Originality

I am reminded of Goethe’s remark on property:

I know that nothing belongs to me

But the thought which unimpeded

From my soul will flow.

And every favorable moment

Which loving fate

From the depth lets me enjoy

Alas, it seems nothing is truly our own but thought and experience

At times I feel the thoughts in my head are unique, so I remember them or write them down, only to stumble across them in some form of media after a few months or a year.  It seems to me there are many possibilities to explain this, but the one I am most comfortable asserting is that ideas, like everything else, are a sort of vibration…No shit…

Now, it seems rational to assume this vibration emanates from my own brain and radiates outward into the world of vibrations around me.  And as a magnet will align itself to a magnetic field, the vibrational waves created by the idea seek out like vibrational beings and is received as a “new idea” in someone of like character or quality.  It must be the ego that says: "This is my idea."   Although, it is just as rational to assume this idea, this vibrational wave that we could call information, is just something that exists on it’s own in some other dimensional capacity, and is simply interpreted and processed by our brain like some sort of radio or television receiver would.  I imagine information having some sort of perceptible material form in that other dimension, although all we perceive is an idea…like a book.  We can see a book and pick it up and feel it, we can assess it’s three-dimensional qualities without ever knowing the breadth of information contained within, nor the experience required to create such possible magnificence.  So maybe what Goethe is talking about is the intersection between information and experience.  The cross section of two lines of energy, or the merging of two waves or whatever you want to call it.  Both waves retain their essential resonance, but create a third wave that may be called original. 

So back to originality.  It’s my contention that everything is original and nothing is original, depending from which side of the cosm you currently perceive reality.  The microcosmic view, 6 billion people all disconnected, shows that although you may have received information from one or several outside sources, you are an original being in a three dimensional world that put your own spin on something timeless, therefore your creation is original.  However from a macrocosmic view, one mind one consciousness in a sea of information, originality is mere interpretation.  Originality is ego, opinion.

Nothing new can ever be invented, only remembered as a function of time’s unfolding.  Individual originality is collective forgetfulness, and as creative individuals producing "original" ideas in the form of art, words or love- it is our responsibility to disseminate our creations and discoveries as widely as possible, until enough people recognize our art in their archetypal mind

Secrets of the Super Gods

"Bliss is the key to immortality --simple physics"

Maurice Cotterell - Secrets of the Super Gods
In 1989 engineer and scientist Maurice Cotterell found a way of calculating the duration of long-term magnetic reversals on the Sun. Using this knowledge he was able to break the codes of ancient sun-worshipping civilizations, first the Mayas of Central America, those of Tutankhamen, of Egypt, and Viracocha of South America, before cracking the codes of the Terracotta Warriors of China.



Part 1





Part 2

Full Moon Journey

Physicists will tell you that a black hole absorbs light, but they don't tell you how's it's affected after it shoots out the other side.


When the eyes of the shepherdess are upon you, that matter will no longer be a mystery. 


As soon as I cleared the smoke from the tubular chamber I knew I had smoked too much. The funny thing about Salvia is that the last conscious thought one has after inhaling a lungful tends to set the mood for the duration of the experience. As everything in my field of vision shifted in front of me, the cymatic pattern of interlocking triangles became more and more apparent. The thought repeated "I smoked too much salvia", and as I began to lean back into the supine position another thought of seemingly great familiarity gave me the calm I needed- Terrence McKenna's words "if your not afraid you took too much, you didn't take enough" 


At this point the triangular cymatofractal grid pattern is thickening like a blanket, slowly rotating 90 degrees from vertical to horizontal. As I watch it descend upon the horizon it begins to blanket me and suddenly I am aware the the room is full of other beings. All these beings suddenly manifesting frightens me and I try to sit back up, but hands gently grip my shoulders, and the shepherdess voice tells me not to worry -

"You've returned a thousand times, and will leave a thousand more. 

You never need worry, for you are infinite at your core"

The tension in my body disintegrates. I once again take notice of the grid that continues blanketing my body. Hundreds of intersecting shining ropes of white light form triangles over my body. I follow the path of one rope of light to the edge of my body and finally see one of the beings whose presence had startled me before. It is grasping the rope of light. I look around and see 18 pairs of hands grasping the ropes of light that blaze across my body. My attention follows a set of burgundy stained hands up the arms of a magician fully clad in deep purple robes and hat. The brim of his hat raises and I finally see the smiling face of a brownish-purple dragon with blazing yellow eyes. Salvia begins to speak to me again as the face of every magician intensifies.

 "Triangles are the most efficient method of clockwise rotation along a Z-axis"

With these word the magicians draw their ropes tight and dismember my body into a thousand triangles, and her words make sense. 

I know what to do

My consciousness fills each triangle and I will myself to begin spinning. The magicians now wield giant banana leaves and fan me with them as each triangle begins to spin counter clockwise, turning me into a vortex of energy that spins in a clockwise rotation, composed of units rotating opposite the perceived whole. I build speed and, in unison, the magicians sweep me through a black hole I seem to have created as a result of my peculiar spinning. It suddenly occurs to me that I am the black hole, and the confusion of discerning why a bunch of dragon magicians would alter my form so drastically, hits me like a tidal wave. But before I can feel one way or another about it, I am sucked into the black hole and shot out to a syntactical reality by any comparison to this one, where strings of light ARE pulses of thought that traverse the universe, and every bisection of light time is a different 4D reality with its own unique laws. As a beam of light evolves, so to do entire galaxies, each reality separated by thresholds of time. 


I lose trajectory and crash into a heavily wooded forest. I bounce along some branches and come to a rest inside the consciousness of one of the trees. The perception of the tree gives me the sensation that I am an owl perched upon a high branch, with eyes that shift like a chameleons, and seem to open and close like the shutter of a camera lens made of wood. Something tells me I have to try to get back to someplace, but I don't know what that something is, nor do I know where I am trying to go, or what I am, or what going is, but I am somehow certain that all of these abstractions are somehow related to the Shepherdess that seems to be beckoning me back to a state I can't conceive. I jump out of the owl/tree's head and climb the branches and stairs and go through all the right cupboards to discover a mass of spinning triangles that for some reason gives me great comfort. As I approach this spinning cloud I am drawn like a powerful magnet into the center of the storm of triangles and lose all consciousness of anything until I hear the shepherdess repeatedly telling me 

"Relax, I love you"

Suddenly I am being pounded and rolled like pizza dough while being wrapped in a sheet of translucent white light, reassembled by the flow of memories that flood my being with a raging river of consciousness. I am beginning to remember who I have incarnated into again, but am still void of an ego while I converse with the shepherdess.

She says "Even Light has to drag it's ass through the grimiest of realities."
 
Light itself has a memory, the one true yet intangible sign of a self reflecting consciousness. 
Does light bother with self-reflection?  
Perhaps it's all it has..


Physicists will also tell you that for every action, there is an equal and opposing reaction. To what was the big bang an equal and opposing reaction? Infinite consciousness wanted to know itself, and the universe is the unfolding expression of it's magnificence.  
Every action is connected to every other; 
Every moment needed all moments prior in order to culminate in its specific way; 
Every person is related to every other by way of communal existence


To know one's self means to discover it in every other being.

Unexpected Places

I've never been a fan of the musical selections played on the radio to represent DMX, and there fore never payed much attention to what he had to say.  I've only ever looked at the cover, I suppose.

This video, however, has given me reason to expand my view of his work.