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.

3 comments on “Sacred shapes and decimated minds

  1. VC Stewart says:

    I enjoy your writing.

  2. Michael Burns says:

    There is confusion — upon pondering what you describe here, there is a difference between a global and provincial/regional perception of reality.
    Neither are correct.

    Country boy visits the big city, and losing time or simply wasting it — by modern standards — wanders on into an upbeat gallery. And finds that his work is too good for the gallery.

    Say what? How can that be?…impossible. Have people lost touch with the idea of quality? What is going on here — how can my work be too good. Whats wrong with it?

    I’d like to sell something, I need some bananas, I’d like some dough, some moolah man, my baby needs a vacation. And art supplies are getting expensive — $3.50 for a charcoal pencil. Jesus Christ flying a kite that’s steep. Do they know charcoal is burned wood?

    “OkaY, so I except your premise, if you explain tout a’ vous.”

    “Well Michael, it’s simple. People identify with there surroundings. Landscapes of the imagination, are a minor faux pas. Things aren’t how you see them and paint them. No big deal, you can change — but, they need to see a landscape they recognize. They need to feel they are important in the fact that they know the place that you are painting. That painting *her pointing* it’s in Saskatchewan and that close to whatcha call it — down south isn’t it. The sky is blue; the fields of crops are ripening; the little town nearby is so cute and we once spent a year there one weekend. Oh it was a gas, the car broke down, and we took it to an old timey garage and stayed in a little B&B. And got drunk with the owners and found out they were swingers. And then the fun started.”

    “What? I says, how can something be too good. What wrong with what I imagine?”

    Well, Michael, they don’t think trees can talk; they don’t believe that the colors and shapes you use are significant to the reality they know. Grass is green! In fact, people who paint those sorts of things that you do, have a tendency towards chemical imbalances. Not that, that kind of work doesn’t have it’s…venue..it can be therapy for the abused.

    This gallery is for real art. That other stuff is sort off..charity work..hm. Not they don’t want to be charitable, but…

    Aha, I says..so, if I debase myself, use the right colors, paint the buildings on the ground and just a little better than say…*me pointing*, that guy. You’ll take the work.

    Well Michael — lovely stuff, she says as zhe’s looking at my phone. Our stable is full, and all the wall slots for work are full.

    So, i wrote poetry, instead.

    THE CHURCH OF THE GALLERY

     

    …flees a burning church…

    Flees, a burning church

    — melting silver runs like liquid mercury on down the box sides and burns the linen edge

    and smoldering wooden smoke and the faint smell of lavender and beeswax from a background of candles

    I like lavender — reminds me of another..is that flesh i smell, did i get scorched

    Trouble is, none of this every makes it to the surface of any consciousness — a vision is a world made real by its author in order to escape for moment the clawing and breath sucking nature of anothers..reality,

    a prison break and a dash-for-the-wall, and cross your fingers and jump high and hope you make it, and they don’t shoot you in the back

    Did we stop in time, did we warn enough, are the buses all going to be full when we leave this place behind and cheer and sing our little songs of ole man river…drifting along all slow and lazy to the next…stop

    This poem is not a dream..but it could be a dream

    This poem is not a nuclear bomb — but it could be a bomb

    this poem is — seven times I thought about this line and still I can’t find the end of the thread

    But it could be a bomb

    I said the word ‘Bomb’..now I’m fucked, they should be arriving at the door

    a bomb with a sizzling fuse in the library of a man to blow up and into smithereened confetti of colors falling after the wedding kiss

    the bride and groom dumbstruck to put the right art on the wall above the new couch

    And there left naked as all the clothes of a world are shed on the ground next to my feet

    A skeleton

    I should end this poem with something nice

    Lavender, purple, warm

     

     

     

  3. John says:

    I love your prose…it is truly transcendental! I’ve often wondered about the nature of our reality, and I absolutely believe that it’s as fluid and malleable as the minds that perceive it. I often get kind of “stuck in a rut” simply because the ego seems to want it that way. I constantly have to remind myself that my ego is only trying to do what it thinks is best, which basically involves maintaining the status quo (essentially a survival-based mentality, because it wouldn’t enjoy change all that much). But to fully wrap our minds around infinity, we have to park that ego in a garage of its choosing somewhere off in the background. Anyway, keep doing what you’re doing, because we all need to remember that we’re so much more than the sum of our parts! God wouldn’t exist without us, and we would have destroyed ourselves many millennia ago, without God!

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