Monday, October 19, 2020

Heaven At Hand





Heaven At Hand
by Alfred Lehmberg

Lately, we seem to justify our extinction even as we exacerbate avoidable conditions precipitating same! Indeed, it seems entirely arguable, by aspiring and self-expressive woke-folk, that we begin to perceive an unsettling and alarming (if ironic) dark light at the end of this faux-reality tunnel which our self-imposed and dangerously endured ignorance has complacently contrived. A shadow-train we let run us down? 
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No, not salvation's light at tunnel's end, unfortunately, no. More like the light of a fresh hell on Earth, one might suppose, and one entirely engineered by a pestilent humanity inexpertly running headlong towards that hell before it could even crawl properly. This future looms like an earned contrition's gaping maw... now, and it's on us, our invented Gods and Devils be damned! Them? They can "get the hell out of our Galaxy"... and for the same reasons iterated by Sheridan and Delenn in the preceding clip! Watch it! That!
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The abject one, evil, proposed above, suggests its polar opposite, good. One CANNOT even exist without the other as they define each other! In other words, what unrealized "good" could also be "on us"? Hell is proposed. Could heaven be at hand, too?  
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You know, if we sired once or not at all, for a while... perhaps, stopped being an f'n virus for a couple of generations, mayhap... give a planet some chance to recover... perchance! This "be fruitful and multiply" shit is currently a toxic travesty of an outdated idea and it's got to stop! 
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See, if heaven could be, then Heaven is at hand! Sure, and it's one we'd make ourselves sans duplicitous distractions from a self-destructive, self-serving, and cretinous religiosity, but that's a story for another time. Though, there's the irony, reader! Remains, heaven IS at hand.
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...Ain't it? If not here, certainly somewhere in the grand expanse of a "multiverse" known and unknown... a vast tableau of that which we cannot even *know* how to know... as yet, for all our scientific pretense and dis-sensical reductionist hubris... ...so why NOT here? Our arrogance is without the remotest justification... ...apart from our art and it's word? At our best? We ARE our finest ART! That's meant on a few levels...
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Our very existence, remember, is the purest demonstration that there are "others" extant who must be JUST as artful and more. Oh... more, reader! That's our salvation!
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Our thoughts happen somewhere, remember, oh not because they're our thoughts... pause to giggle... that's a laugh sincerely, but only because our thoughts must be so mundane and facile in general. Easy, comparatively, to materialize. Ain't it the truth?  Yes! See, we're likely not on the tall end of universal IQ, eh? Humility demands that.
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Still, it's a heaven in our reach... even if denying our grasp presently!
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Perhaps. Mayhap. Perchance! We make great strides when we stride! We make colossally tragic pratfalls, too. ...Maybe more of those. Remains, heaven's at hand.
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Though sincerely, back at the ranch with regard to raw thought's expansive probability? There is that much... space. There is that much... time. There is that much... surface area involved... to facilitate...to facilitate ...anything, reader. Anything! A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.!
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"Anything" with an exponent of a Googleplex! Those implications are huge! The reader better be humbled by them! This is good and bad. Expressions and behaviors from Celestial Saints to Ripley's Xenomorph. Vorlons and Shadows. Better and worse. You know...existential Reality!
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Seriously, all the reader has ever thought of, admitted and not, in the most whacked out and disturbed fever dream, meditation, or idle whimsy... alone on a coffee break at work... sitting on the can... explosive recognition in an idiotic and acrimonious debate... has happened, in actuality, *somewhere*, reader, already... countless times. Countless. Times. I remind the reader that if it can? It did!
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...Even here.  Even here, it is at your elbow, reader, even as it can be a trillion light-years away and millions of years past or future! ...And this doesn't make "you," reader, the "you" you're personally invested in, any less youand singular for that! There is nothing else at the center of any one's universe but that one, without regard to iteration number or causal dimension! All of them are at their centers, too. You. Are. Unique! So indicates Rick Sanchez, the smartest mammal in the multiverse.
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See? There really is a... "long, long ago... in a galaxy far, far away...". It's just "XXX" rated for language, sex, and violence far beyond the capacity of that garden variety dirty movie too reflexively thought of... though plenty of THAT, too, boy howdy! Such is reality: more than mere spinrate, and charge, reader, even if XXX reality is powered by those things...
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Stop now... and consider all the preceding as an understatement. I can't express it, but I can feel it!
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So... ...reader
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Given the productive, if scary potentialities of copping to this larger reality extant, one would think that some investigation into it... into UFOs, say, would be pursued more greedily. That's the history of our prosecuted if sociopathic ethic to date, after all (...and believe me, Ufologists eat their own). Yet, we do not make that pursuit. We do not!
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...No, to the contrary! We but dabble and obfuscate! We too quickly disabuse even to masturbate a lurid and badly motivated complacency in the UFOs regard. The "genuine" remains heavily marginalized and discounted while the "woo-woo"—whatever that is—gets the heavy publication... subsequent to fatuous derision later on... ...in an effort to discredit the whole of a ufological milieu, altogether? The mainstream does seem over-anxious to make it all just go away, so ...what? ...So a paranatural "baby" can more easily be thrown out with the preternatural "bathwater"?  I suspect so.
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Moreover, I think *we* avoid looking for this kind of stuff precisely because *we* know that if we showed some raw courage (which we have in spades where there is a dollar in it!) and, actually, looked, reader? Why, we, and actually, *find*!!!  
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Uh-oh! Everything changes (I suspect for the better), which makes those in their cat-bird seats—and in an aggregate chagrin, anyway—perk up their lotioned and bejeweled jowls to say "boy howdy," themselves, and verily!
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See, a general finding of this type suggested by Rich Dolan and Bryce Zabel is not entirely complementary to those occupying conjectured cat-bird seats, I surmise, because disclosure and the fruits of same, I submit, provides for a measure of personal autonomy to the individual so informed. This might make her/him less socially manipulable? Yes, this subsequent assumption of a desired new efficacy of the "self-provided by," may, perhaps, be a result of this conjectured disclosure... THEN what teams we shall make, eh?
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See, in other words, it might be that that which is kept from us "for our own good," is good!  Ouch! What does that make the better-heeled and secret-keeping cat-bird seater?  "...What is a 'psychopathic monster,' Alex! ...I'll take 'The new efficacy' for 500, Mr. Trebek!" 
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Maybe the truth does set you free, even if it pisses you off, first. It remains preferable; however, because now you have real stuff with which to work... forgetting that stuff alluded to is brand new and fresh out of the freaking box!  We make our own reality, see; why not make a better one?  What could stand in our way?
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New *findings* are uncomfortable for the reader because experience dictates that the *devil* "known" is usually preferable to the devil unknown. But consider, reader. The *devil* we know is pretty damn bad, already, and getting worse.  This is provoking that consideration of alternate *devils*, to begin with, according to Richard Dolan, via a host of well-cited and credible others, in his histories of "UFOs and the National Security State..."
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...Though... we had better *find*, regardless. Our survival as individuals producing "better" individuals depends on it.
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Anything else is arbitrary control by a sneering elite, reader. Anything else is laboriously farming the Manor Lord's three-field rotation on fields you can't own, in ignorance, and letting his sons sport-boink and defile our compromised if comely daughters...
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That's a good implication regarding our continued ignorance, don't you think? Moreover, Heisenberg propounds, it seems, that if we observe a surface area's time in space for an occurrence of *something*... a finding... ...why ...it comes to pass that we will have an occurrence... a finding!  Ding! Things are spring-loaded to happen the way we observe them to happen... ...go through the formality of actually occurring recalling there's space/time and surface area enough for that "formality." Everything's eventual. What can, does.
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What encourages this formality of "actually occurring." Clearly, reader, there is a mind over matter?
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Yes!
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Our whole existence is a demonstration of our mind over matter. We thought it... and it became so. We've had allies of this conjectured mentality... we're rediscovering those allies right now, and in the nick of time, too, reader. In the nick of time.  Good thing, too.
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Additionally, looking into the night sky—trying to step past the fear of what could be out there—ever attempting a search for a bona fide UFO yields some interesting results. Results?
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Frankly? You see UFOs!  Uh-huh. That's right.
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Let's start there. Let's look. Let's actually look. We're not looking now, not really. Not remotely. Not so "Dick Six-pack" hears about the search between Spike Channel re-runs. Not so "Wendy Wine-cooler" hears about that search between "American Idol" commercials...
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...But there are too many sweaty palms and faux-rolled eyeballs... presently. Too many reflexively convenient dismissals... too many ready denials and suspect derisions—cast aspersions, even. Society is cast as a duplicitous prison warden in a prison we make ourselves. Moreover, betrayals by that entirely corrupt societal warden abound! Meditate until uncomfortable on a Number... #45... Culture is not your friend.
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With something like a credible "WikiLeaks," or "real truths" able to just leak out just willy-nilly come the hells of high waters... (apt metaphor, THAT...) That particular catbird's becomes altogether "sack-less," eh? Everyone comes to know what there is to be known.
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Item: Did the reader know that there are a few classes of disparaged and tabooed entheogens which largely facilitate the cure of most all addictions or addictive behaviors and engages the previously addicted individual to a level of productive calmness, efficacious social worth, and intelligence they didn't before have? Fat people could be thin people. Sick people could be well people. Sad people could be glad people. Dissatisfied people could be satisfied people. That's at hand, too.
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Not so smart... to smart enough. Love could crowd hate instead of the inverse of that. And all of this for pennies on the dollar presently spent?  We could claim respect from the stars instead of enduring their antithesis, and quarantine (!?) by same? Heaven, an aspect of it anyway, at hand.
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What? Yes... Known by the current civilization since the sixties, too, forgetting it is knowledge so old it dates back to our descent from the trees, eons ago on the savannas of a Dark Continent. Graham Hancock is writing about this re-rediscovered knowledge. Ralph Metzgar. Andrew Weil. Rick Strassman. Terence McKenna. Daniel Pinchbeck. Ralph Abraham. Riane Eisler. Rupert Shelldrake. Et sig al. They write regarding an efficacious way of a Shamanic philosophy in Societies based not on competition, so much, but cooperation, gylanic cooperation in a partnership served by further reaching mammalian corporations and not reptilian ones. The effect of same...
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These are names to be lionized in the quickly approaching future where infant religions and juvenile governments can hold no sway over the conscious individual... ...as if they ever did (or had)... or ever could over the "long haul." These are harbingers of the approaching time of singularity and concrescence looming, still!
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Batten hatches... buckle belts... gird intellectual loins. The kingdom is at hand and awaits. That's a good thing for all the batteningbuckling, and girding. Verily. That's my suspicion... and I remain entirely optimistic. Heaven is at hand.
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Restore John Ford!

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