Interviewing the dead Albert Einstein about free will

Interviewing the dead Albert Einstein about free will

 

by Jon Rappoport

 

It was a strange journey into the astral realm to find Albert Einstein.

 

I slipped through gated communities heavily guarded by troops protecting dead Presidents.  I skirted alleys where wannabe demons claiming they were Satan’s reps were selling potions made from powdered skulls of English kings.  I ran through mannequin mansions where trainings for future shoppers were in progress.  Apparently, some souls come to Earth to be born as aggressive entitled consumers.  Who knew?

 

Finally, in a little valley, I spotted a cabin, and there on the porch, sitting in a rocker, smoking a pipe and reading The Bourne Ultimatum, was Dr. Einstein.

 

He was wearing an old sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows, jeans, and furry slippers.

 

I wanted to talk with the great man because I’d read a 1929 Saturday Evening Post interview with him.  He’d said:

 

“I am a determinist. As such, I do not believe in free will…Practically, I am, nevertheless, compelled to act as if freedom of the will existed. If I wish to live in a civilized community, I must act as if man is a responsible being.”

 

Dr, Einstein went inside and brought out two bottles of cold beer and we began our conversation:

 

Q:  Sir, would you say that the underlying nature of physical reality is atomic?

 

A:  If you’re asking me whether atoms and smaller particles exist everywhere in the universe, then of course, yes.

 

Q:  And are you satisfied that, wherever they are found, they are the same? They exhibit a uniformity?

 

A:  Surely, yes.

 

Q:  Regardless of location.

 

A:  Correct.

 

Q:  So, for example, if we consider the make-up of the brain, those atoms are no different in kind from atoms wherever in the universe they are found.

 

A:  That’s true.  The brain is composed entirely of these tiny particles. And the particles, everywhere in the universe, without exception, flow and interact and collide without any exertion of free will. It’s an unending stream of cause and effect.

 

Q:  And when you think to yourself, “I’ll get breakfast now,” what is that?

 

A:  The thought?

 

Q:  Yes.

 

A:  Ultimately, it is the outcome of particles in motion.

 

Q:  You were compelled to have that thought.

 

A:  As odd as that may seem, yes. Of course, we tell ourselves stories to present ourselves with a different version of reality, but those stories are social or cultural constructs.

 

Q:  And those “stories” we tell ourselves—they aren’t freely chosen rationalizations, either. We have no choice about that.

 

A:  Well, yes. That’s right.

 

Q:  So there is nothing in the human brain that allows us the possibility of free will.

 

A:  Nothing at all.

 

Q:  And as we are sitting here right now, sir, looking at each other, sitting and talking, this whole conversation is spooling out in the way that it must. Every word. Neither you nor I is really choosing what we say.

 

A:  I may not like it, but yes, it’s deterministic destiny. The particles flow.

 

Q:  When you pause to consider a question I ask you…even that act of considering is mandated by the motion of atomic and sub-atomic particles. What appears to be you deciding how to give me an answer…that is a delusion.

 

A:  The act of considering?  Why, yes, that, too, would have to be determined.  It’s not free.  There really is no choice involved.

 

Q:  And the outcome of this conversation, whatever points we may or may not agree upon, and the issues we may settle here, about this subject of free will versus determinism…they don’t matter at all, because, when you boil it down, the entire conversation was determined by our thoughts, which are nothing more than atomic and sub-atomic particles in motion—and that motion flows according to laws, none of which have anything to do with human choice.

 

A:  The entire flow of reality, so to speak, proceeds according to determined sets of laws.  Yes.

 

Q:  And we are in that flow.

 

A:  Most certainly we are.

 

Q:  The earnestness with which we might try to settle this issue, our feelings, our thoughts, our striving—that is irrelevant. It’s window dressing. This conversation actually cannot go in different possible directions. It can only go in one direction.

 

A: That would ultimately have to be so.

 

Q:  Now, are atoms and their components, and any other tiny particles in the universe…are any of them conscious?

 

A:  Of course not.  The particles themselves are not conscious.

 

Q:  Some scientists speculate they are.

 

A:  Some people speculate that the moon can be sliced and served on a plate with fruit.

 

Q:  What do you think “conscious” means?

 

A:  It means we participate in life. We take action. We converse. We gain knowledge.

 

Q:  Any of the so-called faculties we possess—are they ultimately anything more than particles in motion?

 

 

A:  Well, no, they aren’t. Because everything is particles in motion. What else could be happening in this universe?  Nothing.

 

Q:  All right. I’d like to consider the word “understanding.”

 

A:  It’s a given. It’s real.

 

Q:  How so?

 

A: The proof that it’s real, if you will, is that we are having this conversation.  It makes sense to us.

 

Q:  Yes, but how can there be understanding if everything is particles in motion? Do the particles possess understanding?

 

A: No they don’t.

 

Q:  To change the focus just a bit, how can what you and I are saying have any meaning?

 

A:  Words mean things.

 

Q:  Again, I have to point out that, in a universe with no free will, we only have particles in motion. That’s all. That’s all we are. So where does “meaning” come from?

 

A:  “We understand language” is a true proposition.

 

Q:  You’re sure.

 

A:  Of course.

 

Q:  Then I suggest you’ve tangled yourself in a contradiction. In the universe you depict, there would be no room for understanding.  Or meaning.   There would be nowhere for it to come from.  Unless particles understand.  Do they?

 

A:  No.

 

Q:  Then where do “understanding” and “meaning” come from?

 

A:  [Silence.]

 

Q:  Furthermore, sir, if we accept your depiction of a universe of particles, then there is no basis for this conversation at all. We don’t understand each other. How could we?

 

A:  But we do understand each other.

 

Q:  And therefore, your philosophic materialism (no free will, only particles in motion) must have a flaw.

 

A:  What flaw?

 

Q:  Our existence contains more than particles in motion.

 

A:  More?  What would that be?

 

Q:  Would you grant that whatever it is, it is non-material?

 

A:  It would have to be, but…

 

Q:  Then, driving further along this line, there is something non-material which is present, which allows us to understand each other, which allows us to comprehend meaning. We are conscious. Puppets are not conscious.  As we sit here talking, I understand you. Do you understand me?

 

A:  Of course.

 

Q:  Then that understanding is coming from something other than particles in motion. Without this non-material quality, you and I would be gibbering in the dark.

 

A:  You’re saying that, if all the particles in the universe, including those that make up the brain, possess no consciousness, no understanding, no comprehension of meaning, no freedom, then how can they give birth to understanding and freedom. There must be another factor, and it would have to be non-material.

 

Q:  Yes. That’s what I’m saying.  And I think you have to admit your view of determinism and particles in motion—that picture of the universe—leads to several absurdities.

 

A:  Well…perhaps I’m forced to consider it. Otherwise, we can’t sit here and understand each other.

 

Q:  You and I do understand each other.

 

A:  I hadn’t thought it through this way before, but if there is nothing inherent in particles that gives rise to understanding and meaning, then everything is gibberish. Except it isn’t gibberish. Yes, I seem to see a contradiction.  Interesting.

 

Q:  And if these non-material factors—understanding and meaning—exist, then other non-material factors can exist.

 

A:  For example, freedom. I suppose so.

 

Q:  And the drive to eliminate freedom in the world…is more than just the attempt to substitute one automatic reflex for another.

 

A:  That would be…yes, that would be so.

 

Q:  Scientists would be absolutely furious about the idea that, despite all their maneuvering, the most essential aspects of human life are beyond the scope of what they, the scientists, are “in charge of.”

 

A:  It would be a naked challenge to the power of science.

 

Einstein puffed on his pipe and looked out over the valley.  He took a sip of his beer.  After a minute, he said, “Let me see if I can summarize this, because it’s really rather startling.  The universe is nothing but particles.  All those particles follow laws of motion.  They aren’t free.  The brain is made up entirely of those same particles.  Therefore, there is nothing in the brain that would give us freedom.  These particles also don’t understand anything, they don’t make sense of anything, they don’t grasp the meaning of anything.  Since the brain, again, is made up of those particles, it has no power to allow us to grasp meaning or understand anything.  But we do understand.  We do grasp meaning.  Therefore, we are talking about qualities we possess which are not made out of energy.  These qualities are entirely non-material.”

 

He nodded.

 

“In that case,” he said, “there is…oddly enough, a completely different sphere or territory.  It’s non-material.  Therefore, it can’t be measured.  Therefore, it has no beginning or end.  If it did, it would be a material continuum and we could measure it.”

 

He pointed to the valley.

 

“That has energy.  But what does it give me?  Does it allow me to be conscious? Does it allow me to be free, to understand meaning? No.”

 

Then he laughed.  He looked at me.

 

“I’m dead,” he said, “aren’t I?  I didn’t realize it until this very moment.”

 

I shook my head.  “No.  I would say you WERE dead until this moment.”

 

He grinned.  “Yes!” he said.  “That’s a good one.  I WAS dead.”

 

He stood up.

 

“Enough of this beer,” he said.  “I have some schnapps inside.  Let me get it.  Let’s drink the good stuff!  After all, I’m apparently Forever.  And so are you.  And so are we all.”

This is the dream and this is the dreamer for five minutes

This is the dream and this is the dreamer for five minutes

A crazy poem…and explaining the poem…

by Jon Rappoport

February 21, 2017

Whenever I need to remind myself of the essentials, I return to these things:

Poems.

Poems that disassemble reality.

Poems that take apart the machine.

Why not?


I’m walking up Broadway past the print houses and the owl houses and the pool room and the steamships and the tide rushing out leaving an octopus stranded looking around to understand this new planet

I’m walking past a glass and steel triangle and a copper dome and a stand of fruit on the sidewalk and a powder blue Cadillac mumbling old church hymns

I’m walking up Broadway past a row of theaters and an old clock on the side of a tan brick colossus

women in high heels with skinny legs

luminous machine-bankers

Parisian men wearing straw hats rowing small boats in the blue-ink canals

I’m lying back in a leather chair in Grand Central Station and an old man is cutting my hair

he puts a hot white towel on my face

I enter St. Pat’s, it’s a huge bookie joint, crowds standing in the aisles, betting on anti-Lucifer

I take a seat at the end of a long pew and fold my hands in prayer to Piero della Francesca, silver painter of Solomon & Sheba

and Henry Miller of the Rosy Crucifixion and Kenneth Patchen in his bed of pain and Gregory Corso roaming the streets of Rotterdam

blessings of wine and bread and skeletons growing new flesh

…walking up Broadway at dusk, melting into the crowds, reading their money minds, worshiping the sun veined with purple roses, a department store dream, marble floors, silent limousines waiting at the curb

I’m walking past four-armed genetic heralds and sad androids and murderous shoe salesmen from the 1950s, velvet furniture, apples too red to be real, false blood, reporters lapping up fumes, idolatrous cellophane ghosts in the park, moon over old Hoboken, broken planks on the dock

savage lulubells bloom in cartoon park and westerly winds, an ice landing full of chimes and lopsided sunrise, heroic mahogany symphony on walls of scribbled gilded breath, ornate redemption of vehicles

I walk past Hantu Raya balloons and prelude war parade glittering confetti, Bowery brown and gray men scattered out on the dismal sidewalk

piers of giant locks and hasps, through tunnels of rotting rain, into the cobblestone wind

last slanted rays on green vines, stolen by the Church from nature, stolen by nature from an unknown poet

the escape into furniture, the soul over and over again

The heralds sang, the disputed heaven tottered and broke through the clouds

Why not?

What is the addiction to reality?

To the machine?

Loosen the cords.

Take a ride on the elevated trolley…

“But I don’t understand that ‘poem’ you wrote…I don’t understand a thing in it…”

“That’s all right…did anything kick off a spark, just one…”

“Well maybe could be…the powder blue Cadillac and the stolen by nature from an unknown poet…”

“Have you ever had a dream where you walked through a landscape that was more real than waking life…”

“Sure, everybody has. I was in a mall that reminded me of some kind of moonscape. It was super-real, and when I woke up I felt…refreshed…like I’d taken a bath in energy…”

“Well, that’s how I felt when I wrote that crazy poem…”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“But I mean, it doesn’t make any sense…”

“Can’t you take a quick vacation from making ordinary sense?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Who is supposed to allow it?”

“Don’t know…”

“Is there a king who decides what makes sense?”

“Everybody decides all together…”

“You mean they meet in a room and have a conference?”

“Well no…”

“I think secretly you understood the poem…”

“No, no, no…”

“Why not?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

“Who said so?”

“If I understood it, I’d be crazy…”

“You weren’t crazy in that moonscape dream.”

“But that was just a dream.”

“The poem is a kind of dream. You can think of it that way.”

“I can?”

“Absolutely. I give you permission.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a dispenser of wide-ranging allowances. I’m a vacation expert. I give you a poem that’s a five-minute vacation from the machine…”

“Why?”

“Just for the hell of it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Who gave you that job?”

“The Pope.”

“Who?”

“I met with the Pope and he said it was okay.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“Okay, it wasn’t the Pope. It was me. I gave myself permission.”

“Just a five-minute vacation?”

“That’s all. And then you can go back to what you were doing.”

“I lay down a book called reality and I pick up another book for five minutes.”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe I could do that.”

“I believe you could.”

“I could sort of act like I was crazy for five minutes.”

“If you want to think of it that way.”

“I could just climb out on a limb and jump off…”

“Sure. If you want to think of it that way.”

“I could pretend I was walking around on the moon for five minutes.”

“Why not?”

“I could pretend I understood the poem.”

“Yes, pretend you did. Pretend you do.”

“Fake it.”

“Exactly. Fake it.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that? I know how to fake it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I fake it most of the time. I mean, I sort of fake things so I can understand them. First, I fake it. Then I get into what I’m faking. It’s like acting. It’s like being in a play.”

“Of course. You’re in a play and you’re playing a character who understands the poem. Why not?”

“And then I leave the play and I go back to being me.”

“Sure. It’s up to you.”

“I can invent whatever I want to for five minutes.”

“Nobody would stop you.”

“Well, I can think of a few people who would stop me.”

“Which people?”

“The Washington Post and a psychiatrist.”

“You mean the Washington Post would run a page-one headline with your name in it and it would say: THIS MAN IS CRAZY.”

“It could happen.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“You think the Washington Post cares.”

“It’s possible.”

“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars they don’t run the headline.”

“You think I’m nuts? I wouldn’t take that bet.”

“The Washington Post won’t know you understand the poem. Trust me.”

“You’re sure.”

“Positively.”

“Okay. I understand the poem.”

“See? That was easy.”

“I mean I can pretend I understand it.”

“Good. It’s just a five-minute vacation.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can.”

“I throw the rules out the window.”

“Right.”

“It’s a relief.”

“I know.”

“Why are the reality rules there in the first place?”

“It’s foolish, isn’t it?”

“Suppose I invent a new reality for myself?”

“I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Who would?”

“Nobody…”

“Why are you having this conversation with me?”

“You’re having this conversation with yourself. I’m just egging you on a little…”

“You’re stimulating me.”

“If you want to think of it that way.”

“It’s an interesting poem.”

“I like it.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

“You promise you won’t tell anybody that I stopped being ordinary me for five minutes?”

“I promise.”

“Because my whole reputation could be ruined.”

“I promise.”

“People would say I went off the rails.”

“No one will know.”

“This conversation never happened.”

“Never.”

“I’m sane. Always was, always will be.”

“You bet.”

“I’m an ordinary person trying to understand something that isn’t ordinary for five minutes. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

“Understood.”

“Reality is ordinary all the way down. It couldn’t be otherwise.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. Now get out of here. I don’t want anybody watching me while I fake it and pretend something makes sense that makes no sense.”

“I’m gone.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”


power outside the matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Power Outside The Matrix, click here.)


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 NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

The myth of collective consciousness

The myth of collective consciousness

by Jon Rappoport

February 20, 2017

“There are millions of people who came out of the 1960s with the idea that ‘self’ was a terrible entity, and only by existing all together, with everyone, in a single state of consciousness, could the world be saved. They bought a new fairy tale to replace an old one. They couldn’t find another answer to materialism.” (The Underground, Jon Rappoport)

In past articles, I’ve extensively covered the collective/group myth on several levels. But what about the so-called spiritual level?

What about the influential idea that, in an advanced state, humans would enter an ultimate collective cosmic unity?

Let’s start this way: somehow, you’re given access to the greatest store anywhere in the universe. Your credit card has no limit.

You walk through the gigantic space. You see cars and clothes and shoes and food and cell phones and toys and books and DVDs and CDs and TV sets and private jets and ships and pictures of mansions and islands for sale and pets and more, much more.

You love it.

You spend a long, long time browsing and buying and chatting with the friendly staff, and you know that, yes, this is the store you’ve always to shop in. This is the place.

And finally, when you’ve made all your purchases, and you’re on your way out, you discover that all the doors are locked. You can’t leave.

At that moment, the store isn’t your favorite place anymore.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

So here’s the comparison; yes, any state of consciousness that can be conceived or imagined or proposed is possible, but adding the kicker that it’s final and nobody exits from it is preposterous.

Individuals can have the experience of merging with each other—that collective experience. The “I” can decide to become “We.” Sure. Why not?

But…

Having done that, you can decide at some point that it’s time to leave. Then, if you couldn’t leave, you’d change your mind about the whole set-up.

Some people would say that once you entered collective cosmic consciousness, you’d never want to leave, but that’s just their opinion.

In other words, every possible state of consciousness is voluntary, effected in freedom. Ditto for exiting it.

Which means there is nothing final about collective consciousness or unity. It isn’t the final attainment. It’s another form of perception.

You can choose a role in the play of consciousness, and you can also retire from the cast and go on to other roles. And wherever you go, whatever you do, you’re you.

Being you isn’t limiting in the slightest, unless you make it so.

If you have been severely hamstringing you, the automatic solution isn’t suddenly “merging with everyone and everything else.” That might be a good and interesting exercise, to pull you out of a doldrum and a state of inertia, but it isn’t The Answer. There are lots of ways you can launch out of inertia.

Someone says, “Let’s all be One.”

You say, “Sounds exciting. I’m in.”

And then you do it.

“Wow,” you say, “this is fantastic. I’m you and you’re me and we’re all together—here comes a bunch more people to join in.”

You stay there in Oneness for a while. You have a great time…and then you say, “See you later, guys, it’s been fun.”

And they say, “Wait, how can you leave? This is IT.”

And you say, “I know. But there are lots of ITS. Bye bye.”

Entrances and exits, entrances and exits.


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)


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 NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

The point at which all news becomes fake news

The point at which all news becomes fake news

by Jon Rappoport

February 15, 2017

This is a companion piece to my previous article, “Occult Man and his search for his true Nature.”

True and vital news about the world as it actually is behind the scenes, will always be true, unless a person uses it to stop his forward progress and stop his graduation up on to another level of consciousness. In that case, true news becomes fake, because the person is absorbing it to keep himself from discovering his basic nature.

The most familiar way this happens: “The world is completely controlled by elite forces. I’ve figured it out. There is nothing I can do about it. I’ll just keep my head down and live out my life…”

Passivity.

Investigation leads to insight leads to passivity.

Or: “I see what’s really happening in the world. Finally. But I can’t talk to the people I know about it. They don’t get it. So I’ll forget the whole thing and just try to get along…”

Investigation leads to insight leads to passivity.

Suppose, though, a person’s true nature is: THE MAKER OF REALITIES.

In that case, his investigation has uncovered the fact that elites are making their realities for all of us…and the individual’s true nature involves flipping the script.

Discovering how elites contrive reality should be a bracing insight. It should inspire new energy. It should give birth to a counter instinct. The creative instinct.

The individual’s “phase-two” journey begins from recognizing his own creative force.

Think of it as: the painter who has never painted wakes up one morning and sees, all around him, a studio: blank canvases, brushes, paints. Now he can start.

The world is open. The future is open.

Now, the real news is still real. It isn’t his reason to become passive. Quite the opposite.


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)


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.

Occult Man and his search for his true nature

Occult Man and his search for his true nature

by Jon Rappoport

February 15, 2017

The word “occult” is frequently associated with a secret society, and it is given a negative twist by pitting it against organized “clean” religion or “totally rational” science.

But the Latin root of the word comes from the verb, “to hide.” That’s all.

Occult Man means man who is hiding something. And it really means man who is hiding something from himself. What would that be?

Occult man is hiding his true nature from himself.

In order to discover what that true nature is, he would already need to be free from the belief that he owes his time, energy, and life to another person or an idea. He would need to be free from the self-debasing concept of spiritual debt—regardless of how fashionable it might be to incur (or pretend to incur) such a negative balance sheet.

Legion are those who invent these “debt scenarios” for themselves, and they rarely give them up, regardless of the consequences. They prefer to imagine they “win by losing.”

When Occult Man embarks on the journey to find his true nature, he enters a labyrinth. Sooner or later, he needs to realize the maze is composed of all possible answers to his self-inquiry. How to choose one answer above all others? How to discern?

Nevertheless, despite the difficulties, he will choose. He will clutch an answer, he will adopt it, and he will begin to live on that basis. He will say, “This is my true nature,” he will climb into that conveyance and drive it down the road.

After a certain period, he will see its limitations, he will experience first-hand the pressure of those restrictions, and he will look for a more inclusive answer to his inquiry.

As this process of accepting, testing, and rejecting answers continues, he will become aware that each solution to what-is-my-true-nature gives birth to a space that is defined—and his primary role is to fit himself into that space.

In the majority of cases, Occult Man eventually talks himself into accepting a space and learning how to adapt to his position in it. It is as if, all along, he has been asking himself, “What is my place?”

Relatively few people are prepared to admit this is a loaded question. They would rather adhere to one of thousands of “philosophies” which are determined to tell Occult Man what his place is.

According to this sort of guidance, Occult Man is supposed to take pride in finding that place.

For those who can avoid this end, there remains a less-defined path. “Where do I go? What do I do? What am I looking for?”

What about looking within? As interesting as this option may seem, and as rooted in tradition, what results does it confer?

Either Occult Man looks within and sees, disappointingly, spaces populated by random objects and ideas, or he presupposes what he is going to discover, and then discovers it. Needless to say, such sleight of hand isn’t the means for finding his true nature.

What now?

Now we come to the threshold of a shift into another dimension of experience. Regardless of how long the journey has taken so far, now Occult Man begins to examine his very role as the searcher. The seeker. The discoverer.

Is the whole paradigm of questioner-question-answer able to yield up the effect of finding his true nature?

And in parallel, can he harken back to some past tradition and say, “Well, my conundrum triggers answers put forth by this body of wisdom or that body of wisdom or this enlightened master…” Do these references give him what he wants?

At every turn, it seems as if he’s been looking for some sort of content or material or information that will unlock the door. Or perhaps he needs an experience that will shock his system into a new realm of perception.

All along, he has been searching for some kind of reality that is already there. A deeper reality, a more elevated reality. Concealed, out of view. Hidden.

Which is why he is Occult Man. Because of the way he has been proceeding.

But suppose…there is no such hidden reality which is his true nature. Suppose that is the cosmic joke.

And suppose, instead, he is the maker of realities.

Suppose that is his true nature.

Suppose every system and traditional belief avoids putting the finger on his true nature.

Suppose he has no pre-defined place.

Suppose the shape and character of societies and civilizations on Earth flow from the inability of individuals to see their true nature?

There is much more to say about this subject, but I’ll leave it here for now—except to mention that everything I’ve authored in my collection, Exit From The Matrix, is designed to increase an individual’s power to make realities of his own choosing.


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)


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.

Universes for everybody, don’t wait, act now

Universes for everybody, don’t wait, act now!

by Jon Rappoport

February 5, 2017

Here are several ads from an interdimensional newspaper that might prove informative:

A UNIVERSE FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY! Do you want to pass on your genes to millions of future generations? Of course you do! Why else would you be alive? In our universe, we supply a government that forbids gene waste and enforces endless generational procreation. Square dancing, ping-pong tournaments, celebrity-look-alike performers on weekends.

COLLECTIVE GOO UNIVERSE FOR ADDLED MINDS! Be part of the Great Doofus! Delete thinking! Experience the thrill of melting down in 24/7 love with the All One Thingo! At first you’ll feel icy winds whipping through your separated soul on the plains of cruel choice. But then, at the last moment, in the deepest well of desperation, a radiant Whatever will clutch your sacred yearning and shoot you up on to on a cloud of honey, and transport you to a fortress where our patented pink ooze floods your being and you realize this is your home forever! Soft rock piped in, lake of marshmallows, electro-massage units. One and two bedroom apts.

NATURE IS NATURE UNIVERSE! Hunt for 60,000 years, merge with the environment, hear the roots grow; climb trees, live near Al Gore, jog with Prince Charles, bathe in snow, chant in monotone, blow up evil machines in distant cities. Exclusive Gaia tweets. Become utterly convinced there is nothing else! Raise children as primates!

AT LAST! THE SOULMATE UNIVERSE! Let us design your agonizing quest for the other half of yourself. You met a stranger for 18 seconds in a hotel bar? He’s here! Receive your initiation rites in the Oprah Palace and journey out on to the landscape of despair. Lifetimes of near-synchronicity…and just-misses…and then….but we can’t give away the glorious ending. You know you want it, so let us build this low to mid-range IQ universe with billions of extras and millions of planets. Herbal wraps, hot stones; vegan paramedics on call.

KING OF THE HILL UNIVERSE. You can be in charge. You can be the boss of bosses. Commit untold numbers of acts that would be considered capital crimes with special circumstances in other universes. Live in a Palace all others are denied. They’ll worship you from afar, night and day. But your identity will remain a mystery. Henchmen will oversee the building of great cathedrals in your (generic) name. It’s a kick!

VICTIMS PLUS! Have you been inventing a story of oppression that’s somehow never been accorded its proper due? Well, in our universe, we bring in the sheep and put bows on their necks! This your place! All the tables are turned. For once (and forever), you get what you deserve! Lavish benefits! Learn the necromancy of bureaucratic interactions. Work the system as it’s never been worked before! Choose from a catalog of disorders. Full insurance coverage extended to family members.

THE END OF IMAGINATION UNIVERSE! Have you finally reached the end of your tether? We have attractive life paths for trillions of serial incarnations. You’ll go with science, you’ll go with money, you’ll go with pills. We have it all. Our calibrated partial-amnesia treatments will saddle you with just enough doubt to make you wonder whether you’re doing the right thing…and yet, in the end, you’ll submit to a mysterious Greater Pattern. Geometric homilies, frog boiled slowly; we’ll keep you hopping! Try our new on-and-off paranoia option. Inquire about liability. Ask yourself if the End of Imagination Universe is right for you.

And a small classified ad: “Universe invention=You. For details, send $16.95 and self-addressed stamped envelope to PO Box 43920518-A, Altoona, Pennsylvania.

Coda:

“Insanity—to have to construct a picture of one’s life, by making inquiries of others.” –Philip K Dick

“It is sometimes possible to change the attitudes of millions but impossible to change the attitude of one man.” –Edward Bernays


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)


HEY!

Bargain prices.

We’ll shave down your perceptual field so you can fit in with eight trillion-trillion androids.

You’ll never miss what you can’t see.

Hi, I’m Tom Smith. I’ve lived here, in Universe 2-A-46, for many incarnations, and I want to tell you it’s the most fun place you can imagine—especially when you can’t imagine any other universe!

Know what I mean?

On a scale from 1 to 10, your creative impulse will be coming in at about .005. That’ll cement you right into the limited spectrum, where all the action is.

Now I know you’ve tried other universes, but this one has unique advantages. First of all, you’re a shareholder! That’s right! You’ll own .00000000000000000000009 of a point in the whole set up.

So you’ll feel the satisfaction of genuine participation.

Next, you’ll actually get down on your knees and pray to this Universe. I know, it sounds odd, but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. There’s a special hum you sense when you’re subjugating yourself to a “higher essence.”

Jack Boardhead writes in and says: “It’s a soft jolt unlike any other I’ve ever experienced.”

Thanks, Jack. My regards to the wife and kids. I understand Cindi starts online community college in the fall. Kudos!

Yes, folks, there really is a sense of family in this universe. People liking people. We’re all in this together. Since you’re a stakeholder, you’ll be in touch with us at the home office, and we’ll be using your testimonials to sign up new residents. There’s room for everybody! If there’s one thing we’ve got, it’s space!

So act now. Buy one ticket, get one free. Plus, as a bonus, the food processor, the set of cups and saucers, the booster narcosis meds, and the exercise pool. And since this is Tuesday, we have a special! Cemetery plots for the whole family, and storm windows! Automatic pre-diagnosis of Bipolar and free drugs for the first year!

How’s that for share and care?

Operators are standing by, so call now. If your last name begins with S, free tickets to Sea World!

Note: Once a year, we present our lottery/charity altruism draw. Name a friend or family member, and if you win, we’ll surround him with 3-D holographic heavenly hosts, and outfit him with a convincing Lost-Prophet-Returns scenario/cover story/legend. He preaches, he’s rejected, but in the fullness of time, he becomes a demi-god. Do a favor for someone you love. It feels good!

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.

Harry has the game

Harry has the game

by Jon Rappoport

February 1, 2017

The story, as it was handed down through several crooked and straight and adoring and addled relatives, took off at Ellis Island in 1899.  A baby in swaddling clothes, with a purple silk scarf wrapped around his neck, came, in the arms of his mother, to a florid drunken Irishman or a florid drunken Italian, who said his Russian first name was too difficult to pronounce, and Harry would do, and it was written in the book.  But he was a quiet boy, as it turned out, and the name didn’t fit.

At eleven, living in the Bronx, he watched his father collapse and die of a brain tumor in the apartment.  The doctor had said the tumor formed from tension, when Harry’s father’s partner—the two men owned a small department store in Brooklyn—ran off with all the money, and the business had to close down.

Harry then became the breadwinner for his mother and sister.  He quit school.

One day, he was sitting on the curb, staring out at nothing, wondering how he could possibly support the family, when an older boy sat down next to him and told him he worked for a charity agency.  They could teach him to stand up for himself.

Harry found a job sweeping floors in a restaurant.  This somehow led to a job sweeping floors in a firm in Manhattan that made ties and scarves.

—I hated the goddamn job, Harry said.  But then they sent me out every day to buy sandwiches and coffee for twelve people, and I made a deal for a discount with the deli owner, so I got to keep the excess.  I put it in the bank.  I felt the edge.  I learned to shoot pool, and I was a natural, so I could pick up a few bucks there, too.  I hustled the old men in a joint near work.  Their hustle was talking to me about their troubles in life.  Through trial and error, I figured out how to give a spot.  Three balls, six balls in a game of fifty.  Handicaps.  One day, I ran thirty balls, and then nobody wanted to play me anymore.  But I didn’t care.  I was good.  I was on to something that no one else could imagine.  That was the way I saw it.  I could put myself in a certain frame of mind.  Blank.  Focused.  I could see patterns on the table.  The stick in my hands was a weapon. It was protection.  It was better than the world.  I had an idea that dropped down out of the sky.  I could go to bed with it every night.  Lying there, I could see two racks, three racks unfold, shot by shot.  I could build them into a machine.  One day in the pool room, I was playing a kid from Brooklyn.  There was no money involved.  I ran sixty-two balls.  Everyone gathered around the table and watched.  When I was through, they applauded.  One old man came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.  His eyes were misty.  He told me he had never seen anything like that in his life.  I felt a fire in my legs.  I was very calm, though.  I was at peace.  It was all inside.  Private.  I was playing out what I saw.  The future.  I knew I could run a hundred balls, two hundred balls. New people began showing up.  Joe Martin, who was supposed to be the best hustler in the Bronx, came in one night and played me for fifty dollars, which was a large sum then.  I ran eighty-seven balls.  After I won, he went out, and a few hours later he brought back Tom Castellano, who was the best straight pool player in the city.  I ran ninety-four balls and Tom laid down his stick and quit.  He was a gentleman.  He paid me fifty dollars and bought me a drink in a bar around the corner.  He said, “You can see the whole thing stretching out, can’t you?”  I told him I could.  He said it was best feeling he ever had, seeing it, when he was on.  A month after that, Ginger Michaels, the national straight pool champion, showed up in the room.  He was a short stocky man with a friendly smile.  We played for a hundred dollars.  A hundred balls.  I broke with a safety, and he ran sixty balls.  I took over and ran a hundred balls.  But I wanted to keep going.  In another hour or so, I had run two hundred balls.  I was looking two or three racks ahead.  I could see it all working out.  By midnight, I had run four hundred twenty balls.  I wasn’t tired at all.  There was no strain.  By three in the morning, I had run seven hundred balls.  There was a very large crowd in the place.  Most of them were standing.  I felt I could go on forever.  There was nothing in the way.  The balls weren’t an obstacle.  They weren’t thinking.  They were doing what they were supposed to do.  I wasn’t up against a challenge anymore.  Even time, if there was time, was on my side.  I saw a fork in the road.  I could stop because there was no reason to keep playing, or I could just keep going without a reason.  I chose the second fork.  So by dawn, I had run just over a thousand balls.  The place was very quiet.  I could tell the people felt they were floating.  They watched me, they watched the table, and they floated.  We weren’t in New York anymore.  We were in that room, and that room was where it was.  Between shots, I glanced at a bottle of beer an old man was holding.  It was breathing, very slowly.  Everything and everyone was breathing slowly.  Except me.  I was in the future.  My game was in the present and future.  The shots were in the present, but the game was in the future.  The future had nothing in it except the game.  I’m still there.  I can’t say how many balls in a row I’ve made.  I’ve lost track.  It doesn’t matter.  People come and go.  I keep on going.  Between racks, thoughts drift in.  They don’t bother me.  I just watch them and read them.  “How many minds need to agree before a proposition is accepted?  Suppose the answer is none?”  “An idea whose time has come—that is a fiction.  There is no such time.”  I keep playing.  I don’t know how many days and nights have passed.  I don’t know if there are nights and days anymore.  I don’t know if the world still exists in the same way.  Maybe I’ve made twenty thousand balls in a row.  It doesn’t matter.  I feel no need to miss.  Suppose the world is changing?  Suppose it’s changing because I keep on playing?  Suppose I’m going beyond certain unspoken rules?  And when I do, the world reshapes.  Things happen in a subterranean place and they drift up to the surface.  I keep on playing.


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)


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.