Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Return From The Abyss (Journals 25-28)

Journal #25: The Information Genie

Journal #26: Tales From The Collective Psyche

The Pathology Of Least Resistance

It always happens like this… the weather I mean. Every Autumn the wind sweeps in across Lake Regina from the distant banks of Ultima-Borea, and then gets sucked into Temperance Valley for all of us villagers to harshly endure.

It's nice to know that certain things are constant and predictable, especially in nature, we humans like our nature dumb, not too many surprises thank you very much!

We have formally acknowledged though, ever since that fateful moment we now call our inevitable rendezvous with destiny, that predictability in people is considered a less than desirable quality.

In those olden days of yore, humans were quite comfortable living lives of very little change. They had often professed how they had wanted 'change', but could rarely see how their pathological behaviour was reinforcing for them their personal prisons. 

Knowledge of 'the Self' has become absolutely essential for survival here in our future community. The good folks here in Nova Avalon can spot denial, and pathological behaviour the very moment it rears it's ugly head.

Yes, I remember how it was in those woeful days, and how people wanted so desperately to transform their lives and manifest for themselves some kind of happiness. However, they would continue making the same ignorant mistakes, by repeating programmed patterns of folly and in turn wonder why their lives had become a proverbial broken record.

Those kind folks of the early decades of the 21st century were simply not conscious about certain aspects of themselves, they had lacked objectivity, and were therefore rarely in a position to use any real creativity or solutions to snap themselves out of their funk.

To cut off a personal dialogue with one's past had become endemic in your time period. History had mostly been a pack of lies anyway, or half-truths at best, to serve the needs of the controlling 'elite'. 

The narratives that were spun had blocked the average man and woman from even remotely scratching the surface of truth. There had been much incentive for those who had been controlling this narrative, and who wished us to swallow it with the same dutifulness as we would one of their phoney pharmaceuticals.

In order to fill the gaps and inconsistencies in one's personal or cultural narrative, absurdities had to be inserted and accepted, for everything to make sense.

On a personal level, this psycho-spiritual filler became the perfect catalyst to take individuals and the cultural collective, into all kinds of Seinfeldian realms.  The cognitive dissonance we had experienced ensured that we lived our lives solely for the purposes of starring in the divine comedy.

Many of us had become not unlike a virus. We had become predictable and ultimately self-destructive, living in vain in order to fulfill our pathological and preordained destiny, and always with the least amount of effort necessary.

Speaking of 'pathology'… please forgive me, but I must go now!  It seems that a fellow Villager named 'Gordon' is on the verge of opening a buxom bottle of Beaujolais with some 'new friends' he's made; a nice couple who argue 'waaaay too much' and are seeking his relationship advice and carpentry skills… and we somehow have got to stop him!

Future CT   Village 5,  Nova Avalon.      Year 17 P.T.E.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

The Interrupted Journal

The wisdom of yet a few more years
I had written a journal entry a few years back, in the year 17 P.T.E. which was scheduled to have posted here as my twenty-eighth journal entry on this site

I've had to interrupt this process by inserting this new entry from seven years further into your future: the year 25 P.T.E. 

What I had posted seven years ago, I've now realized would have sidetracked a little too much. 

What I wrote then had been a post about that 'cable news' Mogul, and all the emphasis and undeserved media attention given to his shallow political comments, observations and life philosophies. Why on Earth then would I give that guy's ideas even more attention from this point in the distant future?

I know all this perceived time paradox stuff can be a bit of a 'mind fuck', so please don't think about this unsolvable conundrum too much. Ultimately, it's really not that important, a fact which I'm sure you will also find hard to believe... that is at least until you come face to face with our inevitable rendezvous with destiny.

I'm much older now, and I've decided to use the luxury available to me, in the form of the 'extra-temporal information vortex', to communicate to you some urgent concepts of being, and not to sidetrack you too much with my observations on the minutia of life in the early decades of the twenty-fist century.

Reflecting back upon my past journal entries, I realize that an intervention on my own behalf is necessary in this case.

One thing about getting old is realizing that there is no longer another generation to look up to, or fill the gaps and unanswered questions of the many decades which preceded my birth. 

In a sense, me, and others in my age group are the last line of defence our past has to tell it's own story, so  that others may learn from our wisdom and mistakes, and to help form for future generations a clearer picture of what the past had really been all about. Also, to help answer the questions of where and why you have come into being, so that you may better navigate for yourselves where in your spiritual journey you wish to head.

Are you lost?  Don't worry, my point is that I'm here to tell you my story, or perspective, in such a way that does not breach the sanctity of the laws of spirit and nature, which could adversely impede you in your blind yet sacred quest.

I greatly miss not having a generation older than me, living among us, to give us a first hand account of what life in the past had once really been like.

I long to hear but one more first person account, of intimate stories of love and glory, tragedy and sorrow. I miss hearing these personal accounts from seniors who had their unique story to tell, ones which were simply not available solely by reading literature or scouring through history texts.

One day, if you are fortunate to live a long and interesting life, you will come to realize this too; the fact that you too will one day be humanity's last line of defence, and stand at the edge, on the precipice, and in all your glory, a final chance to recite the narrative of your rich lives... for your children, and for all future generations to come.

Future CT   Village 14   Nova Avalon, Year 25 P.T.E.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

A Prison Called "If"

It's made out of nothing but quantum particles not yet observed into existence. Everything remains in wave form until it is observed, at which point, the electron transforms itself into a particle, and since quantum mechanics states that nothing can have form unless it has first been observed, does this not prove the existence of some kind of deity? 

Hey, I'm just saying'… Or maybe, the universe existed uniquely in wave form until the first sentient being self-manifested somewhere in the cosmos, at which point the universe began to grow in complexity with the addition of each new sentient being? Or maybe this wave form is evidence of another dimension, independent of time and space, from which a divine creator(s) resides?

Of course, I can't answer those questions, but maybe, in the end, the questions are more important than the answers. It is questions like these which allow our consciousness to expand and hypothesize innumerable possibilities. I won't say infinite, because we can never truly know infinity while living in finite lives, therefore we can only grasp the concept of this indirectly.

Unfortunately for us, during those woeful days in the first few decades of the 21st century, there's had been some heavy baggage which came along with 'creative thinking', and the exploration of potentials. It often took the form of "what if" scenarios, and other hypotheticals of doom and terror;  the many possibilities of which, were limited solely by one's imagination.  We just as easily looked at reality through the lens of our fears, thus making ourselves mad, by the over-exercising of the apocalyptic recess of our monstrous Id.

Our governments used to do this by nature, by terrifying it's unwitting citizens with fear-based hypotheticals of a perpetual 'enemy at the gate', when all most folks really wanted to do was little more than to cheer their favourite team and eat a big blue bucket of battered buffalo wings. And by acting this way, Governments, in effect, acted not unlike those Paranoids of your time period, whose behaviour was determined by the invention of semi-plausible and implausible permutations of calamity and disaster, something which ultimately hijacked their ability to live free and normal lives. 

However, even the 'normal' people in your time practiced these principles, albeit on a much smaller scale, by engaging too often in "what if" scenarios, thus frightening themselves into a world of personal limitations. 

If you doubt what I say, count how many times a day you use the word "if" as a control mechanism to keep you from exploring other possibilities for living, and sabotaging your ability to make effective changes in your life. If you are not one such individual, then you are the exception rather than the rule.

Obviously we had managed to survive as a species by exercising caution, but there had been many more dangers present in our animalistic past, by threats from predators and the whims of climate and disease, we had had little means of understanding how to defend against these threats. We had developed our marvellous imagination to help us stay one step ahead of the proverbial 'Boogeyman'.

If you stop and think about doom scenarios for a moment, we actually only scratched it's surface with all the self-imposed limitations we heaved upon this marvellous imagination of ours, and by the over-calculation of permutations of doom. The negative possibilities for living a hellish nightmare reality were limited solely by the boundaries we had imposed upon our otherwise marvellous imagination.

When governments passed laws to 'protect us' (read: protect them, control us), they did so because they had been the collective sum of the fears of left-brained bureaucrats, who actually had a severe lack in their full potential to imagine nightmarish scenarios (which is probably why they worked as administrators and not writers). Whenever some kind of 'anti-nightmare scenario' legislation got passed in those days, I could often see how they had overlooked many unintended consequences of their legislation, or how it failed to address other possibilities more horrific than the ones they had been naively trying to 'protect us' from.

Give me an example you may ask, but I won't, I don't want to introduce ideas or concepts into your time period that have not yet been generated uniquely by you.

There is a very optimistic silver lining in all this, one which many of you may have already surmised, and that is, for every negative thought or possibility, there exists a positive one.  One can undo hypothetical fears of terror with the vast creative potential existing within the human heart and mind.  With fear based imaginations counterbalanced by positive ones, the only two questions one needs to ask oneself is: What kind of world do I really want to live in? and What steps can I take to make that world become a reality?

Global events became so easy to orchestrate during your time period, because the majority of people bought into a streamlined narrative of what the world was. As a byproduct of our passive culture, most good folks in the early years of the 21st century simply lacked the imagination of those who were actually steering the destiny of humanity, and who did so with the same meticulous creativity a good novelist would use to write a New York Times 'best seller'. These controllers (few of which were actually officially working within government) did not fear of ever being 'found out' due to the limitations in possibility the majority of people had blinded themselves with. 

In those days, to think creatively was just too fearful a proposition for most, because it meant exposing themselves to the outer-limits of one's terrifying psyche. Those who dismissed a larger conspiracy revealed their true lack of real imagination, by choosing to ignore the overwhelming quantity of circumstantial evidence available at the time, refuting it as being merely coincidental. Denying the reality that something was truly 'rotten in Denmark' had a short shelf-life though, we knew this intuitively, and were quite happy living in ignorance… that was of course, until that fateful day, affectionately known in my time period as our inevitable rendezvous with destiny.

Future CT     Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Tales From The Collective Psyche

Yeah, the boys got hammered 8-1. It had been our nations biggest soccer game in 15 years, and the lads had found themselves playing in very hostile territory, and under a blazing tropical sun in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, way back in October of 2012. 

The team had gone to Central America with the soul objective of gaining at least a draw, and advancing to their World Cup qualifying final group stage, then known as 'The Hex'.  

All the pressure had been on the home side, and our faithful were playing well and creating chances early on. Sadly though, Canada managed to cough up two goals in rapid succession, which in the end, had largely been the result of sloppy defending and tentative goaltending;  at that point, all their hard work and hours of preparation had seemed to be for nought.

How could it have been? In such an important game as that one, that the boys in red would allow their opponents to grab a critical first goal before the game had even been ten minutes old?

The early hole they had dug for themselves didn't say much for them collectively, and I'm sure it must have seriously undermined their fragile self-confidence. They then would have had to do something which they had been having a great deal of difficulty doing previously in the tournament, score goals!

They soon jumped on a chance which manifested itself as a glorious opportunity to equalize, but one hard post and a squandered rebound later, our beloved boys had once again failed to execute in their primary objective. Another nail in the coffin had swiftly come in the form of a second Honduras goal, and the Canadian team then found themselves playing like eleven automatons kicking an inflated ball in a state of shock.

As small fraction of our nation watched on in horror, I had taken notice of how hard all the players had seemed to be working. They hadn't yet given up, not by a long-shot,  but deep down, the collective psyche of the team had sustained a severe blow. The silver lining in all this, was that Canada still had 70 minutes left to score two goals and equalize. If they were to have gotten their composure back, and popped one in before the half, the tables would have surely turned and it would have been the Hondurans who would be on their heels trying desperately to cling to their lead.  All that was needed for Canada, at that point, would have been one goal before the half, and had they managed to pull the scoreline back to 2-1, the game would have been far from over,  but that was until….

Honduras struck again in the 28th minute, courtesy of a pee-wee league defensive lapse, and what turned out to be a very 'Costly' goal. At that point, the boys in red were visibly shattered, all their hard work and effort over the past year had been undone in less than 30 minutes in the hot honduran heat. Their collective psyche, a beast far larger than any individual player, had been fried, roasted and filleted.

There had been only one thing left to do at that point, if there had been any hopes of salvaging that dreadful game, (or any vestiges of national dignity for that matter). The situation had demanded that the coach step forward and make some critical substitutions. He had already failed by putting 3 players out there who were less talented than three of their counterparts uselessly warming an already searing bench;  perhaps, at that point, it had not been too late for our affable coach to right his ghastly error in judgement.

Reflecting back now, they had had a regular starter in the German Bundesliga sitting on the bench ready to replace a visibly shaky defender, an MLS player of the month for August at the ready to help stop the gaps created by a suspect midfielder, and a wily veteran of the English League ever at the ready, who had had much experience playing in exactly these same kinds of hostile central american matches, and poised to replace a forward who had been asked to play a role beyond his competency level. 

Ultimately, the coach had been asleep at the wheel, or had been like a deer trapped in the head-lights. With his squad down 3-0, in the most important game of their lives, one begs the question: What on earth had he been saving his substitutions for? The collective psyche of the team is the responsibility of the coach, yet since it is not he who is actually playing the game, he can only affect what goes on on the pitch indirectly, through preparation, tactics, squad selection, and his use of substitutions.

When things go bad, whether in soccer or in life, the past cannot be changed, but the present can be reset by closing the entropic psychological chapter which has it's grips on the situation. We can do this individually in our lives, and collectively with effective leadership.

Lack of this type of leadership from the coach failed our team that day, but gladly, it had only been in the realms of a sporting event. More importantly though, in late 2012,  lack of leadership from the self appointed leaders of banking and politics, was leading us 'head on' and smack into a collision course with our inevitable rendezvous with destiny.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon   Year 17 P.T.E.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Return From The Abyss (Journals 21-24)

    Journal #21: Ring Around The Mediterranean

                           Journal #22: Cargo Cult Redux

The Information Genie

and the genie they feared was the Truth

"Things which are built in haste, go hastily to waste." Thinking back now, I can't help but be reminded by this chinese proverb I had once read while munching away on a fortune cookie. 

Our world had began to change very rapidly in the first few decades of the 21st century. The internet had emerged to transform human culture on this planet in both great and not so great ways. Technology was increasing at such a rapid rate that those who had wished it would have unfolded at a more human pace were having trouble adjusting to that Twitter/Facebook e-bay/amazon leviathan usurping what had once been several thousands of years of civilization's naturally evolved way of communication and commerce.

Those warm and fuzzy folks many had often referred to as the the 'New World Order', or 'Illuminati', had whole heartedly embraced the controlling aspects of our newly advanced computer borne technology, and as a result had revealed themselves, and their malevolent intent, even to those who had once been die hard 'sceptics'.

In Canada, systemic Iranophobia had settled in, and the Harpo government had become nothing more than the Canadian arm of the Likud party (a far right wing party that had led the nation of Israel down a dark and militaristic path under the guises of 'national security').

In the US of A, a similar process was taking place, and a philosophical malaise had begun to set in. There was a common belief that 'freedom' was a luxury item to be obtained only during times of relative peace. Costly wars (both human and financial) were being fought to rid the world of an infestation of boogeymen, much the same way one would call on an exterminator to rid one's home of mice.

The truth was that their manner of doing this (known in those days as 'the war on terror', or was it 'terra'?) was akin to whacking recklessly away at a wasps nest, while asking their population to wear uncomfortable protective clothing for their own 'security', and then wondering why the wasps had hated them so much in the first place.

So as internet communication led to a greater awareness of how the world actually worked, right down to the influence the corporate-media had inflicted upon us in shaping our beliefs, the greater part of humanity was quickly waking up, and not a moment too soon. 

This transformation scared the shit out those folks who had until then, known little else other than 'being the ones in charge'. 

Crisis after crisis was being engineered either by design, or simply as a byproduct of their own shortsighted stupidity. The unfortunate consequences of systemic dysfunction had forced the controllers by instinct to step forward with their tired 'solutions', which of course, in the end, always gave them more power, and the people less.

As the global situation worsened, the peoples of the newly impoverished countries of Europe were soon beginning to make that ye-olde 'Occupy' movement seen years earlier, look like a village folk dance, Police and military were being given carte blanche by the planets control freaks to use violence against normal folks who just wanted to hang onto the very basic liberties their democracies had once promised them.

The information genie was out of the bottle, and the controllers of our world used every technological advantage they could to try and stuff it back in. 

In the end though, it was their insistence on ramming that awkward square peg known as 'humanity' into their uncomfortable and so very tiny round hole that had led us smack into what was to become known then, and for all of the ages to come, as our inevitable rendezvous with destiny.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.