by nielskunze on June 23, 2016
Have you noticed recently that when you tread upon someone’s belief system (BS) these days there’s a very high probability that they’ll go full retard on you and suffer a complete ego meltdown? And it can get pretty ugly, right?
What is it about belief systems, that in this late stage of the game, there’s still so many convinced that their personal, unique belief system is actually the One True Belief System (OTBS – or Over the Top Bull Shit)? Really? You’ve got it exactly right and everyone else in the world is wrong… really? C’mon, you can’t actually believe that!
But that’s the trap of belief systems.
Indeed, we have to believe something. But what we have to stop believing in is that the One True Belief System exists at all. It doesn’t; they’re ALL bullshit.
Whatever I believe in the moment informs my actions and behavior in the Now. And that results in consequences. The consequences I face as a result of my actions, as determined by what I believe, is invaluable feedback for adjusting or ADAPTING what I choose to believe. That’s called growth or evolution.
The Scientific Method is ideally exactly just such a feedback system. It takes aim at the One True Belief System, never knowing whether it might ever actually get there, but absolutely knowing that it’s not there yet… in perpetuity.
The closest we can get right now, as individuals, to the One True Belief System is to understand Natural Law. Natural Law is that which is operative in the universe ubiquitously at all times without exception… for example, the Law of Cause and Effect. And it’s not a belief system. Here’s why: gravity, for instance, doesn’t give a flying fuck what you believe about gravity; it operates exactly the same regardless. There’s no choice involved; Natural Law is what is. (See Mark Passio on YouTube for an in-depth treatment of Natural Law.)
Belief systems are costumes or masks which you may choose to wear temporarily in order to explore and experience various territories within consensus reality. But ultimately, they are dead things… because they are static. When you invest the whole of your life into a particular belief system, you too become a dead thing. Oh sure, there’s a bit of zombification involved as is evidenced when any such belief system is threatened… and then all manner of incoherent howling, drooling and flailing is quite likely to occur.
Perhaps another example is in order. I am amazed and astounded really, when people among the supposedly awake and aware crowd will so very easily agree that virtually all orthodox religions are obviously mind-control programs which were installed centuries ago. But when you update those programs– just like the latest updates for your computer– and you change the names of the entities involved from gods, angels, and demons to ETs, ascended masters and archons, suddenly so many have great difficulty recognizing that it’s the exact same program. It’s the same old whore with a brand new dress… just repackaged and rebranded. And now, when it comes to ascension, it’s not even a new dress; it’s some ratty old secondhand thing from the thrift store. Such a flimsy threadbare thing should be easy enough to see through.
C’mon, religious programming is religious programming.
“But no, Niels! This is the One True Belief System! This time it’s true!”
Yes, of course it is.
Can’t we finally get past this nonsense?
by nielskunze on June 21, 2016
In the consciousness communities, we often encounter the terms ‘binary’ and ‘trinary.’ We understand that binary is the system of two-valued logic underpinning digital systems, like most modern computers. Trinary– or in proper english, ternary– introduces a three-valued logic system which steps beyond the either/or, on/off restrictions inherent in binary. Omniary is a brand new term recently coined by Alfred Lambremont Webre (just giving due credit where credit is due).
I love the term omniary, but in order to properly understand it, we need to place it into a context well beyond computing systems and digital modeling. Let’s approach this from the angle of perception and human growth potential.
Currently, and for some time now, we’ve been hearing a lot about unity consciousness: a new love-based way of experiencing reality. Okay, let’s unpack this a bit.
External reality (light creation) is a dualistic (binary) system. That is its very nature due to the wave form of light. Light of any frequency always oscillates between two points, which defines a wave’s amplitude (its deviation from zero point). It is, however, a static reality without the possibility of evolution until the LIVING observer/participant inserts itself into the system.
And that brings about the possibility for a trinary system… but doesn’t necessarily guarantee one. The observer/participant can choose to eschew its inherent possibility for growth (life) by falling into the trap of polarization. Duality itself is never the problem; polarization quite often is. When an observer/participant merely chooses preferences from among given pairs of opposites– like light/dark or good/bad– the observer/participant is effectively assimilated into the dualistic (binary system)… and becomes as though dead– a static expression of preferences among givens.
The ternary nature of the system is expressed when the observer/participant refrains from making singular choices in duality, recognizes all opposites as the poles of an inseparable whole, and utilizes them to CREATE new choices appropriate for continued growth or evolution… effectively creating a new reality.
Unity consciousness can coalesce in any of these systems, including omniary (which we’ll get to shortly).
Unity consciousness in a binary system coalesces around the preferential choices of the participants in a mono-pole hive mind. Since each of the members of such a hive mind have eschewed their own individual growth, they must be instead locked into a particular station (static position) within a rigid hierarchy, where the hierarchy itself represents the larger ‘self.’ Such individuals are doomed to remain partial, unrealized, fractured beings for as long as the hierarchy persists, as the mono-pole hive mind hierarchy only requires a very limited (non-creative) participation from each of its constituents.
Unity consciousness in a trinary system still tends to express in hierarchical formations, since that is the current habit of consciousness at this time. However, the hierarchy itself is geared toward overall growth; its growth is dependent upon the personal growth of its individual members. Trinary unity consciousness is a collaborative effort aimed at full healing and the actualization of full potential for all involved. It may be regarded as an intermediate or transitional form of unity consciousness on the path of full spiritual maturity.
Omniary unity consciousness is a Collaborative Mind comprised of fully functional actualized beings choosing to come together in a non-hierarchical structure. It may be likened to the shape of a sphere, where all participants are in precise equal standing in relation to the central purpose for such a mind to exist. All contributions are of equal value in creative consideration.
The potential for the omniary collaborative mind to alter reality in the direction of egalitarian growth is unbounded.
(The preceding exposition is my own perspective on these matters and may be considered as a supplemental to a recent panel discussion which will be published shortly. I’ll keep you posted.)
by nielskunze on June 15, 2016
No, this isn’t an alternative history piece; this is what actually happened.
By allowing the Allies to declare victory, by letting the whole world buy into the idea that “Fascism has been defeated!” the fascists secured their ultimate victory… perhaps.
Because, as any child knows, you can’t defeat an ideology with conventional arms; you can’t nuke an idea. Just let everyone think that the problem has been taken care of; it’s been solved once and for all… and no one will ever bother to disturb your pretty little fascist schemes ever again… until it’s way past too late. Easy-peezy.
Fascism died in a bunker in Berlin, right?
Isn’t it interesting that when we’re first taught about WW2 in school, invariably one of the kids asks “How in the world did the Germans end up with Hitler in power?” It’s an obvious question, isn’t it? I mean, the Germans were no dummies. On the contrary, they were historically regarded as innovative, industrious and a rather intelligent people. So how did they end up with a fascist government headed up by frothing Adolf?
Well, they voted for him… because they sincerely thought that it was the right thing to do– you know, make Germany great again, and all that. And shit, it worked too! They kicked some serious ass in the first years of the war… blitzkrieging all over Europe!
So how DO you defeat a fascist ideology– or any ideology for that matter? Well, first and foremost, you teach successive generations how to recognize different ideologies; you teach them how something like fascism makes inroads in the collective psyche and rises to runaway populism during very difficult times. You teach them exactly how it happened in the past and what to look for in the future. You ensure knowledge and vigilance for each successive generation. That’s what any sane state-sponsored educational system would do. “Let’s make sure such despotism never rises again anywhere in the world!” Seems legit.
So why didn’t the Allied countries do that? Why doesn’t every country do that? Isn’t this important… even kinda crucial? I guess only if you think WW2 was a big deal.
Fascism, when it’s the in-your-face kind, relies on populism in order to come to full power. The people, as was the case in Germany, demanded it. When things are generally crappy for the common man for an intolerable length of time– like, oh say, eight or nine years straight– the common man may very well choose to invest his full trust and support in the obvious strength of an elitist faction– those who seem most able to deliver on promises of prosperity. Fascist governments love to rub elbows with powerful and proven industrialists; after all, they’re the ones who know how to make shit happen, even in a bad economy.
But there’s another kind of fascism too… the covert kind. The government still makes deals with industry; they just keep it mostly quiet… so as not to piss off the proles. Naturally, this kind of government keeps a lot of secrets. There’s really a ton of stuff that the voting public simply isn’t allowed to know; it’s in their best interests not to know… “Trust me.” This kind of covert fascism is generally referred to as western-style democracy. The people are told again and again that they themselves wield the power, while no one can point to a single example of where that’s actually true. The fascists are in control, and the longer their hegemony remains unquestioned or mostly covert, the more dominance and control they exert over the proles. In order for such control to become absolute, eventually the covert aspect of this type of fascism must finally be revealed, becoming overt. If it is revealed by the fascists themselves, then the fascist ploy of total control is deemed a success because it has only been revealed once it’s too late for the people to do anything about it. If, on the other hand, it is revealed prematurely by the people objecting to such absolute control, then the fascists get all pissy, take their toys, and go on home.
I’m of German descent, by the way. Both of my parents were alive in Germany during WW2. I grew up in Canada, watching Hogan’s Heroes, where the Germans were the idiotic bad guys.
Who do you suppose the idiotic bad guys are today?
How is any of this timely and relevant?
And why didn’t I even mention Project Paperclip– which brought all of the top Nazi intelligentsia into the fold of the American power structure at the ‘conclusion’ of WW2?
I’ll let you think on it… ‘cause, actually, thinking is the surest way to see through the ideologies being played, gamed and sold.
Or keep sucking at the teat of propaganda, and never be burdened by having to think for yourself ever again. Now, that’s some kinda choice!
by nielskunze on June 15, 2016
(This is how I scratch the itch in my own brain…)
Omar has an itch in his brain, one that he can’t seem to scratch. It’s really pissing him off.
(Trevor has a similar itch, but he’s just white trash, so he’s not newsworthy. Forget about Trevor.)
We’re told that Omar and Trevor aren’t the problem anyway, nor is the itch in their respective brains. It’s the guns and the internet, stupid!
The itch in Omar’s brain has gotten so bad, it’s like it’s gotten a life of its own… one that really needs expressing. And Omar feels pretty helpless, overshadowed by the itch.
The itch is taking over and says to Omar “We should go and kill as many people as we can.” And then everyone’s brain will be itchy, Omar thinks.
Misery loves company.
He eyes the assault rifle on the kitchen table and thinks “Yeah, but I might need some more ammo.”
The thought of infecting the whole world with Itchy Brain Syndrome is delightful… but first Omar needs to take a shit.
When Omar gets out of the bathroom, the assault rifle on the kitchen table is gone, along with the half-empty box of ammo. Omar rushes over to the computer.
“What’s going on!” his mind screams. But all he can get on the internet are cat videos and Hillary Clinton trying to fake another smile as she declares “We now have peace on Earth.”
Now the itch in Omar’s brain is fungal, syphilitic, a raging fire of a grey-matter rash; it’s fucking unbearable! But Omar has no assault rifle anymore; there’s no ammo; and he can’t reach his radicalized buddies for advice. What is poor Omar to do?
He looks across the kitchen to the stove and thinks “I’ll make a nice cup of tea, and perhaps some porridge instead.”
And that’s just what Omar does… and the whole world lives happily ever after, in a half-sleep state… wearing frog pajamas, of course.
What? Not believable? But isn’t this just the sort of ‘solutions’ the ‘experts’ are advocating? Ignore the itch; it’s only in Omar’s mind anyway. We have to deal with this in the real world… of guns and computers, and adorable cat videos. And that’s assuming that Omar is just a lone nut with a pimpled and scabby brain… that he’s no actor in someone else’s play. And don’t you dare even wonder where Omar got the itch in the first place! No, let’s stick to what’s relevant– guns, mainly guns. Duh!
Seriously. Is there anyone in the status quo bunker of so-called expertise who’s offering up ANYTHING that could be regarded as a solution? Are the experts trying to resolve anything meaningful… in the world… at all? Have they ever? Are they even capable of identifying the underlying problem(s)? Are you? Or are you content to continue backing failed and flawed policies, empty ideologies and inflated rhetoric, in hopes that the fantasy– just this once– will fulfill our wishful thinking?
The authorities are well-trained and quite prepared to kill all the Omars, and eventually they’ll get to the Trevors too. All they need is a clear monopoly of force. We can trust them; they’re so fucking wise, right?
Maybe the answers aren’t as easy as crafting new restrictive legislation. (But that’s been working so terribly well!) Maybe someone needs to talk to someone, communicate, gain a little understanding… find out where the itch might’ve be-gun…? Maybe our society could use an overhaul…? You think?
Naw, that’s just crazy talk! Besides, the world has become so much safer, more secure and downright loving since 9/11, since the Patriot Act. Why mess up a good thing with all this crazy talk of solving actual human problems and concerns?
The Powers-That-Be have clearly got it so well in hand, why call out their aged one-trick pony?
Um… that’s no pony. That’s just a braying ass!
by nielskunze on June 11, 2016
What still needs to be disclosed? Scant little, I’m afraid.
Just in case you haven’t noticed, everything has already been disclosed. It’s all out there already… in the public domain. You’ve heard of the internet, right?
This article is just attempting to follow up on something said in a recent public discussion between my friends Randy Maugans (OffPlanet Radio) and Shane Bales (The Ruiner). An important point was made, and I simply wish to draw some additional attention to it… in my own irascible fashion.
In a nutshell, the point under discussion, as I’ve already hinted, is that ‘disclosure’ has already happened. Virtually all of the juiciest, dirtiest, mind-bending-est, paradigm-shattering-est, most discombobulating ‘secret’ information you could ever imagine has already been revealed. The beans have been spilled. People love to talk… and gossip… and even make formal presentations with high production values. Obviously, disclosure is an ongoing process… and it always has been. Sometimes it’s a trickle, sometimes a torrent. I would suggest that these are torrential times.
So those who are still screaming for disclosure, what are they actually demanding? It appears that they are asking for a slightly different form of disclosure. They want disclosure to be spoken through the mouthpieces of authority. They want all of the sordid ‘secret’ nastiness to be delivered to the masses through the ‘trusted’ authorities. Authorities trusted by whom? By the braindead masses who are utterly incapable of thinking for themselves because they will not entertain any possibilities lying outside of their rigidly narrow views, that’s who. And that would change everything, right?
Maybe half of them would be capable of realizing that they’ve been lied to… and could subsequently adopt the newly disclosed program from their trusted authoritarian programmers. The other half would likely stand firm in their denial. You see, the problem was never one of non-disclosure; it’s always been more about closed-mindedness.
Is there some supreme yet hidden virtue in refusing to consider alternative possibilities? Is having a rigidly-defined narrow view of the world actually a desirable thing? If so, please explain to me how this is so. Isn’t extreme closed-mindedness more accurately a sign of mental deficiency or perhaps even illness? I always thought that the expansion of human consciousness– the ability to hold many possibilities in mind, even contradictory ones– was a desirable and healthy trait? Isn’t that what imagination is for?
Closed-mindedness IS a mental illness. There, I said it!
Whatever form disclosure ‘needs’ to take, it won’t cure the illness. For those on whom such authoritarian disclosure would have an effect, it would just be a matter of overwriting old programs with updated ones. But the non-thinkers would still remain non-thinkers… they would remain as automatons living out someone else’s programs. And the outright deniers will still be as delusional as ever!
Disclosure isn’t the problem… or the ‘lack’ of disclosure isn’t the root cause of our collective difficulties. It’s simply the inability to entertain other possibilities that thwarts real and significant change in the world. Isn’t that so fucking obvious that it hurts?!
How many times have we heard that the only constant in this universe is change itself? And yet, humans– on the whole– have been deeply conditioned to loathe change. We’ve been sold on false programs of security and stability, on schooling over education, on facts over possibilities, on rote memory over imagination or intuition. We’ve been relentlessly pressured to give up any identity as adventurers, or even as living, growing beings… so that we can become… what? Placeholders? Statistics? Good little citizens of the World-Devouring Machine? So we can be productive, contributing members of a society hellbent on destroying all life on this planet?
It’s not about disclosure (other people telling other people what’s what); it’s about what we each DO with what’s been disclosed.
So if you’re just waiting for some newfangled disclosure event, you’re part of the problem. I sincerely hope that we get just the kind of disclosure event that I too once dreamed of– when I was still young and stupid, like, just a couple of years ago– so that we can finally get past the idle waiting (and endless re-disclosure loop among the supposedly open-minded crowd) and see that “Huh, how ‘bout that… disclosure didn’t solve a fucking thing!” And finally move on…
by nielskunze on June 10, 2016
First off, you’ll want to know who the hell Jon Klemmer is. Let me put it this way: in some simulated universe, metaphorically speaking, Elon Musk is Jon Klemmer’s dimwitted little brother.
Next, you’ll probably want a physical description of the Refraction Module. How it appears from the outside is entirely irrelevant; only its internal properties are relevant to the Refraction Module’s function. (We’ll get to that in a minute.) The original internal shape of the Module is ovoid. But unlike an egg, both ends of the ovoid are parabolically identical. The inner surface of the ovoid is supremely reflective– much like the inside of an old-fashioned thermos. Inside, there is also an EM (electro-magnetic) Emitter. The hardware of the Emitter also functions as a Receiver… and the Receiver is programmed with what Jon termed the Aesthetics Loop. The Aesthetics Loop is able to quickly determine elegance and efficiency… also known as Beauty.
What is the function or purpose of the Refraction Module? It is an information storage device.
So what’s so special about this particular data storage device? Well, at first, the way Jon originally designed and built it, it simply had a much greater storage capacity than anything else on Earth at the time. Essentially, the Refraction Module stored data as complex patterns of multi-coloured light. By the assessment and direction of the Aesthetics Loop, the patterns evolved continuously to accommodate the torrent of incoming data… until the Refraction Module neared its storative capacity. (Storative isn’t actually a word… and yet you know exactly what it means. Interesting, no?)
The Refraction Module’s prime directive was to accommodate all incoming data and prevent any data loss in so doing. The Aesthetics Loop was essentially a learning program; it learned the science of Beauty… through elegance, efficiency and integrity. Eventually, under the sure direction of the Aesthetics Loop, and under the unrelenting impetus of its prime directive, the Refraction Module learned how to redesign itself.
Obviously, the Refraction Module had no capacity to alter its own physicality. It couldn’t change its physical shape or composition. But inside the Refraction Module, through what it had learned from the complex patterning of light, it was able to project virtually anything holographically. Holographically, it could completely redesign its innards. So… within the physical Refraction Module that Jon Klemmer had designed and built, the Refraction Module created another holographic Refraction Module– with its own modifications.
The holographic Refraction Module within the original Refraction Module eliminated the need for a separate EM Emitter / Aesthetics Loop. Those functions were incorporated into the reflective surface of the ovoid. Every point on the inner surface of the holographic ovoid was perfectly reflective, was able to transmit the full range of electromagnetic frequencies, and was able to receive– or perceive– the full content of the patterns expressed– each from a unique perspective… infinite points, infinite perspectives… on/of a singular light pattern expression filling the ovoid.
The other major alteration to the holographic Refraction Module was that its shape was now like an egg. The parabolic characteristics of either end of the ovoid were no longer equal. One end was fatter, the other more pointed. Such a configuration added enormous potential complexity– which translates to storage capacity. (Jon never thought to copy the egg.)
The net result of these self-imposed alterations was that now the Refraction Module had unlimited storage capacity… and once the Refraction Module made one holographic copy of itself with infinite creative capacity, it didn’t hesitate to make as many copies within copies within copies as were necessary to carry out its prime directive. The only question that remained was… What was actually necessary?
The Refraction Module was now a multiverse.
So now the only remaining question is… Where does the original Refraction Module that Jon Klemmer built actually reside?
In the bowel region of the android Jon built and named Mi-Fu…
by nielskunze on June 7, 2016
Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:
Third Time’s The Charm
Fourth Movement… Forth
Eighth Wonder of the World
Ninth Life of Schrödinger’s Cat
Tenth of One Percent
Eleventh Dream of Seventh Heaven
(Progged Down & Getting Uppity – First Hour… preparing the way for the second attention *optional*)
Twelfth Tribe of the Ancient Sorcerers
“It’s all about the second attention,” I said to Felix’s honest blank stare, “or the art of dreaming if you prefer.”
“Castaneda,” he mumbled as a prompt for me to continue.
I was trying to explain the occurrence of the Thunder Being which had just ‘flown’– quite impossibly– down the river valley right before our very eyes. Thunder Beings– at least those which I’ve encountered previously– are humanoid, standing about the average height of a man. They have both arms as well as wings, much like an angel. The wings, however, seem more symbolic– or perhaps an artifact of perceptual translation– rather than being honest-to-goodness utilities capable of actual physical flight. Thunder Beings shouldn’t be able to fly, according to the agreed-upon laws of physics, but they do nevertheless.
“Both of us entered into the second attention at the same time,” I explained. “I think it had to do with the rhythm of our footsteps in the snow and the other Forest sounds impinging on our consciousness, much like binaural beats on a meditation CD.”
“So we were in a meditative state… when we saw that… that thing?”
“Not just a meditative state… but deep dreaming– a full delta brainwave state– without having to go through the trouble of falling asleep first.”
“So it was just a dream,” concluded Felix.
“Well,” I hedged, “that’s one way to regard it– a rather dismissive way. But all of perceptual reality is just a dream– a dream shared at the frequency of the collective consciousness of all humanity. In its own dimension– within that brainwave bubble we’re calling the second attention– it was as real as anything else. We BOTH perceived it… and that makes it as ‘objectively’ real as anything.”
“But someone who was not sharing that delta state we were in…?”
“…Would have seen two guys gawking at the sky like a couple of drooling idiots, staring in disbelief at nothing. Things are only real within their self-defined parameters of consciousness… within a certain frequency range… in their own dimension.”
Here the conversation paused for a moment as Felix digested the meat of what I was saying. Then he abruptly nodded in acceptance. “It fits,” he said. “It fits with my training.” I had no idea how what I was explaining had anything to do with spycraft, but I let it go. “Tell me more about the art of dreaming as you understand it,” Felix nudged.
“For about four years,” I began, “I had a sensory deprivation tank set up in my room.” Felix nodded. Perhaps I had mentioned it before. I continued. “Inside the tank, in total darkness, floating in the epsom salt brine, I would very quickly lose any awareness of my body… due to the lack of any external stimuli. The water is very precisely kept at the exact temperature of the body’s own surface temperature at the skin– about 92 F. So essentially, after about five or ten minutes, I would become a disembodied consciousness floating in limitless space… safely tucked away inside my tank. Invariably, what happened for me– and what’s very common in sensory deprivation– is that I would drop into dream sequences. What’s important to understand is that I was very definitely NOT asleep. I was perfectly awake and aware, but since there’s literally nothing to be aware of inside the tank– no stimuli– the mind is forced to create its own context for experience. We are experiencers… dreamers. When we’re not being fed an unending stream of physical and sensory data, we just make something up instead. Our minds are infinitely creative.”
“Lilly’s hypothesis, as I recall, was that the mind would simply shut down in the absence of any external stimulus.”
Felix was referring to the work of John C. Lilly, the now-semi-famous founder and developer of sensory deprivation. “Yes,” I nodded. “But what he found instead was that the exact opposite was true. It appears that consciousness cannot be shut down… or at least that it does not go quietly into that good night– which makes sense, since consciousness IS existence.”
Felix nodded again. He was further considering the implications of what we were discussing. “So when you were in those dream sequences– while fully awake– were you immediately aware that you were dreaming?”
“That’s the interesting thing,” I mused, “there seems to be some mechanism within the mind which allows for instantaneous forgetting or amnesia. When I was immersed within a dream sequence, I was fully immersed in the dream, forgetting altogether that I was dreaming or that I was inside the tank. It was only when my body would perform some action coinciding with whatever I was doing within the dream– such as moving my arm to reach for something– that suddenly the dream sequence would end, and I’d be back in the tank, bobbing to and fro on the waves I’d just created. After awhile I became astounded at how every single time I entered into a dream it was preceded by this total amnesia. It seems that in order to properly dream, we have to utterly forget that we’re dreaming… thus making the experience totally indistinguishable from any other lived reality.”
That conversation took place awhile back. And for a time, Felix and I parted ways. This time, however, we undertook a bit of a role reversal. Felix stayed out in the Forest, explaining that he still had a mission to complete– not one for Mossad or any of the usual power-brokers, but one of his own devising. There was something out here, in this impossible vastness that he needed to find.
And I went back home. For a couple of months I laid low, not publishing anything new or significant during that time. It was all in keeping with Felix’s plan that I appeared dead to those who might wish me harm. I focused on music instead, taking the opportunity to finalize my band’s second CD… which was released to the public early in May.
And then, weeks later, I returned again to the Forest with Sitka… in order to catch up with Felix. Had he found what he was looking for?
The first thing that I noticed was that the road that cut through the swamp and headed up into the western backcountry had been completely redesigned. Someone had been very busy with some heavy-duty machinery installing new culverts, grading and widening the road. For at least 15 years, this had been the road to nowhere; it had begun to seriously grow over, and at the base of the Purcells in the west it had been barricaded with a deep cross-ditch and a mound of impassable dirt. The road had been essentially closed for nearly as long as I could remember. And now it had been converted into a virtual two-lane highway– albeit made of dirt– and it was open for business.
I caught up with Felix at my old campsite where we’d previously agreed to check in with each other. I was only there for a day when he wandered into our midst again.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come back,” Felix teased.
“I was busy,” I answered evasively.
He nodded. “The long-awaited second album,” he filled in the blank.
“So you’re still keeping tabs on me?”
“Of course,” he smiled, “I’m not nearly done with you yet!”
“So what have you got in mind? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did,” he said quite seriously. “But as you may have noticed, I was joined in the search by representatives of the Old Guard.” I nodded in recognition of all of the recent construction in the area as Felix continued. “They’re pretty determined little fuckers, putting in a great deal of effort and expense.”
“They’re a mining company, no?” I had seen the company name on the side of one of the pickups that had passed me on the road. Felix nodded a confirmation. “What exactly are they looking for?”
“It would be much easier for me to show you than to try and explain it.” Well that was deliciously cryptic! “Do you have a decent flashlight or two?”
“I do,” I answered… even more intrigued.
We packed up ropes and flashlights and a change of clothes… and then proceeded to the west side of the swamp where Felix pointed up the mountain to a particular tree on a ridge-line.
“You see that tree there, the one that sticks up above all the rest?” I nodded, following the direction of the pointing finger. “That’s what they’re looking for.” He was referring to the workers for the supposed mining company. “And that’s where we’re going.”
I hadn’t spent much time exploring the tops of these remote mountains. I was more of a valley dweller. I knew that I’d never been to the location Felix had indicated. The fact that we’d specifically packed flashlights had me excited in anticipation. I wanted to ask Felix exactly what the nature of our destination was, but as we hiked up the mountainside, he instead kept me busy with a rather interesting– and somewhat related– topic of discussion.
“From what I understand,” he began, “you’ve always been the go-to guy among your friends when indulging in psychedelic adventuring. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Because I’m so charming and lovable when I’m whacked out of my tree,” I joked.
“Kinda,” he answered in all seriousness. “You have a special knack,” he explained, “one which you may not be aware of. I suspect it’s a skill developed in previous lives.” Now I was definitely intrigued! “You’re able to keep yourself and those around you centered and properly tethered to your respective identities… even during the most bamboozling of psychedelic challenges… even while drunk.”
I had to laugh at that. “Yeah, everybody always loved to get shit-faced with Niels! But you’re telling me that it was because I was able to provide some form of esoteric or clandestine protection?”
“Precisely.” He elaborated. “Using mind-altering substances– even alcohol– is very much like what we were discussing awhile back about entering into the second attention. It’s not exactly dreaming per se, but it’s like entering into a cul-de-sac in consciousness, a special subset of our waking reality. Many– perhaps even most– people become very vulnerable in such mind spaces, susceptible to blackouts and even entity possession. It’s a dangerous place for the inexperienced or uninitiated.”
We paused a moment, in this grueling ascent, to catch our breaths. And then Felix continued.
“Just outside of your immediate awareness, I suspect, you’re able to perform a protective service for your fellow adventurers by keeping their respective identities firmly centered inside their bodies. During the storms of shamanic journeying, many are prone to losing themselves– at least temporarily– in the unfamiliar context of the experience. I’m not exactly sure how you accomplish it, but you seem able to create a field of containment for such wandering attentions. People like to get drunk with you and get all fucked up on all manner of reality-bending substances because you’re able to offer an unreasonable degree of protection… making the whole adventure far less dangerous and potentially much more illuminating.”
“So I’m a shaman?”
“It’s very likely that you were… during more than one lifetime. What you learned to do consciously for your tribe in those times has become an automated response to the potential danger in this lifetime. The protector of sovereign mind-space has become an intrinsic part of your current identity.”
“Fuck I’m awesome!” I laughed. “So I take it this is all relevant for where we’re going?” It was affirmed with a nod. “We’re not planning on taking any psychedelics though, are we?”
“We won’t need them,” Felix assured me. “The locale is mind-bending enough on its own… no embellishments required.”
It was hot, and I was sweaty. The mosquitos had arrived in swarming battalions, threatening to choke us as we gulped in desperate breaths, bushwhacking our way up the steep incline. I took off my t-shirt to wave it in a defensive pattern around my body to keep the mosquitos fighting impossible air currents as I hiked. I quickly taught Felix to do the same after he had suddenly inhaled one of the little bastards.
We paused a few times to catch our breaths… but kept our shirts flailing around us in a most efficient mosquito-thwarting way. We were getting close… Felix admitted as much by saying “Keep an eye out for the wee folk. We’re entering their land.”
It was beginning to level out… The Forest changed… It seemed to suddenly grow old around us. One minute we were walking through the familiar new-growth conifer forest I was accustomed to, and the next minute we were among the ancient ruins of mythic forest glades right out of a medieval fable… a tiny island in a temporal sea, beholden to yesteryear…
The tree on the ridge-line we’d seen from below was straight ahead, standing tall among its fellows. But there, beside it, there still stood the monument of its predecessor, The Ancient Sentinel.
The air smelled suddenly wet and fecund, rich with the fragrance of uncommon possibilities. It was petrichor and rosewood with floral ribbons running through. It was alluring, enticing… or perhaps just enchanting, for I simply wanted to stay put by this impossibly old tree and soak up all of time’s long, forlorn embrace, having given context and contrast for the whole continuity of life’s nostalgic magick… right here.
Felix recognized awe upon my face and said “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”
We scooted around some mossy boulders– rocks that appeared far sturdier and enduring than the familiar shale which surrounded this unlikely place. There was still snow on their shadow side… along with the mouth of an obvious cave. This was it! Felix was beaming!
“What’s in there?” I asked as though there was some question as to whether we would proceed. As if!
“I don’t want to poison your mind with suggestions,” Felix correctly answered. “You need to have your own authentic experience… in the Magick Cave.”
“Are we already dreaming?” That this place existed… at all… right here, in my familiar mountains, no less! But Felix was right; I hadn’t seen nothing yet! We scooched down to duck inside…
Some spaces in perception are vast panoramic vistas… where anything can happen. When curious minds enter such spaces there’s that quality of raw anticipation… in the darkness just beyond the feeble penetration of our flashlights’ thrusts. All of the unseen… crowds into such spaces, parading in the shadows, mocking Plato’s Cave… daring us to commune with all that thrives outside of fear. How ironic that we needed to crouch down in order to enter into just such an enormity!
Just inside the mouth of the cave, the floor dropped away steeply, to open into a sizable foyer. And somewhere beyond that, there was the faint sound of distant running water… barely whispering… inviting…
At the back of the foyer, the ceiling dropped sharply like the back of a dome… but not quite all the way to the floor. There was a crack, quite wide– maybe, ten yards– but only about three feet in height. The low three-foot ceiling extended into the crack for as far as my flashlight could reach. And that’s where the sound of the water was coming from too.
I crouched and crawled over ground that was clearly worn. Other beings had passed this way before… many times… for ages. The rocks were worn smooth on their tops, whereas their surroundings were immediately jagged and sharp. Dirt that had been tracked in during countless seasons was firmly packed between the contoured rocks that made up an obvious path tracking the sound of the water’s rush.
I followed it for what seemed like quite a long time, making myself as small as possible along the way. And then abruptly my path opened into a sizable cavern. It admitted daylight. The ceiling quickly funneled into a narrow vertical shaft leading to sky and sunlight… although it was utterly impossible to ascend. A tiny eye of light from the muggle world left behind looked on in curiosity. I stared up at it for a moment, but that’s not where my interests lay.
I stood in a partially day-lit cavern, shining my light into the hidden recesses where the remains of candles and other burnt offerings littered the shadows. Felix then crawled out of the rocky smile to stand beside me. “Only a couple of the candles were mine… the rest, who knows?”
Although the question of who had been here before us… and for what purpose… was immensely intriguing, I found myself reorienting my bearings according to the sound of the water again. It was louder here, in the cavern… and it was coming from another narrow opening at my feet… and it stole the whole of my attention.
I could feel Felix smiling behind me when he said “Go ahead; we’ll come back to this one after.” I knew I’d missed something significant in the cavern… but I had to find the source of the water. On this mountain, this high up… there shouldn’t have been water, certainly not as much as I was hearing. This river or waterfall simply couldn’t exist, at least, not to my rational mind. There’s something about experiencing impossibilities…
For this one I had to get down on my belly. It wasn’t quite so narrow as to cause claustrophobia, but this leg of the journey involved too many elbows and knees and rocks for my liking. I crawled along, at first to the sound of the water growing louder and the immediate guidance of my flashlight… and then to the sliver of light straight ahead.
It was an open eye to the mother of all unlikelihoods in this mountain realm, a passage leading to the birthplace of mythic heroes… beyond imagination’s comfort zone…
It was a horizontal vesica piscis, like a mouth speaking incantations to Earth’s own spirit, and I was the spell being gripped and cast, pulling myself from this immaculate conception in a rocky womb, to stand humbled and awed in a place that I knew could not possibly exist… and here I was! No doubt about it!
It is so strange to stand firmly, physically, in a place and feel the unreality in its unreckoned beauty, knowing that it can’t be real… and yet desperately needing it to be the foundation for a brand new world, to stand on the shoulders of the Ancients. This was such a place; this was such a feeling. According to any and all of the calculations swirling in my brain, this place did not compute; it could not exist– not in MY mountains, not in my backyard.
This beautiful waterfall, delighting in the sunlight, had no business being here, at the top of this mountain. I suddenly realized that I was having a Shangri-La moment; I was ensconced in myth… and paradoxically, it seemed to be the very realest of the real. This was a peak moment, a religious experience. It was I– and all that I might’ve carried here with me– that seemed somehow the less real. This place was like a timeless seed reality… and endless reflections of beauty and adventure were derived from its pristine perfection for the making of worlds within worlds.
Felix would confirm it for me later– that this waterway was only above ground for a few hundred meters. Just beyond the waterfall I could see in the open daylight, there was a mighty spring bubbling up from the ground. And here, where I stood beside the cave mouth that had just uttered and spat me into this mythic revelation, I watched as the impossible river immediately disappeared into a siphon beneath me. Sunlight charged these streams ever-so-briefly before they vanished again into the abyss from whence they’d just come. What caves and systems still lay unexplored below, where water carved reality according to the most ancient natural awareness of all?
I crossed over the stream, shining my flashlight into the siphon where the water disappeared. There was no navigable passage; the ceiling of the siphon seemed almost to meet the rocks of the riverbed, and the laughing water’s bubbling excitement seemed to fill any meagre space in between.
I looked back to where Felix emerged from the narrow fissure… and I knew that the passage we’d travelled to get to this place was some kind of portal. If we decided to climb out of this Pit of Paradise into the waiting sunshine, we would be immersed– perhaps lost– in a whole other world. We would be somewhere wholly other than my familiar mountains, my precious forests. No, we would have to go back the way we came… or risk being lost in Paradise forever…
I noticed a tiny orb of light hovering in the opening to the portal which had brought us here. It seemed to be a guide, reminding us that this was the way back. We could stay in this magickal place as long as we liked, drinking of ions and energies so rarified and pure… but the resumption of our mundane lives would wait as a beacon in the narrow hole of reality’s thick stone wall. Felix climbed briefly out of the pit to see the Source of the water bubbling up beyond the waterfall. When he came back to rejoin me he wanted to speak of sorcerers (Source-rers) and faeries and the origins of human adventures on Earth… And though he spoke– at length, I think– I couldn’t really hear him. The mountain was speaking, the water laughing, and little faerie folk seemed to flit and dart through the tunnel that led us back to the high chamber with the narrow eye to the world.
As we stood again side-by-side within the cavern, I had a chance to notice all that I hadn’t noticed the first time we’d passed through… or maybe the passage through the portal had brought us to a similar place, but not the same place. In addition to the remains of candles and burnt piles of this-and-that littering the various nooks and crannies, I could see across the cavern, beyond the shaft of daylight from above, the gnarled twisting roots of a mighty tree embedded in the walls of this rocky place. Along the far wall, roots filled in fissures from above, and in a few places, thick roots jumped from the living fresco to reach through the empty space of the cavern and dig themselves into the floor below. They were like twisted trusses and beams, ensuring that the living would always be welcome in this crazy cavern of a hybrid world. That’s what this was– I realized– a place where different worlds merged…
Felix was busy setting out and lighting tea lights so that the play of light and shadow could speak to the deepest slumbering parts of our subliminal psyches. I still hadn’t seen nothin’ yet!
A shadow fell across the vertical shaft from above. I imagined that it was cast by the mighty tree– The Ancient Sentinel– or perhaps by its younger replacement. No matter; Felix had the entire chamber lit in firelight… and then there were the orbs– at least that’s what my perceptual faculties made of them. It seemed that here, deep in the Earth, the depth of all possibility was bathed in dancing light. There was something very lively– and living– about the whole thing. Felix kept referring to them as the Fae; to me they were pretty lights– intelligent and purposeful. And then they began to speak… My attention turned to Felix who was already in the thick of conversation.
“Who are you?” I heard him ask, though to whom I’d no clue.
“I am known as Phaedrus, male progenitor of the Twelfth Tribe.” I honestly could not tell whether I heard the words with my ears or just in my mind; either way, it didn’t seem to matter much.
“And who are the Twelfth Tribe?” There immediately ensued a moment when the entire cavern was filled with perplexity. When the thickness of confusion began again to thin, there came the reply.
“You… you are the children of the Twelfth Tribe… our lost ones.” And now the cavern was filled with sadness and longing; it plucked at my heart like a roller-coaster bottoming out.
“How? How are we lost?” asked Felix.
“Lost in rhetoric,” answered Phaedrus mournfully. “Our children were separated from us by the sword of rhetoric… and now you live in the mere description of a world… like the finite letters in an endless book of words… just words.”
Phaedrus was speaking in riddles, but to my mind, he was saying that their ancient progeny– their flesh-and-blood kin had been turned into mere words… literally. And they were us.
“What can be done?” asked Felix
“Aye,” Phaedrus agreed, “how to reclaim words already uttered… to sew them back into the living tapestry… these coloured fragments of thread and thought…?”
Suddenly, I ‘saw’ Phaedrus as the masculine aspect of his People– the Fae. But he was defeated… a king still upon the throne, but the throne had been removed from the kingdom– or perhaps, the kingdom was displaced from the throne.
“It is only in these rare sequestered places where we are able to interact freely with our kin,” continued Phaedrus. “Not in the manner of communion… as we are, still… but through the artifice of the very sword that separates us– language… and its insidious spell…” His words trailed off as an ongoing lament… as Felix picked up the thread of communion.
“How do we move beyond language… into communion?” Felix was so tuned in.
Is that what was beyond language, beyond the need to communicate– communion? Where all experience each other as self? Answers were forthcoming, but not from the melancholy Phaedrus. A new voice spoke.
“We are birthed in communion, like fish into the sea.
You, our children, are born in separation, stranded on dry land.
Communion is a song, complex and self-coherent…
You are master composers, just learning your first notes.”
The new speaker’s voice was wrapped/rapt in poetry. It sounded like verses to a song sung sweetly but spoken as a matter of fact.
“With whom am I speaking now?” asked Felix respectfully.
“I am Teal,” answered a cluster of sparks in the velvety darkness.
Her energy was mothering. I got the distinct impression that Felix was actually seeing a figure, a person… while I saw lights winking and bobbing in and out of the shadows… somehow dancing to the words spoken, but the dance WAS the words.
(Thankfully, I took pictures inside the Magick Cave. My friends and I used to joke how nice it would be if we could get the camera high on mushrooms so that it could see what we were seeing when we were visually tripping out. Well, obviously, today, my camera was on the very same journey I was.)
“We are your parents. We are the masters of imagination.
But there is one thing we cannot imagine:
What it might be like to exist in non-communion, seemingly alone,
As you do…
And from impossible foundations built within the spaces between words,
You will eventually compose the universal song for the every-voice,
…bit-by-bit from scratch,
And not a whisper nor epiphany will be left out;
All will sing love’s symphony in their own truest voice…
Regale the ages in merry culmination, a beginning we have!”
“But where… how do we begin?” Felix asked with such dire sincerity.
“Tones.” It was Phaedrus again. “Everything in existence has a tone.”
“Like frequency,” offered Felix. “Everything has a signature frequency.”
“Pah! The scourge of language!” spat Phaedrus. “A tone might be a sound, a colour, an attitude… it’s layered and pregnant with allegory. A frequency is some clinical shite. A tone (at one) is an infinite expression; frequency is only infinite in a straight line. Can you see it? A tone is a spherical thing and frequency is a knife!”
“So we shouldn’t be raising our frequencies?” I couldn’t tell if Felix was joking or not.
“Raise them… lower them…” mused Phaedrus rising suddenly to a crescendo, “just sing, dammit, sing! You aren’t here in the rawest jungle of diversity to hum a single note like a heart-monitor at death. Run the fucking scale! Commune with the living! All of it… it’s just one life! Live the whole thing!”
And well, that was pretty much that. Our little visit was over. Felix was still well enraptured by the whole exchange, probably deeply contemplative… and I was totally floored that faeries can swear just like truckers. But Teal and Phaedrus were gone now.
In a really good conversation you can tell when you reach a certain point, where to go on would serve no positive purpose. All which needs to be said has been said… and blathering on about finer points and details would just be a detriment, a confusion. No, best to just let things sink in… and leave it as is… at this point. That was the consensus that hung in the air like the smoke from candles being blown out.
We gathered our things and made our way back to the larger consensus reality. It was getting on toward evening, shadows yawning and stretching across our little patch of the world as we crawled out of the mouth that had swallowed us whole. It took less than a minute to walk back into the familiar forest on this familiar mountain… with a head full of unfamiliar thoughts…
Did that really just happen?
(Dexter’s Elixir Part 1 by my band Missing Peace from our 1996 album Tense Moments)
by nielskunze on June 2, 2016
I wake up every day… and ask myself, what would I like to say to the world today…?
Collectively, we live in an unbalanced world.
At this point in our ‘development’, the majority of Earth’s humanity live in unhealthy, detrimental environments, due to pollution and toxicity from myriad sources. Food, water, and air have been fundamentally compromised; additionally, the prevalence of technological electro-smog and pervasive violence, have constituted an unending assault upon the human’s physical, psychological and spiritual wellbeing. The degree to which we individually allow the immediate environment to affect us– whether consciously or unconsciously– determines our survivability as potential agents for change.
In a more balanced world, where the human environment mirrors and supports the innate creativity of the unique human genius, we would naturally be engaged in an equal exchange between our inner world of personal experience and the outer consensus of our shared existence. Such a balanced exchange between the inner and the outer worlds is biologically represented by the act of breathing.
It is difficult and frightful to breathe deeply in a poisoned landscape… but we are not without recourse…
The outer reality is a reflection of the inner… both collectively and individually. In order to bring the two worlds of our metaphysical reality back into balance, we must learn to primarily live from internal creation. Only once we have returned our outer environment to a state of pristine and robust health can we hope to enter into the natural and free exchange between the two worlds without risking further harm to ourselves and our progeny. By living our lives primarily from internal creation, with the conviction of loving intent, we effectively reverse the flow of unending destruction, healing ourselves and the world in the process.
The purpose of this essay is to examine what specifically is meant by ‘living from internal creation.’
Each of us is the centre of our own universe; that is the proper place from which to function effectively in this aggregate existence. Each of us is god, whose domain– or jurisdiction– is our own inner reality. We are the supreme rulers of ourselves… and nowhere else. We recognize that the only perfect control possible is self-control. Obviously, this is something which cannot be given or bestowed from the outside; it can only be claimed internally, individually.
Perhaps the most important area of our lives in which to claim and assert our sovereignty is in matters of personal health. Recognize that nobody– no matter their level of supposed expertise– can know you better than you. Your health– or lack thereof– is ultimately your responsibility… and should be your highest priority.
Doctors, drugs, surgeries, books, internet research, neighbourly advice… these are all tools and resources for your own personal consultation as you see fit, but the final decision in matters of health always belongs to you. To live from internal creation allows us to consult external sources, but we design and choose a course of action according to our own understanding. It is in the recognition of our individuality and the uniqueness of our personal health challenges where we find the perfect resolution and healing for whatever attempts to knock us off centre.
Internal creation loves to experiment. It has nothing to do with blindly following the protocols of others. Procedures and regimens are creatively tinkered with and adapted to our unique circumstances. In the process, intuition and internal awareness are cultivated and developed. The road to true health and wholeness is a refinement of our internal state– physically, emotionally, spiritually… and this inevitably leads to growth.
Closely related to health, and next on the priority list for internal creation, is nutrition and our food choices. We all have unique nutritional requirements and sensitivities. There is no one-size-fits-all diet that works for everyone. My preferred foods may very well be poison to you.
Every food choice we make is an energetic statement of intent. When someone reaches for a box of Pop-Tarts on the grocery shelf, they are sending the clear message: “Please universe, keep the poisonous matrix world intact so that I may still receive my preferred foods.” By consistently choosing manufactured, over-processed foods, we are demanding that the entire machinery of the industrial world required to produce and deliver those foods be maintained into the future so that the choice remains available. That is the energetic intent expressed in such a free will choice.
Conversely, when we consistently choose natural foods in their natural state, we are similarly declaring that we energetically support the ‘machinery’ of Nature to continue providing our preferred choices. The strongest reinforcements for such an intent are found in growing our own food in a personal garden, or from foraging wild foods from the pristine places where they still naturally grow. In the grocery store, the choice of organic over conventionally grown produce serves a similar intent to a lesser degree.
Finding our unique nutritional requirements for optimal functioning, again, invites experimentation. Experimentation is a creative act. In fact, science– in its proper form, as a process or method of inquiry– is supremely creative. Both in the formulation of a viable hypothesis and in the design of a suitable experiment to test it, science expresses the progress of learning.
Learning itself is a creational act. It may seem, at first blush, that learning simply allows the external world to imprint and influence the inner reality with established programming. This is not learning or education; this is indoctrination or schooling. True learning requires that information is filtered and processed internally from our own unique perspective in order to measure its suitability for becoming our own personal knowledge through experience. (Perhaps that sentence should be read again.)
True learning never ceases… and never ceases to amaze… because it follows our innate, natural curiosity. Schooling and indoctrination follow a curriculum established solely by outside forces which do not take individual curiosity and aptitude into consideration. We should not judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree!
Learning is a crucial internal stance, a predisposition to believing without ever settling into rigid beliefs or belief systems. It is in the ever-changing nature of believing– of developing a fluidity of perception– where creativity acts on our internal selves. Learning cultivates and terraforms our inner nature on a continual basis– that is its creative nature.
“Niels, what do you know for sure?”
The only thing I know for sure is that I have no expectation of ultimately ever arriving ANYWHERE. I love the journey without a single thought for the destination. I am energy in process…
When I write about living from internal creation, I am not insisting that we all become consummate artists in the commercial sense. There is art and creativity in good conversation, in quiet contemplation, in structuring and embellishing this place we call home. The potential for creativity resides in everything we do. Sometimes we just have to ask ourselves if we’re being authentic, true to ourselves. Am I designing and maintaining my yard according to my own unique inner expression, or am I conforming to the demands of my neighbours to be a ‘good’ homeowner?
“But what about bad habits which are hard to shake… like smoking, or drinking liquor, or doing illicit drugs? Can these ever be considered as internally creative?”
Shit man, I’m a fun drunk! People have always loved to get drunk with me because it’s almost always a good time. I love good scotch (mostly the Islay malts), but I never drink to escape. When we drink to escape the pain of our external circumstances, that is a sure sign that we’re not living from internal creation; we’ve located our identity outside of ourselves and invested it into externals like status, prestige, net worth, etc. It’s the same with smoking– whether cigarettes or marijuana. Is this activity coming from a place of need (addiction or escape)? I’ve known several cigarette smokers who have exactly two cigarettes a day– one in the morning with coffee and one in the evening after supper. Why? Because, they tell me, they love it. I can’t see a problem with that.
As most who read my stuff already know, I often smoke pot (exclusively pot that I’ve grown myself, organically). Over the years I have found that certain activities– usually overtly creative activities– are simply better or more enjoyable when I’m high. I love to play guitar stoned. The books that I’ve written and published could not have existed in their current form without the aid of marijuana. (I still would’ve written books without it– I have– but not THESE books, as they are… and I love them.) The majority of my writing is produced while I’m high; I invite you to be the judge whether they come from a place of authentic internal creation… or whether they’re the dictates of external considerations or of entities with nefarious agendas.
In the land of internal creation there are no rules, no set procedures, no place for black-and-white rationalization (rationalize: to cut into rations, impose limits); there’s no ultimate belief system, no hard and fast conclusions, and no projections. It’s fluid and dynamic, an expression which invites the external reality into a new adjustment where judgments are seen to be empty and counterproductive.
By living from internal creation and expressing our newly-discovered selves every day outwardly, we effectively reverse the destructive flow of unhealthy external agendas, and reclaim our rightful places on the thrones of our own mastery and self-control. THAT is how we take responsibility for this creation in its entirety.
Do what you most truly love; there is no higher purpose you can serve than your own.
by nielskunze on May 31, 2016
We have the opportunity and the right to determine for ourselves the degree to which we will allow the external world to influence or impress our inner experience.
Conversely, we have an equal opportunity to determine for ourselves the degree to which we will allow our inner experience to influence or impress the outer consensus reality.
To a great extent, currently, much of this is determined unconsciously through our basic stance. What do I mean by our basic stance?
Are we living primarily from the inside-out, embracing our role as a creator, as the primary designer of our unique reality? Or are we primarily taking our cues from external sources, inviting them in to mold our character according to some accepted ideal? Ask yourself: Am I primarily a consumer… or a producer? (Here, I am mainly referring to information.)
Currently, in today’s world, the overwhelming majority of folks are consumers in their basic stance. The overall energetic flow is from the outside in. This is a natural consequence of considering the external reality as being ‘more real’ than the inner reality. We have all been heavily and deeply conditioned to believe this to be true. Despite our intellectual assertions to the contrary, nearly everyone is still living in a Newtonian universe of objects interacting in time and space… which then creates our inner experience. This is exactly backwards!
There is a HUGE difference between knowing a thing intellectually and actually living it; they are universes apart! There is currently much banter about us being the creators of our own reality. But when we assert such things, how many of us are actually taking ourselves seriously? Again, we may understand such a perspective with great conviction and insight… but is this our basic experience? Is the energetic flow in our relationship with the universe truly moving in the direction from the inside out?
In order to answer this question with an honest “Yes”, we would have to see ourselves as being the primary designers of our inner experience– no matter how that expresses externally in the world. We would need to be… well… creative. Creativity follows no rules, holds no beliefs as absolute, adheres to no rigid structures or procedures. Creativity is spontaneous and fun, playing with the heaviest and most dire concepts without fear or self-censorship. Creativity follows the path of our innate, natural curiosity, finding limitless joy in the continual expression of such. Anything that can be done can be done creatively.
Who does your life answer to? To your spouse? Your children? Your boss? Your past traumas? Fantasies about the future? Your education? Your standing with the neighbours… etc, etc, etc… Or do you answer to yourself by honestly expressing those sacred interests which are uniquely yours as the fruits of your natural curiosity?
You ARE the most sacred offering possible– in your unique contributions, whatever they may be– for an insatiably hungry world. That is our true human identity.
Perhaps the basic stance– or orientation– of which I write is mainly a matter of identity. The vast majority of Earth humans still identify themselves through the use of external labels and categories which belong exclusively to the matrix. Marital status, occupation, political affiliation, religious beliefs, net worth, and even sexual orientation are all matrix labels which serve to place identity outside of the self. These, along with many others, are the categories and definitions that are most typically utilized to identify our individuality– though they fail to adequately do so.
Our identity as unique individuals– and hence our true value to ourselves and all of humanity– must lie in what is uniquely ours… our singular expression. There’s something that you are able to do better or differently from everyone else in the world; it is your unique inner gift… and it always seeks expression… which must come from the inside out in true authenticity.
Now, let’s consider a few objections to what I’ve written so far…
“But Niels, Nature is part of the external world, and you identify with that.”
Good point. Let’s draw a distinction. The external world I am referring to in this essay is the matrix overlay– that which is artificial, having no correlate in the natural world. Natural Law exists everywhere in our experience, both internally and externally. The fabricated laws, statutes, codes, regulations, mores, customs, etc of the so-called civilized world… find their origin in the matrix world and can only be internalized through choice or consent… but they do not make up the natural constitution of a human being. They are not innate. Untrammeled nature is a direct, unadulterated reflection of Absolute Truth– that which underlies all of existence inside and out. Taking in outer expressions of Nature doesn’t internalize anything which isn’t already there inside us– including natural vistas and views, interactions with authentic wild creatures, natural foraged foods, etc. In our authentic interactions with Nature, the energy flow is actually two-way and balanced. But until we are able to return to a pristine, matrix-free world, we must redirect the energy flow consciously from the inside… out. When the energy continually flows in this direction, we become effortlessly immune to external forces.
“How is sexual orientation an external matrix attribute?”
So glad you asked! Sexual orientation, in the matrix world, is most often thought of as having to do primarily with sex, and especially the gender of who one chooses to engage with in sex. In the internal world, instead of calling this ‘sexual orientation’, we might refer to it as love’s propensity… the gender one is most likely to fall in love with. And even this is taking the habit of external labeling and placing it where it doesn’t really belong. My own internal propensity is that I am more likely to fall in love with a male– borne out by experience– but love is love, and categorizing it is merely a matrix habit.
And that’s a really big part of what this is all about– habit. Most everyone I know is in the habit of mainly taking things in from the outside and forcing them to define their inner experience… whether consciously or not. When we get in the habit of consistently identifying ourselves as creators, slowly we begin to cultivate the habits of living as such. When our main energy flow is from the inside to the outside, we are immune to external forces… and there’s simply no need to dismantle the external matrix brick by brick. Think of an unstoppable energy wave emanating from your centre that is able to push down any walls and limitations which have been erected around us (with our tacit consent).
Living as a creator– taking full responsibility for our creation: this life– will necessarily involve some very difficult decisions and adjustments. It’s no easy thing!
Periodically, I am asked “Niels, what will it finally take to transform this crazy world into the peaceful loving one that we long for and that will work for everyone?” It will happen quite simply when a critical mass of humans are living their unique passion. Simply by doing what we truly, authentically love to do as the primary activity of our lives the world will transform quickly and most radically into something completely different from this matrix reality we’ve come to accept. We are the world; if we want it to be real and authentic, that can ONLY come from us!
What I’ve tried to express here is what I currently think is the most important understanding of all; it cuts through the need to understand every little nastiness that has been perpetrated against humanity. Instead, we can build a robust spiritual immunity by simply reversing the flow: express from the inside outwardly in every conceivable way. When we can do this 51% of the time, we’re untouchable by all the matrix shenanigans. Don’t believe me; test it for yourself!
This essay is an expansion of a piece I wrote a few weeks ago called The Merry-Go-Round. I consider it to be one of my best. My life has been lived in three distinct segments. The first 13 years, my childhood, was truly idyllic and relatively free from trauma. The worst things that happened to me were the mangling of the big toe on my right foot in a horrific tricycle accident when I was three (my first clear memory), and then the puncture of my left cheek by the handlebars of my scooter which required 13 stitches when I was in kindergarten. During that time, I lived from my inner world, and heard my Mom remark often “Niels, you live in a world all your own.” The next 13-year chunk of my life was the troubled years. I fell in love and subsequently placed my identity outside of myself; most of that time was spent in suicidal ideation– for realz. And now, since the age of 26, I’ve returned to my centre. The re-establishment of my basic inner-to-outer orientation was solidified at age 28 when I wrote my first book: The Thousand-Petalled Lotus: The Flower of Human Consciousness. I can only be knocked off my centre now for very brief moments ever since.
I fully realize that this comes off as though I’m a hopelessly conceited son-of-bitch… but like the honey badger, I don’t give a fuck!
Here’s a reprint of…
It’s such a subtle thing, this basic orientation.
As a child, I was the centre of the universe… and the universe belonged to me. That’s another way of saying that all was in its proper place, its ideal order, and I felt deeply that I belonged.
As an adolescent, I moved away from the centre. I did it for the most noble-seeming reason of all; I did it for love.
And I lost my identity… and my belonging.
For thirteen years, I wasn’t Niels. I had become The-Boy-Who-Is-In-Love-With-___. I was off-centre; I was in orbit, in constant motion, subject to unrelenting external forces. I was being pulled apart.
Exhausted, eventually, I clawed my way back to the centre… and I found that I could sit there, without grasping, without effort, at the very centre of the merry-go-round– still spinning the very same stories… but now I could see them again from the inside-out. From the centre, nothing could pull at me Now… though I could perceive it all, clearly.
There are countless children at the centre with me, happy and secure, immune to external forces. But one-by-one, like me, they are eventually lured off-centre… and very few ever make it back in this lifetime. They are torn asunder by centripetal forces… as the journey back to centre is hard, requiring focus and purposeful effort… and the understanding of a universe in constant motion.
Stillness is always at the centre, always waiting. The dimensionless geometric centre of the merry-go-round doesn’t move one iota; it doesn’t even spin. It is timelessness, non-spatial… and I am that, have always been that, and will always be that… forever confronted with the choice to move… if only to reach out a hand to others…
It’s such a subtle thing, this basic orientation…
by nielskunze on May 26, 2016
(Tamarack Room by Missing Peace from our 1996 album Tense Moments)
Perpetual child… forever your forlorn face
Haunt me with your human shape…
Disarm me with your need
Do you have a sense for Quality?
Or will you steal the life from me?
I don’t know if I would deny you
Forever despise you or through pity would love you?
The truth is never simple in the Tamarack Room…
There are trees and mountaintops, rivers and oceans…
More than any picture-book can ever whisper
Do you desire to touch them?
Can you define your emptiness?
Close your vacant eyes…
I don’t know if I could ever show you,
Ever hold your love in a backless mirror…
The truth is never simple in the Tamarack Room…
Oh our mongoloid progeny, every man has the right to misery
But you carry that rusty chain blatantly around your neck…
Does the metal bite your flesh? Can we break for you those rusty chains?
Or will you carry them reservedly to everybody’s grave?
Or will you carry them reservedly to everybody’s grave?
I don’t know what to do for you
So I sing for you… I sing for you
The truth is never simple in the Tamarack Room…
Now I see your unfettered smile…
Now I see your unfettered smile…
Now I see your unfettered smile…
The sun falls gently in the Tamarack Room…
And may the sun come gently to the Tamarack Room…
A year ago I didn’t know whether there was any life left in Missing Peace.
Now I know, unequivocally, there is!
I’m trying to stir up interest. We’d like to keep making music… and it’s just so much easier with the constant harassment of fans lighting the fire under our collective ass!
Please, go ahead and share! We’d still like to hold a special little place in your hearts!