The Teacher of the Mysterium

The Teacher of the Mysterium

by Jon Rappoport

December 14, 2014

OutsideTheRealityMachine

The test of this blog will be the degree of interest it stimulates. I already know that my other site, NoMoreFakeNews.com, stirs interest. In my role as a reporter, I’ve been feeding it for 13 years. People want to know what is behind the stories of the day. They want to know the deeper levels of the farce. They want to know about the layers of the major covert ops on the planet. They want to win the struggle for Earth.

Here, I’m doing something different.

And today, I am introducing a fictional character called The Teacher of the Mysterium.

I believe he has many things to say. These things—let us not forget—are made possible because he comes out of my imagination.

That does not mean what he says is fiction. It may be a different truth. It may be many things.

But without imagination, nothing would happen.

And with that, let me turn the show over to him——:

I’m the teacher of the mysterium. I’m not here for the easy stuff or the syrupy stuff. I’m not here to confirm what you believe. I’m not here to awaken the past. First, we have to talk about space. Once you have experienced greater space, you can’t simply come back to the smaller and pretend, forever, that you were never There. You can pretend for a while, but eventually your blood pressure will rise. You’ll develop headaches and arthritis. You’ll be straining at the leash. It’s time to go back to larger space. To extend…

Space can be carved up, it can be divided and interrupted and made dissonant. You can all do sorts of things to it, as the Surrealists did. As even Walt Disney did.

You need to forget about “spiritual space” as it is popularly conceived. It’s one painting in one small corner of one room of a museum. Don’t be fooled. Don’t be taken into any number of past spiritual traditions, thinking you’re staging a revival of the Sacred. That’s smoke. That gives you only a small role in a small historical play. It’s a game of checkers in the park, at best.

As well, don’t wait around for “spiritual terms” and “spiritual language.” That’s part of the farce. It’s no more important than pretending you’re a drunk when you’re dry. Robes, beards, garlands, necklaces, heavy accents, smiles, nods, blessings. Theater. Sets by a Sunday painter.

Infinite space is much more interesting.

Much more ponderable.

And then you, projecting an energy beam through space, could be projecting a memory inside that beam. Consider the possibility. You deliver a memory to a rock a few thousand light years away. And the rock registers it.

Restrain yourself, for heaven’s sake, from drawing conclusions from that. Don’t say, “Well, yes, in the teaching of so-and-so and such-and-such tradition two thousand years ago, this was implied, and you see, the god of Ooobladee was imparting that everything is connected to everything and everything is related in the cosmic goo in which we all sit in metaphysical diapers.” No. That’s not it.

No. Not at all. Save that for a New Age scrapbook.

The rock registers the memory. It feels it. It’s not puzzled. It’s been waiting for a transmission of some kind. And you give it a memory of a time when a naked man in a naked garden was eating raspberries.

It may or may not be your memory. You could have borrowed it. Or it could be inscribed in a cell of your body just for the hell of it. That memory could be the most important thing that ever happened to you in your life. It could be something sought after by an alien life form who has journeyed a thousand years to find it. You never know. There are so many possibilities.

You sent it to a rock. The rock is suited to receive it and react to it. A ripple which is very soft is the result.

The ripple taps a space-labyrinth. Interior rustlings occur in the maze. Knowledge deposited there by so many ensnared travelers makes an adjustment. Light will now be different.

Light in the space defined as home by multiple species who, at first glance, appear to be insert objects. Quiescent objects.

They have their own traditions that, if put side by side with all manner of Earth-spiritual lore, would resemble that lore in no discernible way. Not the same cast of characters. No prophets. No scriptures. No redeemers. No rinky-dink wish-fulfillment. No hope versus suffering, no sins, no benign or malignant forces, no unified mind, no rewards for good behavior.

Alien different.

These species have space receptors, which are far more sensitive than ours. They respond to the slightest shifts in what they think of as “the surround.” Which, to them, is not round or square or rectangular or ovoid.

They weep, these species. They know what they know through their tears of yearning and delight.

After a million-million years, crying in the dark of space has become something only a sun would understand.

You try to compare these creatures to yourself, you keep trying, and you fail. So you pretend to know. You pretend to be in possession of timeless wisdom, because it’s pretty to think so. You strain at the leash. You must make a connection. But one day you stop that foolishness, and you return to larger space, and then and only then you remember.

You are not they. You are most definitely not they. But you can see them so much more clearly now.

Because you have stopped all the sub-programs of believing. Out of that machine-bud, where the sub-flow previously ran, which has now returned to a state of utter unawareness, a flower begins to form. You have never seen it before. It is nowhere in your memory. It means absolutely nothing to you.

For the first time in a thousand lifetimes, something means nothing to you.

There are no conclusions to be drawn.

“Oh, this is like that” disappears from the roots of your mind.

Forget the usual categories. Forget the clunky prophets. They were talking just a tiny thin sliver of what is possible. Forget the churches and the temples and the scriptures.

“Oh, this is like that.” No it isn’t.

I’m not here to tell you something that you can then relate to something else. If I were, I would hand you the something else in the first place and leave it at that.

The rock is the rock.

Through space, you sent him a message, a memory, and he received it. You can’t undo that. It happened. He is now thinking, mulling, in his own way, about a naked man in a naked garden eating raspberries.

Let’s say he transfers that memory to other rocks and they accept it. They ripple and mull. They’re in no hurry.

You might be in a hurry, but they aren’t. You might want to speed up and get to the bottom of what this is all about, but that inclination is merely one way of doing business out of billions of possible ways. Just as religion is one possible way to take a poem in progress and freeze it; and then make a testament out of it and build a church around it.

——end Mysterium #1——

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On a lark, I decided to see if I could tease out a message embedded in the Teacher’s remarks. I didn’t plant a message there beforehand.

I decided to take the longest word from each paragraph and string them all together and see what they looked like. In case two or more longest words in a paragraph had the same number of letters, I selected the word which began with a letter that occurred later in the alphabet.

Here they are. I’ve inserted sentence breaks after the fact.

The result is interesting:

“Experienced Surrealists traditions pretending interesting ponderable possibility. Metaphysical scrapbook transmission possibilities. Receive adjustment Quiescent fulfillment. Different rectangular. Through understand foolishness definitely unawareness something conclusions disappears scriptures. This something rock raspberries transfers inclination.”

It might be a version of rock language.

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 29^th 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 emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.