TERENCE McKENNA: JESUS CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY

 

Terence McKenna: Jesus Christ & Christianity

He’s not correct about everything.  There are 52 books in the Nag Hammadi Library. He omits the brilliant coherence of some of the early gospels… which are Christian.
       Plato’s “Republic” is also found in the discovery of 1945, Upper Egypt. 
      Some of the Gnostic texts are exactly as he describes, but
by no means all of them.
      His account of John Allegro’s courageous position is accurate. A Russian scientist and scientists from around the world have supported and approved of John Marco Allegro’s
etymology.
       The Teacher of Righteousness, a healer out of the Essene community, was crucified in 65 B.C. It is very possible that the story of Jesus Christ originated with this person.
       There is much in the Bible that has been miss-translated,
often deliberately. The sacred mushroom is at the core of New Testament code words.
        
        None of this worries me a bit, nor does it shake the knowledge I have in this matters.  Jesus Christ, whoever He is and wherever He is born, He is Christ Consciousness to me.               And this Consciousness comes and goes like the wind
and can arise, now more than ever in the minds of men.

        Terence McKenna was a brilliant and amazingly articulate man, and perhaps more important – he’s funny, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MOST ANCIENT GOSPEL FOUND ANEW, THE BEGINNING OF THE BOOK — MOST ANCIENT GOSPEL FOUND ANEW:: THE SECOND COMING OF THE CHRIST

The Source Gospel, earlier than the Bible’s Gospels, has been found.Major aid to Consciousness!

via MOST ANCIENT GOSPEL FOUND ANEW, THE BEGINNING OF THE BOOK — MOST ANCIENT GOSPEL FOUND ANEW:: THE SECOND COMING OF THE CHRIST

THE REAL BALL GAME IS THE GAME TO KEEP YOUR BALLS

Highly sexual pervo material. Over 18 only please

zappadat- THE MOVEABLE FEAST

STORY OF AN EXPLICITLY SEXUAL NATURE, with PSYCHOLOGICAL ABERRATION,

AND PSYCHIATRIC WEIRDNESS…

READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER ONLY, PLEASE.

2016-03-17 00.10.30 (2).jpg BACK IN THE BUSH WITH MY UNDERTAKER

 OVERCOMING REPRESSIONS OF ALL KINDS – STORIES FROM THE FEMALE ORGASM CLINIC: REALIZATION, MINDSHOCKS, CROP AND CANE CURES FOR GUILT AND SHAME; HUMOUR WHENEVER POSSIBLE…TO PENETRATE THE THIN MEMBRANE INTO THE EXISTENCE OF A DEEPER AND DARKER REALITY AND REPORT BACK TO YOU.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

THE REAL BALL GAME IS THE GAME TO KEEP YOUR BALLS ….. ….. …………………………..POWER PERVERSION IN AN UNKNOWN KINGDOM… … …. … REAL CASTRATION IN A LOCKED UNIT

                                                            ****** THIS TRULY IS ADULT MATERIAL
                                     …

View original post 4,057 more words

THE REAL BALL GAME IS THE GAME TO KEEP YOUR BALLS

    CHAPTER  FIVE  –  THE REAL BALL GAME  ____________        IS THE GAME

                                         TO KEEP YOUR BALLS

 

STORY OF AN EXPLICITLY SEXUAL NATURE, with PSYCHOLOGICAL ABERRATION, AND PSYCHIATRIC WEIRDNESS…

(READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER ONLY, PLEASE)

2016-03-17 00.10.30 (2).jpg BACK IN THE BUSH WITH MY UNDERTAKER

 

 

THE DAILY RANT –

 

…POWER PERVERSION IN AN UNKNOWN KINGDOM… … …. …

REAL CASTRATION IN A LOCKED UNIT…………………..

                                                            ****** THIS TRULY IS ADULT MATERIAL
                                                          PLEASE AVOID THIS STORY IF YOU
                                                           ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN OR IF YOU
                                                            ARE PSYCHOLOGICALLY DISTURBED.
____________________________________

        
         

           Melissa.  That bitch tried to put
me in jail for six years. Her last boyfriend went to jail
for exactly six years.  She put him there. He kept
writing her letters, year after year…
          She has a magnetic ass, that`s the problem.
Men want to kneel and beg and quiver at her feet -even
before she tells them that they are cut off,
that she`s going to leave.
          I hear some of their voices on her answering
machine, as we sit together in comfort on her couch and she tickled my groin. I listen to their high-pitched
quaking voices. I listen to them start to beg She laughs.
But begging arouses me and I`m not laughing so much
as leaning back and pulsing at the sensation of being
teased by her playful fingers.
          But deep down inside I`m thinking,  “So this is what
she can do to a man…” And, boy, this isn`t the first time
that she`s done it.
           
         I remember lying beside her in bed in the dark. It was
a big bed. We`re lying there and I`m breathing hard. I guess we`d already had sex.  I asked her,  “What happened to your last boyfriend?”
         “I stabbed him,” she says.
         “Where did you stab him?” I ask.
         “Right where you`re lying,” she replies.

                                                                 *

            Of course I was thinking,  where`d you stab him — the stomach, the shoulder, the back?
          But no, she said: “Right where you`re lying.”
I wanted to turn the light on to see if she was kidding.
I don`t have to turn the light on anymore.
           She wasn`t kidding.
          
           This was before I learned she castrated her first
husband… And I`m not being poetic… This is no metaphor.
I`m talking  castrated physically.
          He tried to jump her – I mean achieve penetration,
but she wasn`t going to allow that little favour. Buster had been cut off, he just hadn`t really gotten the message yet.
So he made his move.
           Melissa the bountiful had been coming home from
the hospital about five A.M.  each night for the last six
months.
           Her husband,  Victor Busted, knew something was
up. And he was a very tidy fellow so he just had to know
who was putting what where. His wife`s shift as a psychiatric nurse ended each night at 12:00 midnight. The drive home was twenty minutes.
            Victor started going crazy — I`ll describe this in detail later. Believe me, I got the details. 
          She was working at a psychiatric hospital.  Which
was, of course, where I met her. I wasn’t working there
I was a patient, an inmate. Sometimes  I had to wear degrading clothes that opened in the back. A green Johnny gown.  In that outfit often  my ass was exposed.  
           There were a few dozen attractive nurses
walking around with pills and clipboards and large needles.
         If you didn`t want to bend over for an injection
they`d call the big queer nurses.  And there was no way you
could escape, evade or overpower them.  They were fast and
they knew how to bend a guy over.  They were experts.
They`d done it all before. And they liked doing it. They
loved their job.
        I have a castration fetish, lets be straight about this.
So all this talk about ball snipping, and Peter Meter tests
and electric probes…. all this was turning me on…
And Melissa`s ass, of course. I was getting obsessed.
Just as well I was locked up at night and couldn`t
follow her home…. Because I would have met Victor
who was undoubtedly pacing up and down and around their house.
       I might have started to pace with him.

        Her big protuberant gorgeous Jamaican ass danced inside her tight nurse`s uniform, as she sashayed down the hall of the lock forensic ward of the research hospital.
         I could hear a groan arise from the medicated patients.
They groaned in unison – a slow, rising gutteral ineffectual
mating call.  These prisoners were well along in their
medicinal treatment. They were all impotent But still
they clutched at their groins with desperation between
their teeth.  I could could hear their teeth grinding.
        They looked at me with hate. Why were they looking
at me with hate. Because I was closer to catching her than they were. And I might be able to get a stiff prick if
I was lucky once in a blue moon
          A minimum of two men a week were castrated
And these bewildered eunichs were soon shipped off
to another ward. They were kept in the lower ward
for another month or two and then they were
pronounced  “CURED” .
          Oh, they were cured all right.  And their
testicles were being cured.
          Erect Phalli were an endangered species around
there.  And there was a pretty good turn over rate.
Doctor Bloch and Freund Salli had a real system of meat
packing.  Melissa promissed to show me the long line
of testicular mason jars with patients` male meats dangling
in Formaldyhyde . There were hundreds of
them!  Each jar had a man`s name and a date on it.
           Instead of a name and a date the demon doc
should have just written GOTCHA!  and added a number –
GOTCHA 322.
           It was truly a ghastly sight but it was giving me
an erection.  Until I walked into the midst of all this madness
I thought I was impotent, too. Now I could feel
my pecker growing almost half the time.
           I asked Melissa, “who indexes all these jars?”
            She said:  “I do!”
             When she said that, I almost came in my pants.
Every once in a while premature ejaculation had been a
problem for me… hanging around Melissa, it was going to be
a disaster!
             “Does Bloch do all the castrations himself?”
             She gave me a wicked smile, “The nurses help.”
              I felt a lump in my throat.
              “Do you help sometimes?”  I ask her
               She nods her head, “Yes.”
               “You have castrated some of these men?” I gesture
at the long rows of mason jars with plumb white orbs
floating in them.
               “It`s my job, Yes I have…” she smiles at me,
that wicked look again. She was loving this and good
god, so was I!
               “How many have you snipped?”
               “At last count I`ve closed the shears on 42?”
               “You use shears, really?”
                She reached between my legs and clutched my
swollen orbs in one hand and squeezed. She was very
strong… Harder and harder she squeezed. She`d used
that grip before. I groaned and fell to my knees
and came in her hand.
                 I was going to have to marry this girl!
          
                                      *  *   *

            AFTERWARD – CHEMICAL STRAIGHT JACKET
                                      

               Some of the prisoners had intra-muscular Haldol injections prescribed for them. These were the men who
still had their manhood dangling between their legs.
But there was no escape for them.  They weren’t going 
to be able to run. They were doomed. They just hadn’t
digested the fact as yet.
             Haldol, that shit`ll make you sit still. You can still move your eyes.Apart from that all you can do is drool a little.  And if you`re really creative you might manage a gutterel moan, or a low pitched gasping groan.
          That was where the chorus of mumbles and groans
came from…. these guys wetting themselves in chemical straightjackets.
          Some of the guys could actually walk – but walk is the
wrong word. All they really do is shuffle along – one open hand
sliding along the wall – only the  co-ordinated guys could
 do this.           
          Talk about organized , scheduled and institutionalized S&M!  Whoever organized this “cure” was brilliant. I`m
told this big house of wonders and horrors had been
going on for over a generation. Dr Bloch`s father
was chief physician of the locked unit also.
          He was a sadist also and the same kind of
twisted bi-sexual wonder as his son.  Dr Bloch Jr
inherited the post – like a king inherits his own
country of prisoners. No one in Canada dreamed or
believed such a situation was possible
         But never underestimate the powers of
deeply inspired creative mind.
         A little step to the left and you`re in
a new country. In this new country through a thin
membrane of weirdness and madness, different rules
applied, a darker reality existed.
         The institutional sport in this small country
ruled by a team of absolute despots, this sport I
have been describing is some strange version
of “capture the flag. The winner gets his and her
deepest perversions fulfilled. 
         The loser is cured, gets to go home an entirely
different creature. The loser loses all.

                       *     *    *

            
           I PURSUE MELISSA .

           …ALL THIS TALK WAS MAKING ME AS HORNY

           AS A TEN-PECKERED OWL

 

         
          This castration doctor.  He was a mostly gay guy who could only have sex with a woman if she was holding a mason jar containing a former patient`s testicles in it – then he would be aroused enough to have sex with the woman
from behind.
           This was the head doctor of the place. not
one of the crazed and disturbed patients
in the locked forensic ward.
          And there was another
doctor who always recommended castration, after seeing
the results of the Peter Meter tests.
I tried to arrange to have these tests. What I heard
about the tests stuck me as highly erotic. You were strapped
bare-assed to a heavy wooden chair and electrodes
were attached to you cock and balls – an electric
genital cuff.
          These guys were desperate for a good Court
assessment, and so they`d do anything to please
the higher ups, the doctors. Little did they know
what it would cost them.
          But these guys were no longer thinking men.
They were too highly medicated for that.  Doctor
Block would get these poor hobbled fools wired
on some really pure good drug…. clinical morphine,
for example,  and even tastes of Fentanyal mixed in.
When he was realy cruel he`d mix in a little
amphetamine to make the buggers pant… and LSD
if he wanted to watch them lick the walls when Melissa
passed.
          The ten or so who could amble and shamble couldn’t
keep up with Melissa.  They couldn’t come close… But they kept following in the direction in which she had disappeared.
She could do three laps of the ward in the time it took these  guys   to make it around. I`d follow her for a couple of hundred yards… the sound of her clicking heels was
mesmerizing… I could almost keep up, but not quite.
          I won`t say I wasn`t drooling a little myself, because
I`m sure I was. We were all medicated to the tits. After a few laps, though, of stumbling behind her magnetic and musical
ass, I`d bail out to the left and run to the bathroom in the centre of the circle. I`d fall to my knees and start
masturbating wildly. In a matter of thirty seconds I`d
be spurting off into the mirror and resting my fevered
forehead against the cool tile wall.
           I`d stand there for about a minute, two minutes 
at most. Then I had to continue my quest. I`d sway down the hall, panting after her.  Maybe the good doctor was feeding me
stimulants,  setting me up for a fall…. I was over forty and I was whacking off minimum four times a day.
          Then Melissa became my NIght Nurse and she and
I`d go off into a room together.  That`s where we had
our one on one`s… Finally I got her to stare thru the
peek hole  and I nailed her from behind. It was heaven and hell and ice cream, too, to finally get my hands on her ass.
I remember forcing her knees apart and ripping her
panties off with one quick yank of the wrist…
          I was cupping her cunt from the front with one hand
and kneading her ass cheeks – like two glazed hams –
from behind… then I achieved penetration.  Boy did I ever!
It was just as well she wanted it, because she wasn`t going
to escape me now…. My cock felt like it belonged to a big
beast from hell… It seemed to have grown to twice it`s
size… It was long and thick and heavy — it felt like
it weighed two pounds.
         As Mill;er says, ” It was an erection fit to break a plate!” And it seemed to be curved more than usual. Drool was
running down my chin and the engorged head of my hard-on was drooling, too.
         The knob was the size of a taut plumb, and I`m not exaggerating.  That Doctor had to have been slipping me
something.  It felt like I was fucking on LSD and Viagra and 
pig tranquilizer, too.
          I was pinching her black nipples and slapping
her ass… she was making breathless squealing sounds..
I slipped my thumb up her ass and kept pumping hard 
savage thrusts… I felt like some pirate cutting the head
off a large sea creature on the beach…  I was biting the
back of her neck… she was almost screaming…  …
          Then there was a knock at the door:  “IS EVERYBODY
ALL RIGHT IN THERE?” It was Lenny, one of the big Queer
nurses.. “Oh, yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Just taking care of
a little business, Lenny!”
           Lenny laughed, “Sounds like you`re running a marathon.  You need any help”
           ” If I`m not out in twnety minutes, you might have have to give me a hand!”
           He laughed. He stood outside the door
quietly for about a minute. My huge curved dork
was throbbing inside her… Sometimes I come quick,
but I felt like I could fucxk for hours… My cock felt like
it belonged to a beast from the underworld… I was in total
control.
       I wanted to take her leather shoe and whack that goregeous ass with it.  I bent her over the sink and pushed
down hard so her groin rubbed against the curved corner of
the bowl. Then I nudged that animal cock a few more inches
into her. I heard her grunt.
        I started slapping her ass hard with the sole of the toe of her shoe. I pushed her  belly down hard  and made her rub her
cunt against the smooth corner of the sink. Then
I bit her ear from behind until I tasted blood in my mouth.
I felt my orgasm building… my cock was throbbing on the
verge of ejaculation…I kept pounding deep into her
with long slow insistent thrusts.
         I was biting the back of her throat again like a large tom cat.. she couldn’t move at all now… She was going to take every bit of my cock for as long as I wanted her to… she had no will at all… I heard a strange deep gutteral sound and I
realized I was growling…
        I wanted to whip her ass and her back… I wanted to see her crawl… I wanted to see her grovel… I wanted to degrade her… Her orgasm was lasting all this time…. I could feel her
body shuddering… I pulled out and madher stand up… I put my cock in her hand and told her to squeeze it. She was
syaring up at me with big eyes as if she`d never known
me before.
        I leaned back bare-assed against ther cool sink…
my cock was still hard and arching upwards, like
it was the devils dong – as if it was doing the thinking for me.
I stared at it more closely and it seemed to be covered
with fur…
        Someone had definitely been slipping me some
powrful hallucinogen… maybe acid, maybe PCP, maybe a combination… I didn`t know what the drug was But I wanted
more… I felt like walking down the hall with this huge
devilk dong guiding the way before me…
        I wanted to get my hands on the all the doctors and
herd them, like lambs and gees into a closet, I wanted to fuck all the nurses in front of them… one after another… And if their wives came around, I wanted to mount t them too. And I
know somehow I could do it.  At that moment it would have
be impossible to resist me.
       I turned my attention back to Melissa. And believe me
she is a dominant woman, but not then, not facing this rough beast.
       She was on her knees below me and she was sucking my
knob like her life depended on it… Every few minutes I`d spurt once or twice but my orgasm wouldn`t complete itself.
She was making mewling sounds like a big submissive kitten
like a gorgeous fullsome priestess of an ancient religion
lick and sucking with complete absorbed adoration
the swollen drooling head of her god.
       Finally she was sucking and licking and swallowing and using both hands to pull on the cock of the beasts. The stiff dork required both hands… finally it was coming.. I started
to spurt down her throat… It was me and not me…
      I picked her up and bent her over the sink once again
and thrust this dong deep into her… and I was throbbing and spurting into her… ejaculating, throbbing and throbbing and spurting.  I kept spurting into her for a long time
      I want to inseminate.  I wanterd to fill her with children ,,, I needed to see her belly swell and her breasts grow large. And once she gacve birht, I waanted her to rest for a time.
     Ther I would take her by the hand and make her bend over again, exposing her fertile buttocke, her full round cheeks.
And I would bury this  fat head of the beast in her again,
and I would fill her with white hot seed.
      I would mount her and make her recive me. She would have no choice, but she was  happy not to choose She wanted me to take her.  And take her I did that aftewrnoon.
       And that day I felt it was only a matter of time
before I chased her down like an animal in the wilds….
Only a matter of time… Before i make her take the
deep proboscis again.

      
       

                        *   *    *    *  *

HELPLESSLY WAITING FOR IT… “THE CURE”

            _______________________________________
                                      
          After a couple of months in ecstatic
addiction to drugs that were totally inaccessible
to  them, these shuffling, stumbling men who shambled along in a tequilla sunrise-coloured perpetual sunset in a modern WARD… a world of off-white and light green walls…

        Little did they
suspect the testicular Venus Flytrap they had wandered into…
They became willing victims, fatted calves who were
dumber than stunned donkeys…
           What`s a stunned donkey. A stunned donkey is
a quadruped who is no longer stubborn. On no, when
someone twisted the tails of these guys, they really felt it.
Nothing like a blast from a cattle prod behind the low-hanging
all too accessible ballocks to make a blinkered beast of burden think. Ho! Ho!
           These were the guys who would groan when
Melissa of the magnificent cafe-au-lait coloured magnetic
ass danced by – my future wife. There is the merely beautiful ass. There is the compelling ass.  There is the hypnotic
ass.  There is the musical ass. But when men run into
the rare but equally deadly magnetic ass, men are well
and truly fucked even when their limp depro-prevaraed
dinkies not dongs dingled in their open-assed
gowns.
          Male genital shrinkage – that`s the first delight
of the deeply sadistic and playful obsessively-buttocked
posterior of the laughing Jamaican gal`s posterior.
Danger lurks in them thar hills.  And these patients were
so obsessed, they wren`t even aware that they were following Her up and down the tiled corridors.
          They folowed unconsciously, like some scarcely
aware sea cucumber follows the sun which strikes the sea
100 feet above the benumbed boneless sea cucumber.
I am told – even when this boneless beauty turns itself
inside out, it isa automatic… It;`s only defence
against fish that can move is to expose its
internal organs outwardly. The hungry fish eat all the dangling
innie organs turned outies… and then when there  are no more organs to eat,  the brilliant cucumber fishes turns itself
back outside in….Then it regrows its eaten organs.
             Say what you like about this clever subterfuge –
its hardly a defence.  And when all your internsal organs
are being devoured by predators, it can`t be a pleasant experience.  Even I am not aroused by this kind
of re-occuring torture.
            In comparison the shuffling soon to be
castrated males on the locked fourth floor – they
had it made in the shade.  Just not for long….Ooooo,
not for long.
           Twice a week a male pacient  was led off the
floor to be snipped by Doc Bloch and his Gleaming Shear Gals
in the basement. Two men a week were wheeled back onto the floor on stretchers… and when they could talk again,  they were speaking soprano.
           And could they sue once they had figured out what
had happened?  Not a bit of it. Each man had signed a foolproof
medical release in triplicate.
           I examined the Release form and could see
no escape from it. When suddenly Bloch cut a man
off the perfect narcotic he had increased in the patient`s
system twice a week for two months – the withdrawal
was nothing less than gut clenching. Not one
inmate lasted longer than two days of gut-clenching agony.
Every one signed the iron-clad Release form
that would  free them all too soon of the burden of their
dangling manhood.
           And Doctor Bloch got layed again, as he fucked
one of his trio of handymaids from behind, while she held
the mason jar of severed testicles aloft, so the good
Doctor cold see them as he gasped for breath and
fucked a woman for a change.
                                                 

 (C) 2000 to 2016 by W.G. Milne      

WHY ARE THE VISION PLANTS ILLEGAL?

Thursday, July 11, 2013

WHY ARE THE VISION PLANTS ILLEGAL ? HERB AND THE SACRED MUSHROOMS…… ……. THE VISION PLANTS ARE ILLEGAL BECAUSE THEY MAKE YOU SEE!

WHY ARE THE VISION PLANTS ILLEGAL?…………………. THE HERB AND THE SACRED MUSHROOMS………………………………………………………………….THE VISION PLANTS ARE ILLEGAL BECAUSE THEY MAKE YOU SEE!

         (THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN RE-WRITTEN IT WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED IN:

             “THE WHIP AND THE CROSS”)

          I was going to do a course called: RELIGION AND IMAGINATIVE LITERATURE
up at the campus at Nipissing University, but I didn’t advertise enough and I got
only eight people who signed up, and four of them were nuns. The course was to be held in honour of Father Belyea, who gave a course by the same name at St. Michael’s College, University of Toronto…oh, I’d say about thirty years ago.
        I was going to take the class up into the bush and show them the need for the primitive gods. Since then I’ve been all over the place and everywhere I went I visited a shrine.
 I saw a place on Easter Island that no one has ever talked about.
 I spent hours outside the Bat Cave in Bali, where hundreds of thousands of bats come and go.
 I saw them burn bodies on the steps above the holy Ganges River at Varanasi, oldest living city on earth. I also was shown the Temple of Love, but that is another story for another time, 
         if we have another time.
        
        After visiting all those shrines, all I have to say is this:
       “THE HOLIEST SHRINE OF ALL IS THE HUMAN HEART-MIND.”    
       
         Walt Whitman would agree. So would Waldo Emerson.  
         
          Emerson said: “THERE IS ONE MIND COMMON TO ALL INDIVIDUAL MEN” 
       
         The foundation of Carl Jung`s work is this fact. HIS  “Collective Unconscious” is built on this foundation. He was also
strongly influenced by “THE SEVEN SERMONS TO THE DEAD”  by Basilides.  This work was discovered at Nag Hammadi, and Jung got one of the codexes.
        Let’s not forget Walt Whitman. He’s one of the few natural seers
 we’ve had in the West.   And let`s not forget the VISION PLANTS.
  Without the VISION PLANTS, CHRIST CONSCIOUS NEVER WOULD HAVE
EMERGED.

Walt says:”There was never more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now;
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven of hell than there is now.”( Song of Myself)

         Then he adds “I AND THIS MYSTERY HERE WE STAND.” (Capitals mine)
What Walt is getting at throughout the waves and rhythms of his work
is exactly the same truth the early Christians meditated in order to see.

         The problem is, as the Zen Buddhists very well know, it is impossible to describe the truth. How do you put a vision of GOD AND MAN UNIFIED IN ONE into words?  Or realizing the Eternal Christ Consciousness within you
       How do you describe the MOMENT of REALIZATION, the implosion of all things into darkness… and the knowledge that you know all there is to know
and yet you know nothing.

How do you figure out this paradox.  You don`t.

        All this writing is but the “finger pointing at the moon.” It is not the moon itself.*
 (Buddhist saying)
       Only after searching and taking rationality to its dead end; then you stop and let a 
HIGHER FACULTY faculty take over,
       When there is silence everywhere,  focus on a PARADOXICAL SAYING: “In the beginning was the Word.”  This is one such saying.
        This is a good saying, because there’s no way you can understand it intellectually. Let the silence reign, and FOCUS.
        I like to call these sayings MINDSHOCKS, because their purpose is to break the EGGSHELL OF THE EGO. The Buddhists call this type of saying something else,
but they use them too
         Rational, scholastic and phiiisophical discussions won`t take us there
to that place where we need to be in order to satisfy our souls.
          Realization is the solution.  Realization is the pathway Home. 
          Realization can be achieved without the aid of the plants.But there
is no need to make it more difficult than it has to be. I starved myself, and
that`ll  get you to the same place, because your body will create
the vision on its own. But now that we know more about biochemistry,
we realize that DMT, made in the human body, give us our sense of
the sacred.
          The sacred mushrooms are also a strong source of DMT, And I can
tell you one thing as a matter of historical fact – the early Christians were
eating a lot of  sacred mushrooms. The Essenes were experts in healing
and herbs. Jesus Christ was an Essene. He came out of the
Essene community. 
          It looks as if he was their Teacher of Righteousness who
was crucified in 65 B.C. **                                                                  **cf: John Allegro.org
          The MANNA God gave the Jews in the desert. That was the
sacred mushroom. It was food from the heaven, the proper food
of man.
           “Before Christ came there was no proper food of man.”

           THE HOLY EUCHARIST WAS WINE AND THE SACRED MUSHROOM:
“EAT THIS, THIS IS MY BODY.” THAT STATEMENT WAS LITERALLY TRUE!
            Do you ever wonder why those words sound hollow in church?
It is because the words are false without the true sacramental food.

            THIS USED TO BE ESOTERIC KNOWLEDGE.
ONLY FOR THE FEW.

         The church knows it. They have just kept the facts
hidden in order to monopolize money and power.

          LIES!  God, we`ve been told some whoppers!
And I used to be so angry! I`m re-writing this article.
The last time I wrote it I hid part of what I knew to be
true.
          I like to be whipped. So did Christians throughout 
history. Many Christians whipped themselves. I like to cane others, too.   That might be a tad sadistic and perverted.
So what! Call me a pervert. So what!  I`ve been called worse.

      But I don`t kneel and masturbate to a woman in the other
room behind one way glass as some priests do, and pretend
it never happened… that these urges do not exist.
I`m admitting my frailties.  Big deal!
        “Man is nowhere more frail than in his sex.”
That`s a truth.  You can quote me on that.
I`m telling you the truth where I am most frail.
Big deal!
        AM I GOING TO LIE TO YOU ABOUT THE
PATH TO GOD?
         No I am not. 

          The truth is not complicated.  The truth is a
profound simplicity….   that`s what is difficult about 
the truth.
           The truth is apparent all around us.
            “The Kingdom is spread out upon the earth
and men see it not.”
 
            I  was feeling depressed this evening. I felt defeated.  Well, I feel
a lot better now. At least I`m not a liar at the moment.
            Thank you for listening to me.  Thank you for having the
courage to lay aside your prejudices – all you have been taught by the
bogus education system of our society.
           To quote Terence McKenna: “Culture is not your friend.”

           
            And also let`s quote my pal Hunter Thompson:
            “Madness is loss of your sense of humour.”           
 

           Back to the earlier article:             “BEFORE ABRAHAM WAS, I AM.”   This is a good egoshock/mindshock. Try to figure
this one out.  And then don`t bother, don`t try.  Mindshocks do not allow a
rational solution. That`s why focusing on them takes you closer to that pure land within you,
the original land where you have always been.

        Walt says: “Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

       “I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-washed babe
….and am not contained between my hat and boots “

      Later he says: “Who need be afraid of the merge”, and adds
later still: “….I come again and again.”
       “I have come well and I will go well.”
There is no one reading this who has not been here before. I am not certain,
but I suspect the fact that we have many lives – this doctrine is one of the
many  “heresies” that was nixxed at the Council of Nicea.
WE I SAY WE`VE BEEN LIED TO, I MEAN WE`VE REALLY BEEN LIED TO!
Just imagine what our lives would have been like, and would be like now,
if the path had not been hidden, twisted and distorted for us
so many centuries ago.    Two thousand years!
And the real doctrine is unburied now. It re-emerges now, after Nag Hammadi

” I SHALL BE AS HE IS
            AND HE SHALL BE ME”  

                                               and the hidden things shall be revealed to him.

“He who understands the explanation of these words will not taste death.”
 


           From “The Sophia of Jesus Christ”: “The Saviour”…”He is eternal, 
having no birth; for everyone who has birth will perish. 
He is unbegotten, having no beginning; for everyone who has a beginning has an end.”

        “The beginningless  Father who beholds himself within
(as with) a mirror. He was revealed, resembling himself.”
           Everyone who does  `sitting`  eventually  finds  the mirror within.

       The Zen Buddhists speak of cleaning the mirror of the mind. Through meditation you come to a place where your soul is mirrored by the Mind of the the One Who Is Creating us. It is a holy place. If I understand correctly this is the place the early Christians call, “the Bridal Chamber.” It is also said to be a mirrored place.

        
        EVERYONE WHO DRINKS THE WATERS I SPEAK FROM MY MOUTH
         SHALL BECOME AS I AM
          AND I SHALL BE HE
           AND THE HIDDEN THINGS SHALL BE REVEALED TO HIM.          (Gospel of Thomas)

         This is the heart of the REAL GOSPELS,   THE REDISCOVERED GOSPELS,
  THE ONES THAT WERE BURIED FOR 2000 YEARS.

         Have you heard this saying in your churches? Oh, I forgot, no one really goes
to church anymore… I wonder why.
          The EUCHARIST has been adulterated.
        

      Of course, the mirror does not exist; it’s just a metaphor for something that cannot be expressed in words.

                                   *     *     *   *    *    *   *

 zappadat.tumblr.com
 NOTE:       Please forgive me for the excessively serious tone I was adopting
                 in this article, before I came clean and edited it.
                 I really hate hate the preachy tone – but the history of what has happened to many wonderful people who walked the walk,not just talk the talk… well,
I was finding it depressing.
                But there are great stories as well – the poets, the mystics, the wacky fools on the hill, ya gotta love em.   Hildegarde of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, St. John of the Cross, Walt Whitman, Father Belyea, Northrop Frye, Jay Macpherson ( who wrote Job daughters)
And all the ordinary heroes I don`t know.
               Those who laboured to present to the rest of us the true nature of our heritage – that there is more here than meets the eye —that we are not confined by the lies that we have been told.
These fools are trying to tell us what`s what!  And how the fuck should they know…these safe fat comfortable rich churchmen  and politicians – they never stepped out beyond the village gates the way the heroic mystics and poets and ordinary people who couldn`t read or write
did. The people knew horseshit when they heard it.
Now that I think of it we`re O.K. And we`ve probably always
been OK… All we needed was a few drinks of alcohol  – AND THANK GOD FOR THAT! — and the VISION PLANTS,  God-given herb and the
sacred mushrooms…
Without the symbiotic relationship humanity formed with
these beings growing out of the soil, this consciousness
that is aiding us in the earth all around us,  maybe then we could have been fooled forever by the GREEDHEADS, AND THE LIARS AND THE GRASPERS AFTER POWER.
But we had help, and we weren`t fooled forever… and don`t think those buggers (appropriate word) in the Vatican don`t know about the mushrooms –  early Christian art is full of mushrooms – just like Fairy Tales.
One of my heroes is John Marco Allegro.  Check that beautiful man out! Google him!  He`s right here.
He was an expert in language. He was hired to translate the Dead Sea Scrolls…. and he found way too many mush rooms, mushroom puns. The New Testament is full of them, he says. And I believe every damn thing the man says now!
Everybody else lied… no one else did their job… not in ten years,
the way John did.  He wrote a book called, “The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross”, which was out of print for a while – no accident. See if you can find the endnotes at the end of the book where he proves his thesis.
He was discredited for 30 years!  Thirty years!  That`s a long time in a man`s life. If you`re looking for a Christian martyr in recent days,
look at the life of John Marco Allegro.
He has been totally vindicated, by the way, by a Russian scientist among other researchers. He went back to the root words in the Sumerian! Allegro worked things out all right.
By the way, check out gnosticmedia.com.  Jan Werner (sp?) is doing some fine work, too.  And he affirms John Allegro`s work.
As an aside, I met John Allegro at the museum in Toronto. He was giving a lecture. He was a scholar. He wasn`t obsessed. He had no interest in talking about mushrooms.

I`ve got one question for you. What is it about FACT that is too terrible for the population at large to hear?  WHAT IS IT  ABOUT THE BALD NATURE OF REALITY  THAT SCARES THE SHIT OUT THESE
IDIOTS ?

Maybe it`s not reality that scares these fools in the church and government. Maybe they`re just frightened we`ll find out how they`ve been
robbing us! The last thing they want “we, the people” to have is clear vision.
The sacred plants are illegal, you want to know why?

               Have you ever smoked a big one and watched someone being phony.  It`s impossible not to spot!
That`s the last thing politicians want.
          THE VISION PLANTS ARE ILLEGAL BECAUSE
THEY MAKE YOU SEE. 

THE TUNNEL PEOPLE ARE AS REAL AS THIS CABBAGE

This is not the strangest night I ever had – but it’s up there in the top twenty!

zappadat- THE MOVEABLE FEAST

(this story is very like the last tunnel people tale,

with significant alterations…..just don’t ask me

what they are)

______________________________________________

THE TUNNEL PEOPLE ARE AS REAL AS THIS CABBAGE

WAIT-A-BIT!

LIGHTHEARTED TALES OF ISOLATION AND PANIC

******************************

I’d get farther away from myself most days……… if I could!I judge myself –it’s called the negativescript — and the disdain you can feel foryourself is quite surprising. Self-hate abounds.That’s one of the reasons I drink….

When I have a brain clawing hangover, as I have now –LAO TZU says: “START WITH COMPASSION FOR YOURSELF”,

then the world will follow in harmony around you.Now…. this morning, things are a bitdifferent. We had a “chartreuse” party.Dexter and Nicodemus, chief brewers of the TunnelPeople always did look a little green…an unhealthy hue, both men have.Then again, they’re afraid of the sky –so that…

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