The Free Radical

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode
Second Thoughts
Third Time’s The Charm
Fourth Movement… Forth
Fifth Element
Sixth Sense
Seventh Direction
Eighth Wonder of the World
Ninth Life of Schrödinger’s Cat
Tenth of One Percent

Where I Stand Today

After a lifetime of untangling,
I stand in the vastness of freedom’s dire threat:
That self-determination will bend time’s narrow path
to open fields… brand new sunshine… and a perfectly blank canvas.
I stand barefoot, rooted,
and emotionally naked… staring into the dark abyss
of all possibility– unmeasured… unfathomed.
I stand in a fearlessness once deemed impossible;
I stand on principle and my own self-defined integrity,
Wrapped in universal lore.

I stand, chiefly, among fierce women…
For whoever would go forth into the bottomless unknown
but the Divine Feminine’s irrationally steadfast love?
She probes the darkness with intuition
and other vague motherly stirrings,
Reaching deep within unordered possibilities…
To bring a new child into our shared world.
She hands to me the strange artifacts of her creativity,
Imploring softly with her eyes
that I should bring structure and meaning
to the seedlings of this pristine world.

We stand together, Masculine and Feminine,
Her upfront, reaching within the untrammeled field,
And I behind… guarding, protecting… from our collective indiscretions–
Monsters from the past, paper tigers, feeding the flames
of this unplanned passion.
They cannot harm us Now, where we stand… Here
in the sureness of our choices going forward…
We will have this New World,
And it will stand on love and poetry
as the dirt between our toes.

(NK 01/2016)

Eleventh Dream of Seventh Heaven

“Felix, you’re an asshole!” I shouted for the hundredth time, poking my index finger into my left ear as though it merely needed to be unplugged.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” answered Felix.

“I still can’t hear a damn thing out of this ear!”

“I can only say I’m sorry so many times.” He shrugged.

“Well maybe you should stand over on my right side, so I can hear you… as you beg my forgiveness.”

“Oh, you’ve already forgiven me. Besides, I was doing you a favour.”

“Yeah, you wanna explain that one again to me?”

“You mean besides the happy surprise when you first realized that I hadn’t actually blown your brains out?”

“More like the happy surprise when I realized I hadn’t shit my pants!” That made him laugh… and shit!… I couldn’t help but to chuckle too. But being deaf in one ear was really annoying, and I had a bit of a headache too. “So tell me again,” I said seriously, “exactly why you pretended to shoot me in the head? As a favour to me?”

The sky was light now; it was morning. Snow reflected the dawn into all of the forest shadows, bringing to light countless inconsequential mysteries. The fire was already mostly embers. Just a few flames danced here and there beneath the grill, perfect for putting the kettle on. Soon it would be coffee time.

“The reason I pretended to shoot you in the head,” began Felix in a fair rendition of Homer Simpson’s voice, “is because that’s the only way I could think of to save you.”

“Save me from what exactly?”

Felix paused to get serious. “You were suddenly a major blip on their radar.”

“They… being?”

“Mossad… and ALL the agencies, really.”

“I thought that I WAS ALWAYS a blip on their radar!” I insisted. “Why else would a helicopter fly over me way out here and drop some techno-drizzle shit all over me?”

“Well actually,” explained Felix patiently, “they thought that you were me. When I– ahem– left the agency, I didn’t exactly get away cleanly. They tracked me… as best they could…”

“And you led them right to me,” I finished.

“Yeah, I fucked up,” answered Felix staring down into his empty coffee mug.

I filled the mug for him from the bodum. “But we don’t even look alike. How could they even make such a mistake? That helicopter was right above me; the pilot was staring right into my face!”

“Yeah, go figure. The agency– all the agencies– are making a lot of mistakes these days. We do have roughly the same build… and, well… without their facial recognition software, they’re kinda blind.”

I was a bit stunned by what Felix was saying. It sounded ridiculous. “But facial recognition is about the most basic human skill there is!” I insisted.

“Yeah, and I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make. They’re just not human anymore. They’ve become so reliant– utterly dependent– upon all of their sophisticated tech, that they’ve seriously begun to lose their most basic human skills– like facial recognition.”

“Are you actually serious?” He nodded. “Wow!”

“In order to get away,” Felix explained, “I didn’t have to fool the humans involved– there ARE no humans involved– well, mostly. I just had to fuck with their technology. And fortunately, I have a bit of a knack for that.”

I had to think a bit on what Felix was relaying to me. “So then… they’ve known about me since our first meeting.”

“Not exactly. It still took them a bit to figure out that someone else was involved. Remember that I’ve been shielding you from the intelligence community for years already. Years ago, I was handed a list. Your name was on it… among quite a few others. I investigated them all… and decided to scrub your name from the databanks. I effectively took you out of their game… so that you could just keep doing what you do without any interference.”

“Until you showed up in my camp one day.”

“Sorry. I was desperate.”

“I remember,” I conceded. “So tell me now why you had to ‘kill’ me?”

“They’d gotten what’s called a ‘lock’ on you. It’s kinda like remote viewing tech which zeroes in on the target’s psyche– its signature. It doesn’t quite read minds, but it’s something along those lines. They could read just enough of you– despite your outrageous cannabis use– to know that you were genuinely dangerous.”

“I like how you’re already talking about me in the past tense!”

“Get used to it. You’re dead… and that’s the safest thing in the world to be.” Felix explained further. “The whole point of what I did was to convince YOU that I was blowing your brains out.”

“Yeah, well… mission accomplished,” I interjected. “But can’t they just re-establish their lock on me now?”

Felix smiled and reached into his pocket. “Nope,” he said, holding up a tiny device the size of a matchbook. “As of now– or rather at the moment I pulled the trigger– your signature was and is effectively blocked. There’s little doubt that they think you’re dead.”

“Won’t they send someone to check?”

“Not likely. They don’t have the resources anymore.” I raised an eyebrow in question. “All of the intelligence services the world over are pretty much in a complete shambles. It’s a very dangerous time to be an undercover agent– hence, I got out.” I didn’t have to ask any questions; Felix continued. “Have you noticed that in recent years whenever there’s some operation that smells like the agency rats are involved– false flags and psy-ops and such– that they never come off cleanly anymore? Seems they always get botched nowadays. There’s a good reason for that.” I was all ears.

“Not everyone in the intelligence community is onboard with this whole transhumanist agenda. There’s actually quite a number of operatives who prefer their human bio-tech to the agencies’ ‘improvements.’ There’s a substantial internal resistance. And it’s coming from a number of different angles. There’s the good guys… who’ve figured out enough of the big picture to know that they’d better thwart the agenda or die trying… because to live this thing through would be an utterly terrifying generational nightmare. We can call them the embedded White Hats. They’ll find ways to stick their fingers into any and every agency pie concocted for public consumption. They’ll do at least something to make it obvious to the public at large that all ain’t quite right with the official narratives.

“And then there’s all the different factions of those who are generally onboard with the overriding agenda, but they’re vying for control of it. So even the ones who are supposedly working towards the same nefarious goal are quite in the habit of sabotaging each other… lest one agency gains clear supremacy over all the others. Intelligence operatives are not known for playing nice. It’s a very very messy power-struggle being waged behind a thin lace curtain. The public is just beginning to see the absurdity of it all.”

Everything Felix was saying made perfect sense… and the evidence for it was very much in plain sight… at least, by my reckoning. “So in any given operation,” I surmised, “the agents involved don’t know the true motivations of the guy standing next to them– which master they ultimately serve.”


“Exactly,” answered Felix. “And those are the folks who are supposed to be covering your ass! There’s a great deal of paranoia in the agencies right now.”

“What’s the endgame?” I mused. “For the agencies, I mean?”

Felix shrugged nonchalantly. “They’ve got to go. You just can’t have secret factions of government operating wholly outside of the law, without any meaningful public oversight and still call that a democracy… or a constitutional republic, or whatever. Axiomatically, government secrecy and democratic principles are incompatible. That’s not debatable… and we’re publicly seeing the proof of this right now.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I nodded.

“I know,” said Felix. “It was you who taught me that. The secret-traders are the secret traitors… to democracy.”

Coffee was done. Next, we set about taking in the day’s nutrients– superfoods, sunshine and more great conversation. We donned the proper footwear and began to amble through the Forest.

“What’s wrong with Sitka?” asked Felix at the outset. He’d noticed that she was walking kinda funny, like she was trying to use her back legs not at all.

“Yeah, she’s like that quite often right after getting up from a nap. It takes awhile before she starts using her back legs. And then sometimes she favours one side… and then the other.”

“Is it serious?” Felix asked in a way that suggested it must assuredly be.

“Of course I immediately imagined the worst. It must be in her hips, or perhaps in her spine. I took her into town to the vet last week… for x-rays, for a diagnosis… for peace of mind…”

“And??”

“It’s actually much less serious than I had feared. It’s her knees. She has ligament damage to both of her knees. It happened earlier in the year when she chased after those damned coyotes. She’d come back from the encounter dappled in someone else’s blood, so I assume there was a scuffle. At least one knee was tweaked during that incident. Whenever she rests after some exercise, the knee joints stiffen up; they’re swollen.”

“So what do you do about it?”

“Anti-inflammatories, taking it easy… no chasing anything. She’s young– only two; she should be able to heal… if I can keep her from re-injuring it.”


“What anti-inflammatories?”

“Fish oil, turmeric, hemp seed. I’ve healed my own ACL tear in my left knee years ago. I know what’s involved.” I stopped our slow ambling gait to pause at a naked rose bush, still bearing bright red luscious hips, ever-ready for the taking… even amidst these fields of snow. I started selecting the brightest and plumpest of the rose hips, to nibble on along the way. Sitka immediately set about grabbing the lowest hanging of the fruit for herself. “Rose hips are high in vitamin C. Vitamin C is an anti-inflammatory too. Sitka knows what’s good for her. She’s only really been eating rose hips since her knees stiffened up.”

“Smart dog.” We both said it at the same time. And then I added “Except when she’s chasing coyotes into an ambush.”

With my handful of rose hips, we continued to mosey through the fields toward the Forest’s edge. I turned the conversation back to our earlier discussion about the agencies.

“What do you want to know?” prompted Felix.

“Like… how much money is involved in black-ops… globally?”

“Quite a bit more than you can imagine. In a way, the entire economic wealth of the world is very much entangled with virtually all intelligence agencies. There’s a whole lot of fingers in a whole lot of pies! Black-ops accounting is a fun little dance. Take underground bases, for instance. If someone at the appropriations level in black-ops gets the idea that he needs underground bases, the first thing we need to be clear on is that it’s the taxpayers who are going to pay for it. If he decides he needs a hundred underground bases, the taxpayers will foot the bill for all of them… not necessarily because the agencies NEED the money, but merely because they can. There are many revenue streams in black-ops, as well as very deep pockets behind deep vested interests. Money really is no object… but they’ll still stick it to the taxpayers any way they can.”

“How could you ever get a hundred underground bases approved?” I objected.

Felix smiled. “You see, the people who approve the itemized black-op budgets in government are purposely retained in such an oversight position for a rather short duration. The argument is that no single bureaucrat should hold the position long enough that there’s any chance he might start putting together a big picture. And for the same reason, black-op funds– ledger entries– only appear on the books for a very short time. So the guy who’s in charge this year for approving the items on the black-ops budget doesn’t have a clue what was approved last year by his predecessor. You’d never have to sell them on the necessity of having a hundred underground bases; you’d just have to convince them that one is absolutely essential… as many times as you like… and how hard can that be?”

I laughed… cynically, I guess. “So is there someone in the black-ops world who has the big-picture view of the ultimate game being played? Is there anyone who really knows fully what’s going on?”

“Not a chance,” answered Felix. “You might think that the integrated A.I. should know damn near everything in the spook world… but those embedded White Hats I mentioned earlier… there has to be parts of their psyche– of their Being– that are simply unperceived by the A.I. They’re able to act in creative, unpredictable ways in order to score their little victories. No, there’s much the A.I. is blind to still.”

There was a natural lull in our conversation as we took in the views at the lookout above the river… and then Felix continued. “The whole scene is terribly obscured… and I’m not just talking chemtrails here.” It seems we both had a habit of laughing at little jokes that weren’t really funny. “One of the main things to be aware of whenever the public suspects agency involvement is that they will do everything in their power to muddy the waters as much as possible. Since nothing anymore is really in their control, their main strategy is to hopelessly confuse the narrative. For instance, a perfectly legitimate grassroots rebellion might suddenly have crisis actors inserted into the mix. The fact that they’re crisis actors will be conveniently ‘leaked’ online… so that all of the keyboard warriors will immediately jump to the wrong conclusions.”

I looked on in puzzlement as Felix further explained.

“It’s what they really really want– that the public jumps to conclusions which are deliberate red herrings. When the online conspiracy crowd suddenly concludes that a legitimate uprising is all just a staged psy-op because crisis actors have been discovered somewhere in the mix, all of the legitimacy of the whole thing vanishes. ‘Oh, it was just a government operation from the beginning; nothing to see here.’ That’s how they quickly undermine any gathering momentum toward an overdue revolution.”

“So the public needs to refrain from drawing unwarranted conclusions,” I summarized.

“Really any conclusions,” answered Felix. “It’s not the public’s job to know or to figure out what really happened. Their job is to simply scrutinize the official government account of what happened and determine whether it makes sense. Does the official narrative reconcile the known facts? Is it internally consistent? Or does it defy all logic, reason and common sense?”

“Like 9/11,” I interjected.

“Yeah, that’s the granddaddy of them all. How many times have I heard the conversation play out? A Truther starts telling Joe Braindead all about the hundreds of inconsistencies with the official story about 9/11, and at the first break in the assault to the reality construct that poor Braindead lives in, he asks the only question he can that has any hope of preserving his precious delusion: ‘Okay, so what do YOU think happened on 9/11?’ My answer would be ‘How the fuck should I know!’ And I’ve been a member of the intelligence community nearly all my life… and still, I don’t know what actually happened that day. But I shouldn’t be expected to! It’s not the public’s burden to take on the tasks assigned to the government when they– the government– fail to execute them competently. The public’s job– nay, its sacred duty– is simply to call ‘Bullshit!’ And have the case reopened and reinvestigated until the official narrative satisfies ALL of the public’s questions and concerns. That’s it; there’s no requirement to come up with alternate theories.”

Felix was making an important point. I nodded in agreement.

“As soon as keyboard warriors with substantial followings start putting out their own conclusions and pet theories,” continued Felix, “they’re setting themselves up to be easily proven wrong. The government, and especially the agencies, are just waiting for the public to reach definitive conclusions about what’s really going on… and then they just release a little bit more information– whether real or fabricated– to totally debunk the latest theory and deflate any credibility that went along with it. That’s how the game is played. That’s always been how the game is played. The public really needs to wise up!”

“So our only task ever is to determine whether the official story we’re given adds up,” I concluded.

“That’s it. Speculating on what might have happened based upon the flimsiest evidence available can only undermine the integrity of the whole process. Always remember that it’s about the credibility of the official version, not your credibility, not your ability to put forward believable guesses. Government has to be held accountable for ALL of their actions.”

“So we’re not really meant to know the true details of an event– any event… until…?”

“Until those who are directly involved are prepared to share the truth, to share their actual experience of the event… only then can we be sure of the stories being given– that they reconcile the experiences of all those involved, coherently.”

There wasn’t really anything earth-shattering in what Felix was telling me, but it still felt really important to heed his advice… and to share it. And that brought up an obvious concern I hadn’t thought of until just this moment. “Felix?” I queried. “If I’m officially dead now, what happens when I go to publish my latest writings.”

“Well, from now on, you’re being published posthumously. Just don’t get too specific with current events. Keep things general and philosophical. We’ll draft something later today that makes it sound like you’ve left behind a treasure-trove of unpublished materials– things that can be leaked slowly to the public over time.”

“My own personal psy-op,” I said with a touch of irony. Felix nodded. “From a marketing point of view,” I mused, “this could actually work out well. Deceased artists tend to be much wealthier than their living– and often starving– counterparts.” I winked.

“Yeah man, dead folks are rollin’ in it.”

We decided to head down to the river. The Tibetan Trail was covered in ice and snow, so the steep decline was more than interesting and rather challenging. We all made it down to the riverbank in one piece. Despite her sore knees, Sitka still had the easiest time of it. I had to slide down parts of it on my bum, as did Felix. Luckily, this time I didn’t rip my pants in the process. I had lost three pairs of jeans in the last two winters sliding willy-nilly down this hill.

At the bottom, we brushed the excess snow from our clothes and turned our journey downriver. Then we resumed our conversation.

“So far, I’ve been shining a light into my dark world,” said Felix. “Now it’s your turn to answer a few questions.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like… where is this crazy train headed? In your estimation…”

“We’re at a very interesting cusp,” I began. “From the collective vibe that I seem to be tuned into, it appears that we are currently witnessing the collapse or disintegration of the default hive-mind of the collective unconscious– the one we were all born into. And concurrently, we’re also seeing the first stirrings and assemblages of what I term the Collaborative Mind.”

“This is along the lines of Jungian psychology, I presume?” I nodded. “How exactly do they differ… these two collective minds?”

“The old one, the one that’s falling apart, is reflected in the main characterizations of our society at large. It is hierarchical and conformist, based in control and domination at every level of functioning. It is rigidly conditioned and relies upon authority. It is prone to boredom and paranoia. As I said before, we enter into it unconsciously by default, at birth. It dominates our shared experience from an arithmetic strength in numbers– ‘mob rules’ democracy. But not for very much longer… Individuals are finding ways to consciously opt out. And in their own sovereign integrity, they– we– are beginning to assemble something new.

“The main distinguishing characteristic of the Collaborative Mind is that it is entered into through conscious choice. The Collaborative Mind chooses diversity over conformity. It recognizes the infinite value that unique individuals bring to the collective table. It genuinely loves us for our differences– our greatest assets. It values creativity and novelty, adopting these as its very purpose for existence. It is egalitarian– again, acknowledging the infinite value of true individuation. From the Collaborative Mind, humanity will create a brand new future, a brand new world. It stands before the great unknown, ready to explore unfathomed possibilities…”

“But we’re not there yet…” prompted Felix.

I had to agree. “But that moment is rapidly approaching. There’s still a whole lot of healing that needs to occur in the world at large– within the experience of its many individuals. But as each one heals… and releases their healing journey into the morphogenic field, others pick up on it subconsciously, and there is an acceleration in the shared healing process. We’re beginning to witness that acceleration now.

“However, those who refuse to face their own demons and shadows, those who shun authentic healing… they will not gain access to the Collaborative Mind– not because it is in any way discriminatory or exclusive, but because the unhealed will simply never become aware of the choice. There are no zombies in Earth’s future.”

“Oh well… that’s good to know,” chuckled Felix. “I think we’ve all had enough of the fucking zombies!”

“Amen!” I agreed. “So the general movement of humanity right now is through serious self-healing,” I summarized, “to a place of individual sovereignty and the absolute right to self-determination– also known as freedom. We’re moving steadily toward freedom, traveling inward, through personal, self-directed healing. From there– as is beginning to happen already now– sovereign individuals, standing in their own authenticity and integrity, will naturally choose to come together in collaboration in order to create a world that works for everyone. It’s just the natural course of events, as I see it,” I concluded.

There followed a natural lull in the conversation as the footing along the riverbank terrain posed numerous little challenges. And there were always plenty of winter wonders anyway to view and contemplate in silent awe along the way.

Our overall plan was to head to the truck. I had decided that it was time to move back indoors, to resume work on some long-abandoned projects. Felix was glad for the prospect of not having to sleep on the ground again too. My camp could wait for me, alone, until spring.

In this moment, we were content with the quietude beyond our crunching footsteps through the snow. There was only the occasional chirp and warble of birds flitting through the naked treetops. For a time they were our subtle minstrels, plucking notes from forest shadows, composing a drawn-out symphony in the slow rhythm of a winter still entrenched. Indeed, there was a hypnotic quality to the polyphonic cadence of breaths, footsteps and avian bards threading something more sublime than melody through the whole production…

Felix and I both stopped suddenly in abrupt syncopation. The world was plunged into an ocean of silence. We looked out across the river, our gaze locked upon the darnedest thing. A Thunder Being– a six-foot tall humanoid with enormous wings like an eagle– ‘flew’ down the river valley, following the current below. It ‘flew’ in an almost upright position– in a posture that could only be described as aerodynamically absurd. Its impossible wings didn’t flap or beat; they just grabbed the flightpath from thin air, in total disregard for the familiar laws of physics. And then it disappeared around the next bend in the river, fading back into unreality beyond the clouds and trees… and our own shock and awe caught somewhere in between.

“You saw that right?” said Felix in a deadpan voice still directed at the vacant sky. I couldn’t speak; I nodded instead. Felix wasn’t looking at me at all, but he could sense the affirmation nevertheless. “So what was it? I mean… what the fuck was that!”

It still took me a moment to find my voice. Finally, Felix turned to confront me, to pull an answer from my mouth. “A Thunder Being,” I whispered. My words registered no recognition upon Felix’s face. Knowing that this would likely require a lengthy explanation, I answered along a completely different tack “That was the eleventh dream of seventh heaven…”

And the conversation resumed…

Chameleon’s Teardrop (Makes a Rainbow) by Missing Peace (my band) from the 1996 album Tense Moments. (A song about the Collaborative Mind)

And here is a current related discussion on SOVEREIGN SOUL GROWTH – The Inner Impacts of Exposing the Sentient Pathogenic AI – Artificial Intelligence Agenda – A Two Part Symposium… featuring Alfred Lambremont Webre, Christine Anderson, Lily Earthling, Shane (The Ruiner), Claudia and this author (Niels Kunze). This is Part 1.

And here’s a little preview of Part 2… from Lily’s presentation:

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