The road to the unknown place
by Jon Rappoport
January 2, 2014
I was on a goof, how long I didn’t know. I was wandering on tire tracks in a dirt road, trudging from empty town to empty town, occasionally seeing a literal mind floating in goo trying to figure out who I was, how to place me, how to label me, how to know me as a machine inside a machine…these floating minds breathe slowly in and out, they eat thoughts one methodical bite at a time, and on the spur of the moment they babble about God and universal salvation and the hereafter, but hey, they’re already in the hereafter and they don’t seem to know it, they collect packets of energy from the State, midnight moon glows and they howl, they whimper, they whine, they grouse, they simper…
They’re religionists of the universe. They worship moons and stars and empty space and asteroids and planets and more empty space and storms and dust and waiting. They worship waiting. They hang around for eons. They’ve shoved in all their chips on that bet. Something will come. Something will show up and pull them into a Cadillac of forgotten dreams. Something will pop them in a flower as large as a galaxy and swallow them up and turn them into what they never were. Underlying essence of juice and pulp. Component. Merged. Holy merge. Digested. Forever at peace, forever in a trance.
A few million years ago, when they were children, someone told them to resist, resist, resist, but they didn’t listen, they never vaulted over the fence, they never ran away from the yard, they never kept secrets.
I met one of these bozos once. He talked about the Buddha this, the Buddha that. The 24 or 369 or 54,986 strains of Buddhism and the teachers who passed along the teaching of the teachers, a whole bunch of sandbaggers on vacation in the aether dropping gems on the yokels in quiet rooms, temples, subway stations, mirror funhouses, bank vaults, diners, park toilets.
He wore Wehrmacht spectacles, his hair was close cropped, he was severely dehydrated, his arms flapped in the breeze, his fingers were long. “Scripture 45839 revealed new insights, carried along the Silk Road in 1365.”
I gave him a pile of paper, brushes, and watercolors. I told him to paint a hundred thousand paintings and get back to me by Western Union when he was finished. He still hovers over the first blank sheet, like a fly, and nothing has happened. That’s my whole bible. It says, “Nothing has happened. Yet.”
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.