I was out with a friend engaged in an… arts and crafts project yesterday. We had a really fascinating conversation that I thought I’d comment on here.
I’ll leave his name out because I know he reads this occasionally along with god knows who else, so I’ll respect his privacy. It hardly matters anyway.
In short he’s been concerned with a string of unusual phone calls and apparent intrusions at his home. Without going into the exact substance, it seems like someone is trying to place his relationship under intense pressure, and/or his mental state in general. When he told about some of this it sounded like he was either lying to me or he was living in a David lynch movie. I know he isn’t lying to me.
I swear to god, if this were any other couple, a more normal one, the shit that’s being pulled on them would have destroyed the relationship, in all likelihood. It’s just so baroque and malicious, and bizarre. Someone with the resources and wherewithal to do something like this to my friend could probably just kidnap or kill him if they really wanted to. Fake phone calls. Impersonations. Dummy phone numbers. Flawless break and entry. They apparently also know EXACTLY when he’s able to pick up his cellular phone or not. It’s disturbing.
It was so bizarre sounding in fact, that it pushed me to consider things in a larger aspect. It made me think of some of the surreal, liminal incidents that Jeff Wells talks about over at Rigourous Intuition. Those experiences that are so outlandish and sophisticated and yet seem to serve no logical purpose whatsoever.
It’s like Jacques Vallee has said; when you look at contact-type experiences as a whole, the only thing they really have in common is a confounding of rationality. But at the same time there’s always enough loose threads there for the paranoid or the skeptic to weave something out of whole cloth. It’s like you have the option at all times to go pronoiac or paranoiac. The experience is meant to shove you definitively one way or another. You could grab your rifle and hit the rooftops, start some idiotic cult or newsletter… Or you could change your whole life, heal your spirit or have the knowledge and conversation of the holy guardian angel.
And as I read RI every few days, as I see the world turning into a psychotic cartoon, as sanity everywhere seemingly unravels entirely, and now it hits me personally just recently, and now one of my best friends… what the fuck, y’know?
We’re all being poised on that knife edge: my friend can choose to think he’s being groomed as patsy for some kind of false flag operation OR he’s being prompted to take his spiritual inquiry to the next level, OR it’s both at the same time OR it’s whatever he says it is.
If he starts acting out, being paranoid and his relationship falls apart, he probably will end up in one of these haliburton detention camps, or suicided in the toilet somewhere. But he could go the other way. He could awaken to his full awareness, his genius. Or both. There’s nothing saying you can’t attain enlightenment in a death camp. But somehow I doubt it will be both. It’s up to us to decide what we want, where we want to go with our world. Down into the toilet, or to the mountaintop? And I fear that asking what it ‘really’ is, where we are ‘really’ going, is so very much the wrong question. I do believe there is free will, and I do believe there is an intention, a purpose to the universe. And all that purpose can do is set the stage. If we chose to sail off the cliff, that’s up to us, and if we can choose to step up and take on our true intended station on this planet, or in the universe, that’s up to us too. But what’s certain is that we are being MADE to decide, and decide soon.
A lot of us will break towards the low road, aligning ourselves to anger and fear and false appearances, what Steiner called the ‘old moon’. The poisonous delusions and despair of the dark night dragging them under forever. And a lot of those folks will think of themselves the way my friend would do in that situation: fighting against the darkness, rifle clutched in hand, living like a hunted animal in an endless terrorscape. He wouldn’t have betrayed himself, but he wouldn’t have lived up to everything he was gifted with.
It is what we make it.