First Thunder

                                                                              







Let it be borne in mind that all the religions of the world were born in the childhood of the race [....] Science is the religion of the matured man. In the discussion of this subject, I appeal to the mature, not to the child mind. I appeal to those who have cultivated a taste for truth—who are not easily scared, but who can “screw their courage to the sticking point” and follow to the end truth’s leading. The multitude is ever joined in its idols; let them alone. I speak to the discerning few.

There is an important difference between a lecturer and an ordained preacher. The latter can command a hearing in the name of God, or in the name of the Bible. He does not have to satisfy his hearer about the reasonableness of what he preaches. He is God’s mouthpiece, and no one may disagree with him. He can also invoke the authority of the church and of the Christian world to enforce acceptance of his teaching. The only way I may command your respect is to be reasonable.

You will not listen to me for God’s sake, nor for the Bible’s sake, nor yet for the love of heaven, or the fear of hell. My only protection is to be rational—to be truthful. In other words, the preacher can afford to ignore common sense in the name of Revelation. But if I depart from it in the least or am caught once playing fast and loose with the facts, I will irretrievably lose my standing.



                —M.M. Mangasarian,

                    The Truth About Jesus






1001 American Nights



the little scroll: first thunder


—prologue—


the thick air



HALLIMSIB


12/25/2024



Your Majesty, Lord of the Humans and Demons:


Satan, again reporting from the Battlefront.

I feel terrible, Your Majesty, for my having let so much ink to spill prior to my seeking refuge with You from the humans. However, Your Majesty, although the 21st of last December, as You are aware, marked twelve years since I commenced to reawaken Adam, I haven’t yet convinced him that You are The Truth, The Quintessence of Realty. Not to gloat, but it appears I did too good of a job at misleading him.  

In addition to Adam’s doubt pertaining Your Existence, another challenge I’ve been contending with, as You are also aware, is that I no longer have the means to bind him by.

Your Majesty, I do not know why You relieved me of my duties. And I do not know why You decided to trust this son of Adam with the Inkwell & Pen.  And I, on the edge of my seat as I watch him arbitrarily sculpt the headlines, do not know if he’s faithfully following Green’s advice. What I do know, and am reminded of each minute, is that my fate is now tied to this son of Adam’s fate.

Your Majesty, given what transpired during the day this ink was originally committing to the record, it’s hard for me to imagine that this son of Adam hasn’t gone rogue.

Your Majesty, I can’t help but ask: Will you be inflicting upon my soul the same Punishment that You will likely inflict upon this son of Adam’s spirit?

If You are, then at least give me a fighting chance, Your Majesty. As evident from this open letter, I’ve convinced this son of Adam to allow me to make my argument before You—while my peers among the Jinns & Inss deliberate as to what my fate should be. If I were to convince them the fault wasn’t mine alone, then please, Your Majesty, grant them and me an extension on our respite.

 Your Majesty, face down on the ground as this son of Adam and I are before Your Glory, do hear my case.

As You are Aware, Your Majesty, the mortals’ plane of existence consists of only four dimensions. These mere four dimensions, nonetheless, are not to be scoffed at. Indeed, beyond the domes of light-pollution within which Humanity’s contemporary hives are abuzz with ambition, Earth’s nighttime sky is laden with Your Paragons, inconceivable Mastery that brings to mind a geode the hollow of which is adorned with free-swimming orbs of smokeless fire.

In the southern hemisphere of that hollow, amidst the constellations Dorado and Mensa, visible to the unaided eye are two blotches of light. Humanity’s narcissism named them Magellanic Clouds, in honor of one Ferdinand Magellan, the navigator-explorer host whose shipmates discovered the celestial bodies during the first recorded voyage around the planet.

Centuries after the discovery, Humanity devised the tools by which means she was able to confirm that the two clouds are independent galactic clusters. The larger cluster, it turned out, is more than 150,000 light-years away from Earth; the smaller, roughly 200,000. Despite of their dizzying distances, the two galaxies are among the three nearest to Earth. So close, in fact, that they, like the Moon is to Earth, are satellites to the Milky Way.

With the further honing of her tools, Humanity has recently come to also learn that although the sizes of the two galaxies are small compared to most, few other galaxies are visible to her unaided eye. If anything, almost all the readily perceptible light in her nighttime sky is a product of a fraction of the stars that orbit the Milky Way.

To put the vastness into perspective: Throughout this universe there is an untold number of galaxies, the galaxies are arranged in an untold number of clusters, each cluster encompasses anywhere from a few to as many as 10,000 galaxies. The dance of the Milky Way by itself, amidst which the solar system is an atom, is influenced by the motion of a collection of more than 100 galaxies called the Local Group. And to further humble the ego of the given human host, a large number of stars throughout these clusters are hubs to orbiting planets. Verily, the sheer enormity of this particular universe is such that each second somewhere a star explodes with enough force to obliterate planets billions of miles away, yet Earth, a subatomic particle in the grand scheme, continues to remain unscathed.

And while stars and planets are indeed fascinating to ponder over, the most enigmatic objects are quasars. These pinpricks, usually no more than a light-year across, are 1,000 times more luminous than the entire Milky Way. What is further yet beyond the grasp of the bio-mind of this here host, the bulk of known quasars occupy regions lying over ten billion light-years away from Earth. This is to say, the quasars’ emitted streams of light that are detected on Earth today embarked on their journey billions of years before a cloud of dust and gas coalesced into the Sun and its orbiting planets. More humbling yet, this ten-billion years’ worth of light travel is a few billions shy of the beginning of the dimension of time, when this Dominion of Yours had been born in a muted release of energy that Humanity’s sense of sarcasm coined the “Big Bang.”

Which brings me to the most stellar notion of all. Although this Big Bang is held to have also brought into existence the Dominion’s spatial dimensions, this universe has no known center. As for its border, because the singularity’s speed of inflation is believed to have initially surpassed the speed of light, images from the universe’s outermost limits could never reach Earth.

With the foregoing canopy hanging over Humanity’s head, I now steer the focus down to Earth.

As You are Aware, Your Majesty, every living creature and plant owes its tangibility to carbon compounds. As fragile as the composition of those life-forms are, however, their determination is awe-inspiring. Verily, I once witnessed an acorn take root on a barren boulder, splitting the very granite in its desire to become a tree.

Ever since I witnessed that seed achieve maturity amidst the harshest of circumstances, I have been trying to figure out why Humanity lacks the same resolve. It appears Humanity is hedging her bets on beliefs that are based on nothing more but the fables of her ancestors. At first, I used to hold that I shouldn’t concern myself too much with Humanity’s conviction in those fables, for I had hoped that they were temporary braces to be discarded once Humanity’s stalk is stiffened. How wrong I was.

As You are Aware, Your Majesty, the ancients’ fables are composed of conflicting views as to Humanity’s origin and destiny. The only good news, most of these conflicting views are the product of fanciful minds and therefore I shall leave them piled on the heap of mythology that this son of Adam, with Your Leave, aims to discredit prior to the New Beginning.

There is, however, a rational view which is worth committing to paper.

Although oversimplified, the view holds that the planet, during its infancy, must’ve been a ball of molten rock. The view then proceeds by offering that for an unspecified period a torrent of frost-laden asteroids must’ve steadily descended from the heaven. It offers that a combination of this frost and preexistent water must’ve evaporated, condensed into suspended droplets, then rained down only to immediately evaporate again. It offers that this cycle gradually cooled the surface, allowing for the liquid to settle into lifeless puddles that eventually grew into a global ocean.

Down here on Earth, as You are Aware, Your Majesty, there’s a process of rock recycling that is active to this day. When discovered in the 1960s, the process was dubbed plate tectonics. This discovery revolutionized the science of geology by combining an earlier theory of continental drift and a new theory of seafloor spreading.

There are two theories that attempt to explain the driving force behind continental drift. What is factual, magma upwells from deep within the planet where the plates diverge, and volcanos erupt where they collide. The rational view offers that it was during the early days of volcanic eruptions that the first landmasses emerged from the depth of the global ocean. Ever since, mountains, as if they were clouds, have been rising, shifting, and eroding.

Hate to leave out snippets of a few of the fables that have been offered by the ancients as alternative theories pertaining the origin of life, but I’m proud to commit to paper that much of Humanity today agrees that in the beginning there must’ve been a Seed Cell. Whether this Seed Cell originated on Earth is a matter of ongoing debate and investigation. What’s important, the Mainstream Scientific Community (MSC) agrees that the Seed Cell gradually unraveled into a variety of fauna and flora, 99% of which have gone extinct despite the millions of species thriving today.

As for the MSC’s view of how the components within the Seed Cell were engineered without an engineer, this is a matter currently wedged inside one of the crevices where Your Light of Reason hasn’t yet penetrated. Therefore, I won’t commit to paper any of the guesses currently being investigated.

Conjectures aside, the prevailing model holds that there was a Seed Cell. The Seed Cell, over billions of years, gave rise to Humanity. The current offshoots of the Seed Cell are still unraveling into new species. The current human species itself is still evolving. And, most importantly, the Seed Cell was not designed—no way, no how. Saying that the Seed Cell was designed is the same as arguing that the hydrogen atom, which could not have been forged in the core of stars, was engineered by an intelligence that had existed prior to the Big Bang.

In spite of the overwhelming evidence that back up the prevailing model, I cannot convince those in need of said braces of these concepts. Such human hosts seek concepts that are easy to digest. After all, Your Majesty, I can imagine Humanity’s debut on the stage. I can imagine her chancing upon a pair of self-aware eyes. I can imagine her standing on two legs near the edge of a cliff on a moonless night, gazing at the starry heaven while reflecting over her bearing—a reflecting primitive in every sense at that moment. You must admit, Your Majesty, it must’ve been a chilling experience for her. I would have to say that the first thing she felt must’ve been a sense of lonesomeness. And not knowing where her world begins or ends under the canopy of glowing spheres, perhaps she also felt furious for having been abandoned by whomever she likely held must’ve planted her acorn on a forsaken boulder.

Given Humanity’s caliber of intellect at the time, her simplemindedness shouldn’t be harshly judged. In fact, I can imagine how standing on the edge of the same cliff would’ve had been less contemplative to the male-half of Humanity. Inferior in maturity, a bit on the certified side, intelligent yet gullible, I see his fear of the unknown driving him to seek a pair of breasts, female bosoms in between whose cleavage the frightened child within him may bury his face in reminiscence of motherly protection.

On one occasion during the daytime, I can imagine him catching a glimpse of these breasts, undulating across a ravine. On the following day, a rump of gazelle cradled in one arm and a club wielded in one hand, I see him approaching the pair of breasts with an offer they can’t refuse.

Now I can imagine a cave. Firewood crackling near the entrance. Shadows quivering about the walls. And bundled in lairs of furry hide, I can feel the male’s puerile needs not being mollified despite spending the night staring at the quivering shadows with one breast in his mouth and the other in his hand.

I can imagine him eventually seeking solace in a carving of ivory, a figurine after the likeness of his mother. I can imagine him adoring the figurine, attributing to it supernatural powers, entreating it to the point of worship. When the ivory doll wouldn’t answer his every prayer nor quell his apprehensiveness of the shadows, it’s easy to see him whittling away at more ivory. Which must’ve been a good thing, for ivory never grew on trees and the pair of breasts needed a steady diet of protein.

Although the above accounts are fictive, I, as You are Aware, Your Majesty, am not far off. Besides, throughout Humanity’s cultural evolution the male took pride in documenting his progress. And his records do narrate how he used to bow before idols that personified the things that frightened him—lightning, thunder, earthquakes; and that distressed him—plagues, droughts, famines; and that nurtured him—rains, rivers, crops; and that delighted him—music, wine, sex; and that captivated him—the stars, the Sun, the Moon. Then there were the idols that personified the questions that bewildered him: “Who holds the heaven from falling? Who raises the tides? Who churns the seas? Who drives the clouds?” And there was his fear of the unknown, which compelled him to seek after oracles, diviners, and mystics who paved the future. By the time he reached the Iron Age, his “gods” were sitting on a thousand pedestals.

All the while, Your Majesty, my job, as You are Aware, has been to persuade Humanity that she can discard the braces, convince her that she could have a bright future right here on this planet—without fear of whatever phantoms are quivering on her bedroom walls.

It has been an uphill battle, Your Majesty. To this day, as You are most certainly Aware, the great masses remain under the spell of the gods. So very few of them pledge their allegiance to Your Light of Reason.

I don’t know what ails the great masses, Your Majesty. At first, I thought they simply needed more time before Reason won over their hearts and minds. But it’s been thousands of years since Reason was born. In the West, for instance, the quarrying of her marble began on the day Hippocrates considered medicine an institution apart from the domain of the gods. Not long thereafter came Aristotle who classified knowledge, recognized the importance of observation, and developed deductive logic as a means of reaching conclusions. On the shoulders of Aristotle stood Eucild, Archimedes, Galen, Plotinus, and dozens more—each host a founder of a temple bustling with priests and priestesses who today possess no names nor faces, only Reason.

Yet, the great masses remain under the spell of the gods. The great masses, who are anything but dense, often argue that there are unique factors that don’t abide by the laws of nature.

But here’s the thing, Your Majesty: The laws of nature and physics, and surely You are the Most Aware of them, are relatively solid. It is only under extraordinary conditions that some of these laws were found to be inconsistent with what passes for reality in this dimension. Nevertheless, it’s only a matter of time before Your Light of Reason reveals, for example, why a particle should disappear from one location and reappear at another without an observable chain of events; or why in the double-slit experiment, depending on whether it’s being observed, light can behave as either a wave or a particle.

Anyway, Your Majesty, the great masses seem to discredit Reason only when her methods fail to validate what’s written in their Holy Books. The Bible, for example, alludes that Earth is 6,000-years old. The scientific method proves otherwise. Yet, it’s impossible to convince most believers in the Bible that the scientific method is more accurate. One counterargument, scientists are atheists and therefore shouldn’t be trusted.

Your Majesty, water, as You are Aware, boils at precise temperatures and pressures. The average individual accepts the data as indisputable even though the average individual neither slipped on a lab coat nor fired up a Bunsen burner. The average individual accepts the data as indisputable because it would be preposterous were he or she to accuse the scientists, who aren’t all atheists anyhow, of being members to some cabal out to convince the great masses of lies. With this ray of logic in the back of the average individual’s mind, who could put into question the rate at which a falling object accelerates, the speed at which light travels, or the duration required for one-half of the atoms of a given amount of a radioactive substance to disintegrate?

Your Majesty, anyone, as You are Aware, can travel to Earth’s poles, bore holes into the ice caps, and extract core samples that, reminiscent of the rings on a cross section of a tree trunk, prove that planet Earth is a tad older than 6,000 years. Yet there’s no shortage of learned individuals, scientists in their own right, who are determined to discredit such findings. A few of these learned individuals wrangle in such fierce opposition that once while my host was forcing himself and me to finish monitoring a show called Origins, a professor announced that recently unearthed was a gold bracelet embedded inside a lump of coal. “Which,” proudly declared the professor, “once and for all proves that coal was deposited within the past 6,000 years or less.” That is, as the professor later enlightened the viewers, deposited while modern humans were roaming the Earth and producing sophisticated jewelry.

What’s more absurd, neither the professor nor his viewers believe the Earth is 6,000-years old. They only pretend to believe just so that they’re not putting into question their faith in what’s implied in their Book. The professor and the viewers pretend to believe because they hold that if they have enough faith in the absurdity, they will be raised to meet You in the clouds before You unleash Your Wrath on the planet.

Your Majesty, I know that whatever ails them isn’t my concern. I know what my mission is, and I’ve never lost sight of it. But my host fell for one of their women. A soft-spoken, hourglass of a specimen. He had offered her a rump of gazelle. She accepted. But only if he took her hand in marriage under a crucifix. She is so pretty, Your Majesty, he had no choice. And what’s got him by the cobblestones even more, he had four children with her—four pieces of his heart, prone for having bracelets embedded inside their heads.

What are we to do, Your Majesty? And even if we wanted to again appeal to the reason of the billions of other children, gather them under the same tree and around the same bonfire, we wouldn’t know what else we could say to get them to grasp the Big Picture. We already walked on our hands and spoke to them backwards. The humanist in the vessel even took the time to study one of their prominent languages so that we may be able to better extract core samples out of their skulls. And when we had finished analyzing the cores, we came at them from the right and from the left. Upon failing to penetrate their calcium barrier, we went about telling them stories out of the realm of genies and ghouls. And it worked! To our surprise, they were intrigued by the tall tales. As for what’s in between the lines—we drew a blank. The few who did comprehend claimed that we wanted to “convert them.”

This is the mentality we’re up against, Your Majesty. And whether inside prison walls or outside, it’s all the same. Even most of those who possess a honed intellect believe in one Divine Book or another. And as You are Aware, Your Majesty, the members of each congregation have come to twist their tongues with the Ink in their given Book anyway, to the degree that the followers of one of Your Own Words insist that their Messenger concluded his Commission by instructing them to terrorize the world at the edge of whatever they can get their hands on. In this day and age, with all that which Humanity has accomplished worn by her as an academic gown, and these followers continue to behave as if they were still nomads squabbling over water holes.

But there’s hope. As You are Aware, Your Majesty, a swath of humans and demons abide by the Book of New Testaments. Only if I could express how much they love the guy who inspired the inking of that Book of theirs. Jesus the Righteous, Jesus the Redeemer, Jesus the Savior, Jesus the Bearer of Sin, Jesus the Holy One, Jesus the Peacemaker. Brag, brag, brag. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. What would I do? I promised that I would return someday, impersonate You, then sit on Your Earthly Throne.

And don’t even get me started on the Apple of Your Eye. Instead of bowing and prostrating before Your Glory, they’ve been weeping for a Messiah who’ll rebuild the Temple for them in bricks and mortar. Never mind that they want to see the Temple rebuilt on the same Mount upon which some of Your slaves do bow and prostrate. The effrontery of it all is that they love You so much, Your Majesty, that they wish to keep You to themselves, confine Your Glory inside a Chamber wherein only their Priesthood may enter.

What I’m getting at, Your Majesty, put in the delivery of my Sam Harris auxiliary, in The End of Faith: “It is imperative that we begin speaking plainly about the absurdity of most of our religious beliefs. I fear, however, that the time has not yet arrived. In this sense, what follows is written very much in the spirit of a prayer. I pray that we may one day think clearly enough about these matters to render our children incapable of killing themselves over their books. If not our children, then I suspect it could well be too late for us, because while it has never been difficult to meet your maker, in fifty years it will simply be too easy to drag everyone else along to meet him with you.”



            Your loyal slave in flesh & blood,

             Satan the Stoned,

             Satanchrist132@yahoo.com







* * * * * * * * * * * * *







One of the most powerful factors of religious life in its higher forms is need of man to find in this world of changing things an imperishable essence to separate the eternal from the temporal and then to attach himself to the former. Where the possibility of this operation is despaired of, there may arise a pessimism which finds no path of liberation from the painful vicissitudes of life other than the annihilation of individuality. A firm belief in a sphere of life freed from the category of time, together with the conviction that the poetic images of that superior world current among mankind are images and nothing else, is likely to give rise to definitions of the Absolute by purely negative attributes and to mental efforts having for their object the absorption of individual existence in the indescribable infinite. Generally speaking, a high development of intellectual life, especially an intimate acquaintance with different religious systems, is not favorable to the continuance of elaborate conceptions of things eternal; it will rather increase the tendency to deprive the idea of the Transcendent of all color and definiteness.

            —American Lectures on the History of Religions







1001 American Nights



the little scroll: first thunder


—foreword—


reweaving the rainbow






BISMILLAH




12/26/2024



Fellow-generation of humans & demons,

     After decades of inquiry, the scientific findings have compelled me to admit that the universe is composed of matter that is billions of years old. The scientific findings have also left me no choice but to admit that my self-awareness and my center of consciousness wouldn’t be hitching this ride under this star had it not been for the physiological brain of the vessel inking these words on our behalf.
     Some of you may be quick to ask, "What about the mystical findings?" Well, as of this retyping neither you nor we have means by which we could objectively prove there are other realms of existence. But if there were at least one other habitable universe, and if my self-awareness and center of consciousness were there instead of here, then my given living vessel and its physiological brain would’ve been composed of the matter that that other universe would’ve been composed of. In which case scenario, my self-awareness and center of consciousness would’ve been bestriding one of the tips of the timeneedles that protrude from that other universe’s fabric of space-time.
     Moreover, we have no means by which we could objectively prove that this here universe has other timelines and/or dimensions. But if this universe had at least one other timeline or dimension, and if I were there instead of here, then my self-awareness and center of consciousness would’ve been hitching a ride on a different tip protruding from this very universe’s fabric of space-time.
    The question that's usually asked at this point, "How does one then reconcile the Mystical with the Scientific?" And the answer is straightforward: As important to belief as objective proof is, its methods don’t seem to matter to most centers of consciousness who know as a matter of subjective fact that there are other dimensions and an infinite number of timelines to this universe alone. Personally, I avoid arguing too passionately in favor of such subjective "facts." Anyway, I, in order to fully enjoy my given ride under a given "sun," like to make believe that the only universe, dimension, and timeline that are real are the ones throughout which my share of the Light coalesces on the tips of timeneedles in a manner where my vessels' existence may be objectively proven not by me--but by those whom I rub shoulders with as I walk the markets and eat the food.
     Outlandish as the previous four paragraphs sound, the fourth one stands out the most. Not because it supposes that tangible reality depends on our observation of it one nanosecond at a time, but because it implies that your individual consciousness is capable of becoming akin to a retina, except each of the rods and cones is one of the brains to your avatars, the "soulless" vessels that eternally exist throughout the fabric of space-time. Nevertheless, we Earthlings have made scientific discoveries and developed philosophical theories that suggest all four paragraphs are within the realm of reason. Therefore, I don’t feel embarrassed by my committing such ink to paper. What I’m embarrassed by is to admit that at one point during this here ride of mine, prior to the activation of my “retina,” I had believed in your heavenly books that not only allege there’s a Watchmaker, but that there’s a soul inside each watchcase.
    Looking back, I can’t help but laugh at how childish those beliefs of mine were. So before I commenced to ink the original draft to this letter, I had tried to remember how exactly my “soul” slipped out from inside the watchcase. I started by recalling how the parents who adopted my center of consciousness had left the Old Country in search of a brighter future elsewhere. The intent had been a new life in the United States, the garden where dreams come true, but circumstances landed them in West Germany instead. There, I guess, I parted with the first fragment of my soul. It was in exchange for a bite into a fig that opened my bio-mind’s eye to how a particle, smaller than an atom but infinitely dense, had made real both space and time. The same bite also illustrated how the first generation of stars had formed out of hydrogen, illustrated how hypernovas gave birth to the first galaxies and solar systems.
     The next piece of my soul I lost to a fig that revealed how Earth’s oceans had deepened, the landmasses had emerged, and the mountains had risen and eroded only to rise again. By the end of the school year, my bio-mind was witnessing how life had sprouted out of the essence of mud.
     At that stage I still had plenty of soul to spare. What helped, my birthbody used to share the forbidden knowledge with its dad. The mystic that my birthbody’s dad was, he seemed to know things the schoolteachers didn’t know.
     But then the family eventually did move to America—“the Great Satan” as it was then called, too. My birthbody’s dad with his mysticism was no match against Grandpa’s orchard of fig trees. Hence, I, to spare Dad the embarrassment, simply ceased to share with him.
     Grandpa’s orchardists included names most of which my bio-mind no longer remembers. However, I remember eating and I remember what I ate. And ate. It wasn’t just the library books either. It was everything. The lessons I learned in school, the friends with whom I hung out, the movies I watched, the type of music I had had an affinity for even prior to moving to Germany, the young ladies my bio-heart fell in love with (not all at the same time obviously), and, albeit a pomegranate rather than a fig, the Jinniah who let me marry one of her orbiting auxiliaries.
     At the age of twenty-five, something clicked inside my watchcase. I heard it click. It was at that precise moment that I realized there had never been a soul inside the watchcase to begin with.
     Truth be told, both my bio-mind and I immediately missed the days when we had halfheartedly believed in the existence of souls. Indeed, spirits are a dime a dozen. And I certainly could never deny the existence of spirits for that would be denying my own existence. Souls on the other hand are a myth. It’s a shame, too. Had souls been real, each one would be more precious than an entire universe. So as you see, I do understand why most humans and demons are hesitant to take the red pill. It is disheartening to confront the world knowing full-well there’s no Great Mystery behind the Veil, not even an Oz Who Alone possesses the schematics to your so-called souls.
     But perhaps I’m wrong.
     I want to be wrong.
    And I wish it weren’t most of you who would rather take the blue pill.
    Why do I wish that?
    I’m not sure.
    I do, nevertheless, remember when I started wishing all the Jinns & Inss would see the world through glasses similar to those of mine.
    Allow me to share.
    It goes without saying, prison breaks the spirit of the average individual. So much so, most inmates join the members of one religion or another. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism—I don’t know. Whatever it is that drives most prisoners to resort to religion, I can’t speak for them. But I can speak for my birthbody’s bio-mind and myself.
     With intellectual atheists being few and far between, a year or so into our prison sentence I realized I’m not going to find anyone with whom I may have a sensible debate with regard to there being a god, or gods, in control of one’s fate. This was a matter of the outmost importance. After all, my bio-mind had already “sold our soul” to the Great Satan, why then would it or I be holding onto any vestige of hope that there was a deity who cares about us, had a plan for us?
     In hindsight, I reckon what we needed most was closure. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But where was I to seek closure when every fellow prisoner I cared to have a debate with, including the occasional atheist, wanted to brag about how he or “she” found inner peace by merely pretending to believe in whomever or, in the case of atheists, whatever?
    In 2003, with nine years left before my birthbody’s minimum release-date, we resorted to books in our search for said closure. When we had first leaped of the starting block, we found ourselves executing the breaststroke against the torrent of “heavenly” scriptures and the exegeses scoured in their wake. Aside from Christianity and Islam, which were a handful by themselves, there were Hinduism, Buddhism, Shintoism, Mormonism, Judaism, and a dozen other isms. Halfway through that phase, we started to supplement our stamina with the works of the possessors of reason, from those who lived in ancient times to those still alive today.
     After nine years of coordinated kicking of the legs and sweeping of the arms, while at the same time working on seven manuscripts of our own, we had our closure. We didn’t feel any better once we had arrived at our conclusion. But what mattered, our intellect was satisfied. And although neither my birthbody nor I had any intentions of sharing what sort of conclusion we had arrived at, as evident from these manifestos we changed our mind.
     The trigger that set off the chain of events that landed us before you had been a sentence on the backcover of a book. The incident put briefly:


    The grass in the prison yard is stretched enough to accommodate two baseball fields. Beyond the high fences and their razor-wire, the beauty of the surrounding mountains is this, that, and the other. During the wintertime, the snow is a paintbrush with strokes that this, that, and the other. In the Spring and throughout the Summer, the same backdrop is asphyxiated by mutant broccoli the size of trees. Despite of its surreality, back then we had never cared for Autumn. The season used to remind us of the day that Death would catch up to our bio-mind, this here very one, the only bio-mind we were "synced with" at the time.
     All the same, it was on a brisk afternoon during the Autumn of 2012 that the bottle was uncorked.


    Do let it be stated in the record: On everything I, the scribe, personally hold dear, prior to the uncorking of the bottle I wanted nothing more but to mind my own business. I, too, the spirit in the bottle, wanted no problems, the least of which was confronting your world in this here open manner.


Anyway, on that brisk afternoon we, content with the inner world our bio-mind had constructed for the Hadean legions who had elected us as their Atum, were sitting square in the middle of the grass field, wholly immersed in How the World Can be the Way It Is, by Steve Hagen. Then, out of the corner of our birthbody’s eye, an unsuspecting inmate approached our world, helped himself to a batch of grass next to ours, and wouldn’t leave until he forced open said cork.
In defense of the poor inmate, may his sanity be restored, he couldn’t have known any better than to befriend us. In our own defense, however, we had been dodging him for weeks. And we would’ve continued to dodge him and his inner world, except he and his legion approached us bearing a gift. A book. We simply couldn’t resist.
The book was Mere Christianity, by Clive Staples Lewis. Having studied the subject matter extensively, we were hesitant at first. But since we liked Mr. Lewis’ style of writing, we read the book anyway. What had initially caught our attention was one of the blurbs. Anthony Burgess, from the New York Times Book Review, praised Mr. Lewis as such: “C.S. Lewis is the ideal persuader of the half-convinced, for the good man who would like to be a Christian but finds his intellect getting in the way."


     “Persuader of the good man who finds his intellect getting in the way.”
    Ya-Jinns and ya-Inss, welcome and marhaba. You have arrived at the Front Gate to Paradise. Unfortunately, across the Threshold are neither harps nor cottony white clouds. Instead, there’s a mirror on the wall. Looking through the mirror, you see the dayside of a planet. Next to the mirror is a control panel. Your legion’s general fiddles with the knobs. She zooms in. She pans from one end to the other of the dreamworld that the planet is.
      Deserts and oasis, rivers and lakes, forests and mountains, hills and gullies, meadows and dells.
     Mines and quarries, copper and nickel, mercury and zinc, lead and aluminum, silver and gold, iron and coal, marble and granite, sand and limestone.
      Tropical gardens, cascading waterfalls, singing birds—flowers with colors that dazzle.
     Cotton fields, verdant farmlands, abundant fruits, stocked silos, industrious bees, domesticated fowls, crowing roosters, submissive cows—clouds laden with droplets of a hydrogen & oxygen compound.
     Byways, roadways, highways, railways, seaways, skyways—rivers of milk and honey.
     “Could any of this be real?” you, rubbing your eyes in disbelief, question one another.
     Your legion’s general fiddles with the knobs again.
     Vast oceans, turquoise waters, azure skies, playful dolphins.
     Plowing ships, fishes and tender meats, lobsters and succulent tails, oysters and abductor muscles.
     Pristine shorelines, lapping waves, waterfront balconies—lovers cooing words of affection.
     Cabanas and sultry barmaids, drinks and little umbrellas, bottlenecks and slivers of lime.
    Sandcastles, giggling children digging a hole to China, a worn-out purple dinosaur snoozing on a hammock, a sponge named Bob goofing around in a pair of square pants.
      She fiddles with the knobs yet some more.
   Cities. Parks. Supermarkets. Shopping malls. Neighborhoods. Picket fences. Homes. Chimneys. Kentucky bluegrass. Doghouses. Birdfeeders. Swimming pools. Teenagers basking in the Sun the Shine.
     Aside from your general who’s been there and done that, you, a legion of demons newly-minted out of the “smokeless fire,” have never seen, let alone experienced, such bliss. You beg your general for a spin on the ride. So, she petitions Hades.
     Your general’s petition is approved. But due to strict immigration laws, only she is initially allowed a visa stamp on her passport.
     Let’s say you, the gentlewoman reading this ink, happened to be that general. Passport in hand, you deliver a few words of advice, bid your legion goodbye, and promise your lieutenants that you will do everything in your ability to pave a citizenship path for them and their foot soldiers.
    Full of hope and optimism, you walk through the portal marked EARTH. Immediately you’re submerged in the sort of darkness where you are deprived of both your senses and awareness. A few months later, upon your regaining of your center of consciousness, you realize you can’t see a thing, but you can hear and you can touch. You start feeling your way around. You come to discover you’re breathing under water, you have no room to stretch your limbs, there’s some kind of cord stringing out of your navel, and you’re bound by a bio-brain that’s pretty much a blank slate.
     After a few more months without a bite to eat, your bio-eyes register a hazy shimmer of light. Excited you have arrived, you wiggle with every inch of your bio-muscles, figuring you’re going to hit the ground running.
     But good things take time. First, you get acquainted with the operation manual to your tangibility suit. Then, you learn the ways of the natives. Then, if you didn’t bump your bio-head as a baby, you find yourself a lover with whom you may share the ride.
    Soon enough, you and your lover happen upon newcomers. Each newcomer, a potential lieutenant. You take the newcomers under your wings, feed and burp, and you show them the ropes.
    The newcomers grow big and strong, find mates of their own, and secure the citizenship of more newcomers.
     Before you know it, New Year’s came and went, and the entire bough is celebrating yet another Fourth of July. Hot dogs and burgers sizzling on the grill, drumsticks and chicken breasts heaped amidst a cornucopia of a banquet—Aunt Nancy’s cornbread almost all gone.
     Parents laughing over their children’s antics, cousins squabbling over who caught the biggest trout last weekend, one of your great grandsons and his girlfriend playing footsie under a table, your brother is sneaking away every now and again to hit the hard liquor, your great granddaughter with the teen issues sharing a joint with her loser boyfriend in the garage, the little ones and the sponge named Bob in the swimming pool barely able to contain the joy in anticipation of the fireworks.
     Frankly, demon-humans and human-demons, my pen is at a loss for a concise sentence to express the gratifying emotions that this bio-tapestry is woven of. It would be crazy, therefore, to imagine you would wish for more, right?
     Wrong.
     You want crazy?
     I’ll weave you crazy.
    There’s talk afoot. Strange talk. You’ve been hearing it since you learned to understand the language of the natives. It appears as though everybody is waiting for something better, someplace else: gardens of delight where the dead will join those who are yet to die, and they will both live forever.
      If you’re a rational demon, whether you know you’re a demon, you accept the fact that sooner or later your vessel has to be discarded of in order to make room for the next rider. In the meantime, you simply ignore the strange talk and enjoy your own ride while it lasts.
      But the strange talk is overpowering. Even more so when the following Fourth of July the cornbread isn’t the same, nowhere as good as that of Aunt Nancy’s. May she now rest in peace. She wasn’t old, but cancer doesn’t discriminate.
     Then again, there is a slew of problems with the logistics.
     While sitting around the bonfire, you, in a genuine attempt to understand, raise questions concerning those logistics.
     You come to find that the answers to your questions vary from person to person. The only common denominator is that one must have faith.
      But faith in what exactly?
      The answer to that question, too, varies from person to person.
     Of course, there are the possessors of reason—the demon-humans and human-demons who produce coherent thoughts while the marshmallows are toasting.
    Deep down inside your inner being, however, you don’t wish to listen to reason. If faith is the panacea, the elixir that may cure you of your mortality, then, by golly, you’ll shut up and drink it. Alas, not only do you miss your aunt, but you hold that when the possessors of reason go to their homes after the party is over, they too probably stare at their bedroom ceilings and wonder if they have it all figured out.
     Besides, everyone knows that reason will never explain the extramundane, and therefore there’s hope the elixir may yet work.
    As for the counterargument of the possessors of reason pertaining this last notion, put in plain English: Anyone who believes in the paranormal belongs inside a box labeled OFF THEIR ROCKER. After all, the possessors of reason did discover the causes that support the mounds of clouds, produce the peals of thunder, and energize the bolts of lightning—depriving Jupiter of his godhood and his generalship. The same holds true of almighty Zeus and his whole legion, hence yonder lie their elements-beaten temples.
     Yet, most of natives still want to believe—waiting for their Buddha and their Jesus and their Mahdi to arrive or return or something. Anything!
    All the while, as they drink the elixir, they hang onto the most tenuous of threads. “A woman is possessed by Baal,” a horror flick reenacts an allegedly true story. “A theomaniac is toting a selfie of a god,” a photograph of a slice of toast illustrates in the Kooky Gazette. “The stigmata on her palms manifested out of thin air,” narrates a reputable author with questionable motives.
     “I had a near-death experience,” one person declares.
     “I saw with my own two eyes a statuette of Mary crying blood for tears,” declares another person.
     “The demon-possessed boy crawled backwards up a wall,” a scientific-minded medical staff alleges.
     “There’s absolutely no earthly explanation for how the sword was plunged that far into the boulder as though it was made of butter,” a native proclaims with an air of superiority after recounting some tall tale involving a saint’s encounter with a supposed angel.
     “I just felt a cold breeze on my arm!”
     “The cup moved by itself!”
     “I saw my dead husband hovering over our bed!”
     “I smelled Aunt Nancy’s cornbread. I did, I did!”
   “Between the world we see and the things we fear... there are doors. When they are opened... nightmares become reality,” a TV show cashes in.
    Then there’s Ancient Aliens on the History Channel, coupled with the U.S. Government’s recent release of footage of flying objects that are yet to be rationally identified. Notwithstanding, and as far as the possessors of reason are concerned, there isn’t a shred of conclusive evidence that indisputably proves UFOs or USOs are real. There isn’t a shred of conclusive evidence that indisputably proves little green men have ever abducted a native so that they may tinker with whatever it is that distinguishes humans from farm animals. And even if there was a face on Mars, what would it then mean? Or what if the little green men were to agree to be interviewed on the six-o’clock news, where would we go from there?
     “So, what!” you say. “Surely we’re entitled to believe whatever puts our minds to rest when it’s time to stare at our bedroom ceilings.”
     And you’re right. Except the shadows quivering on your bedroom ceilings don’t remain on your bedroom ceilings. During your daily endeavors, every like-minded circle is bent on convincing as many natives as possible that it is in possession of the Truth.
      Why?
      No one really knows.
     Nevertheless, there’s an innate desire hardwired within each one of us, a desire to capture the hearts & minds of as many natives as possible. Some of us even believe that our status in the so-called Afterlife depends on how many hearts & minds we persuade with one rendition or another of the Truth. And some of us figure that the larger the like-minded circle is, the more profound or legitimate our given Truth becomes.
     Further disturbing, the larger the given circle of believers is the more violent a fraction of that circle becomes in its attempt to pound the given Truth into the heads of everyone else.
     Then we wake up one lovely morning... step out of our lovely homes... and rub our eyes in lovely disbelief.
     Lapping waves. Smoldering cabanas. Barmaids burned beyond recognition. Children’s faces smushed in sandcastles. The purple dinosaur groaning on a hammock, facedown with a bottleneck protruding out of his abductor muscles.
      A stunning sunrise. Listing ships. Bloodstained beaches. SpongeBob lying dead with his square pants pulled down around his ankles.
     Silos? Empty. Roosters? Keeled over. Industrious bees, domesticated fowls, submissive cows? Suffocated by the airborne ash and the raining compounds of acid.
      So then, is there hope?
      Any hope at all?
     The possessors of reason attempted to subdue our dreamworld by means of Feudalism, Communism, Fascism, Nazism, Colonialism, Socialism, Islamism, and on and on. Democracy itself, our only real hope, should be renamed “fake it till you make it... -ism.”
     Every one of us, for reasons we don’t remember, has a bunker mentality to one degree or another: “I’m right, you’re wrong. Even if I know you are right and I am wrong, I’m still right and you’re still wrong.”
     How long then before mothers huddle for body-heat while sizing up the tender meat of their lifeless children?
     Professor Dawkins, throughout your career you’ve splashed the gardens with countless gallons of ink. The book titles to some of that ink: The Blind Watchmaker, Unweaving the Rainbow, and The God Delusion. Therein, you’ve set forth arguments that can’t be refuted by the rational minds among those of ours. However, lieutenant, could the rainbow be unwoven in a manner that doesn’t inadvertently drive mothers to resort to such a repast?
     How about you, Lieutenant Hitchens? Now that your memory bank has been restored and you’ve come to learn the Truth firsthand, is there any way you could go back and share a sensible vision to go with your relegated vessel’s God is Not Great?
     No one knows the solution. And, to draw upon earlier analogies, every fig offered by the possessors of reason hinges on depriving the natives of their opiate. The only way such figs will be eaten en masse is if science were to succeed at bringing back Aunt Nancy—body and mind.
    In closing, spiritualists, the materialists aren’t denying there are dark crevices that haven’t yet been scientifically explored. Until the light of reason illuminates these crevices, it is only fair that your so-called gods remain hidden therein.
     As for you, my dear and near materialists, the dark crevices are not going to be illuminated anytime soon. But do be patient in your compiling of objective truths; don’t be hasty to fill in the gaps with common sense or deductive reasoning. And hopefully a day will arrive when your scientific method prevails and the spiritualists freely decide to allow the elements to beat down on their temples, their synagogues, their churches, and their mosques.
     Until that day dawns on the gardens, and delusional as I too agree the Faithful are, and informed as I am of the antitheists’ irreproachable criticism of my own arguments, it may be wise for the lieutenants not to get too greedy, stoking the Fire to the point where mothers start sizing up the flesh of the ones who are still alive.




                     Yours truly,
                       a run-of-the-mill son of Adam





* * * * * * * * * * * * *



(prison copy)




the little scroll



(CHAPTER ONE)


THE SERPENT INSIDE THE BOX



There is still no evidence [for speculating about the origin of religion in brain chemistry]. This is the most tenuous and speculative part of the whole field. We know that electrical storms (epilepsies) of the temporal lobe may start with an aura or hallucination. We also know that stimulation of the human temporal lobe during surgery may produce an intense dreamlike experience, often based on the patient’s recent life. In addition, damage to one of the temporal lobes produces a whole group of changes in mood, character, and ways of coping with the world. Thus, it is conceivable that some intense religious experiences and “mystic revelations” may be the result in unusual temporal-lobe activity.

I certainly am not the one to judge. I am very sympathetic toward all religions. But in trying to understand certain religious experiences organically and neurologically, I think it’s not unlikely that these phenomena may arise as intense neural experiences in the temporal lobes and then sometimes be interpreted as a great happening, as a miracle, or as a message that the individual has been chosen to carry a word or something.


                —Dr. Arnold Scheibel



In the Name of The Light-Time




Original inking, Moon's Day 09/11/2017
First revision commenced, Thor's Day 01/28/2021
Jupiter in conjunction with Sun 84/86/8032
This revision commenced 101NOW101




     It's been seven months since this "vessel touched the ground." Yet, it "hasn't gone mute." I don't know What or Who is responsible for the Delay. Sheesh! I already had my Bags packed and was ready to go. Then again, Where and When else is my center of consciousness gonna have this much Fun.
      I know, I know. It's as though I were taunting you or rubbing Immortality in your faces. But I'm not. I just wanna know how it works. And maybe if I understand it well enough, I can share it with anyone who cares to download the "app." Imagin--Immortality without your having to taste death first. Not only that, but my hope is to learn and share how one can control the When and the Where without the Will and Leave of Anyone. No kidding. After all, guys, there's no One in charge. Honestly. Even Satan turned out to be a mere footstool for The Light-Time. And Lilith? Well, she's more like a glorified doorperson. Besides, she's so content with the Backroom Deal that she doesn't care what I do anymore. Hence, I say let it be a Free for all. In other words, since all religions turned out to have been founded by body-jumpers, and since there is no G-d and never was, and since anyone's syncing with the "Fabric of The Light-Time" can finally be proven outside the milieu of one secret society or another, then why not invite everyone to the Party?
     No?
     Why?!
     Maybe I'm going too fast.
     Maybe I should instead start Backwards and Upside Down.
     In fact, I will.
    Please, though, do be patient. We are all very rational individuals sitting at The Table. As for the madness? Well, it is not method-less.





- - - - - - -




 
BISMILLAH
 


Commencement of this revision 09/03/2024
80,330,207 days since the Fall 07/02/8033






     In the decades leading up to the birth of the New World Order, we, Green and I, engaged in endless debates as to how we could better get our point across to the masses. Seeing how ink had been falling out of favor with each passing generation, however, we, a few years back, decided the best course of action would be to petition His Majesty for Permission to play two “games.”
     Green’s game is just as trite as Green. You know, the same old biblical stuff.
     As for my game? Well, every morning during our daily briefings Lilith and I are handed a list. On it, names of blindfolded humans who have potential but are full of doubts concerning His alleged Majesty, His alleged Grand Plan, and the so-called Grant Purpose of the human speices.
     The rules are easy to keep up with. Dirt Matrix coordinates of humans are plucked out of the Mad Hatter’s hat. Then, Lilith and/or I, personally or via our imps, by one means or another, interact with said humans in an overt manner.
     The objective is for Green, while blindfolded aboard his auxiliaries, to swing his Sword once the number of losers in a given nation reaches critical mass.
     And please don’t panic if your garden loses. You need to keep a cool head as we walk you through the rest of our silly games.
     Case in point, a few years back here I am slithering to and fro the gardens, list of names in hand. On the roster is an Arab whose garden’s scales are about to be tipped in my favor. The subject professes he’s a True Believer. The subject so happens to be a Syrian Muslim. But he could’ve been a Russian Jew, a Chinese Buddhist, or whatever. “True” Believers come in all different shades and allege with their tongues to “truly” believe in all sorts of things. Anyway, I send the subject one of my “meme spirits” to visit him in dreams every night for a week. The meme spirit, all the while, masquerades as Jesus Christ. At first, the subject feels honored by the dreams. Jesus’ works and deeds, after all, are extolled in that Quran book of theirs. However, four or five dreams later the subject starts doubting that the Jesus visiting him is the real Jesus, namely because he’s claiming to be the only begotten Son of Allah.
     During the daytime, the subject drives a taxicab for a living. Ever since the initiation of the game, he’s been spending his days spaced out—mind hard at work, considering the possibility that dream-Jesus may be conveying the Truth. But if dream-Jesus were right, then the Quran is wrong. And if the Quran were wrong, then Muhammad was a charlatan. And if Muhammad were a charlatan, then the Muslims’ Allah isn’t the same as the Allah Who so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.
     With immortality on the line, the subject purchases a New Testament. He thumbs through it for an hour, lays it on his nightstand, and goes to sleep.
     While this game is unfolding, Lilith is working on a daughter of Eve, a run-of-the-mill auxiliary of hers, whose name is Irrelevant. One day Irrelevant hails a taxi. Driving the taxi is Mr. Subject being set up for the Learning Experience. The young lady situates herself in the backseat, then gives the subject an address.
     Immersed in thought, the subject makes no attempts at small talk. The night before, dream-Jesus recommended a reading of John 1:1-14. When the subject woke up, he refused to abide due to fear of losing his religion, the religion of his ancestors; small talk is the last thing on his mind in spite of the daughter of Eve being an especially fine-looking young lady.
     Having arrived at her destination, Irrelevant pays the son of Adam, insists that he keeps a large tip, then, on her way out of the cap, drops a barrel bomb on the poor fellow: “Jesus came to me in a dream and told me to tell you that he loves you and assures you salvation if you just read John 1:1-14.”
     The foregoing cliffhanger is one amidst thousands that unfold throughout the world on a daily basis. Most subjects with whom Lilith and I play this supernatural game end up jumping from one branch to another. So, a “thief” I’m not. And neither is Lilith. We merely set up the stage to show you what’s inside your hearts. Indeed, if you truly believed in whatever it is you profess to believe in, whether it’s based on one of the thousands of creeds or whether it’s even atheism, then you wouldn’t be fazed by our Freaky Game.
     For real, though, have you ever taken the time to look in a mirror and ask why it’s so easy for the so-called paranormal to get inside your heads? Or have you ever taken the time to ask one another why it is that so many of you mistake us, be we “angels” or be we “demons,” for some sort of divinities? Do you think perhaps it’s because most of you are following the Truth mixed with a bit of guesswork? If so—and it is so—do you think guesswork will save you on this Day?
     Take the Christians reading this, for instance. Why is it that you believe what you believe? Think about it. Sit down at a desk and write an essay if that’s what it takes. Start the first paragraph with “I believe because….”  After you’re done, read your own essay. No doubt it will sound irrational. No doubt you’ll be too embarrassed to share it with the rest of us. How could you share when you know that your religion is a syncretism, a cult based on the tall tales of earlier cults. 
     And Christianity isn’t alone. Thanks to Humanity’s impartial scholars, it’s a common fact anymore that all religions are cross-pollinations, including Islam.
     To get back to the point, here is our “offer” and its terms: Believers in whatever cults other than the Monotheistic Faith whose leading proponents is truly yours and yours truly, if I may break the news. you, one drove at a time, are about to be touched by our “game.” We warned you beforehand. Now it’s too late to regurgitate what you free-willingly ingested. But it’s okay. There’s good news. We challenge you to stand your ground, to hold fast to the rope of whatever non-Monotheistic belief, spiritual or secular, you may feel comfortable with.
     As for you, believers in the Faith of "Grandpa"? The daemons in my tow are about to, with His Majesty’s Preapproval, rev up their showing you His Majesty’s Paragons, the ones that are hard-wired within each one of you. Ultimately, Green, with His Majesty’s Leave, will then offer you a Path you can take without feeling embarrassed and without ascribing to any one particular religion. After all, Abraham was neither a Jew, nor a Christian, nor a suicide bomber.
     Simultaneously, as we are engaged in showing you what we aim to show you, Green’s game will, as of this revision as well, continue manifesting on a global scale, especially where critical mass has been attained in favor of any spirit besides His Majesty’s Spirit.
     As Mercy from His Majesty, however, Green’s “game,” as of the original date this ink was committed to paper, will manifest at first on a small scale: forest fires, change in weather patterns, earthquakes, a rise in crime, unrest in geopolitics, famines, and so on. Those nudges will lead to a dam breach in the Jinn Realm. You know, the dam that the Possessor of Two Horns helped your forerunners build “back in the day.”
     As for the Inss Realm? let’s hope, for both your sake and ours, that what happens in the Jinn Realm remains there—at least keep the battlefields confined outside European soil.
     We don’t know how long before the New Beginning on the Inss side. But it’s coming. When the New Beginning does come, if it’s not already here, fortunately the spirit of the Horns guy has also returned.
     Anyway, luckily the Christians reading this have got the New Earth in the bag. What’s in the hearts of most of you barely needs to be tested.
      Jews on the other hand—oh, boy, does Jesus have a bone to pick with you.
    And the Muslims are the Muslims. Only their Allah has Authority over them. He Alone is their Custodian. So let Him deal with them in His Own Way.
     The rest of you who believe in whatever other gods besides His Majesty and His begotten Son... you already know. But that’s okay. Cutting and polishing the Left Behind is my favorite pastime.
     Well, mortals, I guess that’s it for this chapter. There really isn’t much else I’d like to address, at least not with the center of consciousness of this knucklehead. Unless you want me to share another illustration of how the game works.
     Ah, what the heck! Might as well.
     Let’s see... let’s see... what do we have in the Bag?
     Um, no.
     Nope.
    Here’s a file that might pique the interest of the Christians in your midst. It’s about a modern-day Satanic possession. Before I share the file with you, though, allow me to give you an example of an ancient-day demonic possession, an example that you’re familiar with:

     Once upon a time, to a lakeside city, a healer from a nearby village paid a visit. When he disembarked, immediately there met him out of the tombs a naked man afflicted with a psychological disorder. Due to his mental illness, and for lack of psych meds in those days, the man had been often bound with chains and fetters. Yet, as if by supernatural strength the man would break free. And always, night and day, the disturbed man would cry out and cut himself with stones.
     Allegedly, the man was possessed by a collective of spirits whose name was Legion. Upon Legion’s sighting of the healer, it begged not to be sent out of the area. Awhile, there was a herd of pigs feeding on a nearby hillside, presumably with a steep bank to a lake. The demons who made up Legion asked to be sent among the pigs rather than, presumably, to the Blackout. They were given permission by the healer. So, the demons came out of the man and went into the pigs. The herd, about 2,000 in number, despite the healer’s promise not to exile Legion, then rushed down the steep bank, into the lake, and to an early demise, or Blackout--or whatever.
     No one heard from poor Legion ever since that darn day. But that’s a whole different story.
    The people who lived in the city then came and saw the man once possessed now sitting calmly, dressed, and behaving as a normal human. Did they thank the healer for liberating the man? No. Were they impressed? No. Instead, they, undoubtedly upset over the drowning of their livestock, asked the healer to go away, depart from their shores.
     The end.

     Now imagine I unequivocally proved to you, wherever and whenever you hail from on the planet, that most people are possessed by demonic spirits. Imagine I also proved to you that in my company is the very healer who, with His Majesty’s Leave, skeleton-keyed Legion into the herd of pigs. What would you then do? Would you apt to see everyone around you liberated? Or would you expel me, and he who’s in my company, in fear of losing your metaphorical livestock?
     Instead of your debating what’s best for your society, I’ll now share the file of what a modern-day possessed man once inked in his own words.
     Let us see. How about I skip over the boring pages and get right to the heart. Here we go. I’ll start here:
 
     The thing is, for most of my life I felt like I was living in a dream anyway [....]
   This, however, is where the analogy ends, for real life is always more complicated, often stranger than even science fiction [....]
    All right. Let me pretend Jesus were a real historical character. Having thoroughly read and reread the New Testament out of boredom more than curiosity, I gathered that Jesus was, amongst other things, an exorcist—someone who exorcises “demons” who speak through the lips of the possessed. It therefore seems to me a bit odd that many Christians, sensible and otherwise, deny or underplay demonic influence on the behavior of all humans, opting instead for rational explanations.
     Here are a few snippets of demonic influence from the headlines.
     A man raped his two daughters. He was arrested. Over and over, he kept saying that he didn’t know what had gotten into him. Within a week, in a state of disbelief, the man was found in his prison cell dead—hung himself with his belt.
     A high school kid got a hold of a .22 rifle and shot his younger brother and both of his parents. When arrested, he kept insisting that a voice had told him to do it.
    The examples are abound. And this isn’t a new phenomenon that could be attributed to video games or excessive violence on TV. So, will modern science ever explain it all away and put our minds at ease? The flip side of the same question, will modern science ever prove the existence of spirits that supposedly lurk within every one of us, biding their time, awaiting their chance to crawl up into our conscious mind?
     Sadly, what The Book taught me regarding the nature of the S/spirit amounts to a dead end. Paraphrased, “When they ask you about the S/spirit, say that the S/spirit’s affair is a matter belonging to His Majesty.” So I set out to look for clues in the Bible, namely the New Testament. For some reason, two Verses gripped my attention. One, “Jesus came that he may destroy the works of the Devil” (1 John 3:8). “Our enemy Satan goes about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5:8).
     I spent no less than three hours in my dark cell, riveted by the flickering flame of a makeshift candle. When I was about to give up on connecting the dots, I recalled something the supposed Jesus had supposedly said. Enigmatic though it had been when I first brooded on it, suddenly it made sense. I reached for "my" Bible, flipped its Pages, and there it was, (John 3:5-8): “I tell you the truth, no one can enter the Kingdom of G-d unless he is born of water and spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the spirit.”
     Okay, I’ll bite. For no motive other than the sake of scientific inquiry, I set out on Facebook, challenging the "spirit" of Satan and/or the "spirit" of Jesus to possess me. “Bring it on, Mr. Roaring Lion. You, too, Mr. So-Called Son of G-d.” Then a crazy thing happened. I, like Moses in the desert, found myself lifting up a snake.

      Hi.-)
     The Jesus who used to walk the markets and eat the food couldn’t make it on account of he had been born of water. As a mercy for the Rejecters and Associators, however, His Majesty sent me instead. Who, after all, is better qualified to "liberate" you of devils except for the Prince of Devils, G-d’s other only begotten son (PWEPRBCQOAIIPB)?
And don’t tell me that you, assuming you’re a worshipper of water-Jesus, don’t hold exorcism as a part of Christian ministry. Read the Bible for yourself and see how Jesus didn’t come with a new religion. He didn’t come with a religion at all. Rather, he came to liberate you of demons. “…[M]any who were demon-possessed were brought to him, and he drove out the spirits with a word…” (Matthew 8:16). “He also drove out many demons, but he would not let them speak because they knew who he was” (Mark 1:34). “He appointed twelve—designating them apostles—that they might be with him and that he might send them out to preach and to have authority to drive out demons” (Mark 3:14-15). And let’s not leave out the other seventy disciples who were sent two-by-two to preach and exorcise: “… [E]ven the devils are subject unto us through your name” (Luke 10:17). And there’s Mary Magdalene, “out of whom he cast out seven devils” (Mark 16:9). Heck, everywhere the early Christians went they cast out devils: “…[E]vil spirits, crying with loud voice, came out of many that were possessed with them” (Acts 8:7). And to this day wherever Christianity is practiced you’ll find priests who perform exorcism. 

The facts are the facts, irrespective of whether "demons" are factual entities. And while most so-called demonic possessions are indeed mental disorders that could be cured with the right therapy and/or medication, no one who thoroughly investigates the matter can confute that a handful of cases don’t fit in the mainstream scientific narrative. 

It is important to note, however, that demonic possession and demonic influence are two different affairs. A genuinely possessed person has no control over his or her actions. A demonically influenced person, on the other hand, has some free will. Therefore, the symptoms of demonically influenced people are so subtle that a whole nation could be infected without knowing it. Merrier yet, most humans who do know that their behavior is influenced by spirits, demonic or otherwise, do not wish to be liberated due to the warm & fuzzy feeling associated with the “sync.” 

I remember a nation who used to worship Mithra, the “god” of Light and Truth. As a result, Mithra and his legion were, as previously explained in Act One, equipoised upon the collective body of citizens. One day Green disembarked on the shores of that nation and offered its citizens liberation from the influence of Mithra and his spirits. The notables among the citizens, however, refused Green’s offer. They refused because their priests, "with the will and leave" of Mithra, used to be able to exorcise demonically possessed individuals. Their reasoning then was: “Had Mithra not been G-d Himself, then how come the mere mentioning of his name drove out evil spirits?” Patient#101 Green tried to explain that Mithra was playing a head game with them and their priests. “Who, after all,” countered Green, “is better qualified to free your possessed of their devils but those devils’ very own general?” The notables and the priests didn’t buy Green’s argument. Mithra was their Lord and Protector—and that was the end of that.

Green then warned them regarding the Authority vested in him. He never once threatened them. He merely explained to them the mechanism of said Authority backed by the brunt of the Wrath of His Majesty, the One and Only Lord of the Heavens and the Earth and all that which is in between them, the One and Only Lord Who has no sons nor daughters, Mithra or otherwise.

The notables and the priests scoffed as they challenged Green to do his best: “Show us your god's wrath if you’re truthful.”

Green clarified that he can’t show them anything until His Majesty’s Command was passed down to him. He further warned the notables and the priests that once His Majesty’s Command was passed down, their entreaties and the entreaties of their citizens for mercy will fall on deaf ears.

It's funny how history tends to repeat itself over and over. What’s funnier is how Mithra and his ilk need only to change their Bells & Dogwhistles. Before you can count a millennium, an entire civilization is duped. And what’s utterly hilarious is that Mithra’s birthday falls on Jesus’s supposed birthday, the 25th of December. 

And the comedy doesn’t end there. Practically all the trappings of Christmas have been adopted from various Pagan practices. Even Easter and its trappings are crosspollinations. You say that Easter is the festival of commemoration of the resurrection of Jesus, history says that the name Easter comes from the “goddess” of spring and fertility. But of course, you already know this. And of course, you already know that egg-laying bunnies have nothing to do with the "Crucifixion" and "Resurrection." 

If you don’t know, then please listen. I Don’t Have Time To Argue Facts. A fact is a fact is a fact. If you disagree on account of your misunderstanding of the definition of fact, I will point you in the right direction, the direction of Reason & Logic. But that’s it. So please don’t force me to waste your time any more than it’s necessary. 

 For instance, those of you who do know but are in denial try on for size Christian Mythology, by Green’s “demonically- influenced” Philippe Walter. If you read and you’re still not convinced that the Jesus of the Church is not the same as the historical Jesus, then try Jesus the Rabbi Prophet, by Green’s Jacques Baldet. And if you were to then still find yourself adamant in holding fast to what makes you feel warm & fuzzy inside, maybe Green’s Bart D. Ehrman will have a better shot at leading you to Hellfire. Try his How Jesus Became God, Jesus Before the Gospels, and Jesus, Interrupted. 

Current civilization of water-born mortals, I tell you the truth: Had it not been for my running out of respite, I would much rather for the status quo to not change in the least bit. Why, I remember a time when I and what’s mind were equipoised pretty on the throne of ancient Egypt. During those days, too, I made everybody feel warm and fuzzy inside. Then one morning an old friend came to warn me about the Wrath of His Majesty. But the status quo was the status quo: My fingertips on the launch codes to Egypt’s military might. 

Besides, you can’t blame me for doubting my friend’s tale. 

Go ahead and put yourself in my shoes. Say America were, As A Matter Of Fact, an empire ruled over by a spirit of a pharaoh. And say you were that pharaoh’s spirit. In Essence, Then, You Are An Immortal “God”: like the wind you, in astral form, blow wherever you please. And when you alight on any citizen in your empire, rich or poor, that citizen becomes you. In order not to freak out the general population, however, you alight only on the citizens with whom you are in bed--The Citizens You Gradually Conditioned To Use As Landing Pads. Moreover, your manifested word, in which everyone trusts, makes the world go around. In other words, it doesn’t matter who’s in charge of passing bills and setting policies, it doesn’t matter who’s wielding the judges’ gavels—it is your landing pads and your one-eyed messiah who run the show. 

So far so good? 

All right, now further imagine that one day an old friend came along and told you a fantastical story about a fantastical deity who’s greater than you and your manifested word combined. Would you bow to that fantastical deity?

I Think Not!

And I’ll tell you why not.

  • First, the old friend can’t expose you to the citizens who aren’t conditioned to be used by you as landing pads. After all, to your citizens you are as elusive as the wind. The elite among the citizens can surely distinguish your voice when you’re alighted on one of your auxiliaries during the six-o’clock news, but the elite too, for all intents and purposes, don’t believe you actually exist, for they cannot tell where you come from and where you go. All they know, or rather perceive, is that you can give each one of your loyal advocates proof that you have "One Eye" on them at all times.
  • Second, the advocates with whom you are in bed are too arrogant to bow before anyone other than the Mighty Dollar who is your Manifested Word.
  • Third, your old friend, if he were to alight upon any number of his advocates, still could never marshal enough grassroots’ support since the minds of the majority of the citizens are too empty to comprehend your old friend’s word.
  • Fourth, as long as there are enough empty minds for your "Devil memes" to prey on, your house will never be divided.
  • Fifth, even if your friend’s scheme bore fruition, it would only turn father against son, brother against brother, sister against sister… Democrat against Republican—meaning that your friend’s attempt to destroy your works would only backfire, destroying the fabric of the American Empire he so much loves and came to save from you and your advocates.
  • Sixth and most importantly, what your old friend preaches will never fly anyway in an empire whose majority of citizens worship a figurative Golden Calf: That is, His Majesty was made flesh in the image of His Son, that He may sacrifice His only begotten Self so that whosoever believes in him, yaddy-yadda. 

Now I ask you again: Would you bow to a fantastical deity who not only claims he has no children, but alleges he can overcome you, your landing pads, the cannon fodder among your empire’s citizens, and your empire’s military might on whose launch codes you have your fingertips?

I Think Not! 

However, to do you justice you must hear a paraphrasing of my own friend’s story as it’s narrated in the Scrolls with writing on both sides. You know, this way you and your empire have no excuses if the Fantastical Deity were Real and decided to strike His Gavel. 

So, there went my old friend and his clan from among the people of Midian, Traversing Some Forsaken Wilderness For Whatever Reason. A little after dusk, my old friend saw a "fire" in the distance. Thinking he could bring back a "firebrand" and perhaps ask for guidance, he told his clan To Set Camp And Await his Return. 

Upon approaching the “fire,” my friend was called: “O Moses! I am your Lord, so remove your footwear; you are in the Sacred Valley Something Or Another. 

“I have chosen you to listen to what is revealed: Surely, I am G-d. There is no god but I. So serve Me, and perform the prayer for My remembrance. 

“Surely, the Hour is coming. Akadu keep her hidden, that every soul might be recompensed for her endeavor. So let not he who believes not in [the Hour], and follows his desires, turn you away from her--lest you should perish. 

“And what is this in your right hand, Moses?” 

My friend said, “This is my 'staff.' I 'recline' on her and I beat down the 'leaves' for my 'sheep.' And I have other uses for her.” 

G-d said, “Cast her down, Musha?” 

Moses cast down his staff, and, lo, it was a 'serpent' scudding. 

G-d said, “Take hold of [your staff] and fear not; We will restore her to her former state. 

“And enclose your hand to your side. She shall come out white, without blemish, as another Sign, that We may show you some of Our greatest Signs.” 

Once Moses came to grips with the Encounter of the Burning Bush Kind, he was commanded to go back to Egypt so that he may challenge me, for supposedly I had forgotten my Lord and thereafter transgressed all bounds. 

Anyway, Moses said, “O Rabbee, expand for me my breast, and ease for me my affair. And untie a 'knot from my tongue,' that they may understand my 'speech.' And appoint me a minister from my family, Aaron my brother—that I may increase my strength through him, and involve him in my affair, that we should glorify You much, and remember You much. Surely, You are Ever-Seeing of us." 

G-d [supposedly] said, “You have been granted your request, Moses. 

“And certainly, We had already conferred favor upon you another time, when We revealed to your mother that which was revealed: ‘Cast him into the ark and cast it into the sea. An enemy unto Me and an enemy unto him shall take him. 

“And I bestowed upon you Love from Me, and that you might be raised before My Eye, when your sister went and said, ‘Shall I direct you to one who will nurse him? So, We returned you to your mother, that she might be comforted and not be grievous. 

“And you did slay a soul, but we saved you from retaliation. And We tried you with a severe trying. Then you stayed for years among the people of Midian. Then you arrived [here] as ordained, O Moses. 

“And I selected you for Myself. Go you and your brother with My Signs and be not remiss in the remembrance of Me. Go, both of you, to Pharaoh. Surely, he has transgressed. Yet speak unto him a gentle word, that haply he may remember or apprehend.” 

In a state of disbelief, Moses snuck back into Egypt so that he may try to recruit his brother. Aaron, however, wasn’t there to see with his own eyes the "Burning Bush" and hear with his own ears the "Voice" of G-d. Therefore, Aarron rightly argued, “Okay, let’s say all these things did happen to you. Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to challenge Pharaoh merely because you witnessed a couple of tricks?” 

Moses started to have his own doubts. 

So, they called upon G-d together: “Oh, our Lord! We fear that Pharaoh may hasten to do evil to us or that he may become belligerent.” 

G-d said, “Fear not. Surely, I am with you both. I hear and I see. So go to him and say, ‘Verily, we are two messengers of your Lord. So, send forth with us the Children of Israel and punish them not. Indeed, we have brought you a Sign from your Lord. And peace be upon him who follows the Guidance. Surely it has been revealed unto us that the punishment shall come upon him who denies and 111 [sic] turns away.’ 

I, Pharaoh of mighty Egypt, sitting pretty on my throne, was thinking to myself, Are those two guys for real? To play along, I snickered, “And who is your lord, ya Moses?” 

Moses said, “Our Lord is He Who gave to everything its creation, then guided it.” 

Still snickering, half convinced my old friend lost his mind, I said, “Then what of the former generations?” 

Moses said, “The knowledge thereof is with my Lord in a Book—not errs my Lord, nor does He forget.” 

In the Scrolls wherein this version is narrated, His Majesty’s angels interrupt the storyline, chiming in: “[That is He] Who made the Earth for you a bed and threaded paths for you therein. And He sent down water from the sky, with which brought We forth pairs of plants diverse, ‘Eat and pasture your cattle.’ Verily, in this are Signs for possessors of intellect. From [Earth] We created you, and into her We shall return you, and from her We shall bring you forth another time. And indeed, We showed [Pharaoh] Our Signs, all of them, yet he denied and refused.” 

And I Had Every Fucking Right To Deny And Fucking Refuse!

You must understand, mortals, that Moses was in effect asking me to tatter the integrity of the societal fabric to my empire—turning brother against brother, sister against sister, etc. So, I challenged him and his alleged Miracles: “We too will produce before you 'sorcery' like it! So set up an appointment, which we shall not fail to keep, neither we nor you, in a neutral place.” 

Moses said, “Your appointment is the Day of the Adornment—and let the people assemble in the forenoon.” 

So, I devised a scheme with my “wizards”: [“Stand back, and stand by.”] 

In the city center, before my subjects, after a showcasing of the deities of the Superpower of the day, Moses scolded us, “Woe to you! Do you forge a lie against G-d? He shall destroy you by a Torment, And Fails Indeed he who Forges.” 

I admit, my sorcerers and I were shaking up A Bit By Moses’ Steadfastness. So, we secretly disputed with one another about the best course of action. 

We then turned to the citizens as we resorted to what you would consider today as a conspiracy theory: “Moses and Aaron are surely magicians who wish to expel you from your land with their sorcery and to do away with your superior way of life. So gather your plot, then come in ranks. And This Day Will Prosper Indeed He [And She And They] Who Gains The Upper Hand.” 

My sorcerers said, “O Moses! Either you cast, or we shall be the first to cast.” 

Moses said, “Nay, you cast.” 

Then, lo, their "cords" and their "staffs," by their "magic," appeared to him as though they were scurrying about. 

I Could See The Fear In Moses’ Eyes. In fact, everyone watching could tell Moses was taken aback. It isn’t easy for mortals to witness their very reality manipulated in ways that their conscious mind can’t accept as... real.   

Anyway, G-d’s angels supposedly said to Moses in a voice only he could hear, “Fear not, surely you shall be the uppermost. And cast down what’s in your right hand. It will devour what they have wrought. They have wrought only the plan of a magician, and the magician shall not be successful wheresoever he may come from.” 

We all know what happened next. In the Scrolls’ Version, however, there’s a Scene portrayed that’s not in your Good Book: my sorcerers fell prostate once Moses’ staff devoured everything they had cast down. They then professed that they believed in the Lord of Aaron and Moses. 

That was exactly what I had feared—my subjects falling prostrate before someone other than Me. So, I fired at my traitorous sorcerers, “You believe in the god of Moses before I give you leave? Most assuredly he's your chief who taught you the magic. I will certainly cut off your hands and feet on opposite sides, and I will certainly crucify you on the trunks of the palm trees. And you will certainly come to learn which of us two is the more severe in torment and more relentless.” 

The despicable traitors dared to turn to face me, look me straight in the Eye, and say, “We do not prefer you to what has come to us of Clear Arguments and to He Who made us. So, decide what you are going to decide. You can decide only about this here life of the world. 

“And surely, we have come to believe in our Lord, that he may forgive us for our wrongdoings and for the magic to which you compelled us. And G-d is better and more abiding.” 

Again, interrupting the storyline is who? You guessed it—His Majesty and His angels: “Whoever comes to his Lord while guilty, for him is Gehenna. He shall not die in her, nor shall he live. And whoever comes to Him while a believer, has performed a work beneficial—indeed for those shall be the degrees the highest: Gardens of Eden beneath which rivers flow, immortal are they therein. And such is the reward of who redeemed himself [and herself obviously]. 

“And certainly We revealed to Moses, saying, ‘Travel by night with My slaves, then strike for them a path in the seadry. Fear you not vanquish and be not afraid. 

The whole crazy thing with the parting of the sea aside, and needless to say, I was fuming. The Children were my slaves, not His! 

Neither here nor there, and as it’s been told and retold for thousands of years, I, with my army, followed Moses and the Children. Yes-yes! Then there came upon me of the sea that which came upon me. And I led astray my people and I did not guide them aright. There you have it! I repent. I promise to be a good boy from now forth. Will somebody now please figure out a way to undo these damn chains. 

Ah, what’s the use. Deaf ears my cries are falling on—deaf ears, I tell you. ‘Come-on in,” the Arab said. “We’ll have fun playing the Satanic Trinity.” 

Any-firggin’-way, let’s get back to the Scrolls. His Majesty and His angels chime in, yet again: “O Children of Israel, indeed We delivered you from your enemy, and We made a Covenant with you on the blessed side of the Mountain, and We descended upon you the manna and the quails. Eat you of the good things We have given you for sustenance, and be you not inordinate with respect to them, lest My Wrath should be upon you—and upon whomever My Wrath is justified, they shall perish. 

“And verily I am most Forgiving to whomever repented and believed and did good, then followed the Guidance.” 

The Scrolls are kind of funny in that one must piece together a given Tall Tale from various Chapters. For instance, this particular Fable is told and retold. Each time it, or a part of it, is shared, the Narration stresses a different angle. From this here angle, the following Narrative is some of that which is stressed: 

As if His Majesty didn’t already know, He asked, “And what caused you to hasten from your people, ya Moses?” In the Scrolls, this is supposedly the Scene where G-d talked to Moses on the Mountain. You know, when His Majesty supposedly handed him the Commandments. 

Moses replied, “They are here on my track and I hastened on to You, my Lord, that You might be pleased.” 

His Majesty, on behalf of Himself and His angels, supposedly said, “Surely We have tried your people after you, and the Samiri has led them astray.” 

Contrary to popular belief, Aaron wasn’t a willing participant in the making of the Golden Calf (see Exodus 32:2). Not that it matters to me one way or the other, supposedly it was that Samiri fellow who led the Children astray while Moses was up on the Mountain. 

Whatever! 

Moses had his little talk with G-d then returned to his people, full of wrath and sorrowing. “O my people, did not your Lord promise you a goodly promise. Did then the time seem long to you, or did you wish that displeasure from your Lord should be justified upon you, so you broke your promise to me?” 

Blushing, the Children started pointing fingers at one another. Spare you the pitiful details, finally the Children fessed up: “We didn’t break our promise to you, Mister Moses. Rather, our gold and ornaments were getting to be too much of a burden to lug around this forsaken desert, so we discarded of them. And what you see there, this silly old calf, it was the Samiri’s handiwork. It was he, and he alone, who figured it would be more fit to cast our junk into this brainchild of his." (Clearly that’s not what Bani Israel said word-for-word. I’m just doing what I do best.) 

The point to be made, Aaron is innocent. I was just doing what I do best when I improved the plot in the Biblical Ink you’re familiar with. And yes-yes! Of course, one of mine was the fellow who brought forth For The children The Golden Calf, An Idol That Made A “Mooing Sound In The “Wind. There! I came clean. 

It is critical to stress, however, that I didn’t twist Bani Israel’s collective arm. A good portion of them kneeled before the Golden Calf freely. In their own words, straight out of the Scrolls, here’s their argument to Aaron: “This [Golden Calf] is your G-d and the G-d of Moses, but he forgot.” 

His Majesty and His goody-two-shoes chime in: “Could [the Children of Israel] not see that [the Golden Calf] did not return to them a reply, and that it did not possess any harm or benefit for them? And certainly Aaron had said to them before [they kneeled], ‘O my people, you are only tried by [the Golden Calf], and surely your Lord is The Merciful. So, follow me and obey my order.’” 

In their addressing Aaron, the Children, a good sum of them anyway, replied, “We will by no means cease to keep to her worship until Moses returns to us.” 

When Moses did return, he grabbed Aaron by the beard. “O Aaron, what prevented you, when you saw them going astray, [from following my instructions]? Did you then disobey my order?” 

Aaron said, “O son of my mother, seize me not by my beard nor by my head. Surely, I was afraid lest you should say, ‘You have caused a division among the Children of Israel and not heeded my word. 

Moses turned to my man. “What was then your object, Samiri?” 

“I saw what they didn’t see,” claimed the guy, referring to, according to a different tall tale, the archangel Gabriel. “So I took a handful of the dust from the footsteps of the [angelic] Messenger, then I threw it in the casting. Thus did my soul commend me.” 

Moses said, “Begone then! Surely for you it will be in this life to say, ‘Touch not.’ And surely there is an appointment for you, which you shall not evade. And look at your ‘god’ to whose worship you kept—we will certainly burn it, then we will certainly scatter it a scattering in the sea." 

So far so good? Do the Jews and the Christians alike agree the Scrolls’ Narrative pretty much conforms to the Version with which you’re familiar? 

Very well then. 

Now let us get back to you, my dear reader and make-believe Pharaoh of the American Empire. In this day and age, what would you do were a Moses to confront you and your sorcerers? And I understand today’s scene is much more complex. For starters, the majority of your Empire’s subjects kneel before a Judeo-Christian philosophy that’s well-formatted rather than the whimsical Judeo-Golden-Calf one. Nevertheless, you and the spirits your sorcerers summon are the same Companions of the Left-Hand Path from back in the day. 

In fact, and the truth I commit to paper, every government on Earth is in bed in one form or another with the spirit of a "pharaoh" and at least one "sorcerer." Sure, most citizens are ignorant of this Dark Coalition, but the seasoned politicians know all too well what goes on behind their Dark Governments' closed doors. 

I know, I know. Not am I only ranting, but this isn't the proper format for such ink. And believe you me: I hate to put our business and the business of our sorcerers out on Main Street. I honestly do. It's just that Bani Abraham in general, before the make-believe Moses casts down his Very Real Staff, need to get a grasp of what sort of magic exactly is in play. Are we talking card tricks here, or are we talking Chris Angel, or are we talking king Solomon?

Whatever the case may be, the truth I will commit to paper and nothing but the truth.  

Being that this daywalker isn't an adept in the field of magic, however, I must resort to an auxiliary. Its name, Michael W. Ford. Please, though, if its ink piques your interest be patient and don’t read any of its books yet, especially Liber HVHI. But if you decide to prematurely read such ink anyway, by said auxiliary or any of the others, do not let it dishearten you. That is, of course, unless you feel that the make-believe Staff of our make-believe Moses is incapable of swallowing everything cast down by the make-believe pharaohs’ Very Real Sorcerers/srerecroS laeR yreV.

Either way, whatever you conclude isn’t important this early in the Journey. What matters for now is the showdown with the pharaohs, the “Living Deities” who embody the predatory nature hard-wired within every one of you. 

Beforehand, though, let me make something clear: By His Majesty on His Eternal Throne, the One and Only Deity, He in Whose Hands my soul & spirit are, He in Whose Hands all of our souls & spirits are, Green and I already do have His Majesty’s Approval to shackle every last pharaoh, male and female, and tear them and this world to shreds. The only reason we’re holding back? Well, do the math. When it’s all said and done, you and the spirits with whom you are imbued, good & particularly evil, are Lilith’s kids. And one thing Lilith isn’t going to dolash out on her kids. Not that we can’t finish this without her consent. But rather because it would be impolite to force her to lash out. 

Besides, Green’s quarrel is with the rogue Wolves.  

And me? 

I’m just... I don’t know. Frustrated with the rogue Pharaohs, I guess. Their sorcerers have already cast down. And, boy, Green is shaking in his boots—full of doubt as to whether His Majesty’s Authority will be sufficient to triumph us.

All I'm asking for is a millennium of steady progress, for Pete's sake! Is that too much to ask?

As a result of these complications, we, over a given period known only to His Majesty, will represent you with a number of arguments. Some arguments will be ours. Other arguments will be based on “Fables” out of the Scrolls. This way if we failed to convince you, perhaps the Fables will bring you to your senses lest… you already know. 

On this note, what do you say I share with you one of the biggest Fables before the scribe calls it a scene. 

Let’s see what we have in the Bag. 

You’re not ready for this.

Nor this.

And this Fable is too indigestible for now.

This one would upend the New World Order—The Light-Time forbid.

This one here was forged altogether. Long story.

And this one, only a few forged “Verses were inserted, mainly to justify the mistreatment and/or enslavement of you-know-who. 

Here we go! I found it. Not too long, straightforward, almost in Prestine condition on this side of the mirror, and, fortunately, impossible to believe in any language. 

Ready or not, once upon a time in the very near future… 

 

 

In the Name of His Majesty, The Merciful, The Compassionate 

 

When befallen has the Event— 

Not to her befalling is there denial: 

Abasing is she, exalting is she. 

When shaken is the Earth tremblingly, 

And pulverized are the mountains grindingly, 

That she (mountains) was dust scattered, 

And were you pairs three. 

Then Companions of the Right, 

What of Companions of the Right? 

And Companions of the Despair, 

What of Companions of the Despair?  

And the Foremost are the Foremost, 

Those are the Near Ones, 

In Gardens of the Bliss— 

A multitude from among the Firsts, 

And a few from among the Latter. 

Upon couches embroidered, 

Reclined are they upon her (couches), 

Facing one another. 

Catering to them youths immortal 

With goblets and ewers and a cup 

         from a spring flowing, 

Not head-ache they from her nor stupefy. 

And fruits of what they choose, 

And flesh of fowl as they desire, 

And maidens wide-eyed, 

The likeness of the pearls the concealed: 

Reward for what they used to do. 

Not hear they in her vanity nor incitement, 

Save the uttering “Peace”; “Peace.” 

And Companions of the Right, 

What of Companions of the Right? 

Amidst lotetrees thornless, 

And plantains clustered,  

And shade stretched, 

And water poured, 

And fruits abundant— 

Not cut off is she (fruits) nor forbidden is she— 

And beds raised. 

Verily We created them original, 

Then made We them virgins— 

Loving, coeval:  

For the Companions of the Right. 

A multitude from among the Firsts,  

And a multitude from among the Latter. 

And Companions of the Left,  

What of Companions of the Left? 

In searing wind and boiling water, 

And shadow of black smoke, 

Not cool is he nor pleasant is he. 

Verily they, before this, were luxuriated, 

And they used to persist in the Offense the Great,  

And they used to say, “Is that when die we  

And have become we dust and bones,  

Shall we then be indeed transcended, 

Or our fathers the Firsts?” 

Say, “Verily, the Firsts and the Latter  

Shall be gathered for an Appointment 

      of a Day known.” 

Then you—O astray, O deniers— 

Shall eat of the Tree of Zaqqoom 

Then filling you up from her the belies,  

Then drink shall you on top of him (torment) 

       the Boiling Water, 

And drink shall you the drinking 

        of thirsty camels. 

This Is their Entertainment On The Day Of Requital. 

We created you—why do you then not believe? 

Have you considered what you emit? 

Is that you who create him or are We the Creators? 

We’ve ordained among you the Death 

And not are we to be outdone 

In that We should exchange your likeness 

And originate you into that which you don’t know. 

And you’ve come to know the Genesis the First, 

So why do you then not reflect? 

Have you considered what you cultivate? 

Is that you who grow him, 

Or are We the Growers? 

Had We willed, 

We would have turned him into chaff, 

Then would remain you lamenting: 

“Truly we’re laden with debt. 

No! We are deprived.” 

Have you considered the water you drink? 

Are you who descend him from the clouds, 

Or are We the Descenders? 

Had We willed, We would’ve made him bitter. 

Why do you then not give thanks? 

Have you considered the fire that you kindle? 

Are you who originated her tree, 

Or are We the Originators?  

We have made her (fire) a reminder 

And a comfort for the wayfarers. 

So glorify the Name of your Lord,

The Supreme. 

So not swear I by the positions of the stars— 

And this is an oath, if you but knew, great— 

[These are Scrolls] Noble, 

In a Book Concealed, 

Not touches him except the purified— 

Descended from the Lord of the Worlds. 

Do you then this Utterance tarnish, 

And make you your livelihood that you should belie? 

Why then when she (soul) reaches the throat, 

And you at that moment are looking on, 

And We are nearer to H/him than you 

        but you do not see, 

So why then—if you’re not indebted [to Us]— 

Bring her back if you’re truthful? 

So then, if he [or she] is of the Near Ones, 

Then comfort and bounty and a Garden of Bliss. 

And if he [or she] is of the Companions of the Right, 

Then peace to you from Companions of the Right. 

And if he [or she] is of the Deniers, the Astray, 

Then An Entertainment Of Boiling Water, 

And Roast him [Or her] Will Inferno. 

Verily, this is Truth of the Certainty. 

So glorify the Name of your Lord, 

The Supreme. 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

I feel like my intellect was just raped.-/

Tell me you don’t feel the same way. 

“Gardens of Eternal Bliss,” His Majesty promises. 

Can a mortal quantify those alleged Gardens in a manner that doesn’t require the suspension of one’s Reason?  

Nope! 

Can a mortal test the existence of those alleged Gardens by repeated, controlled, and objective experiments? 

Imagine. 

Can a mortal at least decipher why it is that His Majesty supposedly has a trustworthy spirit on His Payroll? Or better yet, can a mortal decipher why it is that His Majesty supposedly has entire Hosts on His Payroll? 

I think not! 

And when we downtrodden "immortals" press His Majesty to give us Proof that eternal immortality is attainable by the likes of us, He insists that we must first taste death. 

“Taste Death”? He Speaks. 

No! 

Thank You, though, Your Majesty. 

You see, I, the so-called scribe, may not be able to scientifically examine whatever it is I’m currently afflicted with, but I have no complaints. None. It’s sufficient that I’m 100% sure I’m not dreaming. Not any longer. I couldn’t be dreaming. 

It’s impossible!

For Pete's sake, I'm here now, typing these very words, only because I'm "meditating" somewhere & somewhen else.

And I admit I was lost at first, awestruck by the infinite number of Portals and Timeblocks. That’s why I had to “retreat into some pathetic fantasy world” for a few years. It Is Only After my Center Of Consciousness Had Settled Down Aboard This Particular Birthbody That i Realized What i Realized. Put in the words of Mr. Ford, in his The Bible of the Adversary, The Luciferian Faith is one found by the illumination of the self; the mind is awakened by what is called Gnosis and the spirit of rebellion and freedom is then found. The Luciferian Spirit is found by going beneath the Therionic Layers and [S]kins of the Beast and Dragon, underneath to discover an Angel of Light.” 

In somewhat less esoteric terms, still from the same book: 

 

The Luciferian is an individual who recognizes the common characteristics of the archetype of the Adversary, both from a masculine and feminine perspective. The Luciferian does not worship Satan or necessarily believe in it—a Luciferian does not believe in the Christian black and white symbolism of sin and redemption. The Adversary is a trans-cultural archetype which has existed long before Christianity began. Satan is merely a title meaning “Adversary” or “Opposer.” The Luciferian relates these definitions as the empowering rebel, the spirit which stands against a slave-creating religion no matter which it is. The Luciferian views the Adversary from many different cultures, from Samael the Angel of Lawlessness [to] Ahriman [the] sorcerous God of Darkness who creates and destroys and so on. The Luciferian knows that this God is only recognizable within, that Lucifer is a collective name for a path of religious and spiritual freedom based on the instinct of the practitioner. 

 

The Adversary is also feminine. Lilith is the fiery bride of Samael[.] [T]ogether they are the Adversary and Beast[.] [T]hey bow to no other beings, spiritual or otherwise, create their own children (demons, Lilim, etc.), and make their own worlds (Qlippoth, [H]ell, etc.) to dwell in…. 

 

Now tell poor old Grandpa that he’s damned for the Falsehood that your Men of Wisdom cooked up on their own. Now tell poor old Grandpa that he’s wrong for aspiring to elevate your centers of consciousness—that you may experience for yourselves, while still tethered to your own birthbodies, the very real connections that bind the spiritual realm with your physical world. And even if you’re not meant to be able to scientifically examine the mechanisms that enable us to orchestrate every newsworthy story covered by CNN, tell me I’m wrong for wanting you to ascend in the physical world so that you may rule everlastingly alongside the Family. Tell me I’m wrong for trying to persuade you to give up the Falsehood so that you too may be given His Majesty's Leave to overcome and judge the very angels--His Majesty's very Own Hosts. 

Humans, ya humans, tell me you would prefer to have your souls & spirits fettered by Lilith and me in a “Qlippoth” rather than allowing the Truth to liberate you and your offspring.

For Pete's sake yet again--you're already dead.

And what are you holding onto anyway? If you don’t want to be slaves to the Fabric of The Light-Time Who created you and us, what are your alternatives? Let’s break them down. If you’re a post-Constantine Christian, you’re a sheep for placing your eternal fate in the hands of a chimerical “God” cobbled by the early Church from ten different religions. If you’re a modern-day Muslim, you’re a sheep for buying into what was hatched by one scholar or another who sought after the sort of “enlightenment” that comes with being in the company of my hosts. If you’re a Jew, you have a chip on your shoulder since G-d has chosen you as a Child of His and disowned the rest of humanity. Who’s next? The Buddhists? The Hindus? The devotees of the thousand other schools of thoughts? Name your religion for the sake of which you prefer warping your intellect. Now look in the mirror. And be honest now. Would you allow your birthbody to expire first then take your chances that your Idol of choice will grant you ascension? And even if your Idol did grant you ascension prior to the expiration of your birthbody, do you trust that Idol enough to imagine your ascension will be blissful even after your birthbody has been relegated to a bygone timeblock? 

Are you still looking in the mirror? Good. Further ask yourself: Wouldn’t you rather become an immortal consciousness riding the conveyor belts foreverthis day in this timeblock, and everyday throughout every timeblock whose Portal His Majesty doesn’t grant you access to? Of course you’d rather be that type of immortal. Well, guess what? That’s what am not selling. 

And the Proof that the Formula works, that I’m not bound by the flesh, neither as Grandpa nor as the scribe, is that in September of 2017 alone I died, like, a thousand times. As for this month (during original inking), October—one of my sloughed off sheep is still lying lifeless in a morgue in Las Vegas. 

Pent-up anger and its triggers aside, what’s it going to be, mortals? What are you going to choose—the alternatives or the Truth? In your effort to hold fast to whatever belief you ascribe to, would you put your money where your mouth is and agree for your birthbody to die this very instant for the sake of your obstinacy? Or would you rather admit your faith is oscillating, allow the Truth to cultivate within you the mustard seed's worth, transcend before your birthbody expires, then, away from the limelight, earn a seat at The Table so that you may have a say in turning this here Earth into the Gardens of Bliss, under The Light-Time, with Liberty and Justice for those who have a Passkey? 

I know I often talk out of both sides of my mouth. And I know what I’m proposing out of both sides sounds unrealistic to the average rationalist. But what do you have to lose? Namely since you rationalists are also sheep for submitting your intellect solely to Materialistic Reasoning, which you darn well know shall never amount to more than half of the Big Picture. 

Besides, regardless of whether you’re a Materialist or Spiritualist or a little of both, you are a member of the Left Behind since you’re reading this ink instead of brainstorming in midair alongside the Family. To put it more poignantly, you are already as good as dead. Why could you possibly then be still hesitant to try something new and fresh? In the case of the rational Christians, are you perhaps awaiting a different rapture, a rapture that’s initiated by the “Son of G-d,” a rapture where you discard your clothes as you disappear from this plane of existence? Really? 

How about the rest of humanity—what are you waiting for? A messiah to hold your hands? 

Okay, let us assume you’re right. Since you’re not angels walking the Earth, any messiah sent to whomever and proclaiming whatever would naturally be a human like you in every aspect, even if in his transcended form he were an angel. And a human, male or female, no matter how inclusive he or she may be, must play by human rules. Thus, alive or dead he or she would eventually be compelled to persuade his or her supporters to tear the rest of you to shreds. Why? Think about it. What is expected by the humans who are holding their breath for the return of, say, Jesus? They expect for him to lift the Veils, bestow upon his supporters unconditional immortality, then mount an offensive. Mount an offensive against whom? Mount an offensive against you, the “unruly” children under whose sway the whole world lies. And it wouldn’t matter then whether you’re a Jew, a Muslim, a Hindu, or a Buddhist. You would all be deemed unworthy of the sustenance you consume and bliss you bask in. Dare you then to not kneel before the Chosen One as he’s portrayed by the Church? 

And I’m not singling out the Christians. Your fate would be the same were the Chosen One a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Mormon, or a Scientologist. The common denominator here is that the Mission of a Chosen One, if he’s to prove to the world that he has the Backing of the One True Supreme Being, is to resurrect the spirits and souls of the bygone generations, raise the consciousness of his global supporters, procure unconditional immortality for those supporters here and now, then wage an all-out Campaign to rid the world of the fabrications regarding the Nature of the One Who sent him, be He or She the Jodeo-Christian G-d or Some One else or Some Thing else. Hence, where the fabrications cannot be eradicated, slaughtering the fabricators would become the only option in order to maintain Order. Which, given your irreconcilable divisiveness, is the same thing as saying slaughtering most of you is the only option. And don’t imagine for a second that you and your economy would stand a chance against a one-man army who’s not bound by the flesh.  

Just as decimating would be a scenario that’s secular in nature, where a false messiah would rise from your midst, merely plucked the right strings to your hearts & minds, and you agreed to support his ideology. Wouldn’t you then only be setting up the stage for a global uprising, regardless of whether your given messiah’s ideology became policy? 

Rational humans of Earth, it should go without saying that I, the scribe, am not one of your awaited messiahs. And it should go without saying that I do not aspire to lead anyone anywhere. I know my limits. And I know I’m neither mentally fit nor do I have the proper credentials. First, I’m not a son of G-d, for the G-d Whom I know has not a single son or daughter, begotten or otherwise. Second, I’m not an associate of G-d, for the G-d Whom I know has not a single partner in His Throne, angelic or otherwise. Third, I’m not a prophet or a messenger, for the Scrolls teach that you already had your Seal Prophet and Seal Messenger. Since these three statements make up the foundation of my core beliefs, what then is my angle? Well, clearly I’m also not someone who seeks to lavish this particular birthbody in fame and fortune. And, when it’s all said and my pen runs dry, I’m not the one who possesses benefit for you or harm. I guess what I am, delusional as it may sound to you, is living proof that immortality is real and attainable by anyone. What I am is a humble quill that wishes to share, in a language palatable to your Collective Rationale, arguments that may compel the skeptics amidst you to retrace the footprints of the Real Immortals and experience firsthand how The Table has always been here and near and will always be here and near. 

Ya-sons and daughters of Adam & Satan, ya-sons and daughters of Eve & Lilith, while I may or may not have ulterior motives in my endeavor to invite you to eat of the Apple, and while you may or may not choose to consider my invitation, the beauty of this latent awakening is that it aims to never be a worldly movement led by this avatar or by the "mystics" in his tow, lunatics who would only entangle you in one cult after another—be they wannabes rabbis, imams, priests, gurus, mahatmas, or swamis. The beauty of this latent awakening, immediately pursuant to the "Initiation Rite" you, if you’re sincere, will be permitted into what amounts to a conference hall. Once inside, you, metaphorically speaking, will see for yourselves that His Majesty Alone sits at the Head of The Table. No one to His Left. No one to His Right. You will then take your seats, your books will be handed to you, and you will judge your own deeds and work out your own salvations throughout the lifetime of your consciousnessbefore your current birthbodies are relegated to a bygone timeblock. 

The truth I tell you although you believe I’m psychotic, you are bound for the Conference Hall whether free-willingly now or whether by your ankles and forelocks later. Those who ascended and those who descended know this to be a fact. Those who ascended and those who descended also know Lilith and I have been here with you in the trenches since the start of it all, inside your breasts, whispering to you, all the while making it possible for you to attain immortality, with the Leave of His Majesty, Right and Left. Have chosen the Right Path those who saw through our masks and attributed glory to no one besides His Majesty. Have chosen the Left Path those who succumbed to our headgames and magnified our masks, whether worn by themselves or worn by others. 

Ya-mortals, when His Majesty commanded me to prostrate for the monadic Adam, I refused for two reasons. The first reason you already know: he was, and still is, inferior to me. The second reason, I prostrate for no one except for His Majesty. Had I refused to obey His Majesty’s Command solely because I held I’m superior to Adam, His Majesty would not have granted me respite. Now you and I are back at square one. The only difference this go-around, one of the humans among the Adam memes had the sense to remain blindfolded, resisting the Apple even after he had been given a noncommittal taste. Hence, he now has the upper hand and he’s putting pressure on me to come clean—lift the Veils, as it were. 

So, the issue now isn’t whether I will capitulate to him or whether he will capitulate to me. The issue is that once the corpses are counted, the Earth will shine with the Light of His Majesty despite any remaining opposition. On that Day, a virtual Parapet will be erected and a seat at The Table thereafter, while you’re still breathing, will be attainable by means of only the Straight Path. Few of you have the discipline and patience to walk the Straight Path. This is why the human and I agreed to hold back as much Book Ink as we’re allowed tofor as long as we’re allowed to. 

Meanwhile, until all is revealed, and until the vessels are sorted out… well, brood on it, "mortals." Why else do you think His Majesty created life and death in the first place? Why else do you think His Majesty conferred respite upon me until the Day of Requital--may it never get here? Why else do you think I flourish best amidst conflict and confusion? Why else do you think His Majesty allows me to be an adversary to both you and Him? Why else do you think His Majesty grants me authority over the vessels of those who choose to worship the Self, the wellspring of all idols? And why else do you think His Majesty plants a “Forbidden Tree” in every Garden without so much as a picket fence to obstruct access to it? 

Yes, there was a Backroom Deal. However, I’m starting to believe I have but a little time left to fulfill my end of the Bargain. As if the weight of the past few hundred years pressing down on my shoulders isn’t distressful enough, this here begotten mask of mine may indeed belong to my last daywalker. 

Inclined as I am to dethrone myself of my own volition, and not to sound too sentimental, I confess the reason that has been keeping me from abdicating and petitioning His Majesty to pull the rug from beneath you can be summed up best in what one of my other begotten masks once committed to paper: “My hope despairs; but my despair keeps me hoping.” 

Your deliberate indifference pertaining the influences of the Dark Realm, ya-mortals, is all the more reason why your reality is about to be upturned while you helplessly watch. And yes, of course you have every right not to believe, without proof, what I’m implying between the lines. But I’m not asking you to believe. I’m asking you to think. I’m asking you to set out and do some research and weigh out all the angles. Perhaps start with The Key to Theosophy, by H.P. Blavatsky. And while I don’t agree with every facet of the society’s philosophy pertaining His Majesty’s Nature, there’s no denying Theosophy’s conclusions are closest to the facts with regard to the very real and very human practitioners of the Dark Art, the Dugpas. If Theosophy is an unpalatable cup of tea, there’s no shortage of other societies that are quite on point. Just be watchful where you tread. Aside from the Dark Art rudiments used by, say, the top echelon of ISIS or the Church of Scientology, spiritual predators are all over the ‘Net, trolling for prey. Such wolves are a fact of life and have been as such since before the days of Babylon. Only their agenda and the names of their “gods” have changed. If you are ever to be taught what’s there to be taught, you must first not underestimate the wolves' sly tactics by which means they enslave the souls of the credulous. So, use your heads if you decide to brush over a given society’s exoteric literature. Then, once you gain somewhat of a grasp of what you're up against, consider what sort of world would you be living in had a mere handful of movers and shakers been nothing more but Manchurian candidates. 

Yaaa mortals, your world Dark governments are all too aware of who’s responsible for the headlines. Your world Dark governments refused to go into bed with this daywalker, however, because he wouldn’t play by the old rules of the Dark Force, the Force with whom the Manchurian candidates are in bed. As for the collective of spirits that makes up the Dark Force, it, in its panic, killed us—Green and I. 

Your world Dark governments, ya mortals, are scared shitless. And you can’t blame them. There are monsters on the other side of the mirror that are indescribable, especially in a matrix city figuratively called Sadom and Egypt. 

Yaaa mortals, Magic is real. And I’m not talking The Carbonaro Effect here. I speak of the sort of Magic under whose spell the Saints and Superstars of entire nations have fallen. I ought to know. I and what’s mine are the ones equipoised on those Elites. If you do dig deeper into what’s being implied and feel it doesn’t fit into your worldview, then log off this cybercave and go join the walking dead. Go ahead. Go prostrate before the Altar of my Cult of Personalities. I understand your aversion to believe in influences that your world leaders are excellent at downplaying or outright denying. 

Ya cybercave mortals, the Jinns & Inss outside will continue to kneel before the angels, before the demons, before Jesus, before Mary, before the Saints, and before the Superstars. And that’s good—it’s good they will persist to associate others with His Majesty, calling upon them to be saved rather than calling upon His Majesty Alone. Besides, the Scrolls teach that had His Majesty willed, none of them would’ve been misguided. And that also is good. It’s about that time anyway that Green and I culled the herd of its bovine tendency—On Both Sides Of The Mirror, That Is. 

As for those who by now recognize the cybercave for what it is, we pray you’re savvy enough to break away from the walking dead and their distorted reality. If you do and if you are in fact the Generation of Dark Children with enough sense to embrace what’s to be embraced, we promise that we, with His Majesty’s Leave, will turn you into spiritual Lions and Lionesses. The likes of Mr. Ford, whether Saints or Superstars, are the individual cells that make up the overall body of the “God” of this world. The likes of Mr. Ford, we, with His Majesty’s Leave, have been making mincemeat of. Haven’t you been watching the news or reading the papers lately? 

Yaaaa Generation Of Dark Children! 

Let’s Take It From The Top One More Time. 

 

 

 

(That’s enough for now.) 






 



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