The Free Radical

The Greatest King

The thing about the Greatest King,
those who’re listening
might appreciate,
Is… though he may know
Joy,
he couldn’t understand–
he was only eight–
How was he supposed to be great?
“I’m just a boy
from a far off distant land!”
Not gonna lie,
he was only five
When he took flight
to that distant quarter.
The thing about that far-off land–
please understand–
A king with a ruling hand
Had never tamed… her border.
The boy had been named the Greatest King…
But who could lay blame or utter disdain or
anything… disparaging?
It was just a name–
the same lame game
we’re all called to play…
As Rotbaggers or Kings,
we’re called many things…
And then the things that we say!
So often disagreeable;
But such mountains build up…
And the Greatest King would near sing
“Fuck! I’d say that’s definitely skiable!”
Yes, the boy loved snow and
strapping things to his feet.
And you know… he’d even go to meet
Death in the snow– such conceit!
But he had such faith, he’d show,
in those things on his feet…
And little-by-little he gained understanding:
At the extreme, the middle’s demanding–
the launch and the flight
are only as good as the landing,
and should he die in his boots…
He might even be standing!
And to die like a man commanding respect…
…except he’d be dead– no condition to expect
much of anything ahead…
Silly King!
Best not to die… quite… yet.
Other adventures lay in wait
For those skirting fate
and willing to love more than just blizzards.
Whether first, worst or best
a friend is a test,
Especially when he’s a wizard.
And where but here among
rhyme or jest
Could the Greatest King meet a Zymurgist?
For a Zymurgist is a kind of wizard,
Near and dear to nearly everyone here–
A Zymurgist is a Wizard of Beer!
Oh dear!
Let’s be clear… a Wizard of Beer
Is no one to fear,
But his expertise in all things beer
was merely a disguise…
and underneath a crazy kind of wise
belied his bloodshot weary eyes.
“Come here,” he sighed,
“And tell me what you’ve realized.”
And the King had to think,
For he didn’t wish to appear
deficient or queer,
a fool or a dink, so he raised up his drink
and said “Um… I like beer.”
The Wizard laughed politely
and immediately thought it rude,
So he mustered up a belly laugh
that ended… in a puke– you know,
just one of those… little sour flows…
up into your throat… or maybe your nose,
not much, but just such enough
to make one sputter and cough…
and utter at last “To start off…
I was just trying to laugh.”
Now there’s more to hear, you know
than about beer and snow and such–
But not much!
There’s this one other thing
that our recalcitrant King–
A flower– that a boy needs to pluck;
For boys will be boys… and kings with their things…
Well, you know how a boy loves… his truck?
Well the Greatest King found his luck on a string
that pulled him from the lure of the loner–
Let’s please understand that a King is a man
with two hands… and an occasional boner.
But the tug on this string was no ordinary thing:
The rhythm of a new different drummer…
And the King who loved winter
Started a fling
With a girl ironically named Summer.
Now at the risk of high treason
let’s fill in the seasons…
As we’d expect, perhaps with regret,
He was prone to forget… What
was the King inept at remembering?
Anything… and all… and that was his fall,
with autumnal grace
he’d say straight to your face
“I just forgot… That’s all.”
Okay, dearest King
That brings us to spring
and the planting of seeds… and ideation.
What might you need
that would ever exceed
the choices of your own creation?
Indeed, spring is no season… for philosophy
And the King would proclaim
on his good name
that “No one is the boss of me!”
Agreed! Indeed! Nothing to concede.
Let’s leave this atrocity
before it recedes
into a paucity of words…
But all things… being equal
I retain the rights to the sequel.

Introduction Newsletter 14

Intro 14

“…part of the package of being a living thinking being is that you get a galaxy-sized object inside you.” – Terrence McKenna (History’s Fractal Mountain – Paranoise)

100 years after ascension, in the palindromic year of 2112, the following conversation took place– telepathically, in 5D, and has been subsequently rendered into a 3D format:

Boy: Was there really seven billion people on Earth at one time, Grampa?

Grampa: Maybe even more.

Boy: What happened to all those people? Why aren’t they here with us?

Grampa: I’m ever hopeful that they’ll be along shortly.

Boy: Grampa, it’s been a hundred years! What are they doing?

Grampa: Still trying to figure out the whole ascension thing, I reckon.

Boy: But ascension is easy!

Grampa: Yup. ‘Bout as easy as falling in love. Doesn’t require much doing or thinking. Just a heartbeat’ll do it.

Boy: So… why aren’t they here yet… if it’s so simple?

Grampa: In and around the year of ascension, 2012, the world was a very… let’s say, complex place. The people lived in their heads. Any thinking, no matter how seemingly rational and utterly meticulous, when it’s disconnected from the heart, leads inevitably deeper and deeper into confusion. Interestingly, such confusion would typically manifest as sheer intellectual arrogance. And you simply can’t teach people who believe that they already know. Today they are still mired in the habits of that “knowing.”

Boy: What do you mean by habits of knowing, Grampa?

Grampa: Perhaps habits of perception would be more accurate… or not. You have to understand– and this might be difficult for you– nearly all of those people, living at that time, saw the universe as something outside of themselves.

Boy: Certainly Grampa, this isn’t difficult, for reality is a projection.

Grampa: No boy, you misunderstand. You were born here, raised with this knowledge. We are portals; we are gatekeepers. As integrated sovereigns, we shape reality as it emerges through us. But a hundred years ago, very very few could grasp this fundamental truth. They saw themselves as actors on a stage built by the hands of unseen others. Reality was singular and seemingly fixed in place; its dynamism and mutability lay firmly in the hands of far-off deities or strictly esoteric, unobservable natural forces. Whatever came into their lives came from without.

Boy: But that’s absurd! Reality comes through me… right here!

Grampa: Hm, yes, through the heart. Indeed. So many tried in earnest to grasp the concept… and failed.

Boy: But it’s not a concept. It’s an experience!

Grampa: And that’s what I’m trying to tell you boy! Everything was a concept. Ideas were valued above experiences. Thinking replaced knowing. Simple authenticity was abandoned in favour of elaborate theorizing.

Boy: But… but… oh, this is so terribly confusing! Didn’t the people at least occasionally fall in love?

Grampa: Oh, indeed they did. Frequently, I’d say.

Boy: And this too was seen as an external thing? How could it be?

Grampa: Falling in love was an aberration, an anomaly. They didn’t know what to think about it, so it was taken for granted… and marginalized.

Boy: What! They ignored love?

Grampa: No, that would be impossible… being the only “thing” in creation that is truly real. No, they just habitually downplayed love’s significance… because it wouldn’t yield to their incessant intellectualizations; it wasn’t that important.

Boy: But they could feel love?

Grampa: Oh indeed, every bit as much as we do. But when they’d fall in love it was often looked upon as a form of temporary insanity. You see, when the head rules, the heart is the enemy.

Boy: Grampa, I’m trying to understand this; truly I am. I’m picturing a child asking his mother “How will I know when I have fallen in love?” And there is naught but one answer which the mother may speak. “You will just know; it is unmistakeable. You will know.” Loving is knowing… and thinking has no bearing. How can love ever become so subservient?

Grampa: The old Earth has long been a prison planet. The original trap was set many thousands of years ago.

Boy: The Archons?

Grampa: You know of them?

Boy: From stories.

Grampa: I still prefer to call them ankle-biters. “Archon” is too regal a title for such ignobility. They are masterful though, in their mimicry and deception. Long ago, through a tragic misunderstanding, they exercised their freewill collectively to sever their connection to Source. They opted out of love’s Creation. As such, they are powerless to create, for they lack the energetic resources, so they imitate and deceive in order to siphon energy from other freewill beings.

Boy: But who would choose to willingly support such parasites?

Grampa: Here I must introduce those old Earth beings known as the intercessors– the priests and politicians foremost among them. The intercessors were very much the human equivalent of the ankle-biters… and very much their servants. Society was structured at that time such that the average citizen would periodically cast a vote for a particular politician who would then, if elected, make all the myriad decisions about public policy for those who had empowered him. In this manner, the citizen was required to make only a single critical decision once every few years, and in the meantime, his political representative would make all of the decisions of import in his stead. This was universally looked upon as an enlightened form of governance known as representative democracy.

Boy: Did they understand nothing of sovereignty?

Grampa: As a concept… assuredly. Experientially… not at all. There were hardly any sovereigns at that time.

Boy: But at least the citizens understood that they had given their power away?

Grampa: No, not at all. Power had become externalized. It was something that existed out in the world somewhere; it did not reside to any significant degree in individuals. Those few who recognized their bequest of power, invariably looked upon it as a trivial thing.

Boy: But Grampa! They had hearts beating in their chests! How could such a situation ever come into being?

Grampa: Here I must speak of the other intercessors, the priests. The tale of how it was actually accomplished is one for another day, but the priests inserted themselves between God and man. The average citizen could only contact Source through the agency of the priesthood.

Boy: But… but… the connection to Source is forever in one’s own heart! How can another get between a man and his own heart?

Grampa: The heart is infinite, and freewill, absolute. It could only be done through invitation… and beguiling deceit.

Boy: Like the old vampire stories where a vampire can only hurt you if you invite him in.

Grampa: Exactly. The whole world invited the intercessors in… and embraced them… adoringly… for millennia. And it is precisely this which you must understand when considering The Shift of a hundred years ago. The layers of deception were generational. Each new generation of children were born into deception, swaddled in fabrications, and were rewarded for their complete indoctrination into the lie. And they would happily pass along the notions and ideas which had distracted their attentions from anything real to their own precious children. And you know how– no wait, you wouldn’t… Nevertheless, lies and deception beget more lies and more deception, lest someone finally begins to see through the illusion. The world seemed so unfathomably complex and confusing, and as more and more struggled to see through the lies, new belief systems were invented, new narratives emerged; everyone had their own take on what was going on in the pageant of ideas run amok.

Boy: So what exactly took place at the time of The Shift?

Grampa: Everything was backwards and upside-down. Confusion reigned. The ankle-biters had grandly deceived humanity once already in the distant past, tricked them into building their own prison. When it was finished and secure, humanity handed the keys to the priests and politicians. The deceivers knew that a time would come when humanity would be offered a divine gift, and they were powerless to prevent it. But what had already worked once was certainly worth another try when the crucial time came. Metaphorically, The Shift is simply God or Source knocking on the internal door of each and every heart, bearing the gift of a new base frequency from which to construct a new and altogether different reality. I can well imagine that when the knock came, so very many would have marched straight for their front doors, and then cursed silently as they opened them to find no one there. Their thoughts had convinced them that they had no ears to hear the din within.

I am still speaking metaphorically of course. Habits of perception and cognition ingrained for a lifetime had so many looking outward, just as the intercessors had hoped. They simply could not conceive of the idea that God would come to them through their own being.

Boy: But that is the only way!

Grampa: ‘S truth. But it just did not occur to them. Disempowered, humanity was ever engaged in the search for suitable allies. They did not believe in their own ability to affect the necessary changes themselves. Gods, angels, ascended masters and every conceivable spirit was sought after in the wide world to build the critical alliances to see ascension successfully through. Even the sciences of the time predominantly turned man’s gaze outward, having long established that nothing of value lay in the inward direction. The search for external answers was thoroughly an unconscious habit.

So at the time of The Shift, the ankle-biters and their minions were ready to seize upon that fundamental deception. Through a systematic flood of “spiritual” narratives they asked the more “spiritually advanced” humans to engage in meditations, prayers and visualizations to assist in building the New Earth. Light grids encircling the planet needed to be constructed– a shiny new prison for an “awakened” humanity. The ankle-biters simply had the humans build a new, fancier, less-restrictive prison for themselves.

Boy: But how did they do it?

Grampa: It was pretty easy, really. The only thing the ankle-biters lacked was the raw, organic, creative energy which only the humans could provide. Given the raw material, they knew exactly what to do with it. The humans were asked, mainly through channelled messages, to connect to the light of the Central Sun through their crown chakras.

Boy: What are chakras?

Grampa: This too is a discussion for another day. But briefly, chakras are false energy systems, set up at the original deception millennia ago, in order to fracture and dilute the Source Light streaming through the heart. So to return… they would connect up first with something external to themselves– the Galactic Centre– somewhere way out there in space, bring then that program– or agenda– into their sacred selves, and freely give their own God/Source Light to it. The “benevolent” galactics would always insist that whatever light energy a single human could provide, they themselves would then magnify a thousandfold or more. The humans deemed it to be a good bargain– though they scarcely had a clue as to what they were building.

Boy: But deception of any kind is not supported energetically by the new base frequency! How could they still be deceived?

Grampa: Much of this occurred prior to the actual moment of ascension. It was still a 3D world where deception and secrecy had dominated unchallenged. Those who took the bait fully expected that they had helped facilitate Earth’s emancipation. When the time to ascend finally arrived, they naturally chose to inhabit the shiny new prison they’d constructed for themselves, thinking it to be a higher dimensional world.

Boy: But surely in time they would begin to realize that something was amiss!

Grampa: That has always been and still is my hope. Every once in a while someone escapes the prison by finding/creating the bridge in their own heart and then reaching for the only true ally humanity has ever known– the Earth herself. At the time of ascension, I was young like you are now, but I was lucky enough to receive the only sound advice I ever needed: “Trust your own heart, boy… and the dirt between your toes.”

Boy: Is there nothing we can do to help them?

Grampa: Certainly there is. In the times when I am periodically away on my adventures, it is to the false prison-earth I go. I counsel and teach… and try to show the way. I reckon you’re near old enough now, boy, to come along if you’d like.

Boy: Yes, I’d like that! Very much!

Grampa: Just be forewarned… it is a very strange place.

North-South, East-West, Up-Down– six directions in three dimensions– these are the external directions, co-ordinates in the matrix. The seventh direction leads outside of the matrix, and here, again, we encounter a seeming paradox. The way out of the labyrinth is in the inward direction. You have to travel in to get out.

Most spiritual or religious traditions mistakenly focus on the vertical axis, the up-down vector, when seeking a higher order. This is definitely not what the actual founders of these traditions taught. The answer to the plight harassing humanity does not lie somewhere above the clouds, or in outer space; nor does the just punishment for our digressions await beneath our feet. No, all that we seek in terms of salvation lies in the direction of our own hearts. Our sacred journey is ever inward, toward the center of our own hearts, and the path is called love. Historically, it is The Road Not Taken.

We are the players in a game, actors on a stage, taking ourselves ever-so-seriously. Our ego identities are the roles that we play, and sometimes we get fooled into believing that that is all that we are: meat-bags with personalities. We carry around vague notions of souls like spare change forgotten in our pockets. “Yes, um, yes, I believe I have a soul…” we stammer while patting our clothes… “gotta be around here somewhere.”

Well, no, not really. Your soul, your higher self, your infinite I, your authentic self– whatever you wish to name it– it is not here in the matrix; it is not lost in the labyrinth with you. Ellie (the name I use for my soul; see The Mouse In the Maze and His Flying Elephant – audio)– Ellie is actually the creator of the maze, the external world of your experience. Ellie writes the script for all the actors in your play– your life. Ellie loves you, and so she must respect your free will.

You have the freedom to choose in every moment how you will respond to the circumstances assigned to you from your own Ellie. Her task is to provide for you valuable lessons in limitation within the illusion. As you respond with judgement and fear, you will inexorably move deeper and deeper into limitation. Your reality– within the illusion– will get smaller and smaller. As you respond with love, appreciating and enjoying the show– even as you’re in it– you will move into a larger expanding reality, having learned better and better how to be the embodiment of unconditional love.

Love is the only truth in the illusion, and truth is imperishable. Have you noticed that all the other emotions come and go, are very temporary and insubstantial? But true love always endures. Your own mother can sometimes really piss you off, but is there honestly a moment when you don’t love her? Of course not. Love is real; that’s why it persists. It stands above all conditions and cannot be touched by them… because love created all the conditions.

You have certain fears. Perhaps some of them you’ve carried around with you all of your life. Now what is love to do, what should Ellie create for you to address these crippling fears? Does love shelter you and keep you small, hiding you away from anything which might threaten your peace? Or rather, does love, bit by bit, lead you along the pathway which allows you to finally face those fears, and eventually overcome them? Ellie has to serve up every vile and demanding thing which threatens your emotional well-being because her only directive is love. She will challenge you to face everything which you harbor inside that is not of love. In learning love’s lessons thus, you are purified. You become love’s being; you become one with Ellie.

The seventh direction is this connection with Ellie,
Deep in the belly of fear’s own reflection;
For the previous six are part of the matrix,
and will lead you nowhere except to more fear,
and perhaps a quick fix, a few parlor tricks,
a litany of lies and a reason to jeer.
Love’s inward path cuts straight through the maze
As hate turns to wrath and neither saves face;
For nothing is real, but that which you feel
among the traps and the lures, applying your cures…
But nothing endures except this appeal
To turn inward and love the whole crazy show
And you know… you can go… and talk to her– though
she already knows whatever you might disclose.
Is it you discovering you, in love, you suppose?

– by Ham* (This is the transcript of an oration by a guest at Barfuss one night out by the fire.)
The Mouse In The Maze & His Flying Elephant

The mouse was born in the maze
…and oh what a maze it was!
Truly amazing!
It was all he knew–
this being amazed… and confused…
Perhaps for a time he thought
of finding a way out,
But no one he met
had ever found the way–
For if anyone had… well…
they’d… be… out!
So he lived on the government cheese,
and lived as mice will do.
But displeased with such tedium…
deep in the labyrinth… he began to think it through…
Where do I go as I dream?
Perfectly real– the ordeal as I’m in it–
and then upon awakening… denied… unseen.
Clearly. Here. I stand on denial…
I deny… therefore I am not.
…and oh what a knot it was!
Perhaps the dreamer is more real than I,
and I, the schemer he can’t deny…
And then quite suddenly
amidst his mousely ruminations…
He fell abruptly awake into a dream… and…
The illumination of what he’d seen…
seemed so terribly irrelevant,
For what has a mouse to do
with a big old flying elephant?
But the elephant was patient,
and yes, of course… wise.
He waited for the mouse to speak–
a squeak… a pip… perhaps a peep–
before he’d offer his advice.
Who are you? asked the mouse.
Another part of you, said the flying elephant.
But I can’t fly!
And Ellie crashed to the floor.
Must you deny?
Well… I’m a mouse… after all…
And then quite suddenly
amidst his mousely chagrin
The mouse had a fall… within…
again… the labyrinth.
He awoke to a sleepy daze–
the maze in a foggy haze–
had clearly seen some better days,
But the ways of the maze
Can make the most amazing days… crazy…
And a mouse wouldn’t think twice
about the relevance or reality
Of what it might be like to be an elephant…
who denies gravity!
But a mouse’s dreams, tucked
beneath old straw and droppings,
Lie forgotten, forlorn…
Swapping the reel
for these scenes… of scorn… so vile and rotten.
You see, what the mouse didn’t know… was…
Who directs the show?
He never would have guessed
that blessed elephant would confess–
and really seem to understand–
that the flying elephant
was at the mouse’s command.
We are one, spoke Ellie in a dream:
You are free will,
And I am the wisdom to guide you…
through empty and fill… until…
The spirit resides and decides within you…
as you breathe…
so as you are.
So the mouse directed the elephant
toward the tasks that he found relevant
Things with labyrinthian significance–
and utterly meaningless to flying elephants!
For remember wisdom is elegance,
not this floundering in the maze,
And the mouse sometimes wanted done
what wisdom cannot do– amazing things
to impress the kings
and the tigers… at the zoo.
Oh mouse, seize this advantage.
What I see from my vantage–
tomorrow… and you…
the curves in the road,
the lessons and challenge;
Lessen your burden; lighten your load!
Use me according to your own imagination.
…and oh what an imagination it is!
For the mouse thought his thoughts were his,
not this script from beyond the scene–
But where do you think you have been
every time that you dream…
If not escaped from the labyrinth?
Lay to rest this doubt
once and for all…
You’ve known the way out… always…
You fall… asleep…
And we speak… and the hallways
and corridors of your amazement abate…
As finally you realize that I’m yours… truly…
to have a flying elephant is great!

*Hamourapi -Frequent readers of Cobra’s blog and American Kabuki may recognize the inspiration for this poem having come from a similar story called The Elephant and the Ant by commentator Hamourapi. I took considerable license here, so it’s pretty much a different thing altogether… but I felt the need nevertheless to give credit where credit is due.