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.

Physics, the cosmos, and perception

Physics, the cosmos, and perception

by Jon Rappoport

April 13, 2018

Whenever physicists and spin-off commentators start talking about Quantum Theory, they always come back to the question about perception:

How much of what we perceive with our eyes, our minds, our instruments is really there, and how much depends on how we are looking at it, or the fact that we are looking at it?

This question fascinates people.  It should.

Perception itself is shaped by imagination.

In case you hadn’t noticed, more and more scientific emphasis is being placed on genetics, DNA, the workings of the brain, as a way of explaining the “function” of the human being at every level.

However, most levels aren’t even touched by this exploration.

A person whose imagination is asleep wouldn’t know that.

If you want to use the world “evolution,” then say that the next stage of evolution involves the human being living by and through imagination.

When I make this point, I’m sometimes asked, “But what would we imagine?”  That’s like an acting student telling his coach, “You want me to improvise this role?  What should I spontaneously improvise?”

People are heavily invested in What Is.  They are so heavily invested they don’t want to take their eye off that ball.  They want to stay with What Is all the way into the grave.  They have taught themselves to believe this is what they’re supposed to do.  This is life.  This is what it means.  Which is like saying, “I’m blind to 99.9 percent of What Could Be, because I’ve sold out to What Is.”

If the universe could talk, it would say, “I’m playing a massive joke on you.  I’m sitting here with all my titanic mass and energy and I’m convincing you that What Is is your best play.  I’m giving you the very best reason to stay with What Is.  But I’m just one work of art out of a possible infinite number of works of art.  And here’s the kicker.  You can create your own.”

Some people are inspired by that idea, and some people don’t want to hear it.

For most people, let’s face it, the devotion to What Is is a religion.  It sums up their lives and concerns and actions and thoughts.

Here is a note I made in preparation for my first collection, The Matrix Revealed:

“Conditioning is focused on planting false realities.  But that program would have no chance of succeeding unless people were already married to the notion that there is a single and final reality.  That’s the key.  If you break through and understand that delusion, you enter a whole different territory.  You go from thinking you’re in a museum that has only one painting to realizing the museum has a thousand paintings—and then you wake up even more, and you see that you could be a painter.”


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.

My experience with a forgotten language

My experience with a forgotten language

by Jon Rappoport

March 20, 2018

I have great respect for any well-formed language—for its ability to engender the use of logic, for its capacity to embody grand leaps of poetry and imagination.

I’ve also had experiences with what could be called forgotten languages of vastly different kinds.

In 1995, I was living and painting in a small studio in Los Angeles. I was painting rows of black shapes on large pieces of board (4 feet by 2 feet). I was improvising these shapes. I had no plan or system in mind.

One day, I was lying on my bed looking at several of the boards leaning against the opposite wall. Suddenly, and for a few moments, the shapes spoke to me. The effect was tremendous.

They didn’t speak in words. They conveyed immediate sensations of flying. Flying in upper reaches.

Afterwards, I gave the experience some thought.

A language which communicates direct feelings and sensations. No intermediary translation necessary or possible. Not words into feelings, but feelings without filtering…

Suppose there are languages which—if a person can deal with them—keep pumping through DIFFERENT AND CHANGING sensations and feelings. But each burst is undeniable and vivid.

Each “painted shape” is a changeling. It never broadcasts the same thing twice.

But at every moment, it’s powerful and clear.

The shape doesn’t give you literal or metaphorical meaning. It gives you experience.

You’re flying. You’re running through a desert. You’re swimming in a boundless ocean. These experiences are somehow transmitted.

This makes no sense, in terms of languages with which we are familiar.

How is this possible?

Perhaps, in my case, as the painter, it’s because I was spontaneously improvising the shapes. The “in the moment” factor was outside any system. Outside any consensus.

In certain types of Zen painting (black and white) where the artist delivers “abstract” lines and strokes and shapes to the paper, something about these brush strokes is alive. You don’t need to know what “they represent.” They don’t represent anything. They don’t refer. They don’t symbolize. They ARE.

Is this mystical? No. It’s more real than real.

Why were certain Zen painters engaged in improvisation? Because their whole effort involved offloading preconceptions and metaphysical baggage. They had a philosophy of “no philosophy.” And yet they were very much about action. There was no passivity in them.

Most “civilized” people would reject this kind of painting, because they find no obvious meaning in it. These civilized ones would say, “I have stacks of ideas and thoughts and systems and meanings and references in my mind. I want what I look at to engage with these meanings in some way. If not, I conclude I’m looking at something senseless.”

Is the direct experience of love senseless because it can’t be accurately described in words? Judging by people’s reactions, it wouldn’t seem so.

My experiences with “forgotten languages” suggests, to me, that we have untapped areas of potential connection and understanding which go beyond all conventional expectations.

This has nothing to do with brains or computers. It has to do with innate dormant faculties.

For me, a faculty was awakened for a few moments, by paintings I’d made.

The closest analogy I can think of is the “language” of music. I listen to the same symphony a dozen times. Each time my experience is different. And vivid and immediate. If I’m in the moment, I’m not making all sorts of references to the English language in order to interpret what I’m hearing. The meaning is coming through directly.

This kind of musical experience happens to untold numbers of people every day. No one doubts its power. And yet, there are no words to define it.

We accept the unexplained when we are hearing it. But we’re reluctant to accept it when we see it (painting). Why? Because we’re conditioned to believe seeing is all about “the ordinary” and “realism.”

It isn’t. It doesn’t have to be.

Seeing doesn’t have to be a shackle that binds us permanently to “things as they are.”

“Things as they are and must be” is a program of the reality machine.

“Things as they are” is a platform we can all share. We can remain grounded in it and yet also experience fantastically exhilarating “exits” into other realms.

Many other experiences await us.


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.

Physics, free will, and imagination

Physics, free will, and imagination

by Jon Rappoport

March 19, 2018

PART ONE: Conventional physicists will tell you that none of the components of the universe (atoms, electrons, photons, quarks, wavicles) exhibits freedom.

The particles don’t contain anything that could be called freedom.

Physicists will also tell you that everything in the universe, including human bodies and brains, is made up of these very same particles and nothing else.

They will tell you that mind is simply and only the brain.

Therefore, nowhere in body, brain, or mind is there any quality that makes freedom possible.

Freedom=the power of an individual to choose A rather B; to decide to do something or not do it; to invent a possibility and then follow it with action.

According to conventional physics, there is no freedom. It’s not possible. It’s a fantasy.

That’s the consensus of the conventional physicists. Contrary to every impulse, awareness, or thought you might have about your freedom, you’re wrong. You’re absolutely deluded.

Aside from the majestic absurdity of the physicists’ position, you should also know that, in the partnership between government and science, there is no limit on what programming will be tried on citizens—because, since key persons in that elite partnership are convinced that freedom is an illusion, it doesn’t matter what they do to us.

It’s just replacing one deterministic program with another.

That’s their view, and I hope you understand it.

If you pushed them into a corner, they would assert that the entire history of the struggle to attain freedom for the individual, against top-down tyrannies, was a meaningless enterprise—because, according to their “findings,” freedom never existed at any time, anywhere. It could never exist. Life is only unconscious particles moving through space and time.

But we, who know how ridiculous that story is, need to admit something:

Since is freedom is quite real, it exists outside the fabric of the physical. Freedom is non-material.

And this is a bolt of lightning. It is, when viewed properly, an inspiration of the first order.

It opens up limitless territory.

If individual freedom is that huge and that profound, then what does that say about the potential of the individual?

The most important covert ops are aimed at rejecting this potential, at making us believe we are dues-paying card-carrying members of Automatic Predetermined Life.

That’s the materialistic op. That’s the “Spiritual CIA.”

That’s the issue which will decide our future.

How much freedom and, therefore, power will we admit we have?

What fake shrunken stories will we sell ourselves, in order to slip back into the materialistic cocoon?

The philosophy and “science” of materialism is about far more than the intellectual discussion of what humans are and aren’t. It’s about you. It’s about what you’re capable of, once you offload the imposed limits of this “normal” civilization.

Getting the picture?

And how does a person begin to think about a stunningly expanded notion of his own freedom? Not by consulting “things as they are.” Instead, he uses the faculty which has been downplayed as a plaything for children—when in fact it is a limitless faculty:

IMAGINATION.

PART TWO: You’re in a tower, that place from which you can write what had never been in your mind before.

You can topple false gods and grind them down and make soup out of the flour. You’re rearranging the closets of reality. You’re the riverboat gambler. There is no sentimental attachment to the mob, the crowd, the mass, the group.

The whole point of readers is the possibility that they’ll suddenly be brought up short. In your words, they’ll see a few drops of rain falling out of a sky that has no clouds. They’ll catch on. They’ll realize that invention is the joker in the deck—and they can not bother to play the game at all. Because there is a new activity above the game.

When the poet follows one line with a massive leap into another line, and when the connection isn’t ordinary but somehow makes a startling amount of sense, the poet has demonstrated, in a very specific way, that he’s flying. He’s flying and running with great giant strides. Out of the gloom.

One page, 50 pages, 100 pages, it doesn’t matter. The walls and ceiling, somewhere, are shattering. It’s as if, somewhere in the world, on a street corner, where planes of the sky meet, a few people notice the stitching that holds them together, and it’s coming apart. The sky breaks open, and another sky sits behind it.

That is magic, and it doesn’t matter to the writer how many people realize it. That isn’t his preoccupation. If it were, he would never be able to pull off the feat.

He came from a town with water wheels and a river and mysterious old blackened factories sitting on the banks. In the factories, reality was manufactured in uncountable and unconscionable ways. The products slid down the ramps of the loading docks. They were artifacts of the wizards of Is. The wizards were populating the world with this Is and that Is and millions of Is. They were in the business of telling him all about essences. They were sending him their physical and metaphysical messages about existence, about its composition and makeup and meaning and he was supposed to crawl up inside those shining objects and feel his way along them. But he found his inherent power to reject them. By going beyond them.

The writer invented another world, and the reader saw that.

The reader said, “Maybe I can do that, too.”

PART THREE: These are notes I made while preparing my collection, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX

“The ancient practice of magic, the occult, the ceremonial, the transcendent relies on, and refers back to imagination. The seeker—without him knowing it—was nudged into engaging with his own imagination.”

“That was the key. But the engagement was concealed. Therefore, the experiences and effects were spotty and unreliable. The direct road is knowing you are imagining and inventing and creating.”

“The one exception in ancient times was Tibet. There the practitioners were consciously creating reality. I’m updating their practices with dozens of my own imagination exercises. None of these exercises requires some metaphysical belief in a system or a religion.”

“Creative power is the bottom line. With enough imagination- practice comes an unending series of insights, unique to each individual.”

Invent a better 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.

Leaving Matrix: the Zen of Zen

Leaving Matrix: the Zen of Zen

Language, desire, and mysterys

by Jon Rappoport

March 14, 2018

Note: While preparing my collection, Exit From The Matrix—which includes more than 50 imagination exercises I designed to open up the space of possibility and wide-ranging creative power—I made many pages of notes. This article is taken from those notes.

“Mathematics would certainly have not come into existence if one had known from the beginning that there was in nature no exactly straight line, no actual circle, no absolute magnitude.” — Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All-Too-Human

A system is like a dream that always plays out the same way. Start to finish.

A robot would be a system.

There are a whole lot of two-and-three wish people in this world. Grant them their wishes and they’re done.

And that’s because they’ve made desire into a kind of system. It’s tight. You walk in there and give them what they want and boom, they’re done. They’ve really got nowhere to go after that.

This is interesting—because it suggests—and you might want to chew on this for a while—that there is another version of desire that isn’t so tight and bounded…and if that is so, we are looking at desire as possibility.

People tend to recoil from this. They want the Cadillac, and they want it now. They want the prettier fingernails, the new nose, the butt implants, and the island in the Pacific with the yacht.

At least that’s what they think, because they don’t have them, and they tend to define their future in those terms. So they’re yearning and longing.

But what if there is a whole other space, a whole other future that isn’t so simple? And what if its uncertain shape makes it even more attractive?

What if the poem you’ve read a hundred times, the one you never quite understood, is the one you admire the most? The one that sends your mind and imagination off in so many directions.

And what if this has something to do with what magic is really all about, and is a kind of magic that normally escapes attention? What if magic can be like this, can be a road with thousands of forks that take you into undiscovered territory you’ve never dreamed of before?

What then?

What if our programmed sense of what reality is, the precision and the definition and the thing-ness, is a diversion from what, underneath it all, we want?

What if the most subtle illusion about reality is the conviction that reality is an absolute IS separated from an absolute ISN’T?

What if that keyboard on your computer, which is so THERE on your desk, is only one KIND of there-ness? And another kind of there-ness is implication-not-fully-realized…and although you’ve always been quite sure you want the THERE of that keyboard and the yacht and the villa, you also want the implication-not-fully-realized…and you want it so much that it would fulfill the requirement of magic?

In other words, for all this time, desire has been, for you, a kind of closed system that is leak-proof and bulletproof, and that’s why it has remained unfulfilled.

Let’s say there are levels of desire. Level One is those things you obviously want. Level Two involves the exploration of undiscovered territory.

Analogy: you’re an archeologist, and all your life you’ve wanted to dig up a lost city—and then you do. There it is, all laid out in the desert. It’s what every archeologist is supposed to want. You’re supposed to feel a sense of finality. This is it. This is the realization of your prime wish. But instead…

You feel boundaries. You feel you’re inside something that has walls. You feel there must be something more.

And then you uncover, in a sealed repository, a dozen volumes of writing in a language you’ve never seen before. This language is built on mysterious connections that seem to be untranslatable.

Instead of hundreds or thousands or millions of nouns that name things; instead of verbs that show how these nouns are acting on objects; instead of that familiar pattern; you see this old civilization approached reality in a completely different way:

There are hundreds of words that refer to “flying.” Some of these words are involved with flying into other people’s consciousness and seeing the alive, electric energies that flow and move there.

Some of these words mention persons having views of the earth from above and at ground level simultaneously.

Some of these words refer to enormous poems that were written centuries earlier, and these poems were, for a time, ARBITRARILY frozen in mid-flight. Short selections were extracted and used to form the basis of organized religions, whose leaders were bent on control of populations—and then there were reformations and revolutions, and the original wild and free poems were sprung from their graves and brought out into the light again, and the religions fell and disappeared…

And now you, the archeologist, feel something bursting up in your own mind, a desire to explore THIS and go where it leads. You feel energized and galvanized in a way that far exceeds your experience of digging up the city and seeing it laid out end to end.

You sense implications that have no limits.

You wake up from a dream in which reality was defined and cataloged and shaped into systems.

For the first time, you understand how limited that dream was.

You realize you have been hearing the sounds of robots marching from horizon to horizon—and now those sounds are gone.

Simultaneously, you now experience a gorgeous peace and a Niagara of many unnamable cascades of desire.

The premise of limited desire is gone.

You are UNDENIABLY alive.

Finally, you see why you’ve never fit in, why you’ve never been able to accept the structures of society. Those structures are claustrophobic.

They are built to regulate and define desire.

Society expresses the average of all desires.

And in this program and prophecy, society comes up short. As short as any number does, when contrasted with infinity.

You have never considered these things before. But now you do.

And you discover they are more real than rocks or buildings or planets or all the things you were quite sure made up the sum of all you desire.

Now you’re out in the open sea, where you NEVER thought you would be…

Where you ALWAYS thought you would be.

You’re there.


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 four thousand universes of Paul Klee

The four thousand universes of Paul Klee

by Jon Rappoport

March 12, 2018

Well, maybe there were more. Who knows, if you count both the paintings and the drawings.

I do admire the way Klee operated. He would lay out six or seven blank canvases, work on the first one until he had nothing left to say, go on to the second canvas, do the same thing, and so on, until he returned to the first canvas—at which point he had a whole different set of ideas—so he would add to the first canvas. Around and around he would go, until he was satisfied with all six universes, at which point he would give titles to the paintings…and those titles might have nothing to do with them.

He was both disciplined and free, serious and fanciful. Acute and loose. Realistic and fantastical. He enjoyed himself.

I like his fish, swimming across the canvas, occasionally looking to the side at the viewer. He could be a cartoonist when he wanted to be. He could paint nothing more than a sketch. He could make a canvas dense with color. He could be cold or warm. He could be a caricaturist, a satirist, a romantic.

Klee: “Everything vanishes around me, and works are born as if out of the void. Ripe, graphic fruits fall off.”

To some, Klee was a child. But he wasn’t. He was a mature man looking at the works of children and building them up, on his canvases, into something elegant tinged with happiness.

He satisfied himself. This is unusual. Whatever he was reaching for, he found a way to paint that affirmed his own pleasure. At the same time, he avoided cloying self-indulgence. This, too, is unusual.

In his heart and soul, he was a rebel. But he didn’t take his rebellion to a point of destruction. He was always finding another way to express worlds he preferred to this one.

This is, perhaps, why very few people care about him anymore. He was free in a way that is mysterious to minds now.

It does no good to look briefly at his paintings. At a museum, you need to stop and give each painting a few minutes—and after a while you begin to see what he was doing—although you can’t give it a name. You may not like most of his work, but some paintings will stay with you, as if they were already sitting there in your imagination and he knew that and gave you back a piece of your own subconscious reverie.

“Remember this?” he says. And you do.

You stop, transfixed. You say to yourself, “I thought about this once.”

In the early 1960s, I wandered through the Metropolitan Museum and the Museum of Modern Art in New York many, many, many times. I usually went on weekday afternoons, after teaching school, when there were few people in my second homes.

This is was how I educated myself about painting and sculpture. I looked at Egyptian statues and florid French romantic paintings; I looked at Cezanne and Van Gogh; I looked at Rodin; I looked at early and late Picasso; I looked at Klee and de Kooning and Pollock; I looked at Goya and van Eyck; I looked at Bonnard and Corot; I looked at the masters and would-be masters of every period of Western art.

Every day I had different favorites. Claims of one painter or another defacing and corrupting the meaning of beauty meant nothing to me; I was interested in the work. I didn’t care about Picasso’s distortion of a female face. I didn’t care about de Kooning’s massive disruptions of traditional space. I wasn’t coming from a particular school, and since I was grasping the whole sweep of painting across centuries, I wasn’t bothered by what was happening to art in the 20th century. Picasso was never going to unseat and replace Piero della Francesca. Matisse was never going to blot out Vermeer. Pollock was never going to erase the memory of Renoir. They—past and present—were all there, in the museums, and there they would stay.

To me, this was a minor miracle. The museums were alive.

There was something else. All the paintings in all the rooms spoke of art that had not yet been done. There were glimpses and hints. The paintings said: “There is a future but we don’t know what it is.”

If you want to know about creative impulse and creative force, go to museums. Go early and often. Go alone. Wander from room to room and LOOK at what is hanging on the walls. Gradually, you’ll give up some of your hidebound rules and prejudices. You’ll immerse yourself. You’ll find glorious details in paintings you don’t like. You’ll see the play of hundreds of imaginations at work. Committed imaginations belonging to people who, against all odds, invented worlds upon worlds.

What is it about color, about line, about space? You’ll find out.

We live in a physical world of space, energy, and time. Painters make their own worlds that embody these aspects.

There are untold numbers of books and articles about the Coming Age, in which we glimpse some secret embedded in consciousness, which, if teased out, could change our destiny.

This secret may refer a new energy, or to guidance from unusual beings, or to the “unfolding” of a plan, or to a journey we are on which we must know more about—the variations are endless.

No matter what shape this secret takes, it needs to be discovered. It’s there, we just haven’t found it yet in its fullness.

We must keep looking, researching, introspecting, digging.

SOMETHING crucial is there, like an inner diamond buried in outer mud.

There is another principle, which has been given short shrift in history, which is often ignored or cast to the side, because it focuses on the “I” rather than the “We.”

This other principle does not presuppose a grand plan or a map. It doesn’t demand referring to ancient wisdom or the felicitous arrival of a new state of mind.

It doesn’t ask us to attach ourselves to a larger picture that is already there.

It isn’t a gift that arrives on our doorstep.

It doesn’t require a person to be in a certain state of consciousness before taking action.

For these reasons, people generally prefer to avoid this principle.

It is the Creative Principle.

It states: YOU INVENT REALITY. YOU CAN INVENT REALITY.

And naturally, that reality is connected to what you profoundly WANT.

What you want is unique to you. It isn’t the outcome of a group decision.

To put it another way, you are an artist of reality.

In this (unlimited) territory, you launch. You create. You don’t need to obtain permission. You don’t need to wait for a sign or signal.

You don’t look for a secret that tells you what to do or how to do it.

If you have guiding ideas, they are your own.

The Creative Principle offloads a great deal of stifling baggage people morbidly associate with ACTION.

Here is an excerpt from an essay I wrote, “Occult Man and His Search for His True Nature”:

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?

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.

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 that is the secret.

And, most interesting, suppose every question about existence he has ever had will yield up answers once he becomes a maker of realities.

Suppose every self-deception and cynical conclusion about his life he has ever entertained is a cover for: refusing to see he is a maker of realities.

Suppose, most importantly, inventing realities that are closest to his deepest desires, and making those realities into fact in the world, is what he has truly wanted all along.

—end of excerpt—

The Creative Principle.

Flesh clean abundant air blowing in through every door and window.

A new start.

A new life.


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.

When poems destroy the reality machine

When poems destroy the reality machine

by Jon Rappoport

February 26, 2018

Poems.  The threat of poems.

A literal mind wants literal reality.  It wants language laid down like a perfect grid over the world as it is.  If you give a literal human something else, he suddenly pulls up his horse, jumps off, and runs back in the direction he came from.  He’s stage-struck, and not happy at all about his little jaunt in the high country.

People say they want to experience what is outside the reality machine, but when you give it to them they object.  ‘That’s not what I meant.’  They actually want something that looks and sounds and feels like ordinary reality.  They want the method and the system of ordinary reality with a few odd tidbits thrown in.  If you move to another arena of harmonics and dissonance, where the interstitial connections radically change—poetry—they balk.  They wanted to go in orbit around the Earth, all the time looking down on it, and you took them to an X frontier on an unfamiliar shore where the moon was moored in the dock.

 

 

Shivering in the green water,

Wriggling in the net of desperate oxygen,

Rolling prisoners,

Foam falling from their bodies…

 

Summer nights

I sat on the front porch with my mother

Rhododendrons were thrashed by slow comets of rain

 

These are the letters of my ancient fathers,

And these are the letters of the roses

Blowing across the rolling apparatus

That moves the sun,

Shining through old windows

On silent men.

 

Now they shake off the rime

And stagger up from their trench.

 

They form a many-rayed subconscious moon,

Wavering in the tides.

 

They enter a sleeping shepherd boy near his flock,

To repair the damage of centuries.

 

glittering garbage

of fantastic dream

 

 

on its way to a factory

 

on the antediluvian shores of a breastfed paradise

 

 

I have no arduous duty in the

library at Alexandria

I’m there

 

to

 

 

expose

shatter

 

the vanishing point architecture of eternity

 

 

My friends, do not be befuddled by what you invent

Focus on your power to invent it

And as for others, when they show you reality as they want you to see it,

Do not consider this a mystery

Call on the friendly forces to help you remember your own power

I see those words embedded between the lines of the Constitution

 

My friend has built a golden conveyance in his dreams

By which he can traverse universes of his own making

He knows exactly what he’s doing

 

At one point along the Great Golden there is a clearing where a blanket of mist is riding from the ground into sky docks of green colleges

Where they teach the lost books of Alexandria

The friendly books of charming magic

Open to all

There were those days

When persons of good will breathed clean air and shared their obvious discoveries

 

My friend is one

And now he is building again

He has turned the key of imagination in Fate and opened the grasses of the uncharted future

 

—At its core, the reality machine is the state of mind that produces and accepts ordinary language as the end-all and be-all—

 

Because ordinary language continues to spool out and re-invent a conventional (psychological and spiritual) status quo.

 

You can take any event and describe it from 1000 viewpoints, but if every one of those viewpoints embraces and deploys ordinary “realistic” language, what do you have?  You have 1000 pieces of the physiology of the elephant in the room.  It’s the same elephant.  He has always been there.  He is “things as they are” and “the WAY things are.”

 

The same WAY.  The same connections, the same references and self-referential blocks of substance.  Deck chairs on the Titanic.  Do you want them facing east?  West?  Do you want them in pairs?

 

Poetry travels a different road.  A million roads.  The basic interstitial tissue is of vastly different forces.  We are no longer talking about surface distinctions.  The underlying vectors and sensations and combinations give rise to universes.

 

These invented universes are magic.  Magic is not compounds of ordinary elements given a twist.

 

Language tells us how to see and what to see.  If the language is ordinary, we come back to the same perceptions in the same bin.

 

give me a proliferation of gods

gods in plantains and mangoes

gods in broken chairs in Arizona motels

gods in piles of gray wood at the back of a barn in Mississippi

gods in statues on broad plazas in Brazilia

gods on the foggy windows of diners in Western Massachusetts

 

 

 

Before money was sold down the river and resurrected on a cross of blood

before a cash-loaded god strolled into town

before the Universal Hospital drugged synapses and drove the wild horses of imagination down into underground canyons

before sculpted androids stepped out in the aftermath buying back their own memories

 

I was a walker in the golden circus

And out of the Hudson I saw geologic mob wraiths spiral up with shrunken desiccated wings

and I set fire to their falcon heads against the blue sky

 

 

I see populations surge through golden avenues wrapped around the upper stories of Orphic ships waiting for solar winds

 

I open books in a shining arboretum, ten-thousand-foot wells pour

from the sky down into stratified layers of rock…

 

Summer night on an old porch, rhododendrons are thrashed by slow comets of rain, there is a sleep so pervasive numbing the chest and shoulders, a despair so charming as to be final, a titanic loss of mobility, then the arrow shifts and points in a different direction, the light in the candle stops wavering for a second at the fulcrum

a memory:

there were buildings in the old World War 2 Paris that looked like beautiful rotting vegetables propped on the ark of the River

and below windows

scalloped stone sacred mucosal choirs

 

in a nostalgic vortex

death is a protocol

a virginal reopening of the wound

insignia piping gardens from its royal wax

into the dark

old pleasures run in familiar magnetic channels

 

Ah, this is old-world death, the happiness of remembering time, a thing of wonder in the thrall of dying autumn

and then we knew what could be lost, and then we knew we were seeing each other fading on sheets of papyrus

and we dropped through the earth

 

flaming

 

into the legend of the unconscious

 

 

and

 

struggled back and emerged up into the lights of the city

 

Now we move through the halls of this summertime life

 

the meridians of gills breathing in and out, in and out

 

and cross the bridges of memory

and are new

 

 

We punch through the wax of space-time into the warm rain

 

we unplug the money presses

 

we abandon the long steel trading tables and the slaughtering floor

 

we defect

 

we drink the root turning into the bud

the bud turning to grain

 

we brush away the choking filaments of narcosis and finally admit our immortality

 

we walk in the canopy of clouds

 

in the canal where time and space are bolted, cloth to cloth

 

We ride tigers across the Styx into the mud houses of Hades and blow sacks of north wind to clean the ruined stables of broadcast memory

 

We race up the canyons of the Rockies, we float on the Salt Lake in mirrors of gold

 

We walk out of the house in the middle of the night and watch the magnolia tree in the little grassy island open white flowers of joy!

 

Sing now!

Speak now!

 

Tear away the seal on the tomb!

 

MAGICIANS!

MASTERS OF TIME!

in any weather, any season

long forgotten and hidden in hard flesh

they are there

no one is sitting with bags of gold

no one is bringing a new book of laws

all the fires are out

all the wars of the bankrupt versus the bankrupt in whatever dimension are over, the bodies are buried, the corpses are rotting

time is new…


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.

Consciousness isn’t a box of chocolates for the soul

Consciousness isn’t a box of chocolates for the soul

by Jon Rappoport

January 17, 2018

I’ve long had a bone to pick with so-called New Age versions of consciousness, because they tend to lead to passivity.

The word “consciousness” is a kind of convenience, a general reference to the fact that the individual is conscious, aware.

He is not “partaking” of a thing called consciousness.

It is an irreducible fact that the individual is aware. Whether that means he is aware he is reading these words right now, or he is aware that a particular Chinese farmer named Li Po is pausing to drink water as he tills a field on the edge of the Gobi desert, six thousand miles away, the individual is aware.

This fact is not an artifact created by the brain. The brain is composed of tiny particles that are not aware on their own, in the view of conventional physicists. Yet those same scientists assert that this organ in the skull somehow gives rise to you being conscious. Dead end.

Nor is consciousness a steady state or a field. Those ideas, again, are mere conveniences, vague metaphors that stand in for the fact that THE INDIVIDUAL IS AWARE. The individual isn’t “plugging into” something called consciousness. He IS conscious.

The individual can be more conscious or less conscious, but in either case he isn’t “entering” “collective consciousness” or “cosmic consciousness.” If he is aware, somehow, of what is happening at a specific spot in someone else’s mind or on the far side of the moon, then that is what he is conscious of. He isn’t becoming aware of these realities because he walked through a door called “higher consciousness.”

A person who believes, like an article of religious faith, he is “partaking” of a “larger reality” called “consciousness” tends to go passive. He becomes disposed to staying in what he supposes is a “better place.”

A person who knows he is conscious tends to opt for action. And hopefully, creative action.

You could picture the-individual-being-conscious as the platform or the bedrock from which he imagines, creates, invents. Invents his desired future. Some misguided people believes this means he becomes self-absorbed and no longer cares about the world. This is not necessarily the case at all.

Charlie Chaplin once did a ballet routine in a movie. After the scene was shot, someone asked him where he’d learned to dance like that. Chaplin stared at him. “I’m an actor,” he said. Chaplin had invented himself as a dancer for the moment.

Humans can invent themselves in many roles. This is an aspect of their creative power. Which is unlimited.

In my collection, Exit From the Matrix, I include over 50 imagination exercises I developed, for the express purpose of deepening the individual’s access to his own creativity.

As for the technocrats’ vaunted Singularity, where the brain, hooked up to a super-computer, leaps into a new level of consciousness, this is more unsupported New Age drivel. Even assuming the hookup somehow works, the only thing the human brain would gain is more data and processing power—which doesn’t equal consciousness


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.