When the ancient advanced beings came to Earth and genetically engineered our human race we regarded them as gods. They could bring us into being but also take us out of being. And of course, there was a bit of thankfulness involved. But the time came when the term "gods" ceased to mean "benefactor or creator" and began to mean "overseer", "task master" or "judge" or even "owner". How many millennia have we spent fighting the injustice of slavery in this world? The scientific probability is that these "gods" were nothing of the sort. They would have used already existing genetic material in order to make a modern human prototype. Very probably, they infused their DNA with that of some pre or proto human type life form inhabiting this planet even before the arrival of the "gods". So these beings did not actually create us. They manipulated us into present form. They are extremely gifted at manipulation of many methods. But they did not create us. That job was done by God (whatever our perception of God may be). Whether it was achieved through nature or random chance collisions of molecules to form the DNA nucleotide, it's still a creative act by some process or being. Our generic term for that process or being is God. Sometimes we mistakenly confuse the ancient term for god or overseer with the modern view of God, the creator, provider, and care giver.
Either you look at it, the ETs did not create us. They may have interfered with nature by jump starting our progress at an extremely accelerated rate. But they did not create us. The hellish thing is we will never know what our own evolution would have been without this alien manipulation. Whatever it would have been, it would have been ours. That has been robbed from us. Frankly, that should enrage us all. It most certainly does me. Would we have been a more peaceful people? Would we have been perhaps less technologically advanced but more compassionate and less selfish? Would we have become more barbaric than we are at present? Would we have died in some mass extermination brought about by nature? We will never know. That was stolen from us along time ago. A god who steals is no god.
In the post Christian era these beings were often referred to as angels or as demons. Were Et's angels? In the very strictest usage of the term, they may have been angels as some were messengers to and from the alien manipulators. In more recent times, angels are care givers and protectors. But unfortunately the favours of these beings tend to cause grief, confusion and disillusionment. Are they demons then? They are not spiritual or ghostly beings. No. These beings are physical.
How DOES ONE, when met by superior technically-enhanced intellectual beings (not necessarily morally higher,) discern how to either capitulate to them, or fight to the last man or woman until the presumed virus has been completely eliminated??? How to resist what we perceive as EVIL?
They are not bevenolent spirit guides or earth guardians, but deceivers with questionable motives.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Suspect
They say the World is controlled by groups of Illuminati. Among these more or less secret societies it exists a competition. Books. The rarer the better. Money is not a hurdle, these people are beyond material possessions. They crave knowledge. And of course…power. “I care not what puppet is placed upon the throne of England to rule the Empire on which the sun never sets. The man that controls Britain´s money supply controls the British Empire”. Ok ok. Don´t get nervous.
Three-rarely seen men control those groups. One is a dealer of rare books who moves around Bruges. The second is a Dane who operates a rare bookshop in the Nyhavn waterfront area in Copenhagen. The third is a Swede, and he too is in the rare book trade. A perfect cover. You are supposed to travel a lot and deal with very special customers.
I don´t know if you have read about these two books I want to point out today.
The first is called “Golf in the year 2000 or What we are coming to”. The author is Jack McCullogh, a Scottish golfer. He might be little remembered as a sportsmen, but his novel is causing a stir. The book was written in 1892. The book has already been compared to those of Nostradamus. It is a tale about a man who falls into a deep sleep in 1892 waking 108 years later. It depicts such things as digital watchers, televisions and women´s equality. Among his predictions, most of them golf-related, were driverless golf carts, professional players and a golf competition between Britain and the United States, much like the Ryder Cup which began in 1927. But also high-speed bullet trains and working women who dressed like men. A visionaire? A crossover? The book was auctioned and already sold.
But my favourite of all times is the so called “Voynich Manuscript”, the most mysterious of all texts. Two hundred pages written in an alphabet that has never been seen elsewhere. Nobody knows what it means. During World War II, some of the top military code-breakers in America tried to decipher it, but failed. It contains the strangest pictures of plants, stars (crop circles style) and nude maidens bathing.
The book collector Wilfrid Voynich found it in a Jesuit College in Villa Mondragone, Italy. It is now in Yale university. It was attributed to Francis Bacon (ahh mon dieu!) It was first bought by Emperor Rudolf II, who moved to a castle in Prague (Bohemia then) and buried himself in esoteric studies. The place was a magnet for people such as John Dee, Edward Kelly, Giordano Bruno (Tristan and I talked about him in our first conversation, I will never forget it) and Kepler.
To this day the Voynich Manuscript resists all efforts of translation. It is either an ingenious hoax or an unbreakable cipher. It is thought that Lovecraft might have used it as the model for his Necronomicon…another amazing Mystery.
Three-rarely seen men control those groups. One is a dealer of rare books who moves around Bruges. The second is a Dane who operates a rare bookshop in the Nyhavn waterfront area in Copenhagen. The third is a Swede, and he too is in the rare book trade. A perfect cover. You are supposed to travel a lot and deal with very special customers.
I don´t know if you have read about these two books I want to point out today.
The first is called “Golf in the year 2000 or What we are coming to”. The author is Jack McCullogh, a Scottish golfer. He might be little remembered as a sportsmen, but his novel is causing a stir. The book was written in 1892. The book has already been compared to those of Nostradamus. It is a tale about a man who falls into a deep sleep in 1892 waking 108 years later. It depicts such things as digital watchers, televisions and women´s equality. Among his predictions, most of them golf-related, were driverless golf carts, professional players and a golf competition between Britain and the United States, much like the Ryder Cup which began in 1927. But also high-speed bullet trains and working women who dressed like men. A visionaire? A crossover? The book was auctioned and already sold.
But my favourite of all times is the so called “Voynich Manuscript”, the most mysterious of all texts. Two hundred pages written in an alphabet that has never been seen elsewhere. Nobody knows what it means. During World War II, some of the top military code-breakers in America tried to decipher it, but failed. It contains the strangest pictures of plants, stars (crop circles style) and nude maidens bathing.
The book collector Wilfrid Voynich found it in a Jesuit College in Villa Mondragone, Italy. It is now in Yale university. It was attributed to Francis Bacon (ahh mon dieu!) It was first bought by Emperor Rudolf II, who moved to a castle in Prague (Bohemia then) and buried himself in esoteric studies. The place was a magnet for people such as John Dee, Edward Kelly, Giordano Bruno (Tristan and I talked about him in our first conversation, I will never forget it) and Kepler.
To this day the Voynich Manuscript resists all efforts of translation. It is either an ingenious hoax or an unbreakable cipher. It is thought that Lovecraft might have used it as the model for his Necronomicon…another amazing Mystery.
Again.....
The music, the moonlight and the dreams are my magic weapons.Not only the music which is played, but also that which is eternally left unplayed. Only the dreams are always what they seem. Isn´t it true that in our dreams we are free? The good dreamer never awakes.
I exist from the beginning...and I have always been and ironist. All of us ironist are harmless, except if you intend to use irony to insinuate the truth. I do not know the truth and I believe my elder brother, the Almighty, does not either. Angels have no sex, so I could never offend you, there are other ways to offend, such as the abominable modern literature and the old age.
How many times have you dreamt of me? Have you never thought of the Charming Prince, the Perfect Man, the inexhaustible lover? Have you never felt by your side, in your dreams, someone who touches you as no one before? That was me, always me, the snake from the beginning of Time. My role is temptation. I had never a childhood, or adolescence and therefore, I never reached the viril age. I am the absolute negative. What you desire and you cannot have. What you dream because it cannot exist. Forever in the throne of Neverland.
Humankind is a pagan kind. They adore gods as if they were amulets. Man only differs from animals because he knows it is not one of them. The ultimate initiation ends with the question of the existence. The highest love is a great dream. Ahh I am a natural poet, because I tell the truth through deceive. All religions are the true one. They are different symbols of the same reality. Zeus or Allah. The nap of a cat in the sun is as pure as the reading of a book. I corrupt but I enlighten. The Bright Morning Star.
The vague aspirations, the futile caprices, the tedium of the vulgar, all of that is my deed. When I lie by the rivers of the abyss and think that I do not know a thing, my thought flows down into the souls of men and they feel different from themselves. I carry memories of things that were never true, but they almost were. But the truth is that I do not exist. And I have been insulted and malignified. And people call me Satan, and the Devil. But I am not the one who faced the God, nor the Spirit who denies. I am the God of Imagination, lost because I cannot believe. And I know you love me. Which man has put his hands on your breasts that was mine? Which kiss were you given that was like mine? In those warm evenings, when you dreamed so much, didn´t you see a dim figure, the one who would give you all the happiness you deserve? The one who would kiss you ad eternum? It was me.
I am the one you have always searched for and you could never find. Deep inside in the Abyss, God himself looks for me so I can complete him. The ring you wear and you love. The joy of that thought, the kind image you see in the mirror...it is not you, it is me.
But the awes that torment men are the same which torment gods...as above, so below. Blessed those who sleep in their animal life.
I exist from the beginning...and I have always been and ironist. All of us ironist are harmless, except if you intend to use irony to insinuate the truth. I do not know the truth and I believe my elder brother, the Almighty, does not either. Angels have no sex, so I could never offend you, there are other ways to offend, such as the abominable modern literature and the old age.
How many times have you dreamt of me? Have you never thought of the Charming Prince, the Perfect Man, the inexhaustible lover? Have you never felt by your side, in your dreams, someone who touches you as no one before? That was me, always me, the snake from the beginning of Time. My role is temptation. I had never a childhood, or adolescence and therefore, I never reached the viril age. I am the absolute negative. What you desire and you cannot have. What you dream because it cannot exist. Forever in the throne of Neverland.
Humankind is a pagan kind. They adore gods as if they were amulets. Man only differs from animals because he knows it is not one of them. The ultimate initiation ends with the question of the existence. The highest love is a great dream. Ahh I am a natural poet, because I tell the truth through deceive. All religions are the true one. They are different symbols of the same reality. Zeus or Allah. The nap of a cat in the sun is as pure as the reading of a book. I corrupt but I enlighten. The Bright Morning Star.
The vague aspirations, the futile caprices, the tedium of the vulgar, all of that is my deed. When I lie by the rivers of the abyss and think that I do not know a thing, my thought flows down into the souls of men and they feel different from themselves. I carry memories of things that were never true, but they almost were. But the truth is that I do not exist. And I have been insulted and malignified. And people call me Satan, and the Devil. But I am not the one who faced the God, nor the Spirit who denies. I am the God of Imagination, lost because I cannot believe. And I know you love me. Which man has put his hands on your breasts that was mine? Which kiss were you given that was like mine? In those warm evenings, when you dreamed so much, didn´t you see a dim figure, the one who would give you all the happiness you deserve? The one who would kiss you ad eternum? It was me.
I am the one you have always searched for and you could never find. Deep inside in the Abyss, God himself looks for me so I can complete him. The ring you wear and you love. The joy of that thought, the kind image you see in the mirror...it is not you, it is me.
But the awes that torment men are the same which torment gods...as above, so below. Blessed those who sleep in their animal life.
Yanking my Heart
And God, that absentee landlord,
does not hate us
though certainly, we're unfit to be
his boon companions.
Rather our lives unruly poems
overdone incomplete
lacking any really original sins.
And what would we do at the
celestial banquet
but drink too much
feel out of place
and wander away from the lights and music
to stand apart taking in huge draughts
of the steadying air
cursing our unworthiness
under the stars
with their terribly human stories of loss.
I thought our past
rooted in mud didn't matter
as long as our blooms
reached the light
like the water-lily,
like water mint
but the rooted mud was stronger
than I ever imagined.
I wish I could say I didn't want
to change you
or any of our moonlit nights
but I did. I wanted to lift the veins
of your life to me.
I am sorry for insisting,
yanking you toward me. I see
your need to go deeper into the bedrock
to find the buried tendons of your life,
that you need to cut
before you conquer
does not hate us
though certainly, we're unfit to be
his boon companions.
Rather our lives unruly poems
overdone incomplete
lacking any really original sins.
And what would we do at the
celestial banquet
but drink too much
feel out of place
and wander away from the lights and music
to stand apart taking in huge draughts
of the steadying air
cursing our unworthiness
under the stars
with their terribly human stories of loss.
I thought our past
rooted in mud didn't matter
as long as our blooms
reached the light
like the water-lily,
like water mint
but the rooted mud was stronger
than I ever imagined.
I wish I could say I didn't want
to change you
or any of our moonlit nights
but I did. I wanted to lift the veins
of your life to me.
I am sorry for insisting,
yanking you toward me. I see
your need to go deeper into the bedrock
to find the buried tendons of your life,
that you need to cut
before you conquer
Matrix
One can almost say that he, who has greeted the morning star, has forever lost the use of his sight and his reason, because he is fascinated by this false light and cast into the abyss…unless, as in your case, a great stroke of fate comes to pull him unexpectedly from the edge of the precipice.
4th density frees one from the illusion of "time" as you WILL to perceive it. Picture driving down a highway, suddenly you notice auras surrounding everything.... Being able to see around corners, going inside little cottages which become mansions, when viewed from inside... Going inside a building in Albuquerque and going out the back door into Las Vegas, going to sleep as a female, and waking up male... Flying in a plane for half an hour and landing at the same place 5 weeks later...
The strongest impression of my early childhood - I was seven years old - an impression of which I still retain a vivid memory, was the emotion aroused in my young heart by the sight of a gothic cathedral. I was immediately enraptured by it. I was in an ecstasy, struck with wonder, unable to tear myself away from the attraction of the marvellous, from the magic of such splendour, such immensity, such intoxication expressed by this more divine than human work
In terms of the myths and stories of the search for the Holy Grail, or, in our modern metaphor, the escape from the Matrix, we see that Perseus killed the sea serpent and married Andromeda. They set off together as a team: righting wrongs, freeing the oppressed, turning the bad guys into stone, and lived, as far as is known, happily ever after.
Thus, as a symbol of gaining Freedom from the Matrix, we find, first, that Perseus is the Hero of choice, and, second, that the dynamics of the only myth that is fully represented in the Sky over our very heads are those which suggest to us our path of “tracking” the clues that will enable each participant to not only cut off the head of their own Medusa, thus releasing the Truth in the form of the Winged Horse, Pegasus, but also, with the aid of this Truth, to participate in the Freeing of Andromeda. I believe that no more important task is before us in the Earth today.
4th density frees one from the illusion of "time" as you WILL to perceive it. Picture driving down a highway, suddenly you notice auras surrounding everything.... Being able to see around corners, going inside little cottages which become mansions, when viewed from inside... Going inside a building in Albuquerque and going out the back door into Las Vegas, going to sleep as a female, and waking up male... Flying in a plane for half an hour and landing at the same place 5 weeks later...
The strongest impression of my early childhood - I was seven years old - an impression of which I still retain a vivid memory, was the emotion aroused in my young heart by the sight of a gothic cathedral. I was immediately enraptured by it. I was in an ecstasy, struck with wonder, unable to tear myself away from the attraction of the marvellous, from the magic of such splendour, such immensity, such intoxication expressed by this more divine than human work
In terms of the myths and stories of the search for the Holy Grail, or, in our modern metaphor, the escape from the Matrix, we see that Perseus killed the sea serpent and married Andromeda. They set off together as a team: righting wrongs, freeing the oppressed, turning the bad guys into stone, and lived, as far as is known, happily ever after.
Thus, as a symbol of gaining Freedom from the Matrix, we find, first, that Perseus is the Hero of choice, and, second, that the dynamics of the only myth that is fully represented in the Sky over our very heads are those which suggest to us our path of “tracking” the clues that will enable each participant to not only cut off the head of their own Medusa, thus releasing the Truth in the form of the Winged Horse, Pegasus, but also, with the aid of this Truth, to participate in the Freeing of Andromeda. I believe that no more important task is before us in the Earth today.
Strategy?
Shaitan...Lucifer...Bringer of Light...
Calculated terrorism. Planned chaos..The goal of terrorism is to create terror and fear. Fear undermines faith in establishment. It weakens the enemy from within, causing unrest in the masses. Terrorist is not an expression of rage. It is a political weapon. Remove a goverment´s façade of infallibility, and you remove its people´s faith.
"You had to attack civilians, the people, women, children, innocent people, unknown people far removed from any political game. The reason was quite simple: to force ... the public to turn to the state to ask for greater security."
This was the essence of Operation Gladio, a decades-long covert campaign of terrorism and deceit directed by the intelligence services of the West, against their own populations. Hundreds of innocent people were killed or maimed in terrorist attacks, on train stations, supermarkets, cafes and offices, which were then blamed on "leftist subversives" or other political opponents. The purpose, as stated above in sworn testimony by Gladio agent Vincenzo Vinciguerra, was to demonize designated enemies and frighten the public into supporting ever-increasing powers for government leaders and their elitist cronies
Gladio was first revealed by Italian prime minister G. Andreotti in 1991, it is still protected by its founding patrons, CIA and M16. Parliamentary investigations are still open to unearth a few fragments of the truth over the years. There is a terrorist summit in Madrid this week... none of the attendees wanted to really make a distinction between "terrorist" groups committing acts of violence and the invented terrorism that is the tool of those who wish to dominate and control through fascist measures.
While not infallible, the ancient Latin question is still the best guide to penetrating the bloody murk of modern terrorism: Cui bono? Who benefits? Whose powers and policies are enhanced by the attack? For it is indisputable that the "strategy of tension" means power and profit for those who claim to possess the key to "security."
Calculated terrorism. Planned chaos..The goal of terrorism is to create terror and fear. Fear undermines faith in establishment. It weakens the enemy from within, causing unrest in the masses. Terrorist is not an expression of rage. It is a political weapon. Remove a goverment´s façade of infallibility, and you remove its people´s faith.
"You had to attack civilians, the people, women, children, innocent people, unknown people far removed from any political game. The reason was quite simple: to force ... the public to turn to the state to ask for greater security."
This was the essence of Operation Gladio, a decades-long covert campaign of terrorism and deceit directed by the intelligence services of the West, against their own populations. Hundreds of innocent people were killed or maimed in terrorist attacks, on train stations, supermarkets, cafes and offices, which were then blamed on "leftist subversives" or other political opponents. The purpose, as stated above in sworn testimony by Gladio agent Vincenzo Vinciguerra, was to demonize designated enemies and frighten the public into supporting ever-increasing powers for government leaders and their elitist cronies
Gladio was first revealed by Italian prime minister G. Andreotti in 1991, it is still protected by its founding patrons, CIA and M16. Parliamentary investigations are still open to unearth a few fragments of the truth over the years. There is a terrorist summit in Madrid this week... none of the attendees wanted to really make a distinction between "terrorist" groups committing acts of violence and the invented terrorism that is the tool of those who wish to dominate and control through fascist measures.
While not infallible, the ancient Latin question is still the best guide to penetrating the bloody murk of modern terrorism: Cui bono? Who benefits? Whose powers and policies are enhanced by the attack? For it is indisputable that the "strategy of tension" means power and profit for those who claim to possess the key to "security."
Brotherhood
I want to know precisely what I mean
When I call you brother.
Are we merely wayfaring companions,
Or is there more to us? Something deeper?
I know that we are seeds of the same fruit,
Travelling along a mysterious road of love.
It horrifies me how much this love is tested
Day after day, to the very edge of reason.
What exactly is expected of us?
Night after night I think about what we are
Praying that someday I shall understand it
And perhaps compose a pledge of brotherhood.
I think that brotherhood is a force field
Raised around true friends.
It is about understanding at the end
Of the day, that we are free spirits,
With distinctive emotional fingerprints
In each eye of our individual minds
The world wears a unique mask.
We walk hand in hand most of the time
But we really follow our own hearts,
And this in itself masquerades
As the spirit of disunity - which it is not.
If only we can understand this
We will re-write alphabets of forgiveness,
And live in peace forever.
To me, brothers are wayfaring companions
On a journey begun at the same point,
At different times, who meet along the way,
In the wild diner off the motorway of life
Where they nurture their unique connection.
True brotherhood amazes and uplifts
Like wind beneath wings of an eagle:
It is about fears and tears fairly shared,
It is about hopes and laughter fondly enjoyed.
It is about hands mutually holding on tight,
Whether cruel storms rage
Or dark unknowns haunt.
Through calm dawns and warm sunrises
Or the injuries of tragedy,
The circle stays rock-solid.
Nothing matters much for too long
Except love.
When I call you brother.
Are we merely wayfaring companions,
Or is there more to us? Something deeper?
I know that we are seeds of the same fruit,
Travelling along a mysterious road of love.
It horrifies me how much this love is tested
Day after day, to the very edge of reason.
What exactly is expected of us?
Night after night I think about what we are
Praying that someday I shall understand it
And perhaps compose a pledge of brotherhood.
I think that brotherhood is a force field
Raised around true friends.
It is about understanding at the end
Of the day, that we are free spirits,
With distinctive emotional fingerprints
In each eye of our individual minds
The world wears a unique mask.
We walk hand in hand most of the time
But we really follow our own hearts,
And this in itself masquerades
As the spirit of disunity - which it is not.
If only we can understand this
We will re-write alphabets of forgiveness,
And live in peace forever.
To me, brothers are wayfaring companions
On a journey begun at the same point,
At different times, who meet along the way,
In the wild diner off the motorway of life
Where they nurture their unique connection.
True brotherhood amazes and uplifts
Like wind beneath wings of an eagle:
It is about fears and tears fairly shared,
It is about hopes and laughter fondly enjoyed.
It is about hands mutually holding on tight,
Whether cruel storms rage
Or dark unknowns haunt.
Through calm dawns and warm sunrises
Or the injuries of tragedy,
The circle stays rock-solid.
Nothing matters much for too long
Except love.
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