The Free Radical

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode
Second Thoughts
Third Time’s The Charm
Fourth Movement… Forth

Fifth Element

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 it’s 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.

“Shit!”

(Matrix by Chick Corea from his 1968 album Now He Sings, Now He Sobs)
_______________________________________________

Go To The Next Episode of Running Dialogue

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode
Second Thoughts
Third Time’s The Charm

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?”

“Your 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!
_____________________________________

Go To the Next Episode of Running Dialogue

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode
Second Thoughts

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)
_______________________________________

Go To the Next Episode of Running Dialogue

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode

Second Thoughts

I’d always been impeccable with my written word.

I was careful to never pick fights or instigate confrontations; I’m just one to stand my ground, claiming sovereignty moment-to-moment…

I was both completely exhausted and utterly restless. I tried lying down early, before the sun went down. But sleep, this night, would prove to be impossible.

I felt totally weird; first, a bit like I was mildly drunk; and then, I just couldn’t get comfortable. Whatever position I placed myself in, within seconds I would feel the irresistible urge to re-adjust myself… continuously. I kept shifting and shifting, desperately trying to rest during the two or three seconds between my subtle fits. And I tried to gather my thoughts.

The mild sensation of drunkenness seemed to have mostly abated, but far too much of my attention was being taken up by the frustration of this restlessness. I really had to force myself to think.

I still didn’t know for sure whether the cop and the helicopter were connected… but it seemed like one hell of a coincidence otherwise. My tenants said that the cop had seemed odd to them. He had introduced himself as Detective Something-or-other, and was certainly mature enough to be a detective, but he just seemed too old to be wearing a regular patrol uniform; it looked weird, they said. And of course, cops aren’t too keen on sharing anything about ongoing investigations, so they couldn’t tell me a damn thing about what the cops might want with my help. And the other thing was that– being a small rural community– we pretty much knew all the local cops; my tenants were certain they’d never seen this guy before. Odd.

The helicopter, I was pretty sure, had attacked me. I didn’t know how else to characterize it. And now I was infected with that thought. I had been attacked!

By what right? On whose authority?

I was still sure that I’d done nothing wrong. I hadn’t picked any fights, or reacted to the bait of another’s games and maneuvers. I just had the habit of over-sharing my life online, that’s all. So what could have possibly been considered ‘over the line’ suddenly now?

No… I shook my head. I’d been infected by a thought, nothing more. The helicopter was an elaborate placebo. I was righteously standing– well, fidgeting really– within my proper sovereignty. I hadn’t agreed to any poisonous clouds seeping through my skin; there was no good reason to accept it.

The only problem was… I was definitely feeling the effects of that dang placebo!

How do you purge yourself of a thought? Stick a finger down your throat? Up your nose? In your ear? Through your eye… and into your brain?

Experiences can’t be deleted; we can’t edit out events completely. We are left with the only recourse of re-interpretation, the creation of new meaning for said events.

I know virtually nothing about the helicopter. I have only assumed its evil intent toward me. From that assumption I have further speculated that the sparkly cloud of whatnot ejected from the helicopter was specifically directed at me… and further, from that, that whatever was in it was certainly vile and noxious. And… if past experience is any teacher, this scenario that I’ve constructed from various flimsy assumptions is most assuredly wrong.

Why did I create this for myself? The momentum of my thinking… and this is still where I arrive– a victim of my own mental conjuring! Oh, but not for long…

A scratch was beginning to formulate in my itchy mind.

A few months back I had written some revocations, declarations, proclamations, reclamations, etc…. among some statements of intent. They had felt quite powerful and profound during the creational process as well as when reading them back. They were things like “The Origin of Meaning in the World” and “A Brief Statement On Free Will;” they’re on my blog, under the Sovereignty Tools category… among a number of others.

I had previously worked with a batch of revocations designed by the Galactic Historian. They were okay, but I didn’t really feel the power in them– at least not like others were reporting. I needed to create my own.

Well, there’s one I’d been meaning to write for quite some time now. It’s called “An Appeal to Innate Body Intelligence.” Considering the condition I currently found myself in, such an appeal might be exactly what the doctor ordered– turns out, it was.

I wrote this one the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper. I wrote down the title… and then fidgeted annoyingly for several minutes. My mind didn’t want to focus, but I knew the sure pattern of my writing: even if I had next to nothing in mind going in, all I needed was the first sentence. The first sentence would then suggest the second sentence, and the second sentence would suggest the third. And those three sentences together would suggest the rest of the whole… easy peasy. I cobbled together an opening line…

“My physical, biological body knows itself.”

…and from there, the rest tumbled out in fairly short order.

An Appeal to Innate Body Intelligence

My physical, biological body knows itself. It has its own source and implementation of precise and complete intelligence. I recognize my body’s innate ability to distinguish between ‘self’ and ‘other’ in all instances. Therefore, my body knows the precise biological pathway for total healing in all conditions of infection, incursion, possession, corruption.

Every Living cell of this biology has its own innate connection to internal Source creation. These cells know the entire biological evolution throughout all ages, as well as knowing their own origin… particularly the origin of Life within them. My cells are the proven masters of nurturing Life; they are the experts of this biology– AS this biology. And being the Living record from singular Source origin to maximum fragmentation– every step of the journey– this multi-trillioned cellular organism is the Living record of how I got here AND a compelling depiction of the exquisite co-operation required to complete the journey Home. This body is an integrated marvel; I mustn’t ever forget that!

This body– uncorrupted– answers to the Will of my Living Spirit. The soul’s journey however is a history of corruption– the method of fragmentation employed. When the Will is rooted in the soul’s cellular programming, it chooses among that which is given; cells function according to their programs. I recognize that such Will is highly conditioned and easily manipulated. When the Will is rooted in Spirit, aligned with Life, however, my biology is free to draw inwardly from Source to create something wholly new, transcendent of programming.

It is the function of my Spiritual Will to overcome corruption. I Will seek to communicate evermore effectively with the innate intelligence of this biology in order to grant a burgeoning permission for Life to express through my Being in novel ways… irrespective of programming… trusting in our shared knowledge of Self… as the pathway Home.

And I was cured, just like that.

The magic isn’t hidden anywhere in what I’ve written above; no, the magic is in the creational process itself! It was the act of entering the creational mode of Being required to produce those precise words that did the trick.

No one else could have written that– not exactly like that. My appeal to my innate body intelligence was uniquely my own; I had to dip down into the reservoir of mind beneath the threshold of authenticity… to create the spell of my restoration. And as the creation took form, my inexplicable agitation abated.

We are restored in our authentic creations– in the act, not the result.

Okay, so maybe the night wasn’t all that harrowing. At this point it wasn’t quite morning yet, but now I was too happy and excited to fall asleep; the exhaustion had vanished as though it had never belonged to me anyway. I laid comfortably on my back, staring at the black silhouettes of overhanging branches against a dark, overcast sky. I guess I was just waiting for the morning light…

In the dawn light I saw that my t-shirt was still dappled with innumerable discolorations from my encounter with the mysterious mist the day before. I kinda liked it– but only because I could feel within my body beyond any doubt that I was just me– no infiltrators. Only the outer reality had been superficially altered. The helicopter had gifted me with a funky new dye-job for my shirt. Meanwhile, I was fine.

Now I had to decide whether my camping trip was done, or whether I was better off remaining physically aloof from whoever might still have designs on my Life and Will. Well, one thing I knew for sure… was that if I was going to spend significant time out here away from home, there were a few more things I’d need… like electricity and a reliable internet connection.

I now have my laptop with me, along with an electric motor for power generation, and a satellite hookup for internet. I’d already built a waterwheel for the brook beside my cabin years ago. I could reassemble it in a jiffy to provide a 24/7 trickle-charge for the two deep-cycle batteries salvaged from my motorhome. The satellite internet hookup was a bit of fluke to be in my possession. A friend of mine who’d gone to Africa a few years ago on a teaching contract had been provided with the necessary satellite interface for field access to the internet. By the time his contract had ended in Cameroon, the basic infrastructure for internet had been installed locally, so they allowed him to take the satellite interface with him when he left. On a camping trip last year, this friend had left the unit with me, thinking that I’d likely get more use from it than he would living in the city. Well, I really appreciated it now!

So as you will have gathered, I’ve decided to remain in the bush for the time being. Why? When I went home to collect the remaining ‘necessities’ I decided to give the cops a call. I phoned the local RCMP detachment. I told them who I was and that I might be interested in helping them with their investigation if they might be so kind as to tell me what such help might entail. Well, they didn’t have the faintest, foggiest clue what I was talking about.

Apparently, the officer who’d come to my door wasn’t one of theirs!

What the fuck was going on!
__________________________

Go To the Next Episode of Running Dialogue

“Fuck you!” I shouted over the steady staccato, shaking my fist at the sky. My middle finger extended its own salutation as I added “I’m a poet, not a fighter!”

It hovered a moment longer in observance, and then the helicopter dipped sideways to skedaddle over the ridge. The light cloud of whatever-the-fuck it had dispersed in the air above me swirled a moment in the turbulence while continuing its inexorable fall upon the Forest in which I stood. Mostly it looked dirty grey– but with a few sparkles glittering in the sun. I tried desperately to get away before the unholy mist could descend upon me, fully knowing my efforts in that regard to be futile. I was about to be finely dappled in some strange techno-magic…

All this craziness began a couple of days ago.

I was out on my ritual walk; I don’t know what else to call it. It was perfectly ordinary and totally sacred… as it was every day… a thousand times before.

I know this Forest; I know it as myself.

There is a part of me that is more at Home here than any other part of me has ever felt ‘at home’… That ‘part’ is my Spirit, creating all of it– all the parts and counterparts to the discernment of my perception. Spirit meets Spirit in the Forest Life.

When I encounter critters in the Forest, it’s easy to tell if it’s just a chance occurrence or a deliberate attempt at interaction. There’s a vast difference in an animal’s behaviour if you happen to stumble across it, than when it has obviously stalked you and sought you out.

When it comes to helicopters, however, their motivations aren’t nearly as discernible.

This same brown helicopter– a bit odd looking– kept making passes very nearly overhead. He was always just off to the side, and each time I happened to be in dense forest, so I knew there wasn’t much chance that he’d spotted me or the dogs. But the places he chose to fly suggested that he knew my daily route; I was just lucky enough to pass through the highly visible spaces while the brown helicopter was away looking elsewhere.

I couldn’t say for sure that he was looking for me, that he even knew that I existed, but the seed of the possibility had been planted in my awareness; my attention piqued. And it’s so easy to let the paranoia run along beside you when the thump-thump-thump of a helicopter is dogging you through the woods… or so it seemed.

But it was still another hour to get back to the truck, and during that hour the brown helicopter was nowhere to be seen or heard. By the time my ritual walk was over, I’d pretty much decided that I had just let my imagination run away with me, and the brown helicopter who’d scrutinized my territory was merely coincidental. I loaded up the dogs in the back and drove the five minutes to ‘home.’

Just as I was approaching the turnoff from the highway, I noticed the vehicle who had just taken the same turnoff ahead of me– a decent distance ahead of me. When I saw the side of the white four-by-four I could make out the RCMP insignia. The paranoia cozied up with me again. I was too far back for him to really notice me, but suddenly I wasn’t quite so eager to get home.

I parked the truck briefly a couple of blocks from home, and quickly went to spy on my own house. The RCMP truck was parked along the street in front of my house; it was unoccupied. I could see a uniformed officer standing outside the side door conversing with one of my tenants. I was nowhere near close enough to hear what was being discussed.

All I knew for sure was that I hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all very puzzling and rather upsetting. I was quite curious… but part of me insisted that I didn’t want to satisfy my curiosity with that particular uniformed being. The direct confrontation just looked and felt like something I’d be better off not stepping into. I’d puzzle it all together later, but now I took the dogs to the river for another swim… to allow the curious foe time to get away.

I still didn’t park in the driveway; I was around the corner. Coming home, in this instance, I was on a tight mission. I pumped my tenants for all the information they could give me about what the cop wanted. They told me everything… which amounted to very little. I wasn’t in any trouble personally. Well at least that much made sense; I hadn’t done anything. He’d said they wanted my help in an investigation. What does that even mean?

Then, I grabbed my older, bigger backpack and geared up for a few nights of camping, just me and my dog. (The other two dogs belonged to the tenants.) I still didn’t know if the brown helicopter was related to the RCMP visit or not. I figured that by going out camping for a few days– which is incidentally the precise lie my tenants told the cop as to why I wasn’t there– I figured that if they really needed me, they apparently knew roughly where to find me, and I’d rather meet them in the place where I feel the most comfortable and supported, as opposed to some authoritarian box of intimidatory design. My turf, not theirs.

I had decided that whatever this is, it’ll be played out in the Forest– my family and witness. I wasn’t into playing anyone else’s games; Nature and I shared the same creative game of evolutionary expression. Civilization and its myriad torturous games was now just some uninteresting overlay seeking domination… easily avoided.

Maybe I was always just looking for an excuse to move full-time back into the woods. These events gave me the excuse I needed to grab my evac bag and settle in for the long haul if necessary. I couldn’t go back to the little shack I’d built more than a decade ago up in the gorge; too many people had come to know about it– probably because I had posted videos online showing off my little getaway. I established a new base-camp in a hidden location I’d scouted out years before. I might still be able to salvage some of the lumber from my old shack to build a suitable shelter if I’m still out here come winter. For now I didn’t have to worry about it; it was only the end of July, and living in the woods is actually pretty easy in the middle of summer.

On the second day the brown helicopter returned. It was a pleasantly cool day, so I had decided to leave my dog at the truck for a bit while I established the longterm comforts of base-camp. The truck was shaded and well hidden from aerial view; when the brown helicopter suddenly appeared, unfortunately, I was not. I was exposed and spotted almost instantly. (At least I had been a fair distance from my new camp, so I don’t think the location was in jeopardy.)

At first, I wasn’t hugely concerned because I knew that at least they couldn’t land that thing anywhere nearby. I figured they were just tracking me for now and they’d send in the goons later on foot. I was wrong, and now the strange mist they’d dispersed above me was just beginning to reach its target.

I was in a t-shirt and shorts, plenty of skin exposed. This was some pretty weird shit! The places where the droplets and particles landed on my shirt there was an instant discoloration. Where they ‘landed’ on my skin… they just seemed to disappear inside. I watched these particles just pass straight through my skin as though it was no barrier at all. And even as they were passing through I could still see them beneath my skin, embedded in flesh, as they sunk deeper and eventually disappeared. There was no accompanying sensation at all, so it made me wonder if this was something that was actually happening or just some holographic presentation for my mind. Either way it was pretty freaky.

I retrieved my dog from the truck and settled in at base-camp… to endure a harrowing night.

(I’ll explain my internet connection in the next briefing.)
___________________________________________________

Go To the Next Episode of Running Dialogue