UnicornHuntersE4

Preface
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   
The Unicorn Hunters

Chapter Four

Meadow tames me with spring softness into an autumn comfort. Directs my skills to positivity. I need her. I cannot tell you who or how many who's i have been used against my will to kill by remote. I cannot tell you what other depravity I was involved in. When i began healing instead of harming, as my will and awareness grew stronger, when i began riding higher and with more positive light, the back of my heart erupted with light and i began to become invisible to the ones who were stealing me from my sleep and forcing dreamings upon me. These dreamings are not fantasy, they are really real in the really real real. It is far outside the bounds of Mental Health textbooks, what officially is known about it is classified military secrets. Meadow taught me a white light meditation, filling myself with white light as i breathe until my body glows with it. Inner tranquility.

Meadow is not on mental health henefits as she has avoided the system entirely throughout her whole life. For most of it she has lived in forests, on traveler sites, squats and her friends council houses, all across the country. What she needs comes to her and she goes where she is needed. She embodies freedom. Her journey has brought her to this place.

The garden centre has a converted barn extended by a corrugated metal shelter which we all hate despite it being useful, providing an outdoor place to sit in the dry and stare through the few plants left by its previous owners at the trees behind it from the road. After a few days here we had re-oriented our center away from coming in, into looking out. We discussed sky-places from where we project down our understanding of the place from the air, and decided to meet there tonight during dream.

My skill at astral travel, remote viewing and an ability to connect with others, riding hosts, to have persuasive powers as a voice in their head which many mistake for their own mind to be doing the talking because they cannot see; all this is why my role as facilitator. My focus. Its inner systems. Meadows gentleness takes us through into the dimensions we want to go. Her emotion. Its inner symbolism. Jake boosts my scope, we work together, with his ability to connect with frequencies which he hears as sounds. His harmony. Its rhythms. The music of our souls.

"When the others arrive shall we have a pentacle." Expresses Meadow. Her voice speaks the words not as a question, she talks backwards like that "from cider and origin." It sounds or feels like she says, festival rather than pentacle. She speaks on many levels and challenges us to accept. This is our riddle game. We all play it endlessly. What makes us the shamen is that we do so knowingly. Meadow most of all.

That night we dreamed intensely.

It took us a while to orientate; i was stuck in the forest until i remembered, upward! Meadow down by the river tho to her it appeared as a stream. Jake swooped in and two others, spirit guides or other travelers, perhaps but we don't like to think about that the shadow ones, lost guides turned nasty. We could all feel them and in the minds eye perhaps see them. United we function as one eye, usually we need time to orientate. We have done this a few times before but only once so powerfully, when we brought along the unicorn and vision-made this place into being. We do not all see each others spirit guides, though they are not always presenting themselves visibly anyway.

The presence of others took its effect as we mingled and accepted our relationship with the others at deeper soul level of understanding than is easy to write about in words. We settled into each other by making peace, sharing understanding, feeling their chakras insert into our own and adapting to the balance. In the balance often barter. Their powers became ours for the journey.

We flew over our landscape, seeing the ruins, a column of white so bright we could not look toward it, the stone circle, the spring. Fields and forests. Dreamers more conscious than human sleepers, animals in their burrows and nests, involved in their own Dreamings.

We saw deadlands beyond where industry, concrete and gaseous metal had closed areas off of the dream. We felt starlight like water upon us. We waited until the density above our heads had lifted, so we may rise. Waiting at the Gate until accepted, a natural sign will alert you to the opening of the second gate. To go through the first is to bring dust of your journeys with you. To go through the second is to enter cleansed that you may see the next crossing more purely as it truly is. A lighter frequency. And then to the next gate. A gate is a moment expanded through time. It can be depicted through symbol. We share common symbols, between us have a repertoire sufficient to deal with most crossings.

An awareness flows through us; it is because we said hello to the stones. The word for stones is also light. Crystal, but the emanation for which crystal is a conduit. It affects the light grid through which particles filter with such high refinement that sleepers cannot see it, only dreamers and the dead, and those of other realms who share this space for their passage or their home.

From the higher perception we did our work. When we awoke on a different wave of consciousness the next mid-late morning, we remembered as much as we can of it. Jake made voice recording, I wrote in my dream diary and Meadow told us what she had seen. We shared our information and extrapolated what we must do now. We had our mission for the time of us being here, tasks we must perform. It all works for the balance so that the paths of our lives and those around us can continue toward the highest frequencies possible. Gradually through centuries we are working toward a state of attaining higher and higher frequencies. This is the Ascent and it affects our consciousness. We awaken.

Except that night, for that dreaming, it did not go like that. The strangers were together, one like us a unicorn hunter and its spirit ally, although one could as easily call it the other way around, a spirit and the human with whom it travels. Often, so often it is human sleepers who are bound by spirits of the Otherworlds, we see this regularly.

The unicorn hunter was not from our time although in the astral and especially so close to a shrine, matters of time ceased to matter. We learn an alternate system of physics. Spirit sciences. Time is mass and mass is time. In the realm of conscious dreaming it is the self who creates an ephemeral version of mass, it is our lucidity and focus by which we create time. Our group enhances this, our balance unique and its own flow. The unicorn hunter and his ally were harmonic to our own flow, by desire.

He was excited to meet us. I visualized him as a short fat man dressed in steampunk attire, leather straps and breeches. His ally was deflecting the shrine light from behind him so that he did not cast a shadow, by this he was difficult to read, to know, to see. His presence was strong and assertive, we did not shift or scatter, we held with him. It felt important to do so.

Around the shrine, countless other dimensions shifted, a spine of kaliedescopic spokes rotating, through which energy rises. As other energy threads flow around the core, gates open through which other dreamers find their levels.

"How did you find us?"

"Unicorn."

We knew this meant it wants rescuing, obviously another unicorn hunter would have some sort of ability to hear its call for help, he would after all have been listening for such things.

His gesture, interpret that however you will, the symbol image of a ghostly smokey unicorn head in the space between us momentarily at chest height, his desire to capture one revealing his quest and beyond that his true nature, murderous black of his eyes, sureness of such volume and gravity it made dense of the particles around us, held up only by the hope of his aspiration.

We were at once accused, revered, and requested that he may invite himself upon us, through us to meet our unicorn, a wild power which we had enslaved for our mastery. The dreaming unicorn swept up through us.

"Who is this guy?"

His power was immense. He released the unicorn from our bond, using our guilt reaction and pride as a lever. Had he intended to do so was irrelevant; the will of the unicorn was far beyond ours. We were swept up with it. I felt Meadow beside me gripping it by its mane. Jake gripping its tail. Something dark flew up past us, travelling faster than the unicorn only by a degree and within its flow. The elation of that freedom and the fierce drive of the unicorns desire to escape its tether and run fast and far, we felt that too in its entirety. As the unicorn shed its attachments to that place, it shed us, as a snake sheds its skin. It shed us so powerfully that we also shed ourselves. And yet we fripped, sending one another bursts of energy to strengthen our bond. If one of us had fallen, we all would. It was a challenge we did not intend to face.

The unicorn slowed.

The spirit ally of our encounter was now projecting a shield to shadow all three of us from the awareness of the unicorn. It did not know we were there! It was relaxing, we all were. Shaking its mane and trodding its new ground. Its heart hardwired to its brain and beyond, it had gone home to a safe place. Around us... green haven.

We had to be quiet incase the unicorn heard us thinking. We knew that we had to capture the unicorn again: in case we got stuck here, even if not for our original purpose. And then the scene changed.

We were in a large luxury stable. The colours of the stable are the same as those on the ring which the cunning spirit ally had placed over the unicorns horn; a tether! Brown, tan and silver. The steampunk guy was waiting for us.

We were exhilarated, we met him with laughter despite we acknowledged him as thief.

"There are those who would not go to the liberty of preserving the animal; taking simply the tusk. Cutting it off. Killing the beast."

We climbed off the unicorn. It was standing still, listening, observing. Its heart flared out in reach to analyze the surroundings. Its tusk flared out for same purpose and to project its will into the particles from which the realm was constructed, to re-shape them. The projection failed, they remained as they were.

"It is a strong chain. Specially made."

He would have attacked us if he were hostile. He was confident. A thief bothering to open up conversation with the people from whom he had stolen, directly following the theft.

"Yet truly, the unicorn is not yours to keep. It having become property is now appropriated. Thus sealing the bond upon it. It escaped from you, its first gate. There are three with your binding and this is the second. It binds you also into its service. In course, I shall no longer be its master. What I do is a necessity, and a consequence of the path which yourselves started."

"Who are you?"

"You still seek to possess it. You have done your bit and may do so again in the full circle of time. This is the bind I have worked into my... it's tether. Already you have learned much, already you are experts at this chase. Welcome. There are some of us who have been doing this for some time."

"Are you Victorian?"

"We should find the third. The unicorn knows already what must befall it and what path it will shape."

The unicorn was looking pissed off.

"Worry not, we are a step closer toward capturing a unicorn."

"We had already caught it." Sarcastically.

"No, indeed you have not. There are planes and depths you do not know of, places where unicorns go, we can barely imagine."

"Where are we?"

"Within the ring, of course."

"What will you do with it?"

He smiled.

Back in the normal world:

"I can't believe we lost a fucking unicorn."


continues at: Chapter Five

UnicornHuntersE3

Preface
Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven   

The Unicorn Hunters

 

Chapter Three

"Marlen bach, ke be mennid u wal?"
Translation: Merlin boy, can you be mending the wall?

Authors note; i am no expert in the tongue of ancient Britons. This is purely atmospheric purposes.

Merlin was fed up. He could feel and at times even see through the eyes of another Merlin, one yet to come. He was unsure was it himself in the future, perhaps his next life, with whom he had this strange connection. It had become an obsession for him, strengthening his understanding of what was happening with him, and finding out why nobody else around him was experiencing life this way. They called it his madness, at times such as he tried to describe it. He had learned not to.

His father and mother did not understand it, feared it. He had ran away and lived five seasons alone in the deep woods, a time during which his ability enhanced. Though he studied with the wise whenever he could, to such extent they were talking of sending him to the white monks except for the work needed doing here, even his idle hands were better than none; becoming a man of learning in their foreign culture seemed impossible and felt wrong somehow, deep within him where the dark guide dwells. He spoke with it, it came to him in dreams. He knew the imagery and memories to be those of living another life in another age. Carved stone coming to life through forms at once both pictorial and writing. Merlin had ambitions to construct of wood as his peoples tradition similar symbols. The elders directed him toward the tree script and stories of his own culture, should in education he find a way to explain his sight. Were it ever useful to his people would have been another matter.

They told him tales of the crone who died a generation ago near here. Merlin spoke with her also and surprised them by 'just simply knowing' the hidden meanings of the stories she had told them, which were passed on verbally; stories which enchanted and inspired the tribes. Merlin read the stories for their wisdom and he taught others. Soon reputation his madness was replaced by acceptance of his intelligence. He was sent as envoy of his people to the local lords castle, to learn and to work, to find his way onto the nobles council. He was sent on missions as a spy and a messenger.

Merlin knew that he was connecting with souls, some his own and others who were around him now and yet sleeping, sleeping because in their dream they had work to do, work which took lifetimes to accomplish. Unifying all of the tribes to end war and begin progress so as to improve the human condition. He saw the patterns of life changing all through the ages and he recalled its long-sighted lessons in times of his peoples need.

This is how we remember him.

This chapter of the story is for Paul, who taught me around a stone circle at the turn of the millennium, a festival attended by thousands of people and not all of them sleepers; the Celtic battle dress of war against the oppressor, purple combat trousers and a hooded shaman top. Who told me the mental health services had classified him as schizophrenic for believing himself to be Merlin. He explained to me how he had connected with the Merlin energy, so much of the ancient ways made perfect sense to him. Who showed me the oldest standing stone in the city, placed long ago before romans came. The stone was crystal, some weathered gray type of granite containing large chunks of volcanically created quartz. A piece of the heart of the earth. We placed our hands on it.

This was one of my initiatory rites into Druidry, it happened because the Great Spirit guided us. What amazed me about Paul is he seemed to have stepped outside of being a man with concerns of a man and was walking the path of myth, it was holy energy. A different fire burned in his eyes, starlight pure and kind. He transmitted information by the pace of his breath controlling the level of his heart, my heart received and the brain converted it to memory and knowledge. I transceived all the workings of a man puzzling all of this out and crossing over into a world beyond todays society. Chance meetings born of destiny.

Where he had began to remember, I began to remember. Once having seen, shared, experienced, merged with other selves in other times and places, integrated that picture as a continuum. One can never go back. Modern society has no concept of integrity.

The legend says Merlin was born backwards in time.

The next fifteen years were visits from future selves, stemming back because I was reaching forward with such clarity of focus. I was diagnosed as schizophrenic by mental health services of the same instructions manual and put onto long-term sickness benefits. Several years later they adjusted it to more accurate, schizotypal disorder. Reclusive due to traumatic experiences, inability to retain close personal friendships, possibly belief in fictional versions of reality, typically sensory hallucinations in extreme cases - the classic 'hearing voices'.

When was the last time you heard a voice? When was the last time you listened? When did you last listen to the silence so keenly that you heard what is really going on in there? Did you hear it? Did you hear us, dancing all over time and singing our colours, partying and fighting to blood and bone to keep going, to keep it going for all of us. Those who do not hear the song, those who do not sing. Those who cannot see and cannot read the flow of patterns. Eventually it makes sense. I am one of those who hears them so well, it is the mundane mind of the deaf to which I am deaf. Yes i hear voices, did you mean by asking that do I hear imaginary voices? I ask not to be elusive but for clarity. The sleepers are robots, they have not learned to use their minds beyond reaffirming the status quo of the sleepers. They are disconnected from the flow of life, they do not know who they are.

We seek others like us, so we journey. Our tribes are scattered and more so due to the prejudice against us and all the other missions we have going on. Those who scatter us through time cannot cause us to forget, for we have awoken. Those who sharpen our focus as they pitch themselves against us, well informed by ancient records and ancient mystic which the rulers damn well know to be the higher truth even though their footsoldiers and the masses are gridded into a system which serves them well.

We have eternity because we make it so. And yet, we change on the journey.

Agents require a certain kind of traumatized mindset. They use a lot of either-or scenarios to test, left or right, working ways around a problem. The art of worrying. The pressure tempo of such frets is a loop cycle at whatever frequency they need to grip you, and then they change it, bringing you with it, the rise or dip in frequency connecting with left and right. Over a few cycles, rhythms develop, the grip becomes tighter and enables room for accessing a deeper level of the mind. Alpha Beta Theta Delta Omega clones and several more classifications. Experiences traumatic to the target are used as scenarios to progress and manipulate the target through different arenas, in which he or she acts out and opens gates into different perceptions. Effectively the human organism is used as a circuit to access other abilities, people and locations. What it does to the individual who inhabits the body, ultimately is burn-out. A lot of hypnosis is involved.

I awoke during these processes because it was necessary for me to do so for them to access specific requirements. I awoke because after so many repetitions, the observer makes sense on a wider basis. I anticipate a form of electronic artificial intelligence must go through these progressive self awareness stages, that is what evolution feels like and usually it is painful as we ingest alien materials and they mutate us psychedelically, physically, mentally. They, the controllers of this abominable experiment by which we its victims learn, they are always a step ahead.

The window was open for long enough for me to see the clear picture of the other side, and I figured it out with the help of others who were in similar positions to myself. They link us together as crews to do missions because many minds are better than one in holding open the gates for them to send the bulk of information they send through. We are the stargates. When we awake we remember little of this. My crew found a way to get free and that's what we did, dwindling in our number as we went. I refuse to return to help the others because to do so I will fail in my intention to get totally clear of the ones doing this. It attracts attention. This was our rule, no going back. We know that eventually we will by laws of nature, great spirit, reconnect elsewhere. Now is a time of healing the trauma, a time which will take a lifetime.

What we know of the ones doing this is insignificant to how it connects with the knowledge of my ancestors, the cultural traditions of Celts and Druids, of the Mayans and Egyptians, so many others. Living knowledge that the myths are a living thing. These same evolutionary developments that occur when we start using more than ten percent of our brains, described in ancient stones, stories and songs, traditions we keep alive because they are our guiding symbols. The monocracy cannot prevent that, ever, despite their consistently trying for thousands of generations.

The pain sharpens the focus. The freedom release is to go in the direction of least pressure. At its edge, we pause for a moment and in this short gap we see both sides of the gate and decide, step through or turn back? We keep going. Knowing now enough to activate the gates simultaneously, all across time. Knowing that the change is coming, is here, and has been. Three sights at once into a single focus, piercing depths of time. We make our flow.

continues at:  Chapter 4

Dream Garden

In 1997/8 i lucid dreamed a temple complex and garden. There were white shaft of light beings who use dream to communicate highly spiritual information. I drew this chalk sketch of a part of the garden. When i showed my friend who lived on the other side of the road we lived on through which a ley-line crosses, he told me he has dreamed of the same place. I asked him what is located in the next part of the garden which i had not drawn and he described it precisely as I had experienced it. From this and many more similar experiences I know as a living fact that dreams are more than random associations of a brain winding down. Dreams are real places which exist independently of dreamers. 

Stream and Symbol Waking Dream

Preface

The 3D art for tRust universe is built using grayscale because it is easy on the eye. One major influence into it is urban architecture, and the very greatest feature of urban architecture which summarizes twentieth century industry and urban decadence and inevitable decay is graffiti stained concrete. As we emerge out of the mechanical twentieth century world war technology and into twenty first century digital technology we are on the verge of touch sensitive holographic projections, although we have inherited a concrete infrastructure, now decaying and soaked with generations of carbon monoxide grime. Although tRust utilizes a theoretical technology of digital polymer, which looks and feels more like tyre material, with ability to project holograms from its pixelated sprayon surface; the origin of its concept in concrete is deeply etched and embedded into the core of its development process. As an artist I am working on multiple levels of creativity at once. The landscape, scarred and patched with generations of use, refers all at once to multiple levels of awareness. It is a dreamscape and the observer alone defines or is defined by it. The landscape of tRust is intentionally malleable; from sprayon and dissolvent conduits and chambers to computer-operated shape-shifting surfaces. The concrete reformations, reinterpretations and ressurrections of mayan glyphs, aegyptian stellae, cambodian buddhist temples, continues and permeates into the future in form of nano-particulate materials we can envisage but are only as yet on the brink of inventing. What I am influenced by and what is practical for me and others like me to develop as an artist is one plane; the imaginal environments and cultures dwelling within them for science fiction is another. These places combine and fuse in Dreamspace. The project is becoming real because I am going there in dream and meeting others who are co-creating it. Events sourced from dream are simultaneously making sense of the project and educating me with insight into the true nature of the reality construct, itself following laws of physics for which concrete and light become symbolism. Tattoos upon skin; concepts upon neural networks; graffiti upon walls; lazers upon cytex. 

Notes from the hour pre-dreaming

I studied carlos casteneda, yaqui way of knowledge. Humans only purpose is to observe. When we place a label onto a thing we see only that label. Therefore to observe we must do so without preconception. When the observer changes the observed, it is by projection of preconceptions onto it. To observe without projecting is a trained skill. It functions by detachment from mind. This discipline is constant. Only when we can detach from mind do we recognise mind for what it is. Mind is not self. It is a filter system that uses a trick to distract us from observing purely. It convinces us to use its filters, its method for this is to change the focal point of awareness every time we escape its grip. Distraction of Attention. That is the greatest enemy to attaining real practical knowledge about our experience of living. Everything else is confusion, what the buddhists call sansara. The conditioned mind, the confused mind. They teach to meditate as a method of escaping it, to focus only on breathing. The result is the same: if the mind is not the self, what is it? What could be achieved if the inner monologue is silenced, if the distractor is no longer an issue? Our notion of cause and effect dissolves and takes on a new meaning. Zen no-mind. And development; if the thoughts do not originate from self, then from where or from whom do they originate? The essenes teach that at this stage of awareness one no longer needs discern between embodied and disembodied consciousnesses, that there is a far greater difference between those in sansara and those who see purely, in satori, than there is between the physically living and dead. The language shifts its meaning to describe the observed more accurately, more relevantly. In buddhism the word prana means both instinct (intuition) and life flow. The pure observer simply is. Freedom from delusional associations. Language is delusional. There is one truth, it is knowable; sharing this we need not to talk, only to feel. It is an enhanced reality. Reason tells us this state is desirable and worth pursuing through the hard work of ego death and all the pain involved in losing everything we hold onto by projecting it. Reason also tells us the need to compromise it so as to survive in mainstream society. Integrity, an honor code based on ability to integrate. We cannot know it until we have lived without honor. The paradox of the world, the fundamentalism of righteousness, and the pure unspoken truth.

Distracted, I lost my focus, laughs

Notes from the hour post-dreaming

Part of the dream, the landscape, simply is my brain re-arranging the themes I have been working with a lot lately, which are syncronistic based around current lines of research and drawing those symbols towards my life.

But some of the dream content is from Otherwhere. The revelations about howbit connects together is one layer. The actual story, scant though the relationship between incidents is, also several layers. To use one level of awareness to program the other is a part if the job. I was sent in to do a specific mission due to my innate nature, the result being something I would figure out only afterward. We all emit a signiture tone and these tones sharpened into focus by our attention, are waves, they change the perceptions and decisions of those untrained. This was my second trip to the same scene and the memory linger of my original entry was fresh, a concern to my handler. Dream is frail and especially in a new world. None of the souls there are fully yet aware of what the new place is all about, a few creatives and the inevitable security agents of nothing, necessary antagonists seeking to prevent our growth simply to sharpen our focus by being a grindstone. I had to witness an amazing event and remain emotionally unnaffected by it so I could send out a mental wave that nothing was happening. The observer affects the observed is a rule of dream physics. Our projected expectations become the hardwired physical environment, the weak willed zombies act upon such decisions. The swat team pulled out and the space opened up, the runners had mental freedom to explore the anomoly, a gate which would enhance this world, develop and strengthen it, our way, my way, the coalition of souls who are unaware in our waking mundane lives that we have tasks to grow the multiverse during dream. Creativity is opening a world here. I met the injured soul of this world, a blue dragonfly lady with an airhorse daemon. Her type exist! Co-creators from elsewhere in dreaming, with power and ability but with frailty, the fae folk. She lets her heart play in unformed new domains, this concrete maze city waiting to awaken. There is much mystery here, sleepers in their lives, fearful of the control state and fearful of it ceasing because without it, like the madmax style explorers at the portal, we are on our own in a realm where myth is breaking through, the responsibility that self hate and doubt affect and twist the manifesting world so potently. Only pure souls can access here at this time and we want to protect it, nurture its development, so as not to turn it into yet another hell world. There is so much hope here. A place where hope is hardened and matures into confident ability. We are new here and only learning of its nature, its personality. Our belief about it takes hold and strengthens it, affects the lives of its denizens as yet unborn. The militia has left the portal. Unwatched it may open freely to its true potential, not to corrupted comprimise to serve their purpose of limitation. I was not the one to open the portal this time, merely protect those who needed to establish contact through it. My presence alone did this. If they succeed, if the portal opens and is safe, it brings life to this place. The feeling of trapped, scrutinised, chased, persecuted, is lessened here so the creatives can develop and grow. From gray concrete to blue dragonfly, art nouveau machines. Breathing fully of fresh clean air. Get the machines up and running. The sounds of this world are beautiful. 

Servitors, angels, Re the winged women, quetzalcoatl as ishtar, access higher consciousness, maintain simplicity to comprehend complexity is what gives rise to servitor as slaver, gridding the sleek to merovingian block construxt experiences, it takes generations of time to overcome by developing workarounds and progress, new types of servitor emerge or the old ones learn new tricks or move to places better for them. 

Voicenotes from the hour post dreaming

blue concrete 1



blue concrete 2


Notes from Google+ same timeframe 16.8.14

Boredom leads to escapism leads to obsessive focus leads to breakthrough and development. I am polymath and that is necessary to achieve the level. What I am working on is pretty big. It will take me a few more days to collate the data crunch of the last few. Expressing it, sharing it, by telling it as it is is one thing, doing something artful with that is another. Creating mythos from where a lot of the revelation is sourced, it entwines. I provaricate here due to need for re-focus. Breathing space.
A woman bought me a meal tonight. I am useless with women, is she simply a kind heart looking for friendship and I am being sleazy or was being comfortable to relax and feel horny in her presence a mutual and natural shared feeling? I probably should have been natural and hugged her. Too used to being aloof and not wanting to pressure her and scare away a fledgling friendship.
Its a beautiful distraction from the project.
The project. Celtic otherworld meets post-cyberpunk. I dreamed last night and met with others in the levels of dream who know what is going on more than do I, and I now know what is going on more than most of the people in terran consumerism. There is insufficient cultural reference for me to use to explain it without recoursing to old traditions which nobody has publically discussed for several centuries. This is illuminatii knowledge from secret societies. For me it is a major breakthrough with my research and I am grateful to my handler for her role in my development. Explaining it lucidly to people who are culturally and conceptually unprepared for shamanic revelation seems both necessary and disconcerting. It has to be done right, information has to be released through the right channels, people need preparing to accept insights such as this. Its nothing new because we all know the truth of it. Yet its exciting to access that insight into reality. Dare I release my voicenotes and writing on the subject for public consumption? Back to preparing blogs that are windows as much as teaching tools into the streams which, where they cross at just such a point, offer a gate. In simplest terms, follow instinct over mind if you want to evolve.

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