A kōan is a question, statement or story, that on the surface, defies logic. It operates by confounding customary discursive thinking, forcing the intelligent student to use other faculties of awareness to shed light onto the seemingly bizarre linguistic conundrum presented. Only by bringing deeper, non-dualistic consciousness to the matter, can the gem of gnosis be uncovered.
The kōan is a teaching device that has become synonymous with the Zen Buddhist tradition. Though its roots are much older, there is a unique simplicity and a lasting effectiveness in the Zen expression of this mind quake that is hugely relevant and instructive today.
Famous kōans include:- (1) A Zen Master said to his student, “Two hands clap and there is a sound. What is the sound of one clapping?” (2) A student asked Zen Master Wenyan, “What is the Buddha?” Wenyan replied, “Dried dung.” (3) A monk asked Kegon, “How does an enlightened one return to the ordinary world?” Kegon replied, “A broken mirror never reflects again; fallen flowers never go back to the old branches.”
Take your average matrix dwelling noodle and present them with a kōan - and they won’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Whether they’re a senior vascular surgeon or a trainee burger flipper, any data that falls outside of their habituated mental operating system is tagged as an irregularity and consigned to the furnace of the extraneous. From their perspective, data that threatens to compromise the foundations of their living database is not granted an audience. Understandable. So, if the Control System can manage to prep someone’s core database parameters from an early age, the rest of the process of perpetual self-limitation will take care of itself.
They’re Not Here, This Isn’t HappeningIt was only when I first walked barefoot through a beautiful wheat field, my feet pressing into the warm cereal grass, that I realized that the crop circle I stood inside was a kōan.
Though I’d been aware of crop circles for many years, it took an actual physical connection before I could begin to conceive of their true nature. The experience was far more illuminating than I could’ve foreseen. Before then, thumbing through books, comparing photographs and reading various research texts, I was unavoidably consumed with the primitive enquiry: who makes them and how? It took some time for me to move beyond this initiatory red herring.
Crop circle micro-history. Reports of crop formations circa 815 AD in Lyon, France. First recorded illustration in England in 1678. Gain modern prominence in 1970s and 1980s. Particular media coverage in the late 1980s/early 1990s. In 1991, old geezers Doug and Dave revealed themselves as the men who hoaxed the world with rope and board. Whole phenomenon disappears from the public eye. Increasingly extraordinary circles continue to appear each and every year.
For those who care to trace the sequence of events and filter out the historical sediment, Doug Bower and Dave Chorley were yet another absurdly obvious PSYOPS in a long line of government sponsored ‘nothing to see here’ propaganda that has successfully steered consensus focus away from anything unorthodox. The purpose of the crop circle blackout was to defuse any mass public engagement or exploration with this wholly unexpected phenomenon that lay well outside the Control System syllabus. This was achieved, quite simply, by binding the word “hoax” to the term “crop circles”.
This word binding trick, predominantly used within the broader methodology of predictive programming, was most famously employed in 1963, when a shadow intelligence group successfully associated the term “conspiracy theory” with
any unconventional alternative scenarios relating to the assassination of John F Kennedy. The controlling agency actively managed both sides of the debate by setting up fake dialectic polarities of (a) the official story, and (b) absurd paranoid conspiracy theory. It’s a multiple choice question, with no correct answers.
After the 1960s, the derisory connotations of “conspiracy theory” would forever more evoke notions of anti-establishment wackos and half-baked obsessive fantasies. Look up the JFK assassination on Wikipedia and you get 14 pages of official story and 1 section on “assassination conspiracy theories”. The juxtaposition of this against the rest of the entry, together with the pre-loaded terminology itself, erodes the value of any alternative scenarios, analysis or consideration, well before the average reader even begins to engage their own apparatus of perception.
All it takes is a few dozen front page headlines containing the words hoax and crop circles, together with token pictures of a crop formation and some guys stood in a field, and you have your hardwired mental association. The crop circle hoax meme is firmly established.
Today in England, say crop circle to the man in the street and he will reply, “Mmm. Aren’t they all hoaxed?” with a smile on his face. 20 years on and the bogus association is now a normal component of the default human database.
The Projection RoomIt is in the contemplation of the irrational presence of crop circles, so incongruous in contemporary industrial Britain, that their teaching slowly begins to dawn on you. This process is best accelerated by actually setting foot inside one, feeling it, smelling it, allowing it to dwell within your felt moment-by-moment experience of consciousness.
Simply put, the kōan of the crop circle challenges the binary logic of
this or
that,
true or
false, by whacking you over the head with a bamboo stick and saying, “
Hey asshole, this isn’t about logic or language”. As these are the two default tools that most humans use to navigate their way around, this leaves the investigator in an ontologically sticky situation. How can one acquire knowledge about something if the customary methods of acquiring knowledge are useless? One cannot.
High-res cameras, laser tripwires, light amplifying devices and thermal imaging equipment only ever find epiphenomenal traces, logical glitches and geometrical echoes. Intriguing, but not effective methods of discovery in understanding crop circles. It’s not about acquiring knowledge at all. Whilst there is indeed intriguing information and geometry embedded within the glyphs, this is potentially a very surface level of data, or even a joke - designed to divert a certain unprepared mindset away from the real game. Only when all systems are taken offline and you walk in with the purest, lightest resonance of being possible does the primary teaching begin to unveil itself ... paradox.
A paradox comes along when the habitual mental operating system repeatedly bumps up against the walls of its own limitations. An upgrade is needed to allow the new consciousness to run in more dynamic and multidimensional ways. This emanates from deep within the galactic centre, via the sun, offering a subtle yet profound universal upgrade for the individual expression of consciousness. The kōan is an invitation to accept such paradox, to let its tides rise within your mind and transform the entire psychic landscape. Old materialist concepts are submerged, whilst new dimensional reflections glimmer in the opalescent waters.
Paradox ain’t for everyone. For those unable to imbibe such a heady brew, those who are simply not equipped for galactic emanations, we see that they are safely excluded from any fried circuitry by virtue of their inability to find a place for crop circles on their scientific nuts and bolts game board. They just don’t fit. So this quandary is resolved by using the squares and the pieces that do fit. Therefore, in such circumstances, the circles are required to be man-made. And so that is what they are. They are man-made.
For the aspiring but equally dualistic investigator, armed with an appetite for discovery, a bag of technology and a penchant for the mysterious, all that can really be discerned is the labyrinthine corridors of their own binary delusion. One chase after another. Never finding the answer. Indulging in the escapist adventure. Scraps and clues. This is not the way forward. The kōan repeatedly hints at the external world being no more than a fictional movie from the projection room of the mind. So the manifestation of the circles is not to be scrutinized on the movie screen, but in the place from which the movie originates.
Personal beliefs, narratives and reflections must be suspended to embrace the circles. The thinking, walking storybook of the chattering human cannot enter. Clean, still, open consciousness. Only with such integral awareness can the fluid individual penetrate the old morphic fields of linear routine. Then, something new is brought into being. Field uplink occurs. The upgrade downloads and installs. The local reflection of consciousness evolves and expands. Connection. Gnosis.
One of the major contributing factors to creatively engaging with paradox and letting it rest easy upon the shores of mind, is maintaining a healthy, high frequency of consciousness.
Imagine a dial, like the tuning dial on a radio, that ranges from unconsciousness to super high consciousness. Everything the Control Systems does is aimed at keeping that dial at zero. Keeping the proletariat as cogitating, productive beings - yet totally unable to conduct high consciousness. Keeping them
despiritualized is another way of putting it. Most people are unaware that they even have a dial and are able to retune and raise their consciousness. It’s not very well publicized.
Going into nature, laughing, exploring, feeling, resonating integrity, and
just being - all these things raise the vibration rate and keep the frequency high. Then you come back inside, switch the TV on and it plummets back to zero. It is the most reliable, effective and ubiquitous tool of propagating ignorance at their disposal. You have to have a titanium psyche to be even half impervious to its deleterious effects. Everyone else is at its mercy.
The Burning Of Sodom The dehumanizing abasement of television relentlessly conditions new levels of obedience into the proletariat - siphoning out the integrity and consciousness of all who watch and are being watched. Billions worship the screen, kneeling to bring forth the burnt offerings of their own emotional turpitude. This is pandemic self-harming; whole nations slicing into their viscera to momentarily escape the agony of a deeply inauthentic life.
TV is pornography. There’s no other word for it. Talent Porn, Grief Porn, Freak Show Porn. Sordid voyeuristic thrills that masquerade as game show, drama or documentary. The poisonous sacrament is marketed squarely at women (as previously observed at The Cleaver in June 2007). Why? It seeks to neutralize the profound connectedness of woman, which in its natural unbridled magnificence poses a considerable threat to the masculine reductionism of the Control System. So once more, they move in, co-opt, rebrand and defuse it. The organic is replaced with the synthetic. The frequency of consciousness is lowered, lowered, lowered.
This enduring fashion for grotesque television is a revival of the infectious greed of mid-1980s Reagan-Thatcher politics. A hell world of human slaves, money, hierarchy, vanity, gross materialism and egomania. The fact that Simon Cowell and Paris Hilton exist at all is a sign that something has gone badly wrong. The depth gauge of extraordinary spiritual poverty has maxed out. The veneration of such avatars of emptiness is undoubtedly a daring plunge into the pit, a desperate attempt to counter the ascendant energies that are upon the Earth.
The burning of Sodom and Gomorrah is being televised.
They may be powerless to prevent the coming dimensional shift, but they
can divert human attention and lower consciousness. Through this filter, the accelerating divergence of humankind becomes clearer each day. It’s like those old action films where a runaway train hurtles down the track to a junction point where there’s a guy frantically trying to pull the lever that will switch the train onto a safe, alternative track. The train gets faster and faster but the lever won’t budge. This is what is happening now. Pulling the lever is the ability to take responsibility for one’s own sovereign being, to live in integrity and to bring in higher and higher levels of consciousness within oneself. Without these things, the lever remains rusted and immovable. The runaway train will continue on its course and plunge into the abyss. So order your psychic lubricant now to avoid disappointment.
There are those who cling to the old ways, and those who do not. We choose our path.
“Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting on a couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away, pissing and shitting yourself in a home, a total fucking embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you’ve spawned to replace yourself. Choose life. Well, I choose not to choose life. If the cunts can’t handle that, it's their fucking problem.”* The End Of The Fourth AgeThe end of the fourth age is here. Thank goodness. The shift is happening now, inside and out. It can be detected by observing the ripples in the pond: synchronicities increasing, matter becoming less dense, time compressing. There is nothing to be scared of. Quite natural and necessary for transformation. Nevertheless, it would be indefensible for the integral warrior to avoid indulging in the negative vortex of Control System debauchery, only to cosset himself in the intractable optimism of New Age tomfoolery.
It is both unwise and harmful to believe that something will come down from the skies and make everything OK. Be it UFO, saviour, God, ancient astronauts or angelic moonbeams. As an aside, any UFO that arrives as a physical object is not from a higher intelligence. Centuries of persistent religious redeemer-victim melodrama have produced the polar opposite, in the shape of mutations like Archbishop Dawkins. Thankfully, it only takes a couple of firing neurons (out of 100 billion) to know that such atheistic indulgence is a shameful despoliation of consciousness and exposes the same kamikaze ignorance as that of any fundamentalist religious devotee.
It’s easy to sympathise with the observance that the popular New Age renewal of ancient mystical teachings is actually an astute Control System manipulation. New Age fluff often blots out true individual empowerment by way of its preposterously doctrinaire practices and silly proscriptive hierarchies. All rather too reminiscent of those found at the aforementioned fundamentalist altars. As a rule of thumb, if there is a leader, dogma, hierarchy, or a reward based in the future… beware. The truth does not require any of these things. It is self-explanatory, open to all and bulletproof. You will certainly need to possess an expansive and flexible channel of consciousness to receive it, but it is there for those who genuinely seek its liberty and light.
There’s no turn-by-turn satnav for individual evolution and transcendence. The landscape changes and morphs as we move through it. Every single journey for each individual is totally unique. No one terrain is the same for anyone. Navigation and progression are achieved by reaching boundaries, and it is at these points, where paradoxical artefacts are encountered. They herald the proximity of new realms of being. The monolith of 2001, the cowboy of Mulholland Drive, Miller in Repo Man, the crop circles in the wheat fields of England. The real formulation of paradox is a subjective one; it cannot be measured or expressed as a neat equation. Paradox laughs at equations - and then sets fire to them. No sleek mathematics or scientific instrumentation will help. It is only the experiential that matters. It is here where the entire internal-external fabrication of reality collapses, and in so doing, assesses the individual’s readiness for such psychic fractal implosion. This is the exit.
In the territories of the visionary, the intellectual tools of the scholar are of little use. They cannot penetrate the membrane of the fractal stargate. Constructs of mind and self must be put to one side. Consciousness must be allowed to surrender itself back into merging with the sublime formlessness where all things exist at once. This is where the visionary seer (an impulse in all humans) becomes one with knowing. All is already in the field. All springs from and returns to the field. To be in the field is to become the information. Outside the field, the summoning of gnosis is the remembrance of simultaneous existence, both here and there. Self is but an anchor. Localized consciousness a dream.
Paradox seeks to transcend duality. No time. Just being. Being aware of all, yet without any knowledge whatsoever. Being everywhere and existing nowhere. Exquisite harmonic wholeness.
References & Footnotes* From the novel Trainspotting (Irvine Welsh, 1993). Scottish dialect in this quote has been internationalized for a global readership, who might otherwise find it rather baffling. Danny Boyle’s 1996 film of Trainspotting (containing a slightly watered-down version of this awesome dialogue) is compulsory viewing for those who have yet to sample its many delights.
Great video intro to crop circles:-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFKJJ5VMfWAGreat crop circle web resources (frequently updated with the latest glyphs):-
http://www.cropcircleconnector.com/2009/2009.htmlhttp://www.cropcircle-archive.com/archive/index.php?language=enImage 1: Bardo Being by Alex Grey. Image 2: photo by Neil Kramer, two Lynx Battlefield Utility helicopters flying in formation a few hundred yards parallel to the edge of the crop circle. Image 3: Beautiful Silbury Hill 2005 formation. Image 4: Burning of Sodom painting. Image 5: the monolith appears to Dave Bowman in Kubrick's 1968 film, 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Topics of discussion include: the 3D/4D journey, the metaphor of the psychedelic jetpack, DMT, Salvia Divinorum, the Psychedelic Salon, the book DMT: The Spirit Molecule, entheogens as medicines. The podcast also features brief excerpts from Joseph Nechvatal's Viral Symphony, Lorenzo's Psychedelic Salon, Lazenbee Industries Delusion Report, and Terence McKenna on the Archaic Revival. Plus of course, Titanic factoid of the week.
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