This Story is Every Story


This story is every story. And every story knows more than its teller. Or every good story, anyways, as John O’Donohue says. Is this a good story? Obviously I will have to let you be the judge of that. All I can say for sure is this story is every story . . . because every story is the same. Even though every story is really completely unique, one of a kind. It’s a paradox, totally contradictory but totally true at the same time. Paradox is at the heart of everything, which includes you, dear reader, last time I checked. The only way to know one side of a story is by contrast to the other side. Just as you cannot know day without night, light without shadow, life without death, you cannot know truth without lie. The definition of true (or real) is ‘not a lie.’ And the definition of lie is ‘not true.’ Day is ‘not night’ and night is ‘not day.’ Does this NOT highlight to you why the ancient wise Taoists saw all opposites as complimentary rather than in ‘opposition?’

Every story is a middle-riddle, carried forward by a central theme and composed of a complex (and simple) mix of symmetries, contradictions, asymmetries, contrasts, tributaries of conflicts & resolutions, streams of tensions & releases/ reliefs, move-ments and stillness/ silence, activity and rest, minds in motion, bodies, nobodies, emotions, secret notions, the tides of time, current events. The breath. In-halation and ex-halation. In and out. Back and forth. Life and death. Light and dark. D Isidore. Opening and closing. D Nile. And Acknowledge-ment.

History is a Hi-story. An unfolding mystery-adventure-story. Y-our real life (and death) true story.

And every story is complete, novel, new, strange. Even if it’s not. You journey along its trails step by step, line by line, paragraph by paragraph, page by page, meandering chapter by chapter, unfolding with the plot, following the storyline, branching out, twisting and turning, contorting through sprawling switchbacks, in the woods, climbing the mountain, and while the experience is new to you- you are just reading it for the first time- it is already done for the writer who dreamed it up. Old news. Last night’s fading dream memory. The author already authorized it, finished it. Ended it. Brought it to its conclusion. Killed it. Dead. [Yeah, I know, I’m beating a dead horse here.] Just not for you yet is it dead. It’s still alive for you. Dead alive. Is not living dying and vice versa? Is not the end the beginning and also vice versa?

Every story is a rotary. The circle of life. The circle of light. It’s part of our nature to story tell. To tell a vision. Instinctive. Re-flexive. An eight-spoked/ rayed-wheel. A full circle. A Taurus, or a Torus, the Torso of your body (of work), a Tarot deck (of cards/ characters/ char-actors), playing the Fool Card, the 0 hero, Astro-theo-logical. Womb to Tomb. One to Two. Through a Tube. Star-god-mind. The Logos. The Word. Consciousness. Conscience. Conscientiousness. Made flesh. Fleshed-out Nar-Ra-tive. Gory Allegory. Flood of blood. Food for thought. Metaphorical metamorphosis. Yarn of Yah. Thread of God. Book of Life. Spine. Jacket. Binding. Tog-ether. Back. Weave World. Wave Whirled. 360 degrees. All the way around. All the way a-cross. ‘Wisdom is not seeing things; it is seeing through things.’ Who said that?

My name is Calvin and I am from your future. Calvin Jean O’Connor. My first name, Calvin, comes from the same root as ‘Calvary,’ which is another way of saying ‘Golgotha,’ which means ‘place of the Skull’ and this is geographically where the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, was crucified, executed by Rome, the Evil Empire. That same Evil Empire- just in a new and ‘improved’ ‘futuristic’ form, an ‘upgrade’- is also this story’s villain, as you will see. And it’s also the same villain currently confronting you and your entire dimension. Also, as you will see. That is, if you don’t already.

Having lived through what I am about to tell you in all its grandeur and horror, I hope to do the story justice by my telling. I don’t want this job, storyteller. Seriously. I’m no good at it, I know. But it’s the only thing keeping me from going for the cider in the fridge. I really want you to experience it- my hi-story- like you are there yourself, going through it all with me, this tumultuous descent- or dive I took- from the ordinary, mundane world into the extraordinary, mysterious ‘spiritual’ underworld, and then all the way back again, completing the circle or circuit, round-trip, my very own full-circle ‘hero’s journey,’ as it has been called by Joseph Campbell, whose work in ‘comparative religion’ and mythological studies just so happened to be the main influence on the imagination of ‘Star Wars’ creator George Lucas.

You are seated in a movie theater. The lights go out and you look ahead at the blank movie screen on the wall. Then, you hear the music and the movie-magic commences before your very eyes. Before you see me, the star of this feature-length film- motion picture- you see the two characters which are absolutely integral to the story, indispensable, without whom it- the story- would not be possible for even a second. They are aboard an intergalactic slave-ship being brought to market here on Earth and they are both slaves themselves, cyborg slaves, to be precise, human-machine hybrids designed- genetically-engineered- for menial manual labor on the various planets of the galaxy.

The movie fades in on the two slaves. They are our main characters until their ship lands softly on Earth. There we meet the true protagonist, yours truly, Calvin O’Connor.


People say that they ‘have time.’ But this is never the case. One never ‘has time.’ Rather, time always has you. Life is a labyrinth and many people try to get out, but there is only one way to go: forward. And until you get to the center of the maze you cannot understand it.

I am at the center of it today, here in the future, having completed the 8-spoked wheel of this story, so I under-stand it now, or stand under it. But that sunny, warm morning in May I wasn’t even close to the center. It was Sun-day the 3rd of May, to be precise, first Sunday of the Mo(o)nth, in the year 2020 and the first warm day of the heavily (and toxically) geoengineered, artificially cooled Spring. I had reached a peak of alienation from my own time, being one of only a handful of the 7 billion people inhabiting planet Earth who knew and faced the true extent of environmental breakdown occurring, how severe man’s industry had ravaged the very fragile web of life, the bio-sphere, circle of life or light. Earth was really dying. There was a runaway locomotive heading in everyone’s direction and it was called extinction.

Time is like the Sun and the Moon, a Corona/ Crown/ C-round, or a ring/ rink, the way a-round, the one ‘thing,’ w-hole world/ whirled, twisting, con-torting, labyrinthine, a-maze, a Hi-Story or 89/ 17/8-Torus. Every Story is first and foremost about Time, the Tide. Titanic. From 12-6 and back again. The way out is through, all the way in, as psychoanalyst Carl Jung taught. There is no way out. The only way to freedom/ libe-ration is going through bondage/ servitude. The end of delusion and suffering only comes after passing through ‘it.’ All the way.

A Cyborg is defined in ‘your time’ as “A fictional or hypothetical person whose physical abilities extend beyond normal human limitations.”

And A Definition is defined in ‘your time’ as “A statement of the exact meaning of a word, especially in a Diction-ary.”

But what happens in ‘your future,’ now ‘my past,’ changes all that. ‘Cyborgs’ are no longer ‘fictional’ nor ‘hypothetical’ (proposed or supposed based on limited evidence) and words are once again in their proper place, as signposts for literary purposes, not tools to overwhelm and control the mind (as the Evil Empire used ‘words,’ as weapons or ‘s-words.’) But if I tried to explain all that to you now, I would not be able to tell you my story in a clear and efficient manner, which is, after all, what I am here to do.

‘Cyborgs’ ceased to be fictional for me that day, May 3, 2020. So did UFO’s and just about everything else which was still hypothetical to most everyone else of that time. I had walked the couple miles from my home on Lafayette St. to Winter Island, which is adjacent to ‘Salem Willows.’ As I said, it was the first really warm day of the year here in New England, the temperature finally breaking 70 degrees Fahrenheit. And, as I said, I was at the peak of my long alienation/ estrangement from my own time. I had been out of my menial labor, customer experience job for a month during the Coronavirus outbreak, which was, of course (as you will all soon find out), not at all what it was being presented to the masses as; it was actually a deep-state cover for the ongoing controlled-demolition of Western Society and its Economic system by the Evil Empire, a mass-initiation of all 7 billion humans inhabiting Earth into Global Totalitarian Dictatorship, an ancient-mystery-Religion-Ritual/ Rite of el (‘God’) to usher in the dark-occult plan of ‘A New World Order.’ Sure, I had been staying in shape, walking lots of miles, continuing to drink lots of water and eating right (vegan), staying ‘positive.’ But really I felt like it was ‘Groundhog Day.’ All the Quarantine and medical-martial-law masquerade had really gotten to me and, as I approached Winter Island on the bridge connecting it to the rest of Salem, I had to admit to myself that I had had more than enough of the same old rout-ine/ pattern of surviving in the ordinary world. I wasn’t unhappy per se, but to say something wasn’t quite right would be an understatement. I was a man who believed what he saw surrounded by people who still mostly saw what they believed.

That day I took a trail I hadn’t previously seen before during the many times I had walked to Winter Island, a trail that broke off just before the main entrance and went back toward the bridge. It seemed enchanted, haunted and I soon found out it had just been opened- told by a man who just so happened at that moment to be riding his bicycle past me. ‘How you doin’?’ he asked me. ‘Good,’ I said. Then he told me in passing that a buddy of his had just opened the trail the other day. How long had it been closed? At least decades it appeared. It wasn’t long before I reached its other end, back to the bridge, so I turned around to retrace my steps and head to the main part of the little island. When I got back to the mid-point of the newly-reopened little trail, in what was a little clearing with a circle and an old broken fountain or something with broken glass atop it resting there, I took out my glass pipe from my jacket and lit it, inhaling the salad of medical cannabis smoke deeply into my lungs before exhaling. Nothing like a toke on a warm, sunny day by the Atlantic. And then, suddenly, it happened. ‘My life’ was changed forever. I was gazing up toward the shining sun when I felt an unearthly vibration all around me … and then I blacked out.

Next thing I knew the two slave Cyborgs were hovering over me surrounded by a ring of light.

“Master Calvin? Can you hear me?” said the voice.

“What the fuck?” I said.

Slave-Cyborg 1630 told me to call him Al. His skin was golden-metallic in appearance and his eyes were shining, huge and dark. He was accompanied by a dwarf-borg, a Model-22, who I was to simply call Teri.

“Wow, I guess I’ve really taken one too many blows to the cranium. Or smoked one too many joints.” I said as I was coming to aboard the flying saucer.

“Glad you remember your lines,” said Al.


“Look, Cal, we don’t have time to explain now. I have to show you something. That’s why we abducted you. You are not dreaming or hallucinating. Please watch.”

The dwarf Cyborg, 22 or ‘Teri,’ made a strange beeping noise.

“Yes, I know.” said Al impatiently. Then to me by way of explanation, “Teri does not speak, just beeps. You’ll get used to it.”

Then Al took a t.v. remote-control looking device and pointed it at the wall of the saucer’s interior and a beautiful young woman dressed in white appeared.

“That’s Sadie. She is the Princess of the Milky Way,” said Al.

“Sure, and I’m the Easter Bunny,” I said. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is this?”

“That’s just what you think right now, Master Cal. It will all become clear soon. But we have to go step by step, one at a time. That’s the only way, sir.”

Then Sadie spoke from the image projected on the wall: “I need your help, Ken Ewing. I am being held captive by the Empire in the Understory. You are the only one who can help me.”

Al looked at me with a mix of concern and purpose. “Now we must go find Ken, sir. As you heard, he is the only one who can help the captured Princess.”

Before I had any time to protest we were off to see the wizard, the craft darting through space faster than the speed of thought.

And, just like that, in a matter of seconds, we found ourselves in high-alpine-desert terrain. “Are we where I think we are?,” I asked Al, Slave-Cyborg 1630.

“Yes, it’s Santa Fe, New Mexico, where you lived from 2006-2009. This is where Ken Ewing lives. In the mountains.”


The Darkness had been gradually eating up the entire earth the entire time. All along. It was just so incremental, like the proverbial frog in the proverbial pot of water slowly brought to a boil, that most people didn’t notice. Until it was too late, of course. That was in the year 2020, when this here story began. The year of the Lockdown from a ‘virus’ that was never even isolated and shown to be making people sick, the ‘invisible enemy.’ The entire world had been brought to its knees by the Evil Empire through its controlled mainstream-media, propaganda arm of the deep-state-controlled (beyond the ‘elected’ ‘officials’) government, the corporate military-industrial-complex.

Being suddenly abducted by a couple of intergalactic slave-cyborgs was just the beginning of the high-strangeness I was to face in the coming days, weeks, months and years. And the strangest of all was that it was all actually the norm of ‘my life.’ It always had been. I had just been unconscious of most of it, who I really was and what I was really alive for, the grand purpose or end of ‘my life.’ That’s where it all really begins. That’s the genesis or genetics of it. My life hadn’t really started yet as I lay there in the flying saucer. Because I had yet to ‘die.’ I hadn’t reached my end yet. That was before I met Ken Ewing and Yoga. In the mountains of Santa Fe, Holy Faith.

The flying saucer had traversed the 2,000 + miles from Salem, New England to Santa Fe, New Mexico in a matter of seconds. Which was inconceivable. As inconceivable as the sudden abduction on the newly opened trail on Winter Island had been.

“You are not who you think you are,” said Al, Galactic Cyborg Slave #1630. “And your world is not what you think it is.”

“Whatever you say,” I said resignedly. I figured I may as well suspend my disbelief since, well, there I was. “Who the hell are you two and what the fuck is this shit you’ve dragged me into?”

“Sir, with all due respect, we have not dragged you into this. In fact, you’ve dragged yourself into it. Only the you who dragged you into it is not you. It is the you who you become, or who you have now started to become . . . “

I cut Al off before he could continue. “I sent you from the future, you’re telling me?”

“Yes, but please let me tell you who we are first. We are your property. In the future. Conceived by you and designed by you- or more appropriately, imagined by you. We are your property, or will be, I should say. It all gets confusing, sir, but this is only the wheel’s third spoke. There’s still five more to complete after this one, so we must not get ahead of ourselves. One step at a time, and the next step is meeting Master Ken Ewing. It is your interaction with him that really gets the story going, the wheel turning. Up until then, we don’t even really know what this story is about.”

It was a typical bright sunny day in the Sangre de Christos of Santa Fe, about 65 degrees with a Fire Weather Alert in effect. It was so dry a dropped match would set the beautifully-scented alpine forest ablaze. We disembarked from the craft one at a time, me following the two Cyborgs down the retractable walkway onto the dusty trail. As soon as we got out I saw Ken Ewing seated next to his camper in which he slept.

He didn’t get up, just sat there silently watching us as we approached. He had long grey hair and a long gray beard and as we got closer he seemed to groan.

“Aw, Christ, I’m too old for another goddam adventure,” he muttered.

“Sorry to disturb you on this lovely day, sir,” said Al. “But we had no other choice.”

“Sure you did. There’s always a choice. But it’s always a choiceless one. One simply does what one must.” He regarded me skeptically from behind his squinty eyes and then looked back at the two Cyborgs, Al and Teri. “You can save the formalities, Al. I know why you’re here. You’re going to show me a hologram of the Princess who is being held by Gates in the Understory and I have to explain to this guy Calvin here who he really is so he can get on with what he has to do, destroy the Evil Empire.”

He got up and entered the camper and told us to follow him inside. Seated inside, he was already lighting his glass pipe and handing it to me with a lighter as we seated ourselves across from him. I took the pipe and lit it.

“Having intense deja-vu right now, aren’t ya?” Ken asked me.

I nodded to say yes to him as I exhaled the ganja smoke and passed the pipe to Al who proceeded to light up.

“A year ago to this day, May 3, 2019, I ate some psilocybin mushrooms,” said Ken, “and I saw this exact moment and everything that follows. Right down to what I am saying to you right now. I know who you are, more than you know yourself and everything that is to follow, so you don’t have to explain, Cal. This all has already happened. You just don’t remember. Which isn’t to say that I remember everything myself, but having had that mushroom vision, well, let’s just say it gives me, and us, an advantage.”

Al proceeded to play the hologram of the Princess for Ken, even though he already had seen it in his mushroom trip the year before.

“The Understory where the Princess is being held captive is accessible only one way. You have to teleport through the star Sirius A,” said Al.

“Seriously,” said Ken, followed by a knowing chuckle. “Look kid,” he said to me, “I know this all looks like a big hairy, serious situation you’re facing here, but it’s really not. Nothing is what it appears to be. It’s all just a ride. So don’t fret. We’ll get you up to speed in no time. If you’re going to succeed in this quest to destroy the Evil Empire and stop it from destroying all life on earth and in the galaxy, then your training has to start. Like yesterday.”

“My training in what?” I said.

“You must become the Spiritual Warrior, Cal. It is your terrible burden, your destiny, like it or not,” said Ken. “You must learn self-mastery, overcoming your senses, your ego must be cracked-open. All blocks to accessing your true self must be confronted and removed, all your precious illusions burned away. You must learn Yoga, Union with God. That’s the only way. The fate of the entire galaxy depends on it.”


“It’s not serious, but the fate of the entire galaxy depends on it? Makes a lot of fuckin’ sense,” I scoffed.

Ken looked at me through his squinting eyes with what looked like it may have been amusement. Then, with one sudden motion of his right index finger he ended ‘me.’ My death was as sudden as my birth and subsequent re-birth. What did Ken Ewing do to ‘kill me?’ He simply raised his finger to the point of my brow smack dab in between my eyes, my ‘third eye,’ and gave a little poke or push. ‘I’ proceeded right ‘out’ of my body. Just like that.

Visionary experiences, of course, are notoriously hard to describe due to their extreme subjectivity. And they are completely impossible to explain due to their flagrant violation of all ‘laws’ of ‘physics.’ The irony is that ‘physics,’ with its dis-covery and ex-ploration of the ‘quantum’ l-eve-l of ‘reality’ had shown there to be no ‘reality’ or ‘physic-al’ ‘world’ to speak of. Nothing was solid whatsoever. And there also appeared to be no point of separation between ‘observer’ and ‘observed,’ ‘subjective’ and ‘objective,’ ‘mind’ and ‘matter.’ It was all gone. But Physicists want to remain Physicists and keep generating income based on their position in Academia, their prestige and reputation, so they could not come out and say there was No Physics in ‘reality’ because there is No Physical World. There is only Thought and its content: Thoughts. And these all arose out of Feelings or E-motions. The ‘world’ was no more than a field of infinite potential that ‘solidified’ itself, congealed into ‘substance’ that conformed to the socially-conditioned be(lie)f-sy-stems and ex-pectations of the spectators, the mess of mass-minds interfacing with ‘it.’ A paradigm shift had taken place, but it was being impeded from open acknowledgement and integration by ‘materialism,’ man’s greedy addiction to status, power and control. Which was, in turn, destroying the fragile web of life, Mother Nature/ Earth/ hEart.

While I may have known all of it in theory up until that point on that day in Santa Fe, standing there with Ken Ewing, Al and Teri, before Ken had placed his finger on my third eye, I hadn’t truly known it.

It lasted no more than 5 minutes in ‘real time. But ‘real time’ isn’t actually ‘real.’ It’s a measure-ment of motion and motion is illusion. Time is a measure-ment of illusion, which is the only ‘reality.’

As soon as Ken’s finger touched my head, I was utterly alone. And I was nowhere. There was nothing. Not even ‘me.’ And before I could even begin to consider that ‘reality,’ I found myself going a million miles an hour through a tube. I looked to my left and Alan Watts was suddenly beside me, looking like the Cheshire Cat and laughing his maniacal throaty laugh. “Life is NOT a journey,” he said. “A journey has an ‘end,’ or a ‘purpose.’ There’s a necessity to it. But Life is totally unnecessary. Totally without ‘end’ or ‘purpose.’ It’s a play, a dance, a motion picture. And what is the purpose of a ‘play?’ It’s purpose is itself, the ‘play.’ Dancers don’t dance to reach the ‘end.’ They dance to dance. If they danced to get to the end, they would rush through it. Same goes for what you’re doing right now, storytelling. There may be an ‘end’ to your story, but is that NOT really where it ‘begins?’ How could you ever have begun telling this ad-venture without having its end to move toward? This interrelatedness goes for all ‘opposites’ too. The hero is your right hand and the villain is your left. Now put your hands together, palms facing each other in the classic prayer position.”

I did as he instructed as we continued racing down the tube to nowhere/ now-here.

“That is Yoga or Yoda. The Joining, Yoking To-gether of the Two, the Synthesis of You. The Thesis is you as Hero, the Antithesis is you as the Villain and the Synthesis is the ‘Whole’ or ‘Holy’ You.”

Alan Watts and his Cheshire grin disappeared in that instant and I was Alone again but no longer shooting down the Tube. I was in a White Room of Absolute Zero, No-thing-ness. And it- the White Room- spoke to me in the form of a neutral, female Ai voice.

“I am Cause. You are Cal, or E-ffect.”

I tried to say ‘wtf,’ but literally couldn’t speak. In fact, I no longer had a mouth.

The White Room disappeared and I found myself on a ship in outer space with a flaming sword in my hand and it was clashing with the flaming sword of my opponent, the Villain, my left hand, the Dark Father, leader of the Evil Empire, Gates of Hell.

I looked into the Dark Father’s eyes and saw my own looking back at me.

“He is the you who is not you, the disowned or unclaimed you, your disgraced Shadow,” said the Ai voice, the speaking White Room, Cause.

Then, as suddenly as all of the other shifts in this vision, I was seated in Ken Cinema in San Diego, California, watching the movie.

The camera panned over the entire land of earth in a matter of seconds and then a date appeared on the screen: June 27, 2020, the day of the Apocalypse. The day all biological life on earth is destroyed by X-Rays from the Sun. The day the ozone layer completely collapses.

The Ai voice narrating: “This was always what everything was being pulled toward, this one day. If you do not succeed in your quest, this is what will happen, Cal. But you have to choose. You have to die to your past in order to be born into your future. You are NOT what happened to you. You are what you choose to become. As you are right now, you cannot defeat the ‘darkness.’ It’s dis-ease is still too much a part of you, it’s derangement restricts you from accessing your full potential.”

Then, on the movie screen, appeared the infamous two hands of Morpheus holding out the two pills, the Red Pill of truth and the Blue Pill of lies. Suddenly the movie became 3d and the hands were right in my face, beckoning me to choose.

“You choose the Red Pill, you stay in Wonderland and I show you how far the Rabbit Hole goes. You choose the Blue Pill and you wake up in your bed (dead) and be(lie)ve what you want to be(lie)ve.”

I motion to take the Red Pill and Morpheus says, “All I offer is the truth. Nothing more.”


If you never ask the quest-ion, how do you expect to get the answer, the one-swear? If you never seek, how can you ever find?

When you choose to take the Red pill of truth, like I did sitting there in the Ken Cinema, you are in the active mode, that of quest-ioning, going on the adven-ture and see-king the an-swer (and subsequently finding it). When you take the Blue pill of lies, like I did NOT, you are in the mode of passively acquiescing, be(lie)ving what you are told by Authority, self-described ‘Authoritative-sources,’ never stopping to ask whether or not that which is claiming to be Author-itative/ ‘Trusted source” is actually worthy of your trust, your credit-ability, be(lie)f. Dark Father, Bully Gates and Evil Empire had so thoroughly and ‘successfully’ brainwashed the vast majority of the population for so long into passivity (routinely swallowing the Blue pill of lies) that by the time the ‘Covid-19’ Plan-demic broke out, what was considered ‘credible,’ or believable, by the masses was actually the ultimate in ‘incredible.’ The majority of Earth’s population actually believed the 1% CARE(d) about them, that Ruling Class who owned EVERYTHING, the ENTIRE EARTH, and maintained their position of Domination over everyone and everything through endless war-profiteering and artificially-engineered ‘natural’ disaster (death-star), were going to save them.

Before I took the Red pill that day in the Ken Cinema, I had already taken it figuratively, already knew everything I had been educationally programmed to be(lie)ve in ‘life’ had been wrong, a deliberate distortion, ‘truth’ mixed with lies, tainted, contaminated. Like everyone else, I had been born into a prison for the mind, which I could not smell, taste or touch, a prison comprised of culturally-conditioned/ encoded ideology, beliefs, the past. The big False belief which kept The Sy-stem, the Matrix, running round the clock was, “I am FREE.” Nothing could be further from the truth. If you have to pay to live, if there is a ‘cost of living,’ a big honking dollar sign hung from the neck of ‘life,’ then where was the freed-om? It was the Re-ligion of Money/ Moon-eye/ Mono-eye/ Mon-ism/ Mono-theism, Credit, Creed-it, Credo, Faith, Belief, that kept all of God’s green FREE Creation in Live-Stock$ and Bond-age, on the wrong side of the Wall S-tree-t. This is why Christ/ Krishna overturns the tables of the money-changers in the T-emple (Braintree/3) and says, ‘The love of money is the root of all evil. You cannot simultaneously serve God and MamMon (Mon-ey)/ Hades/ Pluto-cracy. You have to choose One.

The Ai voice told me the Dark Father, brutal leader of the Evil Empire, was actually a PART of ‘me.’ My own Left Hand. My Dark Shadow. That was the hardcore Red pill truth I had to under-stand, stand-under. The horrible truth is that the princess I had to rescue was being held by part of myself.

AS soon as I swallowed the Red pill, a hole started to form in the center of the movie screen. I looked to my Left and there was ‘Frank’ in his crazy bunny suit, with his horrifying looking eye that had been shot out in the future, at the end of the movie. ‘Have you ever seen a portal?’ The hole opened further and, as I stared at it, I found myself floating into it. As soon as I reached its gaping entrance, I dove in and shot a million miles an hour through it for what seemed an eternity, and then as suddenly as the passage had commenced, it ended. I was aboard the Death Star of the Dark Father. His awful green skin glistening in the artificial light. ‘At last,’ he said as he looked at me from behind his awful penetrating eyes, gazing right through me. I looked down at my body, but it was nowhere to be found. I was there onboard the Death Star, face to face with the Dark Father, Bully Gates of Hell, but I also wasn’t there at all. “Wtf,” I said. I stood up and wondered how the Evil One was perceiving me if I wasn’t really there. “You’re beginning to believe,” Dark Father said. “Otherwise this wouldn’t be possible. How are you going to save the princess from my clutches if I am part of you, hmmm?”

Next thing I knew I woke up in a bed I didn’t remember ever getting into, in a domed-enclosure, a wooden yurt. I rubbed my eyes and the door to my left opened, a shaft of bright sunlight blinding me. In walked Ken Ewing, smiling with a cup of steaming chai in his hand.

“Good morning, sunshine.”



I sat up in bed and took the cup of chai from Ken.

“How’d ya sleep here in the yurt?”

“Fine, thanks,” I said as I rubbed the sand from my eyes and managed a slight grin for my gracious host. “I had the strangest, most vivid dream imaginable. I was in the year 2020 living in the midst of a ‘Plandemic,’ or a governmentally-planned outbreak of a novel coronavirus.”

I got up and Ken and I ventured into the crisp, vernal Santa Fe morning.

“2020, you say?” asked Ken. “Like 20/20 vision. Ten years from now.”

The dream in all its lurid, technicolor details flooded my memory banks. “You were in it, Ken.”

Ken Ewing was just a guy. Or at least that was what he maintained. I had met him only the previous day, April 1, 2010. Downtown at his art booth. Where he taught me a prayer, which you said while standing with your two feet together and your right hand placed over your left. He called it the ‘pendulum’ because the stance made you align the two sides of your body equally down the c-enter. “I pray I pray I pray I am 100% aligned with my higher self. I pray I pray I pray I am 100% aligned with God.”

Ken had been just what the doctor ordered. He claimed he was just a guy, but he was actually a kind of shaman. I drove out to Santa Fe from New York in 2009, after my marriage of only 3 years had ended and I found myself in an existential crisis. The financial crisis of ’08 had ruined me financially and the following year my wife caught me having an affair and divorced me, winning the house, kids and dog in the settlement. I lost everything. For years I had wanted to see the great American Southwest, maybe have a UFO sighting and a psychedelic-induced out of body experience, so I packed up a few essentials in the car, donated what non-essentials I could to Salvation Army and tossed the rest. Then I just drove away. My old dull life of excessive practicality, living for money and survival, just making ends meet, was over and my new, exciting, totally unpractical life of shamanic seeking was just getting under way.

“I was, eh?” said Ken as he went to his car and opened the door. “C’mon, there’s something you need to see down in the valley. You can tell me more about the dream on the way.”

I got in the passenger’s seat and asked him what it was I ‘needed’ to see.

“Do you know what a Kiva is?” he asked.

‘Pray’ is defined as, “Address a solemn request or thanks to a deity or object of worship.” But Ken was teaching me that to ‘Pray’ was not nearly that simple. While it was necessary for the prayer to be ‘solemn,’ or ‘formal and dignified,’ it was not only not necessary for the address to ‘God’ to be a request or thanks-giving, it was inappropriate, for God, or Deity, was in truth just a word, or sign/ signal, for what is beyond words, the transcendental mystery at the core of life (and death). You couldn’t really say God, for God is omni-potent, omni-present and omniscient, definite and indefinite, beyond word and all words, which are limited. God is un-limited. God defined (pinned-down/ fin-ished) as the ‘creator of the universe and ruler of all life’ was a culturally-encoded-military-image of God, inherited and habitual, God the commander with ‘His’ Commands, Commandments; God the Boss. God the Judge. These were all man’s projections based on his own experience and world-order. The world had Commanders, Judges, Rulers and Rules and God created the world, so God MUST be all of these. Really, though, this was all just el-aborate other-worldly justification/ rationalization of a society based on Hierarchical Rule, Command, the Authorities justifying their Power over the people to the people, the peasants, sheep, cattle on the global power plantation. Belief could be both positive (good/ God) and negative (evil/ Devil). & it was evil as all hell when it was en-forced through violence and threats of violence. Fear-based. Shame-based. Guilt-based. Jesus in your Heart and Jesus on a Pedestal were light years apart. That was the Old Testament God, Jah, Yah, Tetragrammaton, Angry, Vengeful, W-Ra-thful, Solar Logos. But he had a soft side, too, and that was what the ‘New/ Neo-‘ Testament God Je-sus was, the Good side of Je-hova. Good Cop Bad Cop. God of War and Prince of Peace. All rolled into One. Anthropomorphic = Man in the form of God. God in the form of Man. Com-bined. Tog-ether-bound.

God the Absolute Other. This is what most in the ‘West’ saw God as. ‘Absentee landlord.’ Devil’s Advocate. Invisible Man in the Sky. Invisible enemy. Fear mixed with love. Lies blended with truth. Just because it was the dominant image of ‘God’ and had been for so long. Bad theo-logical habit. But talk to other peoples’ who had never heard of the ‘Judeo-Christian’ tradition, peoples’ who had other traditions of their own going back thousands of years, passed down orally, encoded in myth, or storytelling, peoples like the Hopi ‘Indians,’ and you learned a much different conception/ image of God than what we have in the West. You get an image of God as ‘Great Spirit’ WITHIN and WITHOUT Nature, God as Hidden Cause/ Source/ Oneness/ Reality/ Universality and Revealed Effect/ Multiplicity/ Illusion/ Vehicle/ Particularity. All and none. All one. Alone. “God is an intelligible sphere whose center is everywhere but whose circumference is nowhere.” This means that God was everything and nothing simultaneously, everywhere and nowhere. If God is everything and you are part of everything, are you not God also? This is what was happening in me, why I had met Ken, someone who was already clear on all this, what was still only dimly-realized in me at that time in 2010. I was still climbing needlessly, ‘wasting’ the energy/ effort; one didn’t need to climb because the universe was actually an escalator. You were going up, try or no try. Unlearn what I had learned I must. Get out of my own way.

And that unlearning was about to accelerate in an unimaginable way. Unimaginable to ‘me’ ‘then,’ on that particular day anyways. Now it is all I imagine.


A kiva is defined as ‘a chamber, built wholly or partly underground, used by male Pueblo Indians for religious rites.’

33 years on Earth as Calvin O’Connor had led me to that particular day, April 1, 2010, standing on the dusty Santa Fe earth at the threshold of the ‘kiva,’ the chamber in which I would encounter God face to face, but not in the kiva per se; rather, more precisely, it was within myself, in the ‘place’ called Peni-el (Pine-al). In the Genesis of ‘my’ Genetics, Origins of Orion. Pictures.

On the 10 minute drive down into the valley I had told Ken about my dream, how I had been walking on a newly-opened trail on Winter Island in Salem, Massachusetts in the year 2020, during an insane time, a ‘Pandemic’ ‘drill,’ or simulation being run, presented to the unsuspecting public as ‘real.’ I told him how I was abducted by two galactic-slave-cyborgs in a flying saucer (after taking a couple tokes from my ganja pipe) and then I was teleported to him, covering the distance of over 2,000 miles in mere seconds. He was in the dream, as I told him previously. When I and the cyborgs had approached him, he just sat there, groaned and said “I’m too old for another adventure.”

Ken laughed. “Sounds like me. Look at all these gorgeous trees,” he said, as we drove along through the alpine high-desert.

Ken entered the dark chamber and I followed him in and to its center, seated around the big drum, which Ken proceeded almost immediately to beat. He handed me one of the other drumsticks and I played along.

The effect of it was mesmerizing and I could almost imagine myself as an Indian and hear the chanting of the ancestors echoing throughout the kiva. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths and within what seemed about 5 minutes or so it happened.

One second I was fixing my attention on the top of my head and watching the black nothingness and the accompanying nebulous purple and green aurora in my mind’s eye, feeling the rush of the meditation medication kicking in, endorphins (endogenous-morphine) firing pleasurably throughout my body with a higher intensity than I had previously experienced, inwardly singing ‘Ahh’ with the inbreath and ‘Uum’ (AUM/ OM) with the outbreath, watching thoughts and impressions come and go behind my shut eyes, windows of the soul.

The next second I was in a planetarium. Specifically, the Boston Museum of Science planetarium of my youth. The dome of my own skull had morphed into the dome of the science theater. Then, suddenly appearing on the dome, were the Winter Solstice sky constellations of Orion and Canis Major, featuring the brightest star by degree in the entire night sky, Sirius. Seriously. There she was, the Isis-star (sister) herself. The Dog Star.

Then I found myself floating off my chair and turning around to face the light in the projector, what was making the scene on the dome above possible, the cause of the show. A disembodied voice resounded throughout the planetarium, ‘Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop?’ It was Leonard Nimoy, Doctor Spock, of course. Highly logical. Then I found myself shooting a million miles per hour directly into the light. I became the light. To say I found myself in a completely white ‘room’ would be inaccurate . . . because I was the room.

“Wtf…Is this real?” I muttered.

“What is real?” replied Dr. Spock.


Indeed, what was ‘real?’

There I was, talking to Dr. Spock in the White Room of ‘The Matrix.’ It was called the ‘loading program’ and what I was seeing of my ‘physical self’ was actually just my ‘residual self-image,’ ‘the projection of my digital self.’

‘This isn’t real?’ I, Neo, the oNe, asked Dr. Spock, Morpheus, God of Sleep, Dreams, Morphs, Forms, 4 m’s, SeaSons, El-laments, Di-rections, Shapes, Shades, Shadows on the Wall (s-tree-t) of the Allegory of Plato’s Cave.

“What is ‘real?'” replied Morpheus. “If you’re defining ‘real’ by what you can sense, then ‘real’ is just electrical signals interpreted by your br(ai)n.”

Then came the cognitive dissonance, demanding ‘out’ of the ‘loading program,’ and the scene’s conclusion, ‘me’ puking onboard the ‘Nebekenezer’ after saying repeatedly, “I don’t believe it.” That was before I had started to believe, thereby actualizing/ real-eyes-ing my potent-ia-l as the One, creation/ creature of the creator, the Grand Architect of the Matrix, Womb of Matter, the Mother, Nature, earth/ heart.

I found that I had to relive the entire movie, even though I had already seen it several times. And not just the first one did I have to ‘experience.’ I had to relive the whole trilogy of the Ma(tri)x. The Elect-trick of Morpheus (Intelligence), Trinity (Care) and Neo (Will).

And I found there were peculiar deviations from the Original, such as Morpheus being played by Leonard Nemoy (Dr. Spock/ William Bell) and ‘Trinity’ having a different name: ‘Sadie.’

And then there was the alteration of the ‘Agent Smith’ program/ character: he was being played by Microsoft founder and now former-chairman, beneficiary and author(ity) of the ‘Covid-19(84)’ Novel Plandemic, Bill Gates. He was every super-villain from every story ever told all rolled into One, the Dark Father, Darth Vader, Man in Black, Locke Ness Smoke Mon-ster, ‘my’ Shadow, the Monstrous-breasted-beast-god: (El) Shadd(ai).

This awful super-villain destroying the entire universe was no one’s response-ability but my own, ‘my’ fault, caused by my light/ life/ line, its lie-in, special effect, illusion, dramatic iron-y. The cause of all the unholy lies is the whole truth I am. So when the trilogy reached its conclusion, and Agent Gates and I had our epic showdown, it was my response-ability to put an end to ‘his’ reign of terror. “Why, Mr. Anderson, why do you persist?”

“Because I choose to.” And then I vanquished him in the only way possible, by letting him kill ‘me.’

The simple dictionary definition (deaf-Phoenician) of ‘real’ is: “Actually occurring as a thing or occurring in fact; not imagined or supposed.”

But there ‘really’ is no ‘reality,’ no stationary, set or fixed ‘solid’ objects, no ‘things’ per se, for all is in constant flux. ‘The All is Mind. The Universe is Mental.’ -The Kybalion. The building block of the multi/ uni-verse is not physical matter, but Thought. It is the Ocean out of which (and back into which) all thought-rivers eternally flow.

The only ‘thing’ that doesn’t change is change and in truth all is ‘imag-ined or sup-posed,’ an appearance, apparition, phantom, fantasy, fairy tale, make-be(lie)ve, make-up-masquerade, play, theater, a s-how.

There are no nouns. There are only verbs. There are no definite, finished products. There are only indefinite, unfinished processes.

And then I re-membered ‘it’: ‘my death.’ It happened the same day everyone else ‘died,’ the day the Oz-one Layer reached the final stage of its destruction at the hands of the mad scientists of militarized-industrialized society, the geoengineers, those who at the behest of the psychopathic ruling owner-class had given man ‘control’ of the world’s cloud layer, the power to ‘control the world’:

June 27, 2020.

‘Everyone’s gotta die sometime, kiddo.’

Death is not the end.

In ‘reality,’ there is no end. There is only the beginning, which is now, all we have.

About kylegrant76

Eye am that Eye am
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