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——


Exit From the Matrix


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 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 emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.

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14 comments on “The Teacher of the Mysterium

  1. Suzen says:

    This “outside the box”-ness is most scintillating…..

  2. Homer says:

    Conversations With Dog-(imagineddreameddrunkrealwuknowsom)
    Oceans of consciousness beta vulgaris THE lapis philosophorum everydayallday, hallelujahalluvium, everydayallday and twice on Sunday, ain’t that right dog, eh? (Excited dog barks allaskant), “Well my good man that sounds like the beginnings of the greatest barking bullshit story ever told”. It was that good eh? How about a newspaper across your nose dog, what do you think about that? “The news is fake moron”. Oh, you’ve got a nose for the news? “Caught the first whiff in the times of Bi Sheng, but the smell was the worst in the times of ol Hearst”. Doggerel dogshit, logically make a case supporting your claim the news is fake dog. “Wu”. Wu? “Wu”. FU, reason your case! “You yourself have made a shitfaced case in logical slurry spurts plenty the past few precious years so why should I waste my dogdamned breath going over this dogdamned newspaper with you like I’m some kind of dogdamned logic instructor offering a dogdamned logic course! Ohhoho my rambling rhetoric satisfies you, my wise ol dog, do I now know all that you know now? “Well now your pushing it, I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know, however your rambling rhetoric satisfies me to the extent that I’ll concede you’ve got enough logic to read between the lines and make a sound argument that the news is fake”. “Keep reading that blog and I’ll keep being your dog, but over my dead dogsbody will I go over it again with you now”! LIGHTEN UP, you want the T.V. news across your nose? ” Is that a rhetorical question because I wouldn’t mind Dianne Sawyer across my nose”. You dirty ol dog. “I love that bitch its the eyes”. So I got some logic? “Your often polluted but not convoluted”. Thanks that means alot coming from you”. “Good, now why don’t you lay that paper out around the bowl, it always seems to move on you in the night”. HaHa, that would be one good use for it. “Good, lets come up with more good uses for it”. We could fill it with weed and smoke it. “Who are you kidding you paranoid bastard, that’s the last thing your gonna do”. Allright allright lets cut out a bunch words from the headlines mix them around and see what future paths we can explore. “Now you talking or maybe it’s your Dada talking but you’ve got my flea cursed ear none the less”.
    Headline:Dog Is Dead– Dianne Suffocates Dog, Dog Dies Happy. “Never mind, your a moron, why don’t you go back to that drunken zen school where you jettison all rational thought and make all those amazing paintings “? It’s hard to paint that way anymore I don’t have the hair for it. “Then go back to college or something.” All you get there is a HIGH DEGREE OF intuition minus the in and extremely high INTEREST loans. Headline:Santa Has Ebola- Christmas Is Cancelled. “Go on back to that dimension you were in last night and run these headlines by Edgar Allen Poe, just don’t let him cross over and sleep on the couch that big bedbug will take up all the space and wake us up screaming Reynolds, at the top of his lungs, at five in the morning.

    “O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space”.
    -William ShakeandBacon-

    • Michael Burns says:

      It’s seems I have read you comment wrongly…more of reading something into it. I apologize for my comment Homer…I mistook it for an attack on Jon.
      Peace michael

      • Homer says:

        Mr. Burns,
        No apologies necessary…(as of yet). So far I’m getting a chuckle out of this. Ironically your reading something into my comments, whereas I’m reading nothing into yours. If you explain to me what about your comment you need to apologize to me about, maybe I’ll accept your apology and my chuckle may morph into a full on belly laugh, or maybe I’ll be super pissed off, and my chuckle may morph into a silent scowl, (I doubt it), anyway it’s all good, fuel for the fire.
        Homer

        p.s. My comment was some stream of conscious/semi-automatic writing . I wrote it when I was very tired and distracted but rushed it out never the less to try and express my sincere enthusiasm and appreciation for No More Fake News as well as Outside the Reality Machine. The only “attacks” in it were aimed at: Conversations With God (and all it’s Goddamn wonderful oneness), The Fake News, The CDC, and last but not least myself.

        ‘Both read comments day and night, but thou read black where I read white’

        Peace

      • Michael Burns says:

        Ok…the context of my mind at the moment I connected to your comment created a delusional response…the thing is that I usually watch this ‘Walter Mitty’ reality traipse on through my mind without getting involved with it.
        Glad to hear it gave you a chuckle.
        It actually embarrassed me little when I reread the comments…lol.

      • Louis Foussard says:

        Homer and Mr. Burns? … Oh, this truly is priceless. LOL!

  3. From Québec says:

    “The test of this blog will be the degree of interest it stimulates.”

    It would be a shame and a great loss if it ever disappears.

    Sometimes you talk about the importance of logic and sometimes about the bigger importance of imagination. It might be confusing for many people.

    But it is always a pleasure to read you, even if not many people leave a reply probably because they don’t know what to say about it. The more we read your articles, the more it gets us thinking and the more it sinks in… just give it time.

    Reading you today, brought back a memory of a very strange event that happened in my life 45 years ago.

    I was in a book shop where they sell second hand books and I was looking into the astrology section. A very old lady came by my side and said: “I see you have an interest about astrology”. I said yes, it fascinates me and I am curious to learn more about it. She said come to my house for a coffee, I live nearby and I will teach you.

    I don’t know why I went, but I went. She was so old that I was not afraid to follow her. Her house was scary, there were birds flying loose in the house and it didn’t smell too good. I felt like leaving, but I didn’t.

    She made coffee and ask me my birtdate and drew a chart on a piece of paper. I looked at the drawing and it didn’t seem to make any sense. It looked like nothing, just curves and lines crossing each other. She looked at it in silence for a few minutes and then she told me: “you are an artist and you went to Art school.” I was shocked! How did she know that? And I said what else do you see? She said, this is all you need to know for now.

    Anyway, to make a story short, we became friends but not for long. She told me that in two weeks she wouldn’t be here anymore. I asked her if she was moving, she said no. I ask her if she was sick, she said no. I asked her how old she was, she said she had no age.

    This old lady was very strange. I’m not sure to this day if she was insane or what? I came to her house for the next two weeks everyday to learn how to draw charts the way she did it.

    She also told me that she had been abducted by aliens a long time ago and that when she will go away she will transmit to me all she knows, when the time will be right for me. At that point, I thought she was crazy, but it still it was a pleasure to be with her, she was very intriguing.

    She died as she said she would 2 weeks later and I missed her for a longtime..

    I still don’t know what to do with this memorial event.

  4. From Québec says:

    Post Scriptum:

    “I still don’t know what to do with this memorial event.”
    Maybe I’ll send it to a rock a few thousand light years away.

  5. ed says:

    Although still inside the box, the box is changing,
    through experienced surrealism,
    understanding that unawareness is the foolishness of scriptures.
    In quietness the inclination is transferred to a solid knowing,
    and all scriptures are no longer needed.
    This is the adjustment of quiet fulfillment – rest.
    The fruit of the rock.

    tapped into the sub-conscious?
    may have found a way to get rid of
    3 layers of subjective transformation.

    Very Interesting…

  6. Louis Foussard says:

    Hello Jon (and The Teacher of the Mysterium)…

    I happen to be a sort of rock… and I have received your message, loud and clear.

    Please continue!

  7. Michael Burns says:

    It’s amazing to see what happens when one creates an alter ego…refines it and used it as a vehicle of the other truth about oneself. The deep sometimes crazy shit we think about. That stream of consciousness that we all seem to get to…or do we all get there…those times of imaginative exploration and clarity. That en plein air of thought.
    Being a painter that is recognized for a specific style, one can find that they have imprisoned theirimagination. Playing the part of another artist a different kind of artist…even using a different medium or style of expression can have a tremendous revitalizing or to more precise empowering effect.
    I like the ‘teacher of the mysterium’ his words have given me permission to play along.

    Memory is a sort of fossil of an experience whither one is cognizant of the memory of it or not…I have a place that I go when I close my eyes just before I fall asleep. I leave my body and travel up and away from Earth. Moving out into blackness, cold blackness I travel faster and faster out into the blackness…looking behind the solar system gets smaller and smaller till it become a speck of light, ‘and still I travel faster and faster outwards, away, but the stars do not move, they remain fixed. I travel for lifetime and still reach nothing. When I look behind earth is lost in the blackness, I do not know how to get back…your story leaves me with the same feeling but with a riddle.
    I like your story.

  8. drboris says:

    What can you say about DaJavu, Jon?

  9. alc says:

    Jon, I love this blog. I have been waiting for it for some time. Please continue!

  10. Jackie says:

    Wonderful Jon, you’ve reminded me how I used to use my imagination so much, but have forgotten to do so recently. I’m going to get back into it and start with envisioning myself healthy.

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