27 June, 2013

Childhood's end...

Why do some people worship that which empowers their soul, while others worship that which empowers their gold? Some genuflect their humility before an unseen Lord while others lord their hubris before an unseen genie. Since time immemorial, there has been this dischordant didactic divide between the minsters of salvation and the meddlers of sin. Some proffer that our ying-yang soul's colors are the natural state and consequently no spirit can be truly free of flesh's stain. 

Evil is good is the theme of liberalism, and many succumb through appeal or flee with appal from his adder's charm. Although, a small minority argue the counterpoint, that dichotomy of choice is a flaw, that there is only compliance or resistance to what evil dreams may come, some still believe that the omega point of conscious evolution is still achievable. How such an omega point could be enforced upon a existent fluid system such as our universe is flawed. Bennett remarks, 'There is something suspicious in any view of history that makes one moment the culmination of the evolutionary process.' Evolution, at least from a spiritual perspective, has always been a work in progress and will always continue to be so. External forces merely expedite an already predetermined outcome based on genetic underpinnings. As Asimov once opined when humanity finally embraced the ETs, '...there was no mistake. The leathery wings, the little horns, the barbed tails - all were there. The most terrible of all legends had come to life, out of an unknown past. Yet now it stood smiling, in ebon majesty, with the sunlight gleaming upon its tremendous body, and with a human child resting trustfully on either arm.'

At present, the blogosphere tells us between clenched teeth that 'here she comes' (8 o'clock perihelion, taken 17th June 2013), the seven-headed dragon sporting ten diadems and a fiery red tail. She, they proffer, will be the siren of the Nephilim, raising the armies of Satan. They call her Nibiru, and she preceded the times of Noah, as she will again at the time of Petrus Romanus, the last Pope, who has seen her through his own Lucifer eye.

Maybe it is not Nibiru but Ison instead, due around October 2013, or maybe it is just fear porn in disguise. The comets, we are told, are just dirty snowballs, when better scientists know they are instead magnetized plasma balls that stir the sun and ripple the earth into quakes. Even airports have to adjust their runways to accommodate the ever widening gyre. According to remote viewers, something big certainly seems likely to happen soon.

Yet I lean to Akhenaten who once said, 'a fool knows everything but his own ignorance.'

The Watchers, who sit in the heavens above Earth, await the 'event', a possible future war, a vatican dirty bomb, who knows, but they are ready to unleash the locusts (aka - Zetas) to give us the final slow death of scaphism. These Watchers, forever overlords and mostly non-interventionist in their observations, seem to wait quietly for our impending demise with switch and baited breath, while our pendulum hearts swing from defiance to denial.

Say goodbye to Generation X, Y and  Zzzzz, the sleepers. We nightmared this fearsome sweat, unable to angle our anger from slumber's anvil. But we infiltrated everyone's dream. We, the infinite's column seeded by consent, await the mesalliance of revelations, cataclysms - the many signs from e-haven (aka heaven). The bell now tolls for martial arts, her plans we etch on beachheads to be quickly erased by the tides of March. All will not end, and our anger will save the day. Not an anger directed at governments or institutions, for these are run by mortals. Our anger is directed at these so-called 'gods', whose faces are dark, who we dare not speak of above a whisper for their ears are all-listening, and who wrought fear amongst mortals worse than a virus, more sinister than a meme. We are all, bleeders of red, but one thought away from possession or paradise, yet our mind can brake their steeds. We cannot kill these dark knights, or their bishop's pawns, merely checkmate them, with their tails and horns, in the demiurge of sunlight.

The event draws near, nail-biting times for believers, wormwood for the sceptics, mere teacup storms for the tranquil-hearted.

Z is the last letter of the english alphabet, while in Greek it is the letter omega - . Perhaps the next generation will be born unfettered, while us stalwarts fall on the swords of the the unter undead.