Imagination vs. Reality
by Jon Rappoport
December 16, 2014
On December 4, 2061, a federal agent appeared at the home of John Q Jones, a writer living in Cincinnati.
He showed Jones a copy of the beginning of an article Jones had written on his computer.
This was the text:
At one time, all reality was imagination. You could be talking about tables and chairs, cars, factories, roads, engines, beds, computers…and you could also be talking about trees, bushes, deserts, rivers, animals.
From another angle, reality is the condition of being accustomed to something. There it is, and there it has been for a while.
Reality sets in like a meal after you’ve eaten it.
Reality is acceptance. It’s framework, context, territory inside which a person acquiesces. And makes do. And lives.
He enjoys that space, or doesn’t like it, or forgets it even exists.
When, eventually, he gives up the ghost (his body), he leaves, he goes away, and if he’s conscious, he says, “Well, I was living in that space, that reality.”
A painter who stands before a blank canvas is acutely aware of the space. He knows he can imagine and make anything happen on it. The forms, colors, shapes, energies, narratives can be continuous or discontinuous. They can come alive or lie there like a dead cat.
He can always be beginning or he can always be painting the last stroke. He can scrape away a section, paint over it, add, subtract, build borders or knock them apart.
Acceptance, familiarity, acquiescence? Why bother? It’s all new.
It’s a dream, or a dozen dreams colliding. The painter invents his own logic.
Ordinary reality fits and interlocks and evolves. It operates by laws. It entices devotees toward more discovery. It has one system of logic—and if you can’t learn it, you stumble. Badly.
But beyond that knowledge, imagination sits on a cliff or a thousand cliffs, waiting, ready to go, looking for a signal. It can remain there until the sun collapses and goes dark. But when the person with that dormant imagination decides it’s time, everything changes…
The federal agent said, “Mr. Jones, the NSA intercepted your work and sent a query to our office.”
“What kind of query,” Jones said.
“It’s called a 546 A. It means the capture system was unable to process your text. It made no sense.”
“And you’d like me to explain what these words mean?” Jones said. “I can’t. They explain themselves.”
“Yes, well, the disturbing aspect…you seem to be saying reality is only…temporary.”
“So?” Jones said. “What’s the problem?”
“People reading your document could become confused. They could fail to differentiate fact from fiction.”
“Happens all the time,” Jones said. “People don’t need my words to make that mistake.”
The agent stared at Jones.
“I’m not here to debate that, Mr. Jones,” he said. “I’m here to prevent the contagion of uncertainty. It’s against the law to defame reality, because we establish reality.”
“And who is we?” Jones said.
“The Department of Homeland Security. We secure the State. We can’t have people proposing something vague and unsettling that exists…beyond that.”
“So I’m a criminal?”
“Well,” the agent said, “with our help, you could become an ally. You could continue your work as one of us. We would give you slightly ‘edgy’ ideas to transmit under your name—and we would see where your words travel, who picks them up, who agrees with them, who is tempted to move beyond the consensus. You would be doing your country a service.”
“I would become an agent.”
“Yes. A valuable one.”
Jones said, “But you see, those words I wrote…they’re true. Reality is just a habit, an addiction. It’s useful, I don’t deny that. But it’s pernicious. It ultimately puts everybody to sleep. It makes people into loyal robots. I’m tired of that. I’ve lost my patience.”
“Would you prefer I arrest you and send you to a reeducation camp?” the agent said. “You’d learn that all the prophets and the messiahs have already come and delivered their messages, and it’s now our job to align our actions and thoughts with the greatest good for all.”
“As you define it.”
“As we define it.”
Jones nodded.
“Right now,” he said, “I’m only interested in one thing. Did you understand what I wrote, Agent? Forget what other people might think when they read my piece. Forget the effect it might have on them. Forget the general good. Forget all that proprietary meddling.”
“No, Mr. Jones. You misunderstand. I’m not me. There is no me. There is no you. There is only and always all of us. Together. And in that context, what you wrote is significant, because it could disturb the Field. What people might believe when they read what you wrote is of paramount importance. It’s the only important consideration.”
Jones laughed.
“This is very entertaining,” he said. “I have a little secret, Agent. You know what it is? I can see your imagination. Right here, right now. I can see it inside you. You’re busy trying to kill it. You’re rationalizing that act of murder—as futile as it is—on the basis of what’s necessary for Everybody.”
John Q Jones vanished.
The agent was in the room alone.
He felt the urge to scream.
He fought it and beat it down.
He looked around.
He started sweating.
He took out his gun.
He stood there for a long time.
Finally, he put the gun away and walked out of the room.
He walked out of the building on to the street.
He was in a city he had never seen before.
The street was crowded with strangers. Cars moved along slowly. On the side of a huge building, news images flashed and changed. Words crawled.
He struggled to understand the words. He failed.
He heard a voice in his head:
“Agent, stay where you are. We’re coming to get you. You’re experiencing a transient episode. We’ll be there in under three minutes. Mr. Jones was a hologram. A plant. The enemy is playing tricks. We’re equipped to handle it. Don’t worry.”
The transmission ended.
The agent breathed in and out slowly. He waited.
He noticed he was standing outside an art gallery. He could see the paintings on the walls.
A woman was sitting at a desk. She looked up and saw him. She smiled.
She waved for him to come in.
He stood there, not knowing what to do.
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.
Outside the Reality Machine 
Judge Napolitano What If .
“It has one system of logic – and if you can’t learn it, you stumble. Badly”
Yes…I come here because you are a bigger shit disturber than I am…and, because you shine some light into this otherwise absurd existence.
This reality became redundant and progressively duller the very second Adam took that bite…he stopped being an artist and traded it, in favor for control. And the long, long fall into what…fucking strip malls.
Children have imagination.
They talk and play with invisible friends.
Little girls pretend to pour milk in a toy cup and drink it.
They put their baby dolls in beds to sleep and tell them a story or sing them a song.
Little boys play war with invisible enemies, etc.
They do not bother too much about reality.
And then they grow-up,
School began and they are been propagandized and their imagination vanishes like a ghost in the night.
One day, mid morning I enter a large well known grocery store in Arizona as I enter being in the moment everything shifts, the advertising new, the colors different, I speak out to fellow shoppers: did you see that? No one saw that reality literally shifted. Everyone appeared to be the same, dressed the same, but reality shifted and everyone just kept on shopping likely thinking “that guy must be on drugs”.
In the seventhies, I read a short book that changed my perception of reality.
I read it many times.
But as time went by, I sort of forgot about it. Today, it came to my mind again and I looked for it on the Internet ti see if it was It still available, It is.
I suggest you take a look at that book, one of my favorite lifetime book.
The title is: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah
“The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah is a novel by writer and pilot Richard Bach. First published in 1977.
The story questions the reader’s view of reality, proposing that what we call reality is merely an illusion we create for learning and enjoyment”.
Jon please continue this blog! This is fantastic!!! This is food for the artist!
Fidel
“…reality is the condition of being accustomed to…”
“There it is,…”
“Reality sets in…”
“Reality is acceptance …(of) framework,…
—
With that said, here is a real-life “event” I was told.
Teller was a nurse, sane, intelligent. I trust her testimony.
She & hubby were driving together in their car.
(She believes paranormal events are possible, her husband does NOT).
As they are making a left-hand turn across a road, in which they have the green turn arrow (right-of-way) she notices that the car approaching from the opposite direction is NOT going to stop ( its supposed to, having a red light).
She screams to hubby STOP!
He does, but front of car in turned left, midway on opposite lane.
THEY BOTH BRACE FOR IMPACT.
Incoming car, goes through their car engine portion.
THEY BOTH SEE & EXPERIENCE THIS.
She catches a glimpse of oncoming driver’s face. He notes nothing.
Hubby now continues forward towards their home.
She says to him “Did you see that?” (She knowing, hubby’s a disbeliever of such phenomenon).
He says “I did”. (ashen faced)