Whether or not there is a real virus behind it all - let's assume for the time being that there is - one thing is for certain. It has in no way warranted closing down the activities of half of humanity, destroying literally millions of businesses and livelihoods across the globe, locking away vast numbers of people in their own houses.
Once you detach yourself from the group meme of fear and panic, you see clearly. It constitutes an attack on the human species. It's not the virus that's the biggest problem, it's the measures instituted in order to, we are told, deal with the virus, the hidden enemy.
My realisation about 'clapping for the NHS', how it embodies this dark ritualistic element, effectively constituting a ritual of consent, which opened a door in my mind. I began to see how much of what has been imposed upon the world comes tinged with the flavour of dark ritual; black magick.
All is steel cold, measured, calculated. It's all been about 'the daily figures': numbers of infections, numbers of deaths. And then we have 'excess morbidity figures'. All is announced ritualistically. More statistics, more calculations, when we are actually talking about people dying from stress, anxiety, fear of hospitals because of the virus, the extinguishing of hope, the breaking of hearts.
It is said by some who know about such things, that the time has arrived for the dark non-human force behind so much of the hideousness in human affairs to show its face. To announce its presence. The questions arises: how does a non-human force show its face? Not by the sight of funny green men strolling down the (deserted) high street one morning. No. They are announcing their presence already, in the manner by which this 'current situation' communicates itself. It is their language and their doing.
Stats, figures, measurements, calculations: this is the language of the heartless. It is the currency of those who never had a heart or soul, or of those whose soul has been stolen. This non-human force has no heart, no soul. This is its characteristic. It only knows measurement, technology. It possesses a kind of robotic genius. It is insanely jealous of humans, with their hearts and souls, and seeks to destroy them completely, transforming them into beings devoid of creativity, of love, of imagination, of access to the divine.
This non-human force lays great stress on ritualistic behaviour: robotic, repetitive, not requiring imagination and human creativity. And this is precisely what is being played out currently. The mind of the non-human force informs the flavour of all that is being rolled out at present, in the guise of saving us, while all the time destroying us. And does so through stylised, ritual behaviours.
We have already discussed the nefarious and completely delusory role of computer modelling, a perfect reflection of the statistic mind. The mechanical, mechanistic mind. The ritual of numbers.
And then we have the mask.
The mask, the mask. What is a mask? It's a covering, a cover-up. Put on a mask and you participate in a ritual of hiding, secrecy, anonymity.
Peoples throughout time have known the value and the function of the mask. Shamans would put on a mask to invite and take on the qualities of spirits or power animals: to become something else - something of value to the community, in this case. I have always found mesmerising scenes in films set in the eighteenth century, where the behaved, civilised well-to-do engage in party and dance involving the mask. The dancing is highly formalised - ritualised - and the mask grants permission for the normally socially constrained to exercise their most extreme and perverse desires and deviant sexual ways.
The mask of the Venice Carnival is a source of infinite fascination. Other egos, alter egos, taking on new subversive faces for the night. But our mask, the corona mask? It does not create a new personality; it hides the personality, is a 'character robber'. It takes away our most intimate humanity.
And what else?
Our mask is the surgical mask, the anonymous mask. This is the purpose of the ritual: to deny, to denigrate, to humiliate the person. To take away the humanity from the human. It removes our individual expression, sponges out our expressiveness of love, of joy, of frustration, of anger.
What is going on behind that mask pushing a supermarket trolley? Don't know. Friend or foe? No idea. What face lies behind that characterless piece of cloth? Beautiful or hideous? Plain or dripping with character? Such musings are no longer relevant in the new world, where human beings are uniform, tiny blobs on an anonymous mission to search out survival rations in the aisles of the supermarket.
This is all deliberate, of course. Behavioural programming is the formal term for such evil brutalising. We need the mask or we will die - even worse, constitute a deadly, irresponsible danger to others. And that mask shall not be the wild animal mask of the shaman, or the subversive mask of the carnival. No. It is the surgical mask, the one-fits-all plain mask. This is the name of the game.
Just in case you were wondering: "What about our health? What about the virus?" From what I understand, normally healthy people wearing masks in a supermarket, on a walk, whatever, is a pointless exercise. It's probably more of a hindrance to health than anything, reducing oxygen intake (leading potentially to symptoms similar to the breathlessness of corona victims, get that) and providing a nice warm home for all manner of bugs, germs etc.
As for keeping the virus away, it seems that the airholes in a surgical mask are much bigger than virus particles, so you-know-what can travel freely through. All this is explained far better by Dr Buttar in the link below who, unlike me, properly knows what he is talking about.
Yesterday I visited a chemists/pharmacy. As I walked in, I saw that the employees were all wearing masks. My gut reaction was that there was evil in that place. Literally. Not the people working there: they need the money to feed the kids, so do what they are told to do. But the anonymity behind the mask was a sign, a ritualised enactment, of evil.
My wife does not hear very well, and relies on lip reading to enhance her understanding of what is going on. She had a question for a guy working there. Behind his mask he answered. She didn't understand - she couldn't see his face. He repeated, behind his mask. She didn't understand, got flustered. I intervened, and translated for her. "Take that bloody mask off! What on earth are you doing?" I felt like saying. Maybe next time I will.
The mask, like the NHS claptrapping, is a ritual of consent. I agree to have my face removed, my personality eradicated. Yes, yes, I consent. It is good.
Communication between magnificent human beings, reduced to a muffle behind a bloody mask. It's all planned, programmed. Nothing is by chance in this brave new world....
Other rituals: social distancing, meticulously calculated: two metres or something. The cold scientific mind-fuck at work again. The expression itself comes with the flavour of evil, telling us that being social is dangerous, better keep your distance from human beings and rely on your smartphone instead. That won't kill you with a virus, like those human beings will.
Attention to detail, micro-detail: the rituals are choreographed to perfection. Cold and measured. You can go for a walk with one person but not two. You can travel five miles but not ten. You can go for a walk in the park but not sit on a bench for a picnic lunch (as I write, Scotland remains in full-on lockdown, unlike England. Our Great Leader decided that we should suffer a bit longer).
It's all ritual, dark ritual, dressed up as necessity, salvationism. The forces of darkness have indeed announced their presence, they have infected our everyday lives. All activated and enforced by their pathetic foot soldiers in dark suits.
Part Two: Awakening
Yet among it all, the mess, the wreckage, the loss and mourning, something unexpected begins to emerge. The veils slip away, the truth of the evil presents itself. Inhuman, brutal, the sharp knife. Seeing beyond the stories, the lies; the delusional beliefs, the panic, the hysteria. And the heart begins to melt. Just slowly at first, just a little. But melt it does. Open up, dissolve, break in a manner of speaking. The walls begin to flake and crumble.
Heart opens. Opens up. Contents spill out and over, the flow of feeling fed by the rubble, the debris, the wreckage of humanity and its lost dreams. Human lives defiled, betrayed; sold to artifice, to the cold steel.
A sweetness, unspeakable tenderness, intimate melting love. Awareness slips from the calculating head to the tender heart. All fear disappears; everything fits into place, all makes supreme sense. It is in the aching tender heart that we know.
Heart calls out to heart. The yearning is for stillness, for simplicity. A return to the authentic, the natural. The programme is the contrary: artificial, simulations and technological heartlessness, overseen by the heartless ones, the technocrats. Artificial intelligence, the human spirit extinguished, replaced by robotic conformity. With individual thought, individual feeling, individual expression, not even a wistful memory.
So the evil agenda throws up its opposite. Computer technology: a mixed bag. One the one hand, deep gratitude for its existence, granting the possibility of discovering the deeper realities of 'the current now'. Simultaneously, a deep distaste, a genuine revulsion for that machine sitting on the table top. The lurid green lights of the router winking at me, the light of the screen. This is all far from God. I shall not upgrade this year after all. Screw the smartphone culture, it's not for me, not for the authentic human heart. Give me a pen and paper instead.
Links
The doctors' roundtable with Dr Rashid Buttar comes highly recommended from Pale G.V. One of the best things on you-know-what to date. Buttar is a strong, passionate speaker who knows his stuff. There are clips you can download if you don't want the full two hours. You may need to subscribe to londonreal first, which means receiving their publicity afterwards. Anything subscribed can be unsubscribed, if you wish....
londonreal.tv/roundtable
