Spell Breaker
The Mantra of Atoms to Chimps to Man-God
It was an art. He now understood the practice of meditation. He had abandoned it for many years as he had misunderstood what he was doing. Ah! The texts (and gurus) will mislead you, not out of spite, they just don’t know what they’re doing. They don’t know why either.
Vikid was in the mountains. A wet fog had descended into the valley, cloaking its inhabitants in a light rain. The air was still with intermittent spells of exquisite freshness. All was quiet except for the occasional drips of water from the windowsill, a flutter of feathers and the rustle of leaves in ancient conversations with each other.
It was still dark and he had woken early. He listened to a little punditry on the InterTube but then thought better of it, pulling out “The Chronicles of Amber” on his electronic reading machine.
It was a story of an amazing adventure through multiple realities. A Prince fighting for the throne, young damsels bewitching him, medallions with unusual powers, underwater kingdoms. The joy for the imagination.
He put the book down. Closed his eyes and the mind started wondering. His mind was a virtual reality projector with hint of control through what was called his will. He could guide it at times but like in a dream an entire scene would switch and he would forget how he got there.
A scene with a princess, soft hay in a barn, her golden locks of hair, the up turn of her button nose, sweet summer scent, a glimmer of a light in her blue eyes. Imperceptibly next, a corporate struggle, cool steel and glass, sharp suited bankers, crisp ties, platinum watches, a struggle over payment, a call for force majeure, the world at the brink of war.
Then a flash back to reality.
Memories of a waking dream. With each change of scenery the awakened being just watching, being, noticing.
By now it was light, he opened his eyes and went to make a coffee. All his companions started entering the living room one by one, arising from their slumber.
The tranquility of the morning now lost to the mountain mist which was quickly evaporating. Like cackling hyenas, they would not stop talking. Their minds constantly chattering about trivial things.
Vikid liked to imagine impossible worlds but these people lived inside one.
The world they understood had been built on an elaborate lie built by sinister magicians. These sorcerers had woven their illusion into the fabric of their existence. Those under the spell could not tell fact from fiction.
Their control was not just in the noetic realm. Anyone who wished to expose them in the real were destroyed by various means, an attack on their reputation, finances, endless law-fare and then a bullet or prison.
The real problem was imagination. A sure fire test, how solid does reality feel for you?
Those under the spell were fixed into one. A world under the auspices of Yuval Noah Hariri. The Mantra of Atoms to Chimps to Man-God. Homo Deus. AGI. David Attenborough. Monkey Pox. Masks. Death Shots. CNN. BBC. Democratic Party. Diversity is our Strength.
Inversion as Reality.
However there was an abandoned art. A Spell Breaker. It wasn’t the way of Man-God. No guide book. You had to find it yourself, by…
Listening to the wind,
The quietness between the ears.
Entertaining crazy theories,
allowing thought the room to breathe.
Listening to your enemies
(directly, not interpretations)
and especially, taking them seriously.
Heed Casandra’s warning.
And that’s,