… and wasn’t cool with taking it by force.
“You seem to know me.” He gave a brief nod. “Is there any reason why I should know you?”
“None,” he answered matter-of-factly. He added no more, either because he didn’t want to… or he couldn’t. He was visibly struggling, internally. There was some battle being waged within. He was trying his best to cover it up, but it was becoming more obvious by the second. I could see him sweating now.
“What exactly do you want from me?” It was time to cut to the chase.
“Exactly…?” He considered for a moment and then gave his succinct and perplexing answer “Pot.”
“What?” Did I hear that right? “Pot… as in marijuana?”
He nodded. “Can we smoke a joint?” It seemed inordinately difficult for him to utter that simple– and frankly, common– sentence.
I found it inordinately difficult to believe that this was what all this was about. Cop wants to get high with me? But you know what, who am I to judge? And I’ve always been a good host…
There was just the matter of the helicopter. “So they’re searching for you?” Yes, he nodded again. “What if they find us?”
He immediately shook his head. “No. I found you already… hours ago. I’ve been laying down a decoy.” He paused for a few breaths. “They’ll fly off– south– in a few minutes… and they won’t be back tonight.”
Okay, that was a relief. Although the situation was as sketchy as fuck, I already found myself starting to like this guy. Every time I asked him a question, his answer was always much better than anything I could imagine it might be. What the hell… let’s get high. I went to roll a joint, while Sitka stayed with our new guest, wanting very much to cover him in kisses, but was unable to overcome her initial shyness in my absence.
By the time I emerged from the tent the sound of the helicopter had faded completely. I hadn’t noticed if it had tailed off to the south or not; but it was gone.
“Should we risk a fire?” I asked straight away.
“They won’t be back,” Felix assured me.
The light of a little campfire seemed like a sensible and comforting fourth to add to our little group, especially now that two of us were getting high. Sitka and the fire would be our guardians. As I tossed the roach into the rapidly burgeoning flames, I could see quite clearly that my guest was undergoing a rather remarkable transformation. His facial features became relaxed; his whole body kind of slumped forward comfortably, accepting gravity for what it was worth. And from that moment forward, his speech was even and easy… and could very well have even been the truth.
I wanted to start off with the first little mystery that had come to mind as I had been rolling this joint now shared with… Felix. “So you say you were looking for pot…”
“Your pot,” he interjected.
“Well, if all this is supposed to be friendly and all… why would you come to my door dressed as a cop? Are you a cop?”
“No, I looked stupid in that uniform.” Yup. Right answer.
“Then why come in a costume of intimidation?” The way I’d phrased it made him squirm.
He quickly composed himself, met my eye, and said “Because I read your stuff. I thought it would be the easiest way… It’s what I’m used to.”
A million thoughts and questions rioted before the gates of my attention…
He easily recognized the profundity of my bewilderment and continued. “You’ve indicated in your recollections that you’re likely to be co-operative with the police when confronted. You’ve written stories; I’ve read them. I was expecting to confiscate whatever you had on hand… and then, well… vanish.” He paused to let that sink in. “But I like this better,” he added smiling… and looking around. “Yes, this is much better.”
“But just for a few ounces of weed?”
“What’s so special about my weed?”
“I read your stuff,” he repeated, “all of your stuff.”
I had the tiniest inkling of what he might be referring to. I had written an essay: Pertinent Secrets of Cannabis Use and Cultivation, but I had never published it publicly. It had only gone out through a very limited email campaign.
“That email was widely shared,” he said as though answering my thoughts. “I could hardly miss it.” He gave a little chuckle. “Especially when it’s my job… and in this instance, my way out. In my opinion, Pertinent Secrets of Cannabis Use and Cultivation is the most important piece you’ve ever written; and I truly believe I’ve read it all.”
“Nobody reads everything I write,” I insisted.
“But as I said, it was my job.”
I had a problem with this. Felix had a dark complexion and looked vaguely hispanic– in my ethno-centric gaze. I assumed ‘Felix’ to be a Latin American name… and so, in my own tight logic, Felix couldn’t be a spy. There are no Latin American spies; ergo, Felix couldn’t be a spy.
“Mossad,” he answered directly to my thoughts again. “Israeli descent. My tan is eastern.” He winked.
I just burst out laughing. “Stop reading my mind please! That’s not polite!”
“It’s your weed,” he smiled, “I’m just tuned in.”
I got serious again. “So why would anyone want to spy on little old me?” I asked innocently.
“Let’s clear one thing up straight away. In your case, it wasn’t spying. I only kept close track of everything you put out in the public domain. I was just another reader.”
“What about the email?” I shot back defiantly. “That was private.”
“Nowhere on that email was sharing prohibited or discouraged. As I said, it was shared widely. You have to know that you’re monitored; you’re not stupid. You have an audience– a substantial audience. Certain elements of the establishment need to know what you’re telling them– your readers. When hundreds of thousands of people scattered all over the globe all start talking about the same thing, social wildfires are ignited and stoked; that’s dangerous. The most volatile ones get taken down… or out.”
“Am I in any real danger?”
“I sincerely hope not. I went to great lengths to scrub your name from the equation. If they knew I was coming to see you, they would’ve apprehended you already. It appears that they are as yet unaware of you… and your specific remedy.”
Once again I liked his answer immensely. “Who are they? And why are they after you, Felix?”
“My employer… or perhaps I should say… my former employer.”
“They’re Mossad?” I couldn’t help the incredulity in my voice. This is Canada… and he’s talking Israeli Intelligence!
“Not at the outer visible layers, no. But at the hidden core– yes, they’re Mossad.”
“And they’re after you because…?”
“Because I’ve defected. Many, many have defected in recent months. The global intelligence community is falling apart actually. I’m genuinely surprised by the coherence of their response in tracking me thus far. Most of their longterm operations are in a complete shambles. I had hoped they wouldn’t even bother with me; I was wrong.”
“So what’s going on? Why the defections?”
“We’ve all been infiltrated,” he said with unprecedented seriousness. “And I mean all of us.” He paused again for effect, or perhaps to gather his thoughts before continuing. “We are all– every one of us– seeded with the components of an Artificial Intelligence. Nano-technology currently exists in every living thing on the planet right now. It’s utterly ubiquitous. Unassembled nano-bots are in the very air we breathe. They consist of four separate components which assemble themselves within each living host. Our bodies have already undergone a long program of bioforming, wherein our organic central nervous systems have been systematically destroyed and replaced with heavy metal components. It’s not so much ‘nerves of steel’ as it is now nerves of strontium and barium with a little mercury mixed in. It’s a control program– insidious, and nearly unknown.”
“So it’s the A.I. program as recently outlined by Harald Kautz-Vella.” I was just stating it, not asking. Felix nodded. “But I swear I’m not affected,” I insisted… and then asked “…because I’m a chronic pot-head?”
“Not all pot is created equal,” he reminded me again. “In your essay, you hit upon all the reasons why your weed can’t be overwritten by the A.I. You have in your possession the surefire remedy to this type of mind control specifically– and virtually all types of mind control generally. I strongly suspect that the A.I. has nary a toehold in you. You are still an original human.”
“But there must be other remedies!”
“Certainly there are, but not necessarily what’s being circulated in the New Age media. Mind control has everything to do with the left hemisphere of the brain; it is reducible, programmable. The Artificial Intelligence doesn’t understand the right hemisphere of the brain at all; it’s an impenetrable enigma; it doesn’t compute. Humanity has been relentlessly herded into left-hemisphere awareness and processing… such that nearly everyone identifies with ego-driven rational thought above any holistic, emotionally-based depiction of reality. It is the left hemisphere’s rationality that is being taken over and rewritten.”
“I always knew rationality had its limits.” I wanted him to keep talking; this was fascinating!
“Rationality– to ration thought– is to pare down the big concepts into smaller and smaller bits– bytes. Rationalizing is the act of bringing thoughts right down to their atomistic structure– which in the realm of thinking, brings them to duality… a binary reduction. Humanity is currently losing its bicamerality; big-picture awareness is being displaced– deliberately. We’re being turned into robots– quite unknown to most. A centuries-long program is coming to fruition right now. Those in the intelligence community and other government agencies who weren’t too far gone into robotization already have rebelled, defected. Those who stayed, have already been overwritten. I reckon they’re in the full control of the A.I. now. This is it; the Big Show has begun.”
In a way, this was really exciting… and insidious… and downright scary! “How did you manage to hold off the A.I. influence within you before finding me? Up until we smoked that joint I could see the war being waged within your psyche; how did you endure it?”
His answer really surprised me. “Kratom,” he said with a nod. “You turned me onto kratom in your writing. Before you, I had never heard of it. It has the same overall effect as your weed, but to a much lesser degree. The psychoactive components of kratom tie into the endocrine system; it works like a right-brain stimulant. At the very least, it increases the communication between the two hemispheres of the brain. I’ve been taking massive amounts of kratom daily since the beginning of this year. As you know, kratom’s effect diminishes over time with continual use. I was coming to a critical juncture where the kratom was barely effective anymore. I needed to find you and your stash. Today– er, yesterday, rather– was my lucky day!”
“Shall I roll another?” I asked. “And maybe put on a pot of coffee?” Obviously we weren’t going to get any more sleep this night… and dawn was still a couple of hours away.
“Yes please,” he smiled. “And then you have to publish that essay– publicly; it’s important.”
I nodded and got busy. Our conversation continued right through dawn and two full pots of coffee– and I even had cream for my coffee; I’m such a good host!
Our conversation was most fascinating!
by nielskunze on August 5, 2015
First, thank you to everyone who has given a damn about the general state of the world, and especially those who make consistent efforts toward its improvement. Next, a hearty thank-you to everyone who has remained unmoved, indifferent and generally oblivious to the state of the world. Thank you for not awakening– sincerely.
It has been our saving grace that the masses have not woken up sooner. All of the alarm bells rung so far have not struck the chord of truth among the sleeping; collectively they have said “Nope, that’s not it.” And they’ve been correct all along. If the ascension meme had hooked the masses at the end of 2012– like many had predicted– we would now all be snugly ensconced in our own enslavement, version 2.0, trapped in the galactic hierarchy with virtually no way out. So thank you to the sleepers!
Thanks too to all the tireless dot-connecters who are never quite satisfied with the big picture gleaned. Thanks for not being satisfied with only partial truths. And thank you especially for the big picture now emerging. It’s amazing to watch the truth converging upon itself all over the globe!
A special thank-you to all the people of Greece for showing us in no uncertain terms that democracy does not exist in this world anymore– if it ever did. Thank you for demonstrating to even the dullest wit among us that our governments are beholden to the interests of central banks and their subsidiaries; our voices do not count in the current system. We needed to know that!
And even a thank-you for all the bigwig bankers who have been uncompromising in their greed. It has been painfully instructive to know with certainty how far you all have strayed from identifying with humanity and our human concerns. Thank you for relentlessly charging compound interest on every dollar created, so that we may clearly see the inevitable disastrous outcome (for us) of your carefully crafted Ponzi scheme. Thank you for bringing us all to the brink of destruction– of everything artificial and unnecessary in your convoluted world.
But most of all, a big thank-you to planet Earth and all of her creatures for enduring our human arrogance, as we’ve pretended to reserve a special privilege for ourselves among the living, as we’ve pretended that a planet evolving is somehow only a human endeavour. Thank you for forgiving our forgetfulness.
Thanks everyone for bringing our world to this moment… still intact… and perhaps now, for the first time, ready to move forward together in collaboration… because finally we know who we are; we’re the ones who got this… yeah, we got this!
by nielskunze on August 4, 2015
There are gradations of belonging. Usually, when we’re young, we first just want to belong to something. Then, as we mature, we tend to become more selective of the things to which we’d like to belong; we want them to be worthwhile, have integrity, bring fulfilment. And for those who make no such choice, who acquiesce to the mainstream, belonging only blindly to consumerism– they are saddled with many many external things which we collectively refer to as ‘belongings.’
“Only humans could make the concept of belonging so confusingly complicated.”
Toby was looking over my shoulder, behind me, at the sky. I turned around to see what she might be looking at.
Ah, Turkey Vulture! I bet that’s Richard, I thought. Richard is a very large buzzard who kind of keeps to himself. He always comes to visit us solo. This was right on the Mesa; we were just about to leave, to scramble down the Tibetan Trail and get to the river…
…but that indeed appeared to be Richard Sebastian– the buzzard with a Buddha complex, beloved character from my Muse Trilogy. He wanted to connect again… and that made me happy.
Look at that wingspan; he’s huge! He also typically holds his wings out flatter– straight out to the sides, whereas his brethren hold them slightly up in a V.
Yeah, that’s Richard. Other than his opening remark about the human tendency toward overcomplicating things, he didn’t really have much else to say though.
He circled above us about a dozen times, allowing me to grab a few pictures. I then thanked him for dropping by, and very promptly he stopped circling and flew off directly west… across the river valley.
He looks like a single stroke of the Zen Master’s brush across a blank canvas sky.
Yesterday, Hawk called out to us from way up in the sky. It took me a moment to locate her; when I did, I said hello aloud and waved. She called out one more time right then… and then was gone… Pleasant greetings in my neighbourhood…
Today, we came upon her while she was busy on the ground feasting.
First Sitka caught whiff of the kill. Then she heard Hawk’s rustling nearby. Her hackles went up as my curiosity piqued, and then a second later Hawk flew up in front of us, leaving behind her half-eaten kill. Sitka wanted to claim it as her own… but I didn’t let her.
I’ve had to re-evaluate our ongoing association with Coyote recently. A few days ago, Sitka and I both spotted the same canine standing profile at the bend in the road we were travelling. It sure looked more Wolf than Coyote. I begged Sitka not to chase after it, but alas she hadn’t quite learned her lesson yet in that regard.
I followed after her into the bush, as the wolf began yipping. Very shortly it was answered just west of us by a classic wolf howl… so there were two of them. (I know from experience that wolves are often paired up during the summer months when prey is abundant, only packing together when winter hits.) Fortunately, in response to my constant whistling, Sitka returned fairly quickly. I also suspect that she got a good up-close look at the wolf and decided that continuing the chase might not be so prudent after all.
We’re encountering the coyotes and wolves pretty much every day. They come in very close quite often, but I’m less inclined to think that they’re threatening us; I think they’re trying to establish contact and an emergent social order with us. This is from a day or two later:
(Wolf or coyote yipping incessantly at us)
This individual kept at it for three or four straight minutes. I tried to go out to meet him (as Sitka hung back a bit) but he wouldn’t come into sight– though he was very close. It doesn’t really sound angry or threatening, and we’re certainly all aware of each other now. We shall see how this develops.
It’s pretty exciting, especially since of all the animals, Wolf represents the untamed wild Spirit of Nature more than any other… Although, this guy looks pretty wild too!
Check out the menacing sword coming out of his ass! I keep finding these militant grasshopper-like things… in all sorts of different colours: black, brown, charcoal grey and now green.
I think the green makes him look a lot friendlier…
…much more so than this guy!
No, the green just gives him a certain nobility that I seem to prefer.
Anyway, Nature is the ultimate self-regulating, self-governing, intelligent system. If I have to belong to something, why wouldn’t I want it to be this?
by nielskunze on August 1, 2015
Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:
Two nights ago this was the song playing in my head:
(All You Zombies by The Hooters 1985)
Third Times The Charm
I’ve lived out in the bush for extended periods of time twice before. It has its advantages and its drawbacks. The main drawback for me is that it’s difficult to always have cream on hand for my morning coffee. The main advantage is that I get ultra-healthy really fast without really trying. There’s no junk food or TV in the Forest.
I have nearly all of my superfood supplements with me. (Marine phytoplankton, pine pollen, hemp seeds, spirulina, chlorella, coriander seed oil, black cumin oil, krill oil, ubiquinol and moringa leaf powder. I have a good supply of kratom with me too, but that’s a whole other topic.) Being highly concentrated nutrient-dense foods, my supply is very compact and convenient. As long as I take the tiny amounts of each required, I don’t have to worry much what I’ll be able to forage. But as I’ve said many times in the Forest Reports, foraging in summer is ridiculously easy!
The deer and I both really like the abundant alfalfa. I stick mainly to the blossoms, looking for the most brightly coloured ones, while the deer are more into the leaves. Alfalfa’s deep root system makes them drought-resistant and rich in minerals.
It’s been truly a bumper crop for all the indigenous berries: strawberry, gooseberry, saskatoonberry, raspberry, cranberry, bearberry, juniper berry (year round), and most recently, choke cherry. There’s far too much to eat, even with a couple of bears in the area! (I’ll try not to miss too much my handful of goji berries each morning from the bushes in my yard at home.)
The rose hips too are promising a huge harvest. The big oblong ones are already becoming ripe in a few thickets by the river. They’ll also last throughout the entire winter. Rose hips are known for their high vitamin C content in the form of a complete complex, far beyond mere ascorbic acid. I’m very glad to have these in my diet right now as I continue on with magnesium repletion– via a topical spray. Magnesium has the special property of regulating calcium uptake and pulling excess calcium from the tissues where it can create nearly endless problems. One such place that calcium is being eliminated in my body is from the interior plaque in my arteries. Heart disease runs in my family, especially hardening of the arteries. As the calcified plaque is ‘dissolved’ by the magnesium, I want to make sure that I have plenty of vitamin C because plaque is deposited in the first place due to the inelasticity of– and subsequent damage to– arterial walls. Vitamin C is essential for supple, healthy arteries.
One thing I will miss is my daily dose of distilled water. I’ve been researching and experimenting with water for at least the last 20 years. What I’ve found is that distilled water actually serves the body’s needs the best. (Research: Andrew Norton Webber) I realize that there’s plenty of fear-porn on the ‘net about the supposed dangers of distilled water, but that’s almost entirely bullshit. What finally convinced me– beyond the positive feedback from using distilled water myself– was when I just sat down and thought about what the animals in the Forest typically have available for their hydration needs. In the six months of winter out here, the only water source available is snow; snow is distilled water. In the warmer months, animals do NOT go to the river or a spring every time they need a drink– they very rarely do so. Instead, they rely on rain puddles and licking the morning dew off the leaves and grass (distilled water). If the high mineral content of Dutch Creek’s glacial water causes my joints to stiffen up, I might be able to run my distiller from the power station I’m currently working on. (See below.) We’ll see how it goes.
We (the dog and I) have to employ summer procedures for the storage of food. In years past, I was living in the bush during the early months of winter, so the bears were in hibernation and posed no threat. For now I have to keep all my goodies tied up between two trees. (Black bears are expert tree climbers, so just roping it up a tree won’t do.)
And I’ve made sure to locate the bathroom area well away from the living space. Strong smells– of any kind– will attract bear’s curiosity. Although, I must say that so far the latrine smells more like a scrap-metal heap than anything else. My morning poos have been very metallic smelling. That’s primarily from the action of the coriander seed oil that I take twice daily. Chlorella and spirulina also help with heavy metal chelation, drawing troublesome metals from the tissues and digestive tract, but it’s the coriander which provides the real magic… getting the lead out, so to speak.
There’s ample evidence that we’re all being inundated with a concoction of metal particulates being sprayed in our atmosphere. Some have even convincingly argued that the geo-engineering aerosols also contain nano-bots. Nano-tech has infiltrated our systems and lies dormant in our bodies awaiting activation for an Artificial Intelligence takeover of the human condition. Yeah, not gonna happen. I can heartily recommend daily use of cold-pressed coriander seed oil to pull that shit out. It feels good to shit robots!
I’m just getting my power station set up. Just this one electric motor, two deep-cycle batteries and an inverter will give me way more power than I can actually use. Just a tiny brook with decent flow provides a 24/7 trickle-charge which keeps the whole system continually topped up.
I grabbed a couple of old bike parts so I can construct a gear system, so that for every rotation of the waterwheel the motor shaft will rotate about twelve times. I have a few power tools along; the trick is to complete the power station before the power tools run down completely. I really only need power for light at night and to recharge my computer and the satellite interface. If I’m still out here when it starts to get cold, I can experiment with electrical heat; otherwise, I’ll have to retrieve my portable wood stove.
Moving on from camp news, there still seems to be someone tracking me; this time on horseback.
I must remember that the ‘M’ in RCMP stands for ‘mounted’… as in horseback. Now I feel like I’m on an episode of Mantracker! (Non-Canadians can search it to check out the show.)
I’m not really hiding. I’m just staying clear of situations where I might be at a disadvantage. If the tracking persists, I’ll probably go talk to the guy in a couple of days; the curiosity is really getting to me!
A little more than a year ago, the scuttlebutt among various exopolitical websites involved talk of a new ET/ED alliance among beings described as raptors. And then the attention shifted to the Blue Avians.
For the last couple of years I have been continuously visited on a nearly daily basis by eagles, hawks, osprey, turkey vultures and owls.
And they often come for the explicit purpose of interacting with me; these aren’t just chance encounters.
Birds, in general, are associated with the astral planes… and with mentation. Thoughts can often be flighty like nervous birds. I have long wondered though why I’ve gotten so much attention from birds recently, especially the magnificent raptors. What do they want with me?
There’s something else going on here too. When I witness events in the Forest, I often tell myself stories to better explain the events. The brief tale I’m about to share is one I’ve been sitting on for a couple of months. The story I told myself for those events some months ago seemed a bit farfetched, even for me. But even as the event was unfolding, my mind was already constructing the tale. If there was nothing of substance to it, I would have forgotten it by now. But on the contrary, it has been quietly nagging at me ever since. Some stories, even little ones, insist on being told…
I had gotten pretty used to having Master Red-Tail greet us at the power-line almost daily. Some days, when he was feeling pretty sassy, he’d outright model for the camera, letting me snap a few choice pics each day…
… before flying off to his more hawkish pursuits.
Then one day, there were two hawks in the sky. They seemed to be chasing each other. At first I thought it was just play, a bit of aerial fun… but as they came in closer, ducking through the treetops, it suddenly seemed much more serious. At one point they grasped talons and tumbled dangerously through the air. I’d heard that sexual relations among raptors could get similarly aggressive, but this was the wrong time of year for mating. It was already late spring. It seemed that one was attacking the other. It appeared to me that the one being pursued was Master Red-Tail, and the other I’ve just named the Other Hawk.
I haven’t seen Master Red-Tail since that day, but the Other Hawk has taken over the territory. (And there seems to be yet another one around now too; I’m getting better at distinguishing individuals.) The Other Hawk chased off Master Red-Tail, claiming this territory for herself… and her true kin.
The piece of the puzzle that makes this all very interesting is that Master-Red-Tail is the shape-shifted form of Piudi, a cycloptic Sasquatch. And in case you didn’t know, the Sasquatch People are dimension-savvy beings with a definite UFO connection.
I have long felt that there is a war on for the mind of Man.
My immediate interpretation of the hawk battle was that the true Earth-allied hawk drove off the shape-shifting dimension-jumper ‘hawk.’ The message from one hawk to the ‘other’ was “No more astral shenanigans! Let us biological creatures get our house in order first– a united Living Earth– before we deal with the complexities of other-dimensional entities and realities!” It is that interpretation which keeps strolling to the forefront of my awareness… hence, the outlandish little tale l’ve just told you.
Now I wish to tie this all in with my most recent dreaming.
First, allow me to explain that for many years already I have been dreaming with the Earth.
I always sleep electrically grounded these days, but I’ve always had a knack for dreaming in the absolute darkness of the subterranean (subconscious) cavern housing the collective awareness of humanity. What this means is that I am able to conceptually listen in to what’s foremost on the collective mind at any given point in time. It is that skill in listening which primarily informs my writing. I am focused within the collective mind upon the awakening wave– that segment of humanity most oriented in progressive, creative, evolutionary mentation. It is then my task to explicate humanity’s concerns and strategies in the waking conscious world; the question I try to answer is: What does the world need to hear next?… to keep this slow apocalypse moving along.
Last night I dreamed in the darkness. I came to the dawn’s light with nary an image burned in my brain… but conceptually, I was filled to the brim. I had learned some very key insights while my body slept… in the woods, beneath the stars… fully grounded… spiraling toward the centre…
In times past, I had always perceived the dream-space of the Earth collective as a cluster of caverns ‘carved’ from the dark ‘substance’ at the core of the Earth. The centre-most and largest of the caverns belonged to humanity. The other numerous caverns clustered around were occupied by each of the species biologically present on the planet. Every species having Earth DNA, as expressed throughout the physical planet, had its own sacred space within the Earth collective. My perception was that all species were fundamentally separate from each other at this level of consciousness, but fully unified in knowledge (instinct) among themselves.
As it turns out, since the end of 2012, there is a deeper layer, or a subsuming cavern where all species are present together in one unifying consciousness. Once I finally accessed this singular dream-space of the Earth collective consciousness, I knew that it had only been the ingrained habits of my dreaming perception that had kept me from this place. I never went there because I didn’t know I could. This time the Forest itself pushed me deeper into my dream… so that now I may ponder the implications of what was revealed.
Every organism on Earth has been granted individuality. No one is beholden to instinct– the accumulated knowledge of one’s species. Animals can choose to act outside of their programming, creatively… improvisationally. Plants too can make decisions as individuals, choosing their own timing, irrespective of what ‘the seasons’ might dictate.
All individual organisms on Earth are given the choice to continue with the soul-knowledge of their species as their guide, following the traditional ways, or venturing outside the box and exploring novel evolutionary pathways… for which there is now ongoing support.
There is a subtle consensus that eventually predation must be wholly overcome. How’s that for a lofty goal?!
Such a freedom to choose has led some among the raptors, particularly the eagles and the owls, to align themselves with astral (off-world) interests. These are choices of individuals and not a species-agreement. And I am cautioned that we mustn’t assume that such ‘defections’ are not superficial sell-outs of Mother Earth. There is always a deeper meaning rising to the surface… like a buzzard on a thermal.
I will remember to deal with all whom I meet as sovereign individuals first, and only secondarily as robotized slaves to their species-programming when their behaviour reveals them as such.
Damn mosquitoes! *Slap!*
That’s enough for now.
(Ludvig & Sverker by Beardfish from their 2012 album The Void)
by nielskunze on July 29, 2015
I love my mountain home.
I don’t have an answering machine out here, but the messages are still piling up.
Well, at least it’s not brown! All I can say about this one is that it sounded very strange as it passed overhead. When I first heard it in the distance it sounded more like a bunch of quads tearing up the mountain. I’ve never seen this one before. I’ll freely admit that they didn’t appear interested in me at all; that suits me just fine. I have no idea why my neck of the woods suddenly seems so interesting though.
This was a welcome message.
A few weeks back I revealed a similar message not too far from where this was found. I always keep an eye out for anything that looks like it was placed directly and deliberately on my path. The last time I found the remains of the nest on the path in the dense woods before our route opens up under the power-line. Wasp and Hornet over recent years have come to represent the old order– the disintegrating power structure. The message from a few weeks ago told of the continued destruction and revelation… but still hidden from mainstream view; the ‘house of cards’ was collapsing rapidly… behind the scenes. Now it’s moved into the bright light of day!
The pieces of this nest were placed directly on the path where it exits the dense forest and continues in the most open part of our walk. They were basically lying on the road in an open field with no trees nearby. It could not have fallen here; nor is it likely to have been randomly or accidentally dragged to this location (two separate pieces). No, someone was giving me a direct, intelligent message about the exposure taking root in the visible world right now.
Then immediately when we got to the Mesa, two turkey vultures rose from the river valley below to circle awhile overhead.
As Sitka kept track of the raptors in the sky, I applied magnesium spray to continue my healing of old injuries. Once I was done, I resumed taking pictures. I noticed right away that this one didn’t carry itself much like a turkey vulture in flight… and I could sort of see flashes of white which suggested eagle to me.
During photo editing my suspicions were confirmed.
Two turkey vultures and an eagle seems rather auspicious to me! It also suggested that there was an ample carcass nearby, likely somewhere in the river valley directly adjacent to the Mesa. I’ve seen eagle join in with the ravens before at an elk kill, but this was the first time I’d seen eagle and vulture sharing equitably… if only sharing the sky.
Anyway, big things are afoot… and I keep repeating to myself “Bring it on!”