Magic spilling over the edges of time, poetry and science
by Jon Rappoport
July 16, 2021
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Why isn’t every person acting as a shaper and artist of reality?
Why do people rearrange their pasts to omit that self-realization?
The ‘chip’ in the brain is: the non-creative.
The blind spot in the mind is the uncreative.
The false piece of consciousness is: ‘I don’t create.’
So-called Realists want people to pay total attention to What Is, and exclude all other impulses. This is their absurd game. They double down and triple down on it every day.
The realists have very convincing arguments. For example: “I’m your surgeon. You have a life-threatening blood clot, and I’m going in there to try to fix it in the next ten minutes. Do you want me to be a dreamer who fantasizes about mountains in the sky, or do you want me to know how to restore your blood flow before you don’t have enough oxygen to survive? After the surgery, when you wake up, maybe you’ll realize that nuts and bolts reality is what you should be focusing on from here on out, because that’s what I applied to save your life.”
THAT kind of argument.
How many people will refuse THAT kind of invitation and say, “When I wake up from the surgery, I want a pad and pencil, so I can continue writing my 10,000-page poem that spills over and drenches every realistic trap that tries to lock up my mind. A glass of orange juice would be nice as well. And please have the nurse open the curtain in my room so I can see the hills and the river and the old stone skyscrapers…”
Consciousness is not a stable structure. It’s not a structure at all. Therefore, as I’ve been writing, there are no maps. The pundits who claim there are, are kidding themselves. They want to soar and fly, but instead they’re peering through lenses at little shapes and thought-forms in drops of water in a vast unending ocean. And I don’t mean a Collective ocean. Let’s drop that pose.
Every individual soul wearing a physical form has that ocean of consciousness. It spills over edges of time and science and ‘realism’ and money and trinkets and possessions and the news. And yet it isn’t abstract at all. It’s not another realm where everything is pure and organized and perfect. That’s just a cover story. That’s conditioning, training, puerile education, and the out-of-control desire to control everything that moves. That’s one of the versions of the big sleep. That’s all the boring sermons you ever slept through. That’s a contraction of the mind trying to hold things rigidly in place—until the body responds with tremors.
Because THE SPONTANEOUS CREATIVE is trying to break out.
That’s more real than any realism.
The tech freaks and domeheads can try to analyze spontaneous Creative Force from now to forever, and they’ll never make a single inroad. Instead, they’ll just say, “Computers can compose poetry, and they can defeat humans at chess, so turn the universe over to us.”
I don’t think so.
Every religious organization in the world can say to its flock, “We have the pipeline to God, he is present with us in OUR temple, WE have the book that tells you what HE said. Get to HIM through US.” As if an individual soul wearing a physical form with an unending ocean of consciousness who believes in God can’t get through on his own, because it’s just too complicated or hard or it’s Tuesday or it’s raining or the Pope has all the phone lines locked up or a bottle of wine at the liquor store isn’t the bottle of wine with special symbolic portent, or you need a small enclave that’s gained nation-status surrounded by Swiss Guards to rate a look-in from the Deity, or the flock has to be in one place on Sunday singing a hymn, or the night is too long, or the worm can turn in the right direction only when the cliché-ridden minister delivers his candy corn from the pulpit, and the words have to be read from the sacred Book after 169 translations have passed through the hands of writers, most of whom couldn’t get arrested during a riot at a literary convention. Fortunate is the Church who lucked into a real poet who breathed life into its bible.
Because, as I’ve written, every religion starts out as a poem. A poet is working on a million-word Niagara that nothing to do with organized religion, and priests come in and steal it and look it over and edit it down and chop it up and pick the useful lines and insert volleys of vapid warnings and make THAT version THE WORD.
Today’s cutting-edge medical researchers are their own priest class. They, too, are editing and reducing, using genetic tools and nanoparticles they want to infuse with the ability to deliver calcifying messages to the human brain.
The real human experiment? To see what happens when 7 billion souls wearing physical forms bottle up infinity inside themselves and live shoulder to shoulder. They didn’t need to run that experiment. I could have told them before they started what would happen, and it’s what we’re seeing right now, what we’ve been seeing for the last year, the last 5000 years.
When I say THE POEM, I mean what happens in reverse, when the infinities emerge.
An ocean of consciousness turns stagnant if it isn’t EXPRESSED. CREATIVELY.
Just as freedom turns sour.
Just as an individual, decaying from the inside, decides to wave the flag of realism and say we’re all made out of atoms and we’re all doomed. Because he wants to make “the smart choice,” as if we’re operating a contest and the winner gets a new car. There are no points and scoreboards when we’re talking about infinity.
Neither is endless consciousness a placid summer sea on which you float on your back, while you wait for the big ship of Cheese to come along and pull you into a giant collective glob with all other souls.
Consciousness wants the electricity and dynamo of endless creating.
That Force which everyone has felt at one moment or another and then tried to kill off.
It doesn’t die.
And that’s today’s news. And tomorrow’s, too.
And that’s the reason behind the reason I’ve been exposing the machinations of the medical cartel for the past 40 years. By attacking and poisoning and altering the body and brain, they’re in essence attempting to cut people off from the connection to their own dynamic consciousness. And turn them into “REALISTS.”
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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.
A Secret Encounter
In the dawning mist
Of this fine summer day,
As the sun coyly peeked out
From behind the Ridges Blue,
Playing its hide n seek games
Painting the sky
With splashes of red and pink,
That kept on changing hue,
I had a secret encounter
With a doe-eyed deer
Soft, tender and gentle
And more than a little
Bit surprised to see
A human face so early in the morn
And as I looked straight into
Those dark mysterious eyes
I saw my startled reflection
Staring back at me,
We reveled in each others being
Sharing the madness
Of our Gaian dream
In a rare moment out of time
On that dew brushed hill,
Fellow sojourners
Through eternity’s
Red Tooth in claw sideshow,
Erotic condensations of light
Waltzing together
Among the enchanted Carolina pines,
And in the distance
Beyond the garish
Cement sepulchers of modernity
Shimmering in the sun, rising tall
I heard the forest murmurs,
Nymphs frolicking in the glades,
Dryads Laughing with joy
At the mystery of it all.
Beautiful! Thank you! Aloha🌺🌈♥️
“The tech freaks and domeheads…
…say, “Computers can compose poetry, and they can defeat humans at chess, so turn the universe over to us.”
I don’t think so.”
“…after 169 translations have passed through the hands of writers, most of whom couldn’t get arrested during a riot…”
~~~
THE MUSIC OF SOUND
Tortoiseshell
plectrum or pen.
Bend & Sing,
those metaled-inked strings…
Double the sound ’round,
Unbound…
No trouble found.
I think so.
~
Does that chip
go with
THAT
big ship of Cheese ?
You’re right. In my view, it’s the poetry, prose, art, and music “from the ashes,” so to speak, of decaying and soon dangerous civilizations that fortify and inspire us once all the news (both fake and real) sinks in. https://pnissila.blog/2021/06/19/how-shall-we-now-live-13-its-times-like-this-we-need-the-poems/
Cheers.
And
Good stuff! Those in power must be very afraid of their own creativity as well which is why they must also stifle everyone else’s. These creatures apparently do not have the ability or capacity to feel or understand anything except the physical.
Thanks for all of your efforts Jon.
I got sick of the candy corn sermons ‘splaining the gospel, so I got me a Greek Interlinear NT and found that one word in particular was mistranslated 50% of the time in order to make theology work. The Election of Saints was rigged!
Yes, Greg–but does this one go to ELEVEN?
“Realists” is just another inversion and fraudulent use of language. It’s what they do, they hijack and distort words/terms/ideas. The words/ideas sound good on the surface, and in their original meaning are “good” or truthful, but they/it takes it and turns it into it’s opposite in practice and effect.
So many misnomers and oxymorons in the egoMatrix- World Of Lies. The game is called; “Predator and Prey/Parasite and Host”.
I’m neither.
I Am The Truth. Nothing more, nothing less.
Man hasn’t the wisdom to understand truth. They only know of the various man made systems,/forces such as yin/yang and other man made invented opposites/liars. They know nothing of their creation/creator. Their TREAD MARKS are tattooed all over their brain-washed bodies . TRAMP-STAMPS.
Sweeping generalizations are unwise.? (they will include you).
We disconnected our tv from the cable service about a month ago- not much but it’s a start on the Detox process. Busy now creating lovely knitted blankets for a new grandson to be born in September. Trying new recipes. Still spending too much time looking at the computer for updates on resistance to the Tyrants.
No TV in house since last January. Returning satellite hardware to UPS, my box was the 6th one of the day they had received.
Now listen to podcasts, Jordan Peterson, Sir Roger Scruton, Church, etc……watch art films on my phone while preparing meals, cleaning up afterward.
Created a beautiful gravel terrace with lush plantings, table for meals, stone fire ring with adirondack chairs…..Fig Terrace, just one bit of gardening. Most fun has been establishing Tara Turf. Taller meadow with lower mowed paths. Huge pollinator habitat. No watering, no fertilizer, no chemicals needed, EVER.
Finally, more time in the Word, and with community of friends.
Miss TV?
hahahahahahahah………………………
“…turn them into “REALISTS.”
A ‘Realist’ is a damned liar. Avoid them like the plague. Why? Because there IS NO SINGLE ‘REALITY’… and certainly it isn’t ‘Theirs’. Or yours, either.
Everything is just energy existing as bubbling states of potential always in motion and constantly morphing into new forms.
A ‘Realist’ has sold out his or her misguided soul and deluded mind and wedded it to
one single, inaccurate, misleading, harmful, fanciful, lying, foolish, distortion lie of HOW THINGS ARE.
‘You’ are not even ‘you’ anymore since you started reading these words. The subatomic flashes that make up your ‘body’ have winked in and out of existence several times already. And… they just did it AGAIN.
Try to stop all this. You can’t.
Try to stop being Creative. Sadly… you CAN stop that. At least for a few sad moments until you realize that being ‘Realistic’ is NOT BEING REALISTIC.
Love this, Roundball Shaman, all of it, but especially “being REALISTIC is not being realistic. Out of the shackles we go. There is no HOW THINGS ARE. This is how life is stolen from us.
They have cut man in two, setting one half against the other. They have taught him that his body and his consciousness are two enemies engaged in deadly conflict, two antagonists of opposite natures, contradictory claims, incompatible needs, that to benefit one is to injure the other, that his soul belongs to a supernatural realm, but his body is an evil prison holding it in bondage to this earth—and that the good is to defeat his body, to undermine it by years of patient struggle, digging his way to that glorious jail-break which leads into the freedom of the grave.
They have taught man that he is a hopeless misfit made of two elements, both symbols of death. A body without a soul is a corpse, a soul without a body is a ghost—yet such is their image of man’s nature: the battleground of a struggle between a corpse and a ghost, a corpse endowed with some evil volition of its own and a ghost endowed with the knowledge that everything known to man is non-existent, that only the unknowable exists.
Do you observe what human faculty that doctrine was designed to ignore? It was man’s mind that had to be negated in order to make him fall apart. Once he surrendered reason, he was left at the mercy of two monsters whom he could not fathom or control: of a body moved by unaccountable instincts and of a soul moved by mystic revelations—he was left as the passively ravaged victim of a battle between a robot and a dictaphone.
Well described.
Creativity and Innovation are lost without the Freedom to Be so!
Thank you for helping us all wake up to what’s True… the Truth will set us Free!
Aloha Always🌺🌈♥️
When I was coming up we didn’t have action figures, computers and cell phones to play with. We had cardboard boxes, scrap lumber from dad’s workshop and a big, wide canyon where we played games of “cops and robbers”, “cowboys and indians”, “wild west pioneers”, “space explorers” and whatever other games we could come up with.
Playtime was a collective effort among the neighborhood’s kids and everyone was welcome. I believe this kind of play developed in us a different kind of mind, different thought processes. We had imagination and creativity to spare, and, we quickly learned, collaboration made it better!
Succeeding generations have been increasingly deprived of the capacity to express a human being’s native creativity and ability to generate independent thought in cooperation with others. The current state of our world starkly and unambiguously demonstrates the dismal result of that loss.
Thank you so much for your excellent article today Jon. I appreciate and enjoy your deep insights and your delightful imaginative excursions!
Just shaming absurd attempts to justify insanity, as it is sold now under the “science” label: Trying to explain a truth by covering it in lies – https://scitechdaily.com/more-vaccinated-people-are-dying-of-covid-in-england-than-unvaccinated-heres-why/
From what I feel and see happening here, is that creativity begets creativity. The ball is rolling…..
Marvellous post, Jon. The inner world is indeed infinite, and the health of a society might surely be judged by how many different interpretations pertaining to our existence are swirling about simultaneously at any given moment.
Currently, unwittingly or otherwise, ‘we’ve’ been trying to distill everything down to one interpretation ‘that we can all agree upon’. A most unhealthy situation. And, of course, this momentary, paranoid, malignant fragment, summoned from the eternity of the inner life (courtesy of some deranged individual or other, infecting the masses by virtue of its leaden, bitter, envious, petty, hypocritical, and numb-brained appeal) is by now fragmenting and dissolving itself, as it had no shaping power to begin with, but rather a purely levelling momentum, as when one sands away at something until there’s nothing left.
FOR ALL LOVERS:
AS THE SKY ROTATES ABOUT
THE SHIMMERING NEXUS
FORM-WEARING SOULS
& POLARIS SKY-SHINES.
IN BODY OR NOT~
https://youtu.be/0nJKLFt9pPo
“She leans on the wind…”
Magic ever spills.
Every religious organization in the world can say to its flock, “We have the pipeline to God, he is present with us in OUR temple, WE have the book that tells you what HE said. Get to HIM through US.”
——
“Religion is legalized madness.” ~ Arthur Janov