Wednesday, May 24, 2017

A God of Our Own Co-Creation

Would it be heretical to tell you that I’ve created my god based upon the lessons of my own life-experiences?  After all, everything else is really some sort of hand-me-down deity we are told to believe without question or suffer the consequences in this life as well as the next. 

Before dismissing this out of hand, let me tell you what my god is like compared to those found in religion. 

S/he is a balance of the divine masculine as well as the divine feminine.  The myth of the brutal god reveals a severe imbalance due to the lack of the divine feminine.  Those who would lose themselves in the New Age to hide from the responsibility of standing against our enslavers are an example of severe imbalance due to the lack of the divine masculine. 

As I see it, this entire machine of death is powered by these various religions.  They could not be sold to the fodder of these wars nor would they be allowed to continue without their influence.  But going from the fire of brutality to the dark waters of unaccountability is not the answer.

Life has shown us that we are co-creators in our world as our outer world reflects our inner level of consciousness.  If you wish to follow a religion that refuses to acknowledge your part in this misery that surrounds us that’s your business. 

But my god wants me to face the truth about myself and my condition, not grovel in the dirt of shame, rote memorization and ritualistic obeisance to a manufactured authority so I don’t have to take responsibility for my own behavior.    

My god wants me to use the brain I have been given and think for myself.  My god is not into human sacrifice of any kind as this is the behavior of a tyrant, a severely imbalanced and sadistic soul.  My god wants me to know that the gifts bestowed upon me were presented out of love and not meant to be turned into a weapon under threat.    

There’s a humility in understanding what we have received and a great sadness to watch humanity throw it all away by following a fear-based god run by a fear-based system used to dupe us into killing each other off. 

This is the future of religion.  It will either die by its own hand or fade away with the rest of the superstitions used to control humanity throughout the ages.  But something must take its place as this is the way we are put together.   

Let that something be of your own co-creation taken from your understanding of the life lessons you have received from Source for those seeking balance in their lives.  If you can’t bring yourself to do that, at least put your thoughts upon those who stood for something good in this life, rather than the tyrants that keep us at war with each other.

You will find that those who seek the truth will find their way to it.  The differences in the path that brought us here is what we are meant to add to the collective story.     

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Captain Chaos and His Minions of Hell

Will Trump be impeached for collusion with Russia?  How many dead bodies must Hillary crawl over to get back on top?  Will Bill O’Reilly replace Sean Spicer as Donald’s trump-et of lies?  Will any of this even matter after the balloon goes up?  Tune into the never-ending soap opera if you like.

I’m sorry, but American leaders working in collusion with Russian leaders, Israeli leaders, Saudi leaders and their various vassals throughout the world for global interests is old news.  The only thing being revealed is that the duplicity is now more out there in the open. 

The leaders of political parties we see at the highest levels are run by the same people we never see.  Therefore, I don’t particularly care what Captain Chaos and his minions of hell are up to these days, at least regarding their scripts.  It’s all part of the play, even if they impeach him.  Come to think of it, that would be a brilliant way to further intensify this destabilization program we now find ourselves in. And just in time for the Summer riots!

Of course, what makes the show so interesting is that the underlings are constantly being betrayed.  The patsy of the three-letter agency may be promised his freedom after playing his part in a false flag, but why risk keeping him around to talk?  The same goes for leaders in other countries, as allies of today become enemies of tomorrow.    

As for Trump, his character is old and dated.  It’s a scam that was never meant to last very long.  The snake-oil salesmen of the Old West knew when to get out of town before their lies caught up with them.  Trump has already been around too long and the revelations will continue.  Even in this society, I don’t think he can last.

What disturbs me is that this may have been the plan from the beginning.    






Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Time After Time

As fate would have it, the patriot had survived the first wave of looters.  As he had surmised, after the climactic false-flag event and ensuing economic collapse, those controlling the government would, at first, leave the people to their own devices.  The beta-test of their response to Hurricane Katrina had told him that.   By the time the troops finally arrived, most were happy to trade their guns for food and protection from those of their own kind. 

But the patriot was not one of them.  Although he had prepared for all this, he knew that, if captured, he would be marched to the re-education camps where the sadistic scientific descendants of Project Paperclip could ply their trade upon him. 

As he saw the troops encroaching upon his property, the patriot knew it was the end.  He said a prayer to the universe to welcome him beyond the veil and racked a round into the chamber of his battle rifle.    

His world exploded in a blast of light as the thermal imaging that had guided the sniper and his bullet through the wall of his house had found its target.  The patriot had died instantly.

The funny thing was that those stories about near death experiences were true.  The patriot found himself above his own body watching the soldiers.  He had hoped it had been Chinese soldiers who had taken his life--but it was not.  One of them was kicking his body while another laughed.  The patriot laughed also.  They couldn’t hurt him anymore. 

But the sniper wasn’t laughing.  The shooting had done something to him.

The patriot didn’t know exactly where he was anymore.  He only knew that his greatest gift had accompanied him even after crossing over; the ability to grow in consciousness. 

Somehow, what had become of the sniper was always in the periphery of the patriot’s mind. He had seen how the sniper’s life had spiraled out of control since the day of his death.   

Soon after the shooting, the sniper got into a brawl at a bar.  His wife ended up leaving him as she could no longer handle his drunken rages.  He eventually lost his spot on the elite military team he had been on.  He could not get past the growing guilt.

The patriot wasn’t exactly sure where these glimpses he had of the sniper’s life came from.  But the tragic events were always known to him.   

The patriot watched the man who had once been a sniper sitting on his bed holding his handgun on his lap. 

At this moment, a woman in a flowing silk robe approached the patriot.  She was the first entity he had seen since his death.  The vision of the sniper with the gun remained in the background of his mind in a sort of suspended animation.  

“So, what do you think?” asked the woman.

“I don’t want him to take his own life,” said the patriot.

“Why not?” asked the woman.  “He took yours.”

“I don’t know,” said the patriot.  “He’s not what he used to be.  Maybe he will do some good for the resistance if he survives.”

“You want him to continue living?”

“Yes,” said the patriot.

“I’ll talk to him,” said the woman, disappearing from his sight. 

The vision of the sniper also vanished.  What replaced it were others he had never met.  They were with him here on the other side.  He knew intuitively that they too had been murdered. 

But the patriot soon realized that they couldn’t see him. “How did I get here?” asked the patriot to the woman who had now reappeared.  

In this realm, there are still a few veils that need to be pierced,” she said.  “When you asked that the life be spared of the man who murdered you, you graduated to the next level.  As you can see, you are not alone.”

“So, I’m being tested, even after death?”

“Only because you’ve made it this far,” the woman said.  “Sadly, most are not worth the effort as their inner journey ended while they were still in their body.  For many, their religions resulted in spiritual stagnation.  For others, the thirst for wealth and power altered their quest irrevocably.”

“But you put freedom above all else,” the woman continued.  “During the times in which you lived, doing anything else resulted in spiritual decay as all the institutions that the people served were corrupted at their core and resulted in systems of servitude.”

“With that being said, I have one more test for you before you can reach the next level,” she continued.

“What do you want of me?” the patriot asked.

“Are you willing to wait for him?” the woman asked.

“Who?  My killer?”


“Wait for what?” the patriot asked.

The woman sighed.  “After the spirit departs from his body, he can never make it to the next level unless you accompany him.  And just to let you know, the man who shot you has done much for the cause of freedom.  And he has never used a gun again.” 

“How much time has passed since I died?” the patriot asked.

“Time here is not like it was in the dimension you left,” the woman said.

“What if the sniper had never changed his evil ways?” the patriot continued.

“Then you would not be given this test as he had chosen his way of life,” the woman said.

“So, the fate of his soul is in my hands?” the patriot asked.

“Not exactly,” the woman said.  “You can have an influence upon the karmic debt of your killer, but he must choose for himself whether to listen to me.  You see, I am your emissary in this cosmic communication.”

The patriot thought about his previous life and how for most of it his mind had been captured by both power-mongers and fools alike as well as the institutions he had so blindly served for so long.  He knew that he also could have been a traitor and a murderer had he not awakened from his spiritual slumber. 

“I will wait for him,” the patriot said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said the woman who once again departed from him. 

Once he had made the decision, the other entities around him could now see him.  They were all waiting for their killers so they could accompany them on their eternal journey. 

Time being what it was there, they didn’t have long to wait. 










Tuesday, May 9, 2017


She came to me in the Springtime

Though I’d seen her face before

Like a light into the darkness

She always left me wanting more


Her vibrancy and beauty

Not so easy to ignore

Takes me back to my childhood

When I loved her even more


But still they violate her

In so many different ways

They crawl for banker’s money

As they dig their children’s graves


And now they bring this madness

Back inside the USA

They want to carve her up

In a thousand different ways


To those who have no connection

To leave her so exposed

You’ve lost all sense of reason

As your life comes to a close


She’ll fight back before you kill her

And the animals will too

So for those still uncommitted

It’s now time for you to choose


She still comes to me in Springtime

Though she doesn’t always stay

As now I know her well enough

There is nothing much to say





Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Cult of Personality

A false-front to reality

The influential words

Stated with conviction

Can make logic sound absurd


When spoken with a certainty

The mind it can help sway

Of truthfulness and honesty

It often holds at bay


But just behind this grand facade

Where essence does reside

Sometimes the two will find their match

But most times they divide


The cult of personality

Yes, it’s as old as time

It offered Eve the apple

While it made her feel sublime


The enticement is to follow it

For it makes us feel so plain

Though we all have but two choices

And are subject to the same


It resurrects a brighter future

Of the past, it says no more

It wants not to remind you

Of the path it trod before


The cult of personality

Often comes to you in stealth

Perhaps its greatest enemy

Is to listen to yourself


Whether fault be placed upon the mask

That says what we long to hear

Penalty’s paid by the populace

For lending it their ear


Remember that a smile can be

A tool to mesmerize

If you wish to know the truth

Try looking in his eyes

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Predation Nation

I’ve been playing my saxophone more of late.  I’m not very good, but I can string together a tune by ear.  It reveals enough to me to know that I am being taught by something inside myself—and nowhere else.    

Everybody has qualities to teach them this but most don’t pay attention to the lessons given; unless there’s money in it.  Most remain at the same level all the way to the bitter end because they allow other lost souls to tell them what to believe, even regarding ourselves.     

As I’ve alluded to somewhat already, I come from a dysfunctional family.  It’s taken me years of inner work to free myself from its clutches, and still I remain only partly successful in overcoming its influences.       

But I also know that my parents had it worse than I did growing up.  And what they did foolishly was through unconscious conditioning and not out of malice.  That mentality is left to those at a higher level in this game. 

As with many of us, I’ve had a “hard row to hoe” (as my grandmother put it after understanding my mentality).  Bushwhacking to make our own trail is often fraught with peril.  I had an idea of what I was getting myself into a long time ago.  I just didn’t understand how difficult it would sometimes be.  But I’ve found that the well-traveled path turns into a conveyer belt somewhere down the line, and that’s not for me.    

Those who have tasted the whip of violence early in their lives react to this trauma in different ways.  But one of those ways is to be drawn to it.  Whether wearing a uniform or a mask, they like to inflict (and sometimes receive) pain.  In doing so, they repeat the cycle of violence which began at home.

I have no doubt that most who are now wearing a uniform are coming from this vicious cycle of abuse.  Why else would they continue to blindly serve the whims of predators threatening their own extinction? 

Again, most of this violence is rooted in child abuse, pure and simple.  Time for us to grow up and get past our conditioning.

This is not something that will change overnight as we’ve become a nation of predation with the greatest rewards coming to those who most diligently serve this depraved system.  And when I say system, I mean all of it, from the genocidal god we were taught to believe to the genocidal president that many still worship as a god.  This is no accident and fits into their control system quite well.

Do you not see the tyrant in you?  I certainly do in me.  But it is alien to my true nature and those who point it out when I become this conditioned response devoid of impulse-control are doing me a great service.

 This is how we overcome the predator in ourselves; by assisting others in their awakening we can overcome these same weaknesses.  That’s what true love is all about. 

But instead of working through our problems in a conscious and civilized manner, the use of force to gain compliance continues to be perpetrated by dysfunctional families across America.  Is it any wonder that these parents are now receiving the same treatment from their government?  This sick symbiotic relationship feeds upon itself and creates sadistic enforcers of a government that has now become a clear and present danger to what’s left of our liberty.      

In order to gain control of the situation, we must first transcend the psycho-spiritual traumas experienced by being a part of our own dysfunctional families.  Much of this lies in forgiveness.  With few exceptions, our parents didn’t know what they were doing as they were done in by their own unconscious parents. 

Here’s a thought.  Be thankful that you weren’t corrupted by parents who understood the abuse they were heaping upon you as it was all part of their Satanic “Cremation of care” sacrifice of their child so they would grow up to be as evil and psychopathic as them.  George W. Bush comes to mind. 

One way to break the spell of our conditioning is to reach a point where we can see the aberrant behavior of our parents reflected in ourselves.  The more awakened a mind, the less it will follow anything blindly, including its previous conditioning. 

When it comes to truth, you know or you don’t know.  And often, you don’t know why you know.  You just do.  And when enough of us wanting to follow that knowing becomes stronger than the outside influences, we will be on our way to no longer following anyone or anything on the outside that runs counter to this inner knowing. 

Time to drop our dysfunctional family of those who want power over us and start a new and better one that makes a conscious choice to live in harmony.       













Thursday, April 20, 2017

In the Desert

The Traveler finally made it to the base of the escarpment he had seen throughout the day on his march across the hot desert sands.  Once again, he had found the shade necessary to protect him from the crucible he had been cast into by servants of a system that had previously controlled virtually every aspect of his life.          

But even in the shade, the heat played tricks on his mind and made him think of things that would otherwise remain locked away.  The memories of what brought him here weighed heavy upon him during these times.

It was something he could never forget.  After all, his life was this way because of it.  He had been found guilty of acts that had turned him into a ghost in the eyes of friends and family alike.

He had been sentenced to banishment. 

It would always come rushing back to him during these few moments of respite; always thinking of where he went wrong.  His parents had told him that his lack of respect for “authority” would get him into trouble one day. 

Once again, he wondered what made a person into an authority figure.  These people had not always been in such positions.  The Traveler had reached the conclusion that how much ass one was willing to kiss on the way up as well as the ability to backstab your competitors played a major part in moving up the ladder.  The Traveler now thought that this was a big reason for the collapsing empire he had been removed from.  It’s what happens when the most characterless and ruthless of people are allowed into positions of power.

Due to this observation, it would hardly come as a surprise to know that the Traveler had cut out the tracking device beneath the skin of his right hand within the first few days of his banishment.  But as usual, there was a price to pay for his non-compliance. There would be no drop zones for food and supplies.  He would have to live off the land. 

Also, he had been threatened with more disciplinary measures by those who had brought him here if he failed to follow their rules.  Strangely, he had seen no planes at all after he had been flown in. 

At first it was difficult for him.  He had run out of the water he had been given on his third day in the desert.  He could locate no more.  But on the next morning, he awakened to find a cache of supplies next to him.  He had heard nothing the night before. 

Over the months that followed, the supplies that kept him alive continued to be left for him but in lesser amounts than before.  As his skills in foraging for food as well as finding the water holes improved, the amount of supplies left for him decreased.  It was as if his benefactor knew what he needed. 

Earlier on, the Traveler had received a note in his supplies simply stating, “Twenty-yard perimeter.”  Afterwards, he walked a circle around his campsite each morning.  There was not always supplies, but there would always be some indicator that they had been there, although he never saw any footprints.  He soon understood that the location of his discoveries pointed in the direction they wanted him to go.      

The great expanse of desert had taken him many months to travel across.  He had lost weight during this time and he was in much better physical shape than before he had been sent here.     

The desert had also changed him spiritually.  The open and distant landscape had affected him in a way that had also opened his mind.  If not for the loneliness he sometimes suffered, the Traveler would have been content in accepting his fate.  But he was also curious to find out who was responsible for assisting him in staying alive.

One day, he came upon a strange rock formation.  Upon approaching, he now saw that it was a cave.  Sitting just outside the opening was a man with a long-flowing beard.  The Traveler could not help but notice a look in the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t understand what it meant.

“So, you finally made it,” said the Old Man. 

“You were the one sending me supplies?” asked the Traveler.
The Old Man smiled.  The Traveler noticed that the Old Man also had a scar on his hand that was similar to his own. 

“We’ve been helping you out until you got on your feet, so to speak,” he said.
“You’ve been watching me all this time?”

“Let me discuss other things with you before I answer that,” said the Old Man.
“Okay,” replied the Traveler.
“You were banished due to what you wrote on your blog” said the Old Man.  It was not a question.

“Yes,” said the Traveler looking him squarely in the eyes.      

The Old Man nodded. “Why did you remove your chip?” the Old Man asked.  “Did you think you could survive without them sending in supplies to your location? 

“I didn’t care,” the Traveler said angrily.  “I’d rather be dead than dependent upon those bastards.” 
The Old Man laughed.  “If it makes you feel any better, you would have died anyway waiting for them,” he said.  “They never bring supplies.  They also figure that you will remove your chip anyway as this would be consistent with the nature of those sent here, so they don’t keep track of you either.  As a matter of fact, their entire program ended months ago, right after they dropped you off.”

The Traveler thought for a moment.  “Is that why I never saw any planes?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the Old Man.  They don’t bring in prisoners anymore.”  

“Why did they stop?” the Traveler asked.

The Old Man laughed.  “I suppose they have more important things to attend to now.  Your country of origin is currently fighting both a civil and world war.  And it looks like the government is losing both of them.  The guerilla warfare going on at home is disrupting their control system.”

“Damn,” said the Traveler.  That’s the same sort of stuff I wrote about on my blog.”

“Yes,” said the Old Man.  “And you were not alone.”

“How many other prisoners have been brought here?” the Traveler asked.

“Come with me,” said the Old Man.

The Traveler followed the Old Man into the opening of what turned out to be a massive cave.  The Old Man picked up a torch that shined a sort of light that the Traveler had never seen before as it lit up the entire cavern.  They entered a sort of labyrinth. Without the Old Man’s assistance, the Traveler would have soon become lost. 

Upon reaching daylight on the other side, the scene opened to a huge lush valley with a great river running through the middle of it.  The Old Man led him into the village.  The villagers looked up from their labors as he approached.  He noted that each adult carried a scar upon their hands.  The children, all of whom had been born here at this oasis, were free from these blemishes.     

“You must understand,” said the Old Man, following the Traveler’s gaze.  “We are all rebels by nature.  That’s why we were sent here.”

“You know,” said the Traveler, “When I first was brought here to the desert, I felt bad that I had let down those close to me by being labeled a criminal.  But after my travels in the desert, I now know that it was they who were the ones that were wrong.  At least I tried to alert others to the approaching tyranny.  They just laid down for it.”

“And now they suffer the fate of not heeding our warnings; the same inner warnings that they also denied,” said the Old Man.

The Traveler shook his head sadly.  Looking around, he now realized that the villagers had become quiet and were watching him intently.  Their gaze was the same as he had first seen in the Old Man.  Yet he still did not understand.    

The villagers soon returned to their tasks.  “People look happy here,” said the Traveler, continuing to glance around.

“Yes,” said the Old Man.  “It’s much different than where you came from.  We don’t have systems to run people’s lives anymore.  We help each other here.  We build each other’s homes taken from the timber,” the old man pointed to the stand of trees in the distance.  “We grow our own food.  We live simple lives.”

“How did you ever find this place?” asked the Traveler.

The Old Man began walking and motioned for him to follow.
The Old Man led the Traveler deeper into the village until they came upon two large wooden buildings.  The tallest one held a tower.  The energy emanating from it was enormous.

“This is the type of tower first created by Tesla,” the Old Man said.  “But perhaps it goes back further than that.  We have scientists here that now help maintain it but they did not create it.  It was here before anyone arrived.  At least anyone who was still alive.  I know this because I was the first to be led here.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Traveler.   

“I have more to show you,” the Old Man said leading the way to the next structure.  This building contained a giant mainframe computer. 

“Just as you, I was directed here through artificial intelligence,” said the Old Man.  “But unlike you, there was no one else here when I arrived.”

“How could that be?” asked the traveler.

“We’re not sure,” said the Old Man.  “But there’s more.  On the edge of the village, we have a hanger housing the drones that are powered through the energy of the tower implemented through the A.I. of the computer.
The Traveler thought for a moment.  “So, it was the drones that brought me supplies?”

“That’s right,” said the Old Man.  “We always knew where you were because of them as they are also equipped with cameras.” 

The Traveler thought for a moment.  “I noticed that they took me on a circuitous route to get here while I was in the desert,” he said.  “Why did they do that?”

“You needed more time in the desert to burn out all your false beliefs.” 

“You know, I thought I was going to die,” said the Traveler.  “I would have died without the supplies.”

“How did you feel about that?”
“I was afraid at first,” the Traveler said.  “But I came to terms with it at some point.  I mean, supplies or not, the heat alone can kill you.  Like you said, I needed the time to burn out the ways of the world I came from.  The systems of that world had nothing to offer me other than their demands for my blind obedience. 
“Yes, it was bad even when I was there,” said the Old Man.  “And that was fifty years ago.  I don’t want to think about what it’s like to live in that kind of society now.  In the end, this “civilization” we both came from used its technology for warfare as well as feeding the hive mind its distractions in order to hide from the atrocities committed in their name.” 

“Were the others brought here for the same reasons as me?” asked the Traveler.

“Yes,” said the Old Man.  “They were all activists of some kind, standing against the system and exposing the corrupt motives of those who served it.” 

“And now they are all here.”

“That’s right,” said the Old Man.  “We were brought here to their desert purgatory while they flew back to the hell of their own creation.”

“It looks like your creation is better,” said the Traveler looking around the village. 

“We have found balance in our lives,” said the Old Man walking over to where some of the villagers were planting a garden.
“We utilize the technology that we have been given, but we also understand the importance of staying connected to the earth.”
“But how did all this come out of the desert?” The Traveler asked incredulously looking at the lush fields and the river. 

“All we know is that whoever developed the technology also created all this,” said the Old Man. 

The Traveler nodded. “So, everyone here has come out of the desert except for the children born here?” asked the Traveler.

“Yes,” said the Old Man.  “But when the children come of age, they too will travel into the desert.  It is a type of vision quest for them.
“You send them into the desert?”

“Yes,” the Old Man replied.  “And not only the children. You could probably guess this, but we have almost no crime here.  We practice the non-aggression principle and wish only to live in harmony with one another.” 

“But for those who have become unbalanced, they go back into the desert, most often of their own accord.  The desert burns away the dross in our character.  The time you spent out there was the time you needed to burn away yours.”
The Traveler realized that this was true.

“How did you know the amount of time I needed to spend in the desert?” he asked
The Old Man was silent.
“You didn’t know,” said the Traveler.  “The computer did.”

“Yes,” said the Old Man.  “Or whoever created it.” 

“But how can that be,” asked the Traveler.

“We have no idea!” The Old Man laughed.  “But it knows just the same.” 


As the sun began to set, the villagers came together once again to more formally greet their newest member and prepare the evening meal.  They had already built a small house for the Traveler as they had already known of his upcoming arrival.     

The Traveler was now finally able to read the faces of the villagers.  It was a look of respect (something he had been unused to seeing where he had come from).  He also understood that, along with himself, they too had suffered greatly for remaining true to themselves. 

Back in their old world, they had left a trail of lost relationships with friends and family and jobs that had come and gone, as most they had tried to reach preferred to remain with their cozy little lies rather than heed the warnings of those who stood before him now.  To various degrees, these men and women had all endured the isolation and derision from the mindless masses in the countries they had been banished from.   

But most importantly, they had all come out of the desert.

“Namaste, my friends,” said the soul who had reached the end of its journey.  “It’s good to be home.”

The Old Man smiled.