Illumination and the Artificial Womb
By Julian Wash
Today I wish to return to your awareness an aspect of the human condition that yields to imaginary lines and abstractions. In a world otherwise composed of natural beauty and harmony, there’s an artificial grid, a template of conformity that grips the planet. And within its broad, sweeping grasp we find lines and boundaries and numbers of all sorts. They are not real in any physical sense—they are only real because we make it so. These handy little abstractions are ubiquitous throughout this synthetic construct, the artificial womb we call society.
We don’t see them for what they are. Because they’re so prevalent and so deeply woven into the fabric of our daily existence, they’ve become essentially real to us. Those lines between the states, the lines that separate one country from another, are also very real to the keepers of illusion. So real in fact that if one were to disregard any abstract law associated with crossing an abstract line, then one may face a very real experience within the confines of a concrete and steel prison cell. In such case, one would surely be assigned a number to stand on and a line would be drawn between what they can and cannot do.
In the following paragraphs we’ll briefly explore the curious abstraction of lines and boundaries, numbers and laws. To help heighten the experience, perhaps you would like to choose a line and number of your own. Stay on the line until the bell rings. When the bell rings you may stand on your number. If you are female you must stay on the left side of the designated number platform—unless it’s Tuesday. Tuesday is that crazy mix-up day where you’re allowed to stand on the right side. This was carefully integrated to make you believe society isn’t so tightly woven after all. Heck, it’s a lot of fun! And you have a choice of making your number any color you like—as long as it’s red, yellow or blue. A subset of options disguised as free choice is the name of the game.
--Ready to play?
The Artificial Womb
From the day we’re born we are placed in this artificial construct of numbers and laws, lines and dots designating regions and rules as formal abstractions and imaginary structure. The conscious mind at first rejects these boundaries as real. For instance, a young child has difficulty comprehending a border between two countries. It’s not until that young, malleable mind is reshaped into seeing things that aren’t really there does it begin to grasp the concept of boundary. So these lines are drawn in mind consciousness and become very real in that sense. -But how real?
It is important and perhaps necessary to have these lines and boundaries. We have incremental time pieces that dissect the motion of the Sun into 24 handy little hours. We have laws to enforce “staying off the grass” or to drive at the designated speed. We have calendars and dates and phone numbers and street numbers that keep us on time and on track. -And how convenient really that our paycheck is also little more than a number. Some of it may be converted to tangible cash- but most of it is often surrendered to a checking account where we pay the number abstractions called bills.
The abstractions can transform into uncomfortable realities if one chooses to not pay an expense such as an electric bill. But at the fundamental core, none of this is real. -None of it. The keepers of the illusion know this all too well. They sure don’t want you to know it though. This society can only function under the spell of illusion.
So today I’m here to suggest that we not completely break the spell, unless of course that is your choosing. We are already steeped too deeply in the illusion to just walk away. As I alluded to earlier, the imaginary boundaries and numbers are really quite handy. This artificial template instils order and conformity. It allows businesses to function and can organize a given day into functional little bits and pieces. But I am suggesting that you re-awaken to this artificial womb. See it for what it is -a control apparatus. There’s smoke and mirrors everywhere you turn. If one is lost on this ride it can become a house of horrors. If one is able to disengage from the abstractions, and see the strings and little puffs of smoke that occlude clear vision, then the ride can be entertaining to an extent. Much of those things you assumed were real, you swore were real, are in fact illusions or actors in costume. How fun. How creepy.
The keepers of the illusion take all this very, very seriously. On an illusionary stage, they can command someone into a combat zone where one may lose their life or take the life of another. Everyone seems to wear the appropriate costume with stripes designating illusionary levels of importance. A lifetime of illusionary bombardment makes our soldier obedient and willing to do the bidding of another. Our young and brave are primed and ready for action. But the so-called enemy is also blinded by illusion. Being disengaged with truth is the reality.
War is only real because we make it so. Fighters on both sides have bought into their respective illusion. If war were relegated to just “leaders” physically hashing it out, then that would usher in rapid resolution to most conflicts. Problems would be quickly remedied without much bloodshed. Leaders historically have always preferred to dish it out rather than take it. Enlightenment is only a concept they’ve heard about but paid no mind to. Anyway if they did, they’d likely dismiss it as a weakness. There may be a soldier or two on the frontline that experiences enlightenment—but their orders from command remain washed in illusion. Carry-on, they say.
Status Quo and the Nonconformist
Societal rules of conduct are dictated through an illusionary system of fear and reward. If one does as expected they will carve out a nifty little life indeed. It will have all the appearances and pretenses of being “normal” right down to the color of their house and their proud allegiance to a certain political party, so long as it’s either donkey or elephant. They will be congratulated and praised for their relative conformity and blind work ethic throughout the course of their short life.
Praise may come in the form of diplomas and accolades and little congratulatory pins and ribbons. Recognized as a “pillar of society” they will be embraced by local government and their church and will likely boast a good many military citations as well. But ten years or so after passing, this person will be all but forgotten. Such a person may likely leave this world with more questions than answers—assuming of course they could formulate one.
On the other hand, if one chooses to challenge the status quo and carve their own path they will be met with one obstacle after another. The web of the artificial womb mandates a certain flow and direction. Go against the flow, and you’ll feel the resistance. When a nonconformist transitions from this world, they will have fine-tuned many thoughts and questions. They’ve spent their life thinking, agonizing and wondering. They ran on principle and faith even when others dictated a more calculated course for them.
They might have been called “black sheep,” “misfit” or “visionary” depending on which side of the financial divide they fell upon. They likely had difficulty in school and rejected authority figures. Many unfortunately turned to alcohol or other drugs as a modality for escape. They may not have ever known the sinister force that kept eating away at them. They only knew that “Mr. Normal” down the street, who had attuned to the template of conformity within the societal construct, had painted his house a non-offensive, neutral tone that conformed fully to HOA guidelines. When our nonconformist saw the house, with its perfectly manicured lawn and neighborhood welcome flag fluttering in the breeze, they wanted to throw-up. Ultimately they blame themselves for their irrational feelings-- which only add to their confusion.
A Speck in the Cosmos
Some time ago I had a conversation with a very fine and formally-educated gentleman. He admitted rather humbly that he “knew just enough to know he doesn’t really know anything at all.” Expecting perhaps that I might be impressed by his level of insight, he went on to say that “he realized he was just a tiny speck in the grand scheme of things” an “insignificant dot in all there is to know.” He smiled contently as if this was a high-minded and noble position that I might readily accept.
I recognized this admission as a type of mind manipulation extruded from the artificial womb. It is vitally important for the illusion keepers to foster feelings of inadequacy within the masses, preferably under the guise of high-mindedness. If done intelligently, then even the most gifted minds fall into the trap. Not only is this attitude of insignificance meticulously maintained and groomed by society, it’s also humbly embraced by the individual—as if it’s a good thing. So we’re supposed to insert our tongue into our dopey cheek and sheepishly admit to our cosmic insignificance. Collectively we are powerful, we’re told, but individually we are consumers at best, parasites at worst --as if there’s a real difference between those terms.
I asked this gentleman what his “speck” would look like under a microscope. His eyes widen as if that thought never occurred to him. He could not structure a response. I asked if he thought perhaps it might appear as a fractal of the greater picture containing the entire cosmic DNA of the conceptual universe? This elicited more of a tremble than response. The mind is not supposed to go there.
I asked what color was the background of “all there is to know” since he attests such a state exists. He shrugged as if the thought never occurred to him. For the sake of discussion he asserted that perhaps the fabric may appear as black “just as all time and space.” I asked if his speck were to be removed from the fabric would the fabric then be torn? No response- though I sensed a polite change of topic was being sought. But here was an opportunity to reverse some of the illusionary construct. I went on to ask that if the “speck” he defined as “self” were removed from the fabric then what color would the opening be? “White perhaps,” a “white light contrasting the black” he suggested. So I asserted that within the infinite folds of universe by simply not being there one would create a rather conspicuous “white light” opening in the inky black fabric of the time-space continuum. Rather provocative, wouldn’t you say? Your omission would therefore draw considerable attention.
I do see you as that “white light” my friend, I told him. Now tell me again what you meant by insignificant speck?
Illumination, Twinkie and a Nugget
Today I’m here to dispel illusions, at least for a moment. The construct of the societal womb, whether useful or not, is still just an illusion. Those shackles are really just strings. Once they realize that YOU realize that- they may put the real ones on depending on your behavior. None-the-less, I’m here to remind you that you are not an illusion, but the artificial womb in which you live in is indeed just that. You are made of atoms -atoms of pure energy. As an energetic expression, atoms are “light.” Your atoms have been touched by a Divine presence and forged from eternal love and awareness. You are illuminated. You are the shining ones.
You are innately above any illusion the world may try to ensnare you in. Illusions only work when you don’t see them for what they are. But there’s the problem. Because your mind possesses infinite powers you can readily manifest illusions as reality. This is not a low-level function but a very advanced and sophisticated ability. These illusions can only be maintained through the super-intelligence of the Human. The artificial boundaries, the lines, numbers and all the illusionary dots do not work on any other creature upon this planet. You’re special. And since they got to you when you were young and highly impressionable, you bought into the abstractions hook, line and sinker. You went from a living womb into an artificial one, almost seamlessly.
You are much too powerful and impossible to control as an awakening, enlightened being. So your mind has been horribly assaulted with illusionary abstractions ranging from social-political idiocy to religious lunacy. They tell you these concepts are rational and sound—so if you don’t get it “you’re” the crazy one. They unmercifully drilled notions of “right and wrong” into your developing brain to the extent of cognitively severing it.
You have memorized a nine digit number that they know you by and that you protect and value as if it were your true identity. You abide with rules and laws in a de facto world where one is continually reminded of their limitations. You have not been allowed or encouraged in any meaningful way to cut your own path or create an original thought. And when you do, they’re quick to tell you someone already has already beat you to it. Big deal, they say, there are no original thoughts left. They don’t tell you that perhaps you’ve tapped into a collective consciousness or that the thought is indeed a novel vibration unique to your existence.
They will, however, tell you in no uncertain terms to repaint your purple door because it does not conform to HOA guidelines, rules and regulations. The fine, upstanding neighbor Mr. Normal over on the next block took it upon himself to file a complaint. --And then there’s the Twinkie.
In this world we are handed a heap-load of tasty but nutritionally-deprived philosophies that roughly equivocate to the physical representation of a Twinkie. We are sold illusions because they encapsulate little morsels of truth within the sugary corn syrup substance we’ve grown so addicted to. So when religious institutions teach us that it is wrong to kill —that seems valid and resonates with internal knowing.
But isn’t that what we do in battles and in our wars and in some cases to our own prisoners? But that’s different they say. To accept it is wrong to kill is to also accept the exceptions. The Twinkie cake contains a nauseous amount of conflicting reasons why exceptions are necessary and why they should be embraced. Oh yes it’s sad, they tell you with feigned sensitivity, but it just must be. -Really? The illusion attempts to hi-jack truth so it can manifest a sort of skewed reality. This skewed sense of reality seems sufficient for most people. -But you’re not “most people” or you would not be at this website and you certainly would not have read this far.
Religious, academic and legal institutions use the Twinkie construct all the time. By adding a pearl of wisdom to a mountain of subterfuge, one is expected to consume the whole lot. It’s exactly the same when congress attempts to pass a meaningful bill but with tons of “pork” attached to it. In a real and perfect world we would just be handed the pearls. The meaningful bill would have no strings attached. But in an artificial womb, we are handed the whole Twinkie because we sense the nugget within it. You want the nugget—then eat the whole damn Twinkie.
So we are turned and led by the nose in pursuit of the truth but never really getting there. We’ll eat ourselves into toxic exhaustion before really being able to embrace the pearls of wisdom. Along the way we accept things only because of their proximity to truth. That’s how the illusion is maintained. The artificial womb lures you into various belief systems by using a kernel of wisdom as bait. You associate other ancillary aspects as truth since it shares company with the nugget. But all you really have is a sugary, cavity invoking, syrupy sweet Twinkie cake containing somewhere a tiny, nutritive morsel.
The illusionary construct is useful to an extent but make no mistake- it is all about control. If we could start over again with enlightened, benevolent guidance our world would be very different. Instead of competing for resources we could have joined our efforts. Instead of fighting, we could have loved one another. We could feed everyone on the planet and so there would be no insincere charity campaigns emptying the pockets of well-meaning souls through their campy televised spots that elicit guilt in exchange for favor. It would be real—not illusionary. There would not be overpopulation issues—since overpopulation is a type of survival mechanism, a type of “social security” for societies with a history of suffering. These stresses would fade.
In the “real” world we would ascend to higher consciousness. We would reconnect with the animals instead of eating them. We would embrace society and nurture individualism. The talented would not be tricked and exploited into building bigger and better bombs for the military industrialized complex. They would not have to sign security clearances or submit to patents that would effectively remove their talents from the rest of us. In a real world, their talents would be shared by all and soon most every disease would be eradicated. In this cooperative real setting, achievements of all sorts would be possible.
In a real world there would be peace and powerful connections with benevolent off-world entities that would come to visit upon our request. Sensing the stability and love with these attractive Human creatures much would be shared. All energy would be available for love and life. You would not be taxed, pained and slowly bled by the hooks and barbs of the artificial womb. You would breathe contently, with enthusiasm, purpose and passion.
I’ve said perhaps too much today. This is, however, the way I feel and to that extent I make no apology. Every day I see the numbers and the lines, the boundaries and the little strings. The worst part is I see how the others don’t see. The truth remains just outside their grasp. So close—yet so far.
I see you’re still standing on your number. Thank you for playing along. Do you suppose that number offers any real significance to your life? -Perhaps so. But for me it’s all an illusion. In my mind I can see a better world—a REAL world. I can see how easy it could be achieved once the angry, competitive and divisive instruments of the synthetic construct are fully eradicated.
In the meantime, I’ll close my eyes and go to that place no one knows about but me. And maybe someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll see you there too. I’ll know you by your light.
-Until next time
Article originally published at: http://www.rattlereport.com/rattleberry/2014/2014-04-02
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