The Violence of Doing
-Action is the path of least resistance of the Electrical Matrix-
On the day of independence, we set ourselves to find Rome and make it disappear; we cancelled all the gigs and we postponed all the grievances. We took a quick meal for sustenance and then... we forgot what it was we set us for, because we had to sleep; see, every night we sleep good, or bad we sleep, whatever the evil moon gives us for a dream, that's usually all the sleep we get. We find trouble in that sleep, we find hope and lustful bliss in that sleep, sometimes we think we are the dream in that sleep, and our lives awaken just fall very short of that imaginary high bar. You wake up shaken, or vaguely perturbed, you wake up idiotically happy, or you wake up with a stiff neck; the only thing you really wake up to... is your own amnesia. I've come to realize that sleep is a very grand thing, it's perhaps the best life has to offer, where you recover your dwindling energies, where you lay to rest your pedantic plans, where and when your cells and organs regenerate and grow anew -most people do not realize their liver could be a few weeks old, every organ except the brain is regenerated during sleep-. Some researchers discovered an eerie relationship between REM deep trance sleep and... lifespan ! Oh yeah baby, some facts are just to groovy to ignore; it seems as if someone at some point... GOT HOLD OF OUR SLEEP, and turned that best part of our lives -where/when we reconnect with our other dimensional experiences- into one retarded distraction of a dream. It's like instead of the real dream, while sleeping we get to dream whatever some crazed out dr moonlove tuned into our receptors; dreams as blockers, dreams as vision curtains, dreams as masks and unsettling doubt-machines. You might have been your whole life a godamn hero for god's sakes, but every night dr moonlove afixes a very strange vibe of doubt upon it all, with every single night of dreams you're always left pondering "what if..." you had fallen for that funky witch, wasn't that what you were supposed to "really" do...?, the dreams of interference seems to be suggesting. Gee after all, it was money that was the real deal, oh no! when in hell did you decide to part ways with material success...? And that job that you did let slide, boy those master degree opportunities you wasted. Dr moonlove spends every night subliminally intoxicating you with dreams of distraction, dreams of doubt, dreams of fetiche after fetiche, trying endlessly to morph you into a fetiche, the fetiche of your own fetiche of your own fetiche of your own fetiche, like an endless russian doll constructed of illusions within illusions. But then of course you wake up and you go to the bathroom for a royal dump and as soon as the rotten smell of surreal biology reminds you that hey you are no longer under dr. moonlove's spell, it is alas! right there and then that you once again remember who you truly are, right before you completely and fully awake into the false nemesis of an opposite dr. sunlove interference dream. It is between the former and the latter, that lies the tiny hope a human soul can strive for in this cacophony of a 3D world. As John Lennon would have it, that unique moment of awareness and deja-vu remembrance of synchronicity happens just after you wake up, but just before you fully wake up, and those who stretch that moment into long minutes or full hours, are blessed with knowing who they are and what they came here to be. Most people have never ever experienced sleep deprivation; they simply... never had deviated an iota form their carefully crafted make-believe reality of "fully scheduled busy-bodies". Practically their entire lives, they've gone to bed at almost exactly the same hour, and similarly wake up like a robot also almost at exactly the same hour, while spending their lives deriding all those who refuse to abide by that bipolar dr moonlove vs .dr sunlove ritual of "Minimizing the Sacred Threshold Moment" of deep awareness in between -by imposing their Timetables of Strict Similitude, always running after the clock-.
Versus the Idle Duty of Transcendence
-Neither Action neither Dreams of Electric Sheep-
Night and Day are played out in this Matrix as expanding and constricting vortexes that sandwich the precise awareness-in-between. Most of school is merely the tedious omnipresent exercise to forever excise of your memory and your conscious life, the very existence of this blissful moment that John Lennon dedicated his entire life to safeguarding (that's when he wrote many of his best songs, he once confessed). Perhaps that's the real reason he was murdered, 'astrahl tresspazzars vihl ahlvayz vee pahnished'... What's the reason for school, and university, and work, and marriage, tv shows, ceremonies, appointments, examinations, and this and that, but... to impede us mortals from ever realizing there is a tiny bit of a portal of consciousness that leads to the field of information and etheric memory from way yonder, right after waking and right before full awaking. Unaware of such, most take drugs to achieve an analogous state; except they seldom achieve it, because they don't truly now what the heck to look for. Don't need to go to Tibet, don't need to die in a sweat-lodge ritual gone amuck, don't need to pay a scandalously overprized guru and to follow some pseudo avatar of sorts; there are 90 minutes in a soccer match, but only a few seconds for that magic goal. Most never realize, that between sleep and being awake, there is something else; those are some of the most ever-present and recurring portals to higher consciousness (every day... duh!?), those few seconds of the goal, so to speak. Follow suit ye warriors of awareness...! Morning people are a bore and have always been a sore, scared sh*tless of any other form of consciousness, that's what they're waking up so fast for, like scared little turds crying wolf at anything besides their delusional "Lights-Action !"conscious matrix construct -always legends in their own mind, always playing being stars of their own grandiose movies. They're envious, they know it, and they exert as much peer pressure as the law permits them, in order to bully all other earthlings to engage in their same squirrely tactic, that'll make 'em forget the fact that they have refused the single-most obligation of any sentient being, to achieve a higher consciousness of transcendence. And in that note of random misapprehension, I leave you my brothers in arms tonight with the quick-fix of an old folksy musical antidote for the parasitic amnesia epidemic at hand, from a poet who sang: In the song below ("The Traitor" - Leonard Cohen / 1978), he uses the oh so deceptive imagery of sexual expectation & satisfaction, to weave a totally honest web of 'just-tell-it-like-it-is' in these matters of enlightenment and spiritual achievement: like that evil dr moonlove matrix dream of ever-present doubt cast upon our sleep to ensnare us with some ever lingering guilt of un-achievement, whenever we feel that we have not fulfilled our spiritual mission the poet we all have within in the voice of L. Cohen reminds us that actually just coming out of all this 3D mess down here somewhat dignified and still alive on the inside is all that matters (the dreamer), more than all fraudulent imaginary obligations to fulfill impossible missions (the men of action) in a land of barely post-pubescent deception by and large. Nope, we're not players of some team in a match of spiritual sports for the amusement of some pseudo gods (the judges) intoxicated with game-rigging at every turn, or for the fulfillment of some matrix achievement purpose whatsoever; we're just here to be whatever we decide to be whenever we remember who we truly are at that very moment between the sleep and the waking amnesia we call life, and it is up to us and no one else to set the course and call the shots, and no one else.
"...the dreamers ride against the men of action, oh see the men of action falling back..."