The blockbuster movie called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

September 23, 2021

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There is always a certain amount of whining and remorse as one enters the theater to see the movie called Reality.

“Is this a good idea?” “Why did I buy the ticket?”

But you can already feel a merging sensation. The electromagnetic fields humming in the theater, even before the movie starts, are drawing you in.

Your perception of x dimensions is narrowing down to three.

You take your seat. You look at the note you’ve written to yourself, and you read it again:

“Don’t forget where you came from. Don’t forget this is just a movie. Don’t fall asleep. The serial time in the movie is an artifact. The binding feeling of sentimental sympathy is a trance-induction. It’s the glue that holds the movie fixed in your mind.”

“The movie will induce nostalgia for a past that doesn’t exist. Don’t surrender to it.”

“You’re here to find out why the movie has power.”

“You want to undergo the experience without being trapped in it.”

“The content of the movie will distract you from the fact that it is a construct.”

The lights dim.

On the big screen, against a gray background, the large blue word REALITY slowly forms.

Suddenly, you’re looking at a huge pasture filled with flowers. The sky is a shocking blue. You can feel a breeze on your arms and face.

You think, “This is a hypnotic weapon.”

Now, the pasture fades away and you’re standing on an empty city street at night. It’s drizzling. You hear sirens in the distance. A disheveled beggar approaches you and holds out his trembling hand.

He waits, then moves on.

You look at the wet shining pavement and snap your fingers, to change it into a lawn. Nothing happens.

You’re shocked.

You wave your hand at a building. It doesn’t disappear.


You reach into your pocket and feel a wallet. You walk over to a streetlight and open it. There’s your picture on a plastic ID card. Your name is under the picture, followed by a number code. On the reverse side of the card, below a plastic strip, is a thumbprint.

There are other cards in the wallet, and a small amount of paper money. You look at the ID card again. There’s an address.

Though it seems impossible, you remember the address. In your mind’s eye, you see a small cottage at the edge of an industrial town. There’s a pickup parked in the driveway.

It’s your truck. You know it. But how can that be?

You walk toward larger buildings in the distance.

Three men in uniforms turn a corner and come up to you. Behind them emerges a short man in a business suit. He nods at you and holds out his hand.

You know what he wants. You pull out your wallet and give it to him. He looks at the ID card, at you, at the card again.

“You were reported missing,” he says.

“Missing from what?” you say.

“Your home. Your job. What are doing here? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say. “I was…taking a short trip. I’m just out for some air.”

“In this part of the city?” he says. “That’s not smart. We’ll take you home. Our car is right over there.”

One car sits on a side street. In large red letters printed on the trunk is the word Concern.

You walk with the men to the car.

Waves you’ve never felt before are emanating from it.

Mentally, you try to back up from them. You feel a haze settle over you.

In the haze dance little creatures.

You look at the short man in the suit. He’s smiling at you.

Suddenly, his smile is transcendent. It’s so reassuring, tears fill your eyes.

You’re thinking, “They built this so I would be lost, and then they found me. I’m supposed to be rescued. I’ve never experienced being rescued before. I never knew what it meant.”

You hear faint music.

It grows louder. As you near the car, you realize you’re listening to a chorus and an orchestra. The rising theme is Victory.

One of the uniformed men opens the car door.

You nod at him.

“My pleasure, sir,” he says.

The music fades away.

The scene shifts.

You’re standing next to the pickup in your driveway alongside your cottage.

You’re home.

Think, you tell yourself. What’s going on?

Now, as you walk into your cottage and instantly remember the rooms and the objects in these rooms, the sensation of Familiarity, slightly out of phase, grows stronger.

You realize you’re supposed to feel tremendous relief. This is what’s expected of you.

It’s expected of everyone. They live with one another through the touchstone of the Familiar. They share it like bread.

They keep coming back to it. The Familiar is a sacrament.

It’s built in. It’s invented through…it’s stamped on every object in this space…

…In order to suggest you’ve been here before. To suggest you belong here.

You see pure space that…

Has been placed here. For you.

And at that moment, there is a small explosion behind your head.

And you’re sitting in the theater again.

The movie is playing on the screen. All around you, in the seats, people are sitting with their eyes closed.

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn. It’s an usher.

“Sir,” he says. “Please follow me.”

He leads you up the aisle into the lobby, which is empty.

An office door opens and a young woman steps out. She strides briskly over to you.

“You woke up and came back,” she says. She gives you a tight smile. “So we’re refunding your money. It’s our policy.”

She drops a check in your hand.

“What happened in there?” you say. “What happened?”

She shrugs.

“Only you would know that. You must have done something to interrupt the transmission.”

“And the rest of those people?”

She looks at her watch. “They’re probably into their second year by now. The second year is typically a time of conflict. They rebel. Well, some of them do. They rearrange systems. They replace leaders. They promote new ideals.”

“I had such a strong feeling I’d been there before.”

She smiles. “Apparently it wasn’t strong enough. You’re back here.”

“How do you do it?” you say.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s proprietary information. Did you meet your family?”

“No,” you say. “But I was in a cottage. It was…home.”

She nods.

“If you hadn’t escaped, you would have been subjected to much stronger bioelectric bonding pulses. Do you have a family here?”

You start to answer and realize you don’t know.

She looks into your eyes.

“Go out to the street,” she says. “Walk around. Take a nice long walk for an hour. You’ll reorient. It’ll come back to you.”

“Why do you do it?” you say.

“Do what?”

“Sell this trip.”

“Oh,” she says. “Why does a travel agent book a vacation for a client? We’re in that business.”

You turn toward the exit. The sun is shining outside. People are walking past the doors.

You take a deep breath and leave the theater.

The street is surging with crowds. The noise is thunderous.

You notice you’re carrying a rolled up sheet of paper in your hand.

You open it.

It’s a non-disclosure agreement.

“If you return from your movie experience, you will not reveal or discuss, under penalty of law, anything about its nature, substance, or duration…”

You look at the sheet of paper, make up your mind, and it bursts into flames.

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

9 comments on “The blockbuster movie called Reality

  1. Douglas S Chambers says:

    Well done again Jon, thank you.

  2. michael burns says:

    I’ve read this piece a number of times over the years and felt it so many ways; from a modernizing of Plato’s cave allegory to a personal reflection of ‘your own’ condition on how you got here.

    The opening sentence stopped me this time.

    “There is always a certain amount of whining and remorse as one enters the theater to see the movie called Reality.”

    I ask the question why this time does that sentence stop me?
    Why the whining, why the remorse?


    Its a movie, and there’s going to be popcorn and that fresh buttered smell and your own Aqau Velva and that Friday night feeling is intoxicating even you, and “goddam I been waiting in the cold for this girl to show up and I think I got stood-up again.
    Oh well might as well use one of tickets”. And its her loss, I was going to surprise her and take her to A&W, I hear all the girls are on roller skates there — and I’m no cheap date and roller skates that’s new and cool.

    What does it mean to be a human?
    I always felt it was this confederation of colonies or organisms that came together and agreed to work together with a mega mind on top. And the spirit was simply a ride along. And I’m not sure yet if it was given permission or simply walked in and took over…

    I think the extinction event has happened and it is continuing to happen. And you and me and some of the more imaginative folks in here are the last humans to remain on earth.

    Streets are full of clones. Androids everywhere giving me strange looks without a thought as I walk by and they suddenly are disturbed from their hypnotic stare into their fondle slab by my simply passing. Do I emit something, do I have an odd vibration or am I giving off a signal of some kind? Is there an intensity radiating from me?

    You stated time is artifact, and I felt you were not just talking about this story. But I have had an inkling or its more of clue that money invented time.

    Artifact; […] a defect in an image (such as a digital photograph) that appears as a result of the technology and methods used to create and process the image.”

    The ‘nine ways’ of the Bon gives credence to this being the ‘way of the visual world’, purely illusion produced by dark wizards. Which brings to mind a wizard of renown. And the thought that we all transcend or no one transcends.

    And I am reminded by an old friend Milarepa who once said after a few Guinness at a local pub… “When you run after your thoughts, you are like a dog chasing a stick.”, but hell we have been taught to love chasing sticks haven’t we?

    And so…
    “You look at the sheet of paper, make up your mind, and it bursts into flames.

    What I like about your stories Jon is that they inspire me to imagine and I think real humans in conversation inspire you imagine and if they try hard to defeat that purpose they might be your enemy. They are knowingly or without knowing agents of the grand illusion.

  3. Just sayin' says:

    Ditto on the wow. Is there ‘reality” independent of our perceptions?

    Sticky, sentimental glue can certainly hold us in patterns, constructs.

    ‘They’ try to induct and own us in some constructed reality.

    I love this: “You look at the sheet of paper, make up your mind, and it bursts into flames.”

  4. Roundball Shaman says:

    “There is always a certain amount of whining and remorse as one enters the theater to see the movie called Reality.”

    The interesting thing about this is that nobody remembers entering the theater. You suddenly wake up one day after infancy and realize that somehow there is a You and somehow You ended up in this big movie theater surrounded by a bunch of other people who don’t know how they got there either.

    And you spend the rest of your life trying to figure out how You got in here and what You are supposed to do now that you’re here.

    And of course, comes the movie. Some people figure out how to create adventure films. Others create ginned-up Reality Show movies. Others create comedies and slapstick fluff. And the saddest are those who choose to create their own tragedy shows without happy endings.

    And then there are those who don’t want to be the writer, director, creator, and actor in their own movie and they just wait until closing time when they can sulk out into the street and continue to do nothing all over again.

    You are the movie patron. You are the theater. You are the flickering images that flash before you. You write the plot and act it out. You choose the other actors. You decide whether to have a happy ending or not.

    You didn’t have to pay to get into the theater. But someone paid for your ticket. In fact, lots of people did. That’s why we should never waste a moment of our precious screen time. And maybe, we can help a few others in the theater find a way to write happier scripts for themselves so that they can find their happy ending as well.

  5. AJ says:

    This is the tip of ice berg! Now, Tom Bartlett, for the atlantic news, is demeaning Dr. Malone, supposed inventor of the mRNA, about it being dangerous for humans to consume. Then why are 40% of medical employees not vaccinated? And now producing edible plants that produce mRNA. And they have nano chips that can be absorbed through your skin. It seems there is almost no where to go. Judgment Day is here for many of us and we will have to accept it. But we can chose how we leave here. I intend to meet GOD on my feet. Your choice.

  6. Mb in Mi says:

    I’ll be even more entertained by anyone’s brief interpretation

  7. Eluard says:

    Hats off to Mike Burns and Roundball Shaman. Really enjoyed what you wrote here. You’ve added to Jon’s piece, which yes, I too have read many times. I think it’s emblematic for him. Kind of like Jim Morrison and his image of the hitchhiker standing by the side of the road levelling his thumb “in the calm calculus of reason.”

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