Jon Rappoport: advice to writers

by Jon Rappoport

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This has nothing to do with getting published or formatting stories for editors.

It’s about the process of writing, about how you think and create. It applies to journalism and short stories and novels and plays. It’s about what happens when you don’t try to fit into a mold.

What happens is: you’re writing what you want to. You’re moving in a number of different directions, because you’re deploying imagination.

Even in journalism, this happens, because there are many ways to present the same set of facts.

The advice is this: don’t pull back. Don’t try to stick a peg that has 16 sides and spikes and ornaments and asymmetrical grooves into a round hole.

Finding a cogent way to communicate comes later. If you start there, you cut yourself off at the knees. You squash your own adventure. You lose.

If you start out on road A and suddenly realize you want to make a sharp turn into a bumpy field, do it. Cross the field. You’ll see a winding path into the mountains. Take it. Half-way up, you’ll come upon a pristine lake. Jump in. Underwater, you’ll find a portal into a lost tunnel. Enter it and follow it all the way to a buried city…

If you opt for simplified boiled-down form right from the beginning, you’ll never know there was a lake and a tunnel and a buried city.

Here’s a story of mine. I post it to show you what can happen when you go where you want to. It may not reflect where you want to go, but it should give you some idea about leaving conventional symmetry and tiresome plot line and typical narrative flow in the dust.

Robots love simplified symmetry, harmony, perfect balance. They love it over and over and over.

We’re not robots.

One major part of my third mega-collection, Power Outside The Matrix, is an eight-and-a-half hour audio presentation, The Writer’s Tutorial. This has been a long time coming. I’ve had many requests for it over the years.

It is a tutorial, in the sense that I give many specific advices to writers and people who want to be writers. But it goes a lot farther than that.

It’s about a core of imagination and power. That “inner place” is the wellspring from which a whole life can be lived. It’s language as energy.

The discovery of hidden energy, the invention of energy, worlds in the making—this is what the writer is involved with.

Many writer’s seminars urge students to “write about what they know.” That’s just one approach. Writing about what you don’t know is another avenue. What you don’t know, for a journalist, means research. For a novelist, poet, playwright, it means invention, it means knowing in a very different sense.

It means imagination. It means the desire to build new worlds.

I can mark great changes in my life by writers I’ve read. Writers give us confidence that our dreams and visions are real, more than real. Writers rescue us from the ordinary.

They even whisper in our ears, “You can do this, too.”

In my tutorial, I move from the large overarching theme of what being a writer is all about, to specific clues about how to write, how to make feelings and ideas operate on the page.

Whether you’re aiming for poetry, fiction, journalism, or simply reports at work, I’ve brought everything I can to the table.

I leave the matter of getting published to the professional magazines. In this tutorial, I speak to people who want more. More of a Voice that can move them and their readers to new heights.

Being a writer is, in part, about being a riverboat gambler—shoving in all your chips on your inner resources.

For a writer, or for anyone who wants to live a creative life, those resources turn out to be endless. Finally, we are talking about a capacity to imagine, a capacity that has no limit.

The overused word “spiritual” really does apply here, because it is through imagination and invention that a person eventually discovers answers to the great questions of life. Those answers are his own, not the second-hand myths broadcast by authority figures.

There is another payoff. Creating worlds of your own gives you intimate knowledge of how those-who-would-be-our-masters try to impose their world on us.

In 1978, Philip K Dick wrote:

“…today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups…So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms…it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.”

As a writer, as a person living a creative life, ideas and energies and language and images and visions are your own. What a wonderful thing. What a fantastic enterprise. What an adventure.


power outside the matrix


Here are the particulars of my collection, Power Outside The Matrix.

These are audio presentations. 55 total hours.

* Writer’s Tutorial (8.5-hours)

* Analyzing Information in the Age of Disinformation (11.5-hours)

* Power Outside The Matrix and The Invention of New Reality (6.5-hours)

Then you will receive the following audio presentations I have previously done:

* The Third Philosophy of Imagination (1-hour)

* The Infinite Imagination (3-hours)

* The Mass Projection of Events (1.5-hours)

* The Decentralization of Power (1.5-hours)

* Creating the Future (6-hours)

* Pictures of Reality (6-hours)

* The Real History of America (2-hours)

* Corporations: The New Gods (7.5-hours)

I have included an additional bonus section:

* The complete text (331 pages) of AIDS INC., the book that exposed a conspiracy of scientific fraud deep within the medical research establishment. The book has become a sought-after item, since its publication in 1988. It contains material about viruses, medical testing, and the invention of disease that is, now and in the future, vital to our understanding of phony epidemics arising in our midst (and how to analyze them). I assure you, the revelations in the book will surprise you; they cut much deeper and are more subtle than “virus made in a lab” scenarios.

* A 2-hour radio interview I did on AIDS in Dec 1987 with host Roy Tuckman on KPFK in Los Angeles, California.

* My book, The Secret Behind Secret Societies

(All the audio presentations are mp3 files and the books are pdf files. You download them upon purchase. You’ll receive an email with a link to the entire collection.)

This is about your power. Not as an abstract idea, but as a living core of your being. This is about accessing that power and using it to invent realities without end.

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 OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

Illusion Breakdown

~a short story~

by Jon Rappoport

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Is history a thing that repeats itself, a cell that reproduces? Can we break out?

—A local scribe wrote about the outcast, the outsider:

Just like his father, they said, when he went over the hill and down into the mine, but when he came back up, his face shining, his bare arms clean, unblistered, untouched by the heat and the pain, they shrank away from him as if he had been cursed, and shunned him in the tavern and the marketplace and the church, and his family cast him out and he took up residence in an old half-burned cabin at the edge of town.

He went back down into the mine every morning, and he was never affected. His fellows avoided him.

This was all a great mystery, and a few of the men went to the priest and asked him about it. An old man who only seemed to come alive on Sundays, when he lit the candles and intoned the ceremony of sacrifice, he shrugged and said it was the way of the Test, and could not be interpreted.

The Test was obscure, it never spelled itself out, it never intruded in any visible fashion, or with signs.

The young outcast, living apart in his cabin, went down into the mine and brought up his share of the universal vapor every day, riven out of the rocks, and took it in his sealed buckets, as all men did, to the representative of the absentee owner in the shipping station, where foreign agents oversaw its transport, by train, to the pleasant happy villages all over the countryside of the former Earth colony—for many centuries now, independent.

The outcast sat outside at night, on the barren ground, and laughed like a fool. He ran on the hills in the deep darkness, as if he might take off and fly above the cottages and the cattle pastures.

He never questioned who he was or why he was here. When he slept, time dissolved and then he awoke fresh and with new energy.

Finally, the men planned an attack, because it was, they earnestly believed, warranted. How could they live alongside the young man?

He knew it was coming. On an evening, he went to his family home and spoke to his father and mother and his sister. They were silent before him. He said he was going to make a stand and they should ignore what was going to happen. They should simply go on. Then he left.

At his cabin, he built a small fire and brought dry grass and set it in the flames. He made a path of grass to his front door. The fire spread and it caught on the wood of two posts and climbed them and moved to the walls. Within a short time, the whole cabin was engulfed.

He heard the men approaching in the dark. He felt their anger and their madness.

When they emerged into the aura of the burning cabin, he stepped into the flames and ignited.

They shouted and screamed. They ran toward him. They stopped and watched as the fire consumed him.

Eventually, there was only smoke.

And he stepped through it, whole. Untouched.

They wanted to flee, they wanted to die. They were riveted in place.

He said: “Every day you go down. You chop and hammer at the sanctified rocks. You release the vapor of suffering, because it is the law. You deliver it in your buckets to the agents, and they send it to the happy villages and pour it into the air, and the people slowly shrink into a state of misery and sickness, because that, too, is the law, the faith. You believe it is part of the Test. Nothing can shake your belief. But now I’m here. I deny. I refute. I’m as you were, before you drove yourselves mad. Once, this was a colony, and then we gained our freedom and knew what it was to live. But the owner came, he had his men dig the mines, you went down, and slowly the plague took over. Remember?”

Silence.

The men fell on the ground in front of him, and with the eyes of supplicants, mutely asked for forgiveness.

“No,” he said. “I’m not your priest or some phantom.”

He walked away from them in the night.

All these years later, he is still gone.

No one has heard of him.

Now, they light candles and go to the spot of his immolation every Sunday and pray and leave offerings.

The church has crumbled, and the priest has died. This is the only place of worship.

The men go down into the mines every day. And bring up the vapor.

A few try to remember what they were before the great suffering.

Before they participated in the great poisoning.

—The legendary elements in what you’ve just heard, ladies and gentlemen of the court, are pure nonsense, of course. The written account, penned by a local scribe, was discovered by our field operatives. It’s in my training manual for the mission.

The mines are quite real, but they produce a rare mineral growth factor that obviates the need for developing costly hybridized crop variants.

The growth factor enables major increases in food output.

I came in low over the company town, locked in the “immolation” memorial, and incinerated it. Those were my orders.

The prosecution asserts that I illegally destroyed a heritage site, without my employer’s knowledge. This is patently absurd. Why would I travel all that way for such a purpose?

I’m a registered employee of Religion Inc. Churches, which as you know, maintains an exclusive contract with the Earth Council, for Sectors One through Seven. No other religious organizations are permitted to conduct business in that area.

Doesn’t it stand to reason that my employer issued the destruct order and I merely carried it out in good faith, in a perfectly legal fashion?

Mission orders are held at corporate headquarters, as are training manuals, for security reasons. So I can’t lay before you proof that I was on the books for this operation.

My employer has deniability. Because my attack on the memorial has caused a local uproar and a strike of the mine workers, Religion Churches Inc. has thrown me to the dogs. They hope to avoid negative publicity.

I’m not here to plead for mercy. I’m here requesting justice.

—Sir, the court requires, in cases of this nature, that the defendant provide evidence of work status. You have failed that standard. Religion Inc. Churches shows no record of your employment during the period in question. Therefore, we are compelled to consider you an independent operator.

You admit to the mission. You carried it out. The penalty is clear. Your accounts and assets will be stripped. Those funds will be used to defray, in part, the expense of sending you to the place where the crime was committed, where the people of that jurisdiction will determine your sentence.

—After much debate, we the assembly of the town, in these proceedings, make a unanimous ruling that you will be sent down, among us, into the mines for the remainder of your life. Your labor will never repay us for your sin, but at least we will make use of you for a good purpose. In this, we show mercy. It is not our bent to seek vengeance.

We believe that our absent prophet would concur. We attempt to understand his heart in all rulings.

—I have been going down and coming up for two years now. I watch others grow ill and die, and I feel myself growing weak. They do not seem to understand what they are doing and what effect it has on them. They are consumed by a sense of obligation to their legendary prophet, although judging by their Myth, I can hardly imagine why he would want any of them going into the mines.

Apparently they believe he was revealing and demonstrating a supernatural immunity to harm. They say the mine vapors are emanating from a fire in the center of their asteroid, and fire is a symbol of his immolation. On that basis, the vapors are holy.

I have seen and experienced the truth. There are no rare minerals in the mines. This has nothing to do with improvements in agriculture technology. This is a mysterious program to spread poison.

Twice a year, they permit me to transmit messages to my former employer asking for intervention and a supreme reconsideration. I have received no replies.

—every night when he comes up from the mine, guards take him to an office at the shipping station and lock him in for the night. He looks haggard, but he is quite handsome. I want him for myself.

None of the other eligible men please me. He has a force about him. This is what I need. His legend is much lower than that of our prophet, but it appeals to me. Both he and the prophet, in their own ways, wrought destruction.

We women know, even if our men do not, that destruction is our destiny. But rather than endure it in small doses, I would have it all at once. If they catch me with him, they will exile us to the ice caps. I am willing to take the chance.

—I’ve met a woman. She and I have been together. I believe she is pregnant. The trouble from this could be fatal for both of us and our unborn child.

—Years ago, they exiled my mother and father to the ice caps. But they kept me among them.

The absentee owner maintains and spreads the story that the mines are a source of minerals for food crops. But of course, this is false. The vapors are poison. My people have been suffering from their religious fantasy for untold generations.

There is no understanding it. But I can perform a feat that will challenge them. I can risk everything. I can stand in the center of the strongest underground vapors, breathe them in, and if I survive, I will become a miraculous figure to them, a prophet. And then I can tell them the truth.

—Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I am an employee of Religion Inc. Churches, despite what you have heard. Recently, a boy sacrificed himself in the mines of a distant asteroid, and the people of a company town built a crude pasture memorial in his name. This, of course, by the terms of the Colonization Directive, is illegal. No other religions are permitted to practice in that Sector.

So I was ordered to make a flight and incinerate the site. I did this. I carried out the mission. In the aftermath of local riots and protests, my employer decided to avoid negative publicity by casting full blame on me. They have labeled me a rogue operative. This is patently absurd. Why would I commit this act on my own?

It is apparently not the first time an immolation has occurred on the asteroid, although the record is obscure. And there is a spotty history of the region that alludes to a prior mission, launched by my employer, to incinerate the site of another memorial on the very same asteroid.

If there is a pattern of corporate crime, it needs to be investigated before you pass judgment on me.

—I am now working in the mines. I was shipped here so a local verdict could be rendered, and this is the outcome. I go down every day, with the townspeople, and bring up the poison vapor.

A woman has approached me in secret. She wants to have a child. She is quite deluded. She claims this child will have magical qualities.

Does it matter what she thinks? We are all desperate, and if we can find a little pleasure in our suffering, so be it.

—Years ago, my parents were exiled to the ice caps. The people of the town kept me here. There is probably nothing new under the Dome, but I have an idea.

I am now working in the local office of the absentee owner. I have never met him, but I am quick and bright, and I believe I can be promoted from this outpost to his home headquarters, wherever they are. Once there, I can discover the details of his business and expose them. If I am lucky, the news will spread out to the wider Sector and cause an uproar.

The other day, I came across a file that presented a clue.

It seems the absentee owner’s company, which undoubtedly operates under many names and subsidiaries, is licensed on Earth as Religion Inc. Churches.

They appear to hold a monopoly on worship in Sectors One through Seven. So perhaps my father was, in fact, working for them when he flew over and incinerated the pasture memorial.

But if Religion Inc. is also in charge of our mines, they are directing the operation to spread the poison vapor.

A religious monopoly; destruction; sickness; plague.

Is this what faith has come to mean?


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 individual against the syndicate in 2044: a short story

by Jon Rappoport

October 14, 2018

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You’re an unemployed artist.

The year is 2044. A series of bombings has rocked the Capitol in the Western White House District, which is located in the heart of Hollywood. The Eastern seaboard is now uninhabitable, owing to a mysterious Bayer-Monsanto accident, which rendered all plant life in that region poisonous…

Reality is a nasty syndicate operation. The technical side is put together by high-IQ idiots. They like to fiddle. They like the con. They like to torpedo the mind.

The syndicate is the Reality Manufacturing Company.

You buy a ticket to Disneyland, which encompasses the area from San Francisco to Tijuana, go through the big gate, and soon find out there’s no exit. At least you’re relatively safe. You book a small hotel room in Aspartame Village.

A note is taped to the back of the toilet, where you’ve been told to look. It’s unsigned. You read it while you’re preparing supper: powdered eggs, water, and a squirt of SweetHeaven:

“Greetings, GuestL28vi35. This to warn you the pillars of the community, the people who are supposed to be ‘doing good,’ are up to their necks in the operation. They’re hustling reality like porn.

“At the upper levels, we’ve even got the STE Command, peddling the space-time-energy continuum everyone is so fond of. Only one tin can and we’re all in it, biological machines ‘doing our best to get along.’

“Until recently, there was a sense that artists knew something about all this and were exposing the Company. But now, propaganda is eating into their psyches, or their work isn’t finding the light of day. Some have been conned into high-flying rhetoric about saving humanity and working together to build a better world inside the prevailing political framework. There is no better world inside the prevailing political framework.

“It’s just another hustle. Cheap salesmen on the job. ‘Here, let me try this pair of shoes on you. I think you’ll like them a lot…they’re supposed to feel tight, otherwise, the design doesn’t work.’

“The artist should be ripping away masks, exposing the Company employees. Adorning some fake religion promoted by the State, like the current MaR24tc, isn’t his job.

“But he’s promoting peace these days as if it were a little magic stone you rub. Or a gold fairy worm inside a gourd you shake.

“Overthrowing the reality-con is the work of the artist. He’s got to take to it like a duck to water. He has to like it. He has to use his weapons, all of them. He has to build bigger towers than the Company.

“Lately, have you noticed people asking you, ‘Are you coming from a place of anger or love?’ First of all, ‘coming from a place of’ is psycho-op lingo. It’s fake wisdom for the kiddies (adults whose development has been arrested in the Oprah-phase). I personally am coming from a lot of different places, including San Diego. It’s a town populated by many androids. They’ve learned to affect a pose of happiness because frankly they don’t know what else to do.

“I bring this up because it’s another Company op. Goes like this: find a place ‘to come from,’ and then make your existence an emotional bumper sticker. REDUCTION.

“That’s exactly what the syndicate wants. It opposes proliferation because it can’t profile it. The Matrix is built on the need to reduce thought. Reduction inevitably leads to whining and complaining. Then props called spiritual leaders emerge out of the woodwork and offer to solve the complaints. But they never can (even if they wanted to), because the original problem remains. REDUCTION.

“Our glorious New Age, so-called, is exactly that: THOUGHT REDUCTION. It fails, and the aftermath is ugly. People become contortionists and end up eating their own livers. They don’t even know how to season them. They take it straight.

“You might be wondering who I am. I’m from the Movable Underground Museum. You’ve probably heard of it. The Company calls us dangerous because we’ve found a way to dismantle their product.

“I can’t give you details in an open message. Keep your eyes open. We show up here and there. You’ll know. So far, we’ve laid out two new universes. They’re empty. Lots of room for adventurous souls.

“Here’s something else to keep your eye on, too. The Company’s reality is breaking down. You may see seams in odd places where there shouldn’t be any. Don’t pick at them or point them out to other people. You’ll get busted for that. A seam is usually a long thin blue line. If it pops far enough, you’ll see a different kind of space behind it. Stay calm.

“For the past two weeks, a big seam has been exposed at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Vermont Avenue. Don’t try to go there. Crowds were gathering. The DHS came in and hosed them down with a version of Roundup. Upwards of six thousand people were arrested, and DHS has the area cordoned off with tanks.

“If you can still pick up SubNetB8 on your mobile device, you can see pictures. The white light streaming through the gap in the seam? It’s been photoshopped in. It isn’t really there. Neither are the UFOs or the voices. That’s the Company. They’re staging a ‘virtual drill’ in the area. Lots of phony religious content. It’s a cover. They’ve built a temp church in Silver Lake to handle the overflow of new believers.

“If somebody approaches you with an offer to travel to Mexico, then sneak back into the US and apply for benefits, don’t bite. Tomorrow morning, before nine, walk to the Mickey Pavilion, turn left and keep going for about a mile. On your right, you’ll see a small shed painted green. Behind the shed is a cheap water ride. Take out a boat and row to the Secret Tunnel.

“Take it. When the little train has been in the tunnel for a minute, you’ll see a dim corridor on your left. Hop off the train and walk along the corridor. You’ll come to the back of the Clinton-Bush-Obama Mountain. At the base is a service door. It’s unlocked.

“Go through and you’ll be standing on the corner of Ashbury Street and First Avenue. A day’s walk east will take you out into the desert. The fences are broken. Get out into the desert and head toward the Nevada Hills. You’ll see it. It’s a huge white hotel about five miles in.

“A mile before the hotel, you’ll come to a wide crack in the desert floor. It’s not a crack. The Company’s Simul is breaking down there. It’s an exit. Use it if you have the courage.”

You burn the note, sit and eat your powdered eggs and watch the news. You think about what you’re going to do. Or not do.

A few sentences float in from somewhere. They were written by Philip K Dick, an ancient writer whose works have been outlawed:

“Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups…So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms…And it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.”


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.

Sacred shapes and decimated minds

by Jon Rappoport

July 12, 2018

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These notes apply to paintings, yes; but also to the invention of any reality—

One: A certain amount of consensus is necessary in order to have a civilization.  This means: shared perception.  But then the consensus exceeds what is necessary.  It becomes too much.  It becomes forced.

A perfect analogy is the person who is famous for being famous.  The consensus built around this person is essentially meaningless.  The shared perception (by millions of people) that this famous person is important is empty.  And meaningless.  But because the perception is shared, the person’s fame endures for a time.

Controllers essentially say, “We have a system that works.  If we abandon it, chaos will follow.  Don’t leave the system.”

Of course, they’re lying.  Many systems work.  They just want allegiance to the system they own.

“I own X.  Therefore, X is vital.  I will build as much consensus as possible around the notion that X is indispensable.  This consensus will be called Civilization.”

Two: People are terribly defensive.  They believe the modern painter, who doesn’t present copies of physical reality, is destroying sacred tradition.  “Retribution is surely coming, just over the horizon…”

What are they so worked up about?  Why should the modern painter imitate the old painter who imitated Nature?

Is the square sacred?  Is the sphere holy?  Is the vanishing-point-perspective heavenly?  By whose decree?

Suppose a modern painter deploys 6 vanishing points, or 562, or none?  Is it really a threat if he presents us with a world radically different from our own?

Three: A person will claim he’s open to any possible reality—and he’ll keep on saying that until he runs up against one that re-imagines existence in a truly novel way…and then he’s speechless.  He doesn’t know what to think, and this is a serious problem for him because he prides himself on always knowing what to think.  He believes he’s imagined all there is to imagine as well, which is truly absurd.  And now he’s met a Waterloo.  It bowls him over.  He’ll never admit it, but he’s shocked to the core.  Every category of his which might anticipate and dominate this new reality misses the mark by miles.  He has no words to describe what he’s seeing.

Four: No one knows how far the path of imagination can go, for the simple reason that there is no end to it.  No limit.

There is no central idea hemming a person in.  There is no overarching canopy under which he must walk.

The path of imagination eliminates answers and bottom lines that claim to be ultimate realities.  The path of imagination does not have a nest where a person curls up and accepts an Ultimate Anything.

“Show me one ultimate reality and I’ll invent a thousand…”

The imagination reigns supreme.

The path of imagination is the path of inventing reality.

The individual is an artist of reality.


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 blockbuster movie called Reality

The blockbuster movie called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

May 17, 2018

There is always a certain amount of whining and remorse as one enters the theater to see the movie called Reality, after buying the ticket.

“Is this a good idea?”

You can already feel a merging sensation. The electromagnetic fields humming in the theater, even before the movie starts, are drawing you into the space.

Your perception of x dimensions is narrowing down to three.

You take your seat. You look at the note you’ve written to yourself, and you read it again:

“Don’t forget where you came from. Don’t forget this is just a movie. Don’t fall asleep. The serial time in the movie is an artifact. The binding feeling of sentimental sympathy is an induction. It’s the glue that holds the movie fixed in your mind.”

“The movie will induce nostalgia for a past that doesn’t exist. Don’t surrender to it.”

“You’re here to find out why the movie has power.”

“You want to undergo the experience without being trapped in it.”

“The content of the movie will distract you from the fact that it is a construct.”

The lights dim.

On the big screen, against a gray background, the large blue word REALITY slowly forms.

Suddenly, you’re looking at a huge pasture filled with flowers. The sky is a shocking blue. You can feel a breeze on your arms and face.

You think, “This is a hypnotic trance weapon.”

Now, the pasture fades away and you’re standing on an empty city street at night. It’s drizzling. You hear sirens in the distance. A disheveled beggar approaches you and holds out his trembling hand.

He waits, then moves on.

You look at the wet shining pavement and snap your fingers, to change it into a lawn. Nothing happens.

You’re shocked.

You wave your hand at a building. It doesn’t disappear.

Incredible.

You reach into your pocket and feel a wallet. You walk over to a streetlight and open it. There’s your picture on a plastic ID card. Your name is under the picture, followed by a number code. On the reverse side of the card, below a plastic strip, is a thumbprint.

There are other cards in the wallet, and a small amount of paper money. You look at the ID card again. There’s an address.

Though it seems impossible, you remember the address. In your mind’s eye, you see a small cottage at the edge of an industrial town. There’s a pickup parked in the driveway.

It’s your truck. You know it. But how can that be?

You walk toward larger buildings in the distance.

Three men in uniforms turn a corner and come up to you. Behind them emerges a short man in a business suit. He nods at you and holds out his hand.

You know what he wants. You pull out your wallet and give it to him. He looks at the ID card, at you, at the card again.

“You were reported missing,” he says.

“Missing from what?” you say.

“Your home. Your job. What are doing here? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say. “I was…taking a short trip. I’m just out for some air.”

“In this part of the city?” he says. “That’s not smart. We’ll take you home. Our car is right over there.”

One car sits on a side street. In large red letters printed on the trunk are the words Care and Concern.

You walk with the men to the car.

Waves you’ve never felt before are emanating from it.

Mentally, you try to back up from them. They’re targeting your body. You feel a haze settle over you.

In the haze dance little creatures. They’re speaking. You try to hear what they’re saying.

Now you do. “Real, real, real.”

You look at the short man in the suit. He’s smiling at you.

Suddenly, his smile is transcendent. It’s so reassuring, tears fill your eyes.

But you’re thinking, “They built this so I would be lost, and then they found me. I’m supposed to be rescued. I’ve never experienced being rescued before. I never knew what it meant.”

You hear faint music.

It grows louder. As you near the car, you realize you’re listening to a chorus and an orchestra. The rising theme is Victory.

One of the uniformed men opens the car door.

You nod at him.

“My pleasure, sir,” he says.

The music fades away.

The scene shifts.

You’re standing next to the pickup in your driveway alongside your cottage.

You’re home.

Think, you tell yourself. What’s going on?

You recognize your mind is now divided into two parts. The first part registers sensations from this new reality. These sensations are meant to be sorted, in order to answer the question: How Am I Doing?

The second part of your mind is entirely devoted to perceiving problems and solving them. Everything at this level is organized to constitute problems.

You were never aware of these two sectors of your mind before.

Where did they come from?

Now, as you walk into your cottage and instantly remember the rooms and the objects in these rooms, an accompanying sensation of Familiarity, slightly out of phase, grows stronger.

You realize, without knowing how, that you’re supposed to feel tremendous relief. This is what’s expected of you.

It’s expected of everyone. They live with one another through the touchstone of the Familiar. They share it like bread.

They keep coming back to it. The Familiar is a sacrament.

It’s built in. It’s invented through…electromagnetically induced fields. It’s stamped on every object in this space…

…In order to suggest you’ve been here before. To suggest you belong here.

As you look around the cottage, you apprehend a third sector of your mind. You struggle to identify it.

It’s the fount of a different kind of perception.

Yes.

You keep staring at the cottage and you see space.

You see space that…

Has been placed here. For you.

And at that moment, there is a small explosion behind your head.

And you’re sitting in the theater again.

The movie is playing on the screen. All around you, in the seats, people are sitting with their eyes closed.

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn. It’s an usher.

“Sir,” he says. “Please follow me.”

He leads you up the aisle into the lobby, which is empty.

An office door opens and a young woman steps out. She strides briskly over to you.

“You woke up and came back,” she says. She gives you a tight smile. “So we’re refunding your money. It’s our policy.”

She drops a check into your hand.

“What happened in there?” you say. “What happened?”

She shrugs.

“Only you would know that. You must have done something to interrupt the transmission.”

“And the rest of those people?”

She looks at her watch. “They’re probably into their fifth year by now. The fifth year is typically a time of conflict. They rebel. Well, some of them do. They rearrange systems. They replace leaders. They promote new ideals.”

“I had such a strong feeling I’d been there before.”

She smiles. “Apparently it wasn’t strong enough. You’re back here.”

“How do you do it?” you say.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s proprietary information. Did you meet your family?”

“No,” you say. “But I was in a cottage. It was…home.”

She nods.

“If you hadn’t escaped, you would have been subjected to much stronger bioelectric bonding pulses. Do you have a family here?”

You start to answer and realize you don’t know.


exit from the matrix


She looks into your eyes.

“Go out to the street,” she says crisply. “Walk around. Take a nice long walk for an hour. You’ll reorient. It’ll come back to you.”

“Why do you do it?” you say.

“Do what?”

“Sell this trip.”

“Oh,” she says. “Why does a travel agent book a vacation for a client? We’re in that business.”

You turn toward the exit. The sun is shining outside. People are walking past the doors.

You take a deep breath and leave the theater.

The street is surging with crowds. The noise is thunderous.

You notice you’re carrying a rolled up sheet of paper in your hand.

You open it.

It’s a non-disclosure agreement.

“If you return from your movie experience, you agree to reveal or discuss, under penalty of law, nothing about its nature, substance, or duration…”

You look at the sheet of paper, make up your mind, and it bursts into flames.

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.

A Spirit fable: the moon, the mother, and the dog

A spirit fable: the moon, the mother, and the dog

by Jon Rappoport

May 7, 2018

A few days ago, I woke up with the very clear thought—as if it had been planted in my head—that everything I experience is a product of my own imagination.

This, I have since learned, is a teaching of the ancient Hermetic School of Philosophy.

At any rate, I decided to carry out an experiment. I imagined a second moon floating above Earth, to see if I could make it so real to me I would actually see it clearly, on consecutive nights.

Of course, as you know, last night a second moon did, in fact, appear in the sky. People all over the world saw it. I assure you, this was not my intent. I was merely trying to clarify an issue for myself.

I considered making a confession to the authorities—but why bother when I would be viewed as a crackpot? It occurred to me I could announce I had made the new moon and would, at an appointed time, unmake it. But suppose I failed? Regardless, securing the attention of a large number of people, when you are unknown, is quite difficult, no matter what your subject is. (I do not favor running naked into the street and launching a speech.)

This morning, as I approached my mother’s room in the nursing home for my weekly visit, I decided I would experience her as having recovered from her illness. When I entered the room, she was standing by the window singing one of the old songs from my childhood. When she turned to me, her eyes were clear and she was smiling. She said, “I’m ready to go home.”

Was I deluding myself? Was she in the grip of my own projection? I called for a nurse. She walked into the room and looked at my mother, who was supposed to be in a wheelchair. The nurse started to scream, and stopped herself. My mother hadn’t stood on her own in ten years.

A doctor told me she would have to undergo a series of tests. I took the opportunity to come back to my apartment and think things over.

If I do have formidable powers, I should consider options. Wouldn’t you? Would you take, for instance, a daring course and put an end to war and disease? If I can accomplish such a feat, I believe I would. Damn the consequences. I would leave others to sort them out.

I am strangely calm. It is as if I have been pointing toward this moment all my life.

I no longer feel I have needs. Somehow, those chains have been removed.

Once upon a time, I was walking on uncertain ground. But not now.

Others would surely say I have reached too high, and I am about to take a fall. I search for a cautionary note in my mind, but I don’t find it. My mind is quiet. It has no advice for me.

This new state of affairs seems quite natural.

An hour ago, I tried a third experiment. My beloved terrier, Jack, who died after a long illness when I was in school, is now back lying on my couch. He’s looking at me. I go over and pet him and he licks my hand. He yawns, stretches out his front legs, jumps off the couch and trots across the living room to a small table, where I’ve kept a framed photo of us sitting in a field near my school. He looks up at the photo and barks. He turns to me and sits.

Why wouldn’t things be this way? Why would they be any other way?

I’m not looking for a response from you, dear reader. Suppose you, too, have these powers? I have the clear sense you would use them for good.

Suppose what I’m reporting here is the superior reality, and the end of things we don’t want to end is the illusion?

Perhaps I should have started with a smaller example of manifestation, to make it easier for you—but that is not the way it happened to me. That is not the way I chose to change What Is.

What Is, is a brief flicker across a wide ocean. The ocean is all possibility. That’s what I see now.

Am I offending your sense of propriety? If so, I apologize. This is not my intent.

I see us as errant knights. Errant in the sense that we are departing from a prescribed course. We cross a threshold, and then the fabric of events alters. The “news” is different. Solid becomes liquid, liquid becomes vapor, and vapor becomes open space. The space is waiting for us to do something. The space has no plan. It is calm. The challenges we assumed were there are missing. Those challenges were the last meal we consumed on the last day of old time. Now we walk and look up at the night sky. We are satiated and satisfied. Now we can do something different.

We really do not need perfumed nostalgia. Looking to the future, we feel an anticipation of dimensions. This more than supplants the past.

You manifest what you will, and so will I, and in the process, you and I will use our powers for good.

That is a very pleasant, even ecstatic prospect to contemplate.

A few weeks ago, I had my first inkling of the change, when I was invited to speak at the funeral service of a cousin. As I stood there in the church looking out at the mourners, I wondered what they would do if, out of the blue, James strolled in the door and danced up the aisle.

I couldn’t help wondering how the family and friends would feel if they saw him in that church, in the flesh. A few of them, I was sure, injected with shocks of lightning, interrupted from their proper grieving, would express outrage. How dare James return!

There is a way events are programmed to proceed, and people prepare their responses. They are tuned like instruments.

Given the choice, would you prefer to surrender to the occasion of a fallen friend, or suddenly find him back in your midst?

Suppose the friend, in some form, is always with you? Is that too hard to believe?

I can tell you this. I was less alive when I began writing these words than I am now.


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.

Ancient Tibetan magicians and the reality game

Ancient Tibetan magicians and the reality game

by Jon Rappoport

April 22, 2018

In this memo, I refer to ancient Tibetan magicians. They were the people who operated on the fringes, before a theocracy came in and took over.

They used techniques to enhance individual imagination and creative power in far-reaching ways. They had apparently come from India, where they’d been kicked out of university teaching positions, because they contradicted the prevailing religious consensus.

They were not so impressed by the universe that they thought they should bow down to it. Quite the opposite. Therefore, their popularity was limited. This did not matter to them.

They pointed to the highest concepts of the prevailing culture as examples of obstruction. Obstruction in the path of expanding creative power…

Memo:

“Things as they are” presents special problems. Although it may seem “things as they are” encompasses the entire field of operation, this is not so. THINGS AS THEY ARE is a concept. It is closely held by the mind. This is a particular bias in thinking. It presupposes that “things” function according to rules, and the rules are within the game. But the game is subject to the action of invention and imagination. No game can stand up to imagination. AI is a game. It is a combination of complex systems. AI can rearrange any number of elements, but this is not the totality of imagination. Imagination can introduce new never before seen elements, for example. These elements render the game null and void. A magician, as defined by the ancient Tibetans, would be able to overturn any system or game. He is not operating within any set of archetypes. He is canceling or inventing energy. He is absent of devotion to things as they are. He is not devising strategies within the game. He is not interested in ritual or ceremony. He has no synthetic ideology. The priest class rose up to control the population. The magician was not interested in control. He saw it as a primitive substitute for endless invention and imagination. The need to control is a signal of surrender of one’s own inherent capacities. Populations are trained into the timid use of energies, internal energies. They only know how to use machines to employ energy. The Tibetan magician was not interested in winning converts. There was nothing to convert people to. The magician was not interested in spreading ideas. He had no church or temple. He saw organized religion as a further metaphysical extension of things as they are. People are addicted to gobbling up things as they are. This is the reality game. The magician saw the coalesced shapes of energy in the world as workable items that defined a limited field of operation. Beyond that, the shapes were illusions. They could be deleted. They could be created. The magician was an artist of reality. He could invent new shapes, new realities. This is an insight available to any human. But he has to envision it and use it. Use it again and again. Then he begins to see how extensive the illusion of the collective is. He sees the vaporous clouds of Need that control the masses. Their own need is at the bottom of it. The anti-magician says: WHAT IS YOUR NEED? I WILL SATISFY IT. I WILL FEED IT. Plug into shallow pleasure centers and develop amnesia about everything else. The magician is operating from other centers. His own. He invents his own pleasure centers. He doesn’t surrender to primitive electromagnetic signals. The background noise and signals of Earth culture have been morphed into expressions of NEED. CONTROL THE NEED, CONTROL THE SATISFACTION OF THE NEED. This is the reality game.


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.