The painter at work

The painter at work

by Jon Rappoport

May 29, 2016

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

Note: as you read this piece, see how far from it or how close to it you are. Realize that if you’re a thousand miles away from it, that’s interesting. It’s quite interesting.

The painter was well aware that he was talking to himself. He was considering various ideal objectives and states of mind. This dialogue was, in some sense, productive, but it never reached a final conclusion.

However, when he stood before the blank canvas and began painting, the dialogue vanished. Instead, he was taken by a stroke of the brush, by a mere mark of paint on the canvas, by an edge that appeared, by a shape, by two shapes that stood side by side. None of this required words or was helped by words. He was operating in a different space.

He was beyond ideal this or ideal that. He was sensing his way through spontaneous happenings and accidents.

Sooner or later, he would begin to make sense of what was on the canvas; and then, usually, another process would begin. He could easily overdo it. He could try to build the picture into something more specific. Often, this effort didn’t work.

But it was fuel for the fire. He would add still more to the painting, and then he entered another unknown. This was good.

He knew and didn’t know at the same time.

He was outside normal events. That much was obvious. He was in a “territory” that required no explanations.

He wondered what life would be like if it unspooled this way.

What would people be like?

Would it be the end of all hierarchical orders of things?

And if so, then what?

One day, while painting, the canvas spoke to him. Its language had no words, only sensations. The predominant sensation seemed to be flying. The flying entered the room where he was working. Where it came from, he couldn’t say. Perhaps the sky.

Then it stopped.

As if music had faded out.

He kept painting. He kept adding paint to the canvas. It occurred to him that nothing or no one could keep him from this.

He was free. He was unhinged from some practical flow of thought that colored how he faced ordinary reality. That was gone.

Was something supposed to take its place? Apparently not. This is was not an exchange or a bargain. This was a doing in and of itself.

It was so obvious and natural, he wondered why everyone didn’t engage in it. The answer came to him. People were engaged otherwise, in the idea of systems and patterns.

Systems and patterns were a default position, like leftovers after a meal.

These odd leftovers…people had grabbed on to them. They could have chosen anything, but they chose this.

Exit From the Matrix

And then they had gotten used to them. Very much so.

Life began to be seen through the leftovers.

It was not to be seen any other way.

No exits or entrances. Just steady-state.

People ardently promoted the leftovers. They built castles of the mind by and for the leftovers. They wept like babies whenever the leftovers began to float away.

Whole civilizations argued and fought on the basis of which leftovers were best.

A few people tried to destroy the leftovers by force. This didn’t work—and it spoke to a paucity of intelligence and imagination. Such people seemed to be intent on reshaping themselves into grotesqueries. As such, they made incomprehensible demands without end. They tried to elevate this gibberish into an ideology, and failed.

The painter painted.

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.

3 comments on “The painter at work

  1. binra says:

    Painting with love – as a balanced expression of the whole – can paint the full spectrum – for nothing is rejected that is part of the movement of being. But that does not mean everything is given the acceptance of expressing through who you know and feel yourself to be. Spontaneity is not licence to kill – yet self-addicted denial of relationship in search for spontaneity erects its canvas on the death of relational communication – as if its own private imagination is right, first and already perfect – but for the ‘violations’ and interferences of ‘others’.

    And so for the painter, the first strokes of differentiation evoked a sense of self prior to thinking and upon which all thinking was predicated that came after. This unformed sense of self took form without recognition of the Living Canvas as the inducer of and calling forth of creative expression. It took all that it liked as its own and pushed all that it disliked out of itself so as to imprint the sense that such love as was available had to be earned, sacrificed for, and deserved in terms of systems and forms of appearances that embody the same usurpation of the Living Canvas or True Creative Power – and the same denials and projections of evil onto all that is unrecognized Self – yet active in and as the very definitions we have painted.

    A false love accepted true has the capacity to usurp and engage the mind that chooses it in place of the true. A false self or mind is an investment that never allows a true accounting – or it would be already behind you – who remains the true of you regardless where you allow your attention to fixate. For yes, you are painting with definitions and meanings that run undercurrent as the very matrix and linguistic structure of your relational being – be that blind and crippled or awake to the light of an unconditional love.

    The painter is a projection of what is within Always – as an unfolding of timings within the Timeless. But true projection extends and embodies what is is – that Thou Art – where a false sense of self projects to get rid of – and thus keeps and makes manifest what it does NOT want – while claiming to be justly engaged in what it does want – as if free will is the persistence of a sense of self-assertion upon (and blind to) the Creative Mother of Everything.

    But a truly balanced flow of spontaneity of being arises from balance rather than presuming unbalance and then using that sense of chaos to claim the power to impose or conform Reality.

    If you have made a mess of your life – regardless the social presentations you can effect – then hooray for your honesty and therefore your willingness to embrace an expanded perspective, in which ‘my life’ is no longer asserted upon Life – but is sensed and received as a gift within Life. Your willingness to receive unconditional love for that you are is the only ‘qualification’ by which to let Life Move you – in place of struggle in the dark of a false clarity of thinking.

    All the ‘reasons’ why you are not worthy of love are part of a false – but deeply embedded experience in which you identify a private mind – apart from and in power over Life – though suffering all kinds of limitation that you unknowingly magnify by seeking to overcome.

    True acceptance for being is true context, for a mind at war with itself can only generate a false sense of self and protect it against hated or unwanted truth. And does so with all the power of a will to live, invested in mistaken but believed self-definitions.

    We paint with definitions and accepted meanings – but then paint within such form-meanings as if they dictate and conform our movement of being – (when we paint without love). Waking up to that we are painting our current appreciation of ‘reality’ as it unfolds as our experiencing of being – our life – our existence – is waking to the Presencing of all that You are – right where you thought your ‘self’ to be in a world apart. This is ‘expanding perspective’ – a shift in which one is spontaneously coming from a fresh place of innersight, appreciation and gratitude for being – that recognizes itself in others rather than dumping its hate on others in the act of seeking out and fixing on all the ‘reasons’ why they are unworthy of your loving regard – which always comes through you to your brother or world – in its recognition as your own life. False love ‘tries’ to ‘do’ the forms of love – according to mutually agreed definitional matrix of a conditioned sense of demands and payments.

    But mimicry is not only a masking lie in place of true presence extended, it is a hollow lack of functionality and fulfilment. Better to be genuinely enraged or terrified than to be ruled by the same from undercurrent denials – but seek a fresh feeling perspective in place of coercion and deceit – for Life does not recognize Itself within a hateful self-justification – no matter how ‘righteous’ the contrasting sense of evil enables you to feel.

    I appreciate Jon for opening this opportunity of dialogue and consideration. Listening within is a discernment that can stand in its own light – without having to mask in official thinking or protocol. We all have a voice – but without discernment we are easily subverted and seduced into forms of conflict and containment by guilts or ‘reasons’ for the separation from love’s awareness now.

  2. Paul says:

    I have always considered that I have zero painting talent.

    Tho` I loved finger painting in kindergarten.

    My father was a house painter by profession. I use to watch him in his workshop mix up concoctions of solid shellac chips & wood stain to “antique” furniture. Way before commercial products were available.

    However, your essay is filled with inspiration.

    Me thinks I should get canvas, colours & brushes.

    Who knows? what I’ll discover.


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