"What I'm dealing with is so vast and great that it can't be called the truth. It's above the truth." - Sun Ra

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

The 'Remembered' Primal Scene and the Inquisitor's Lash


If you worry all the time, God thinks you don't trust Him as a parent. Dads should put their children at ease. They should fear only one thing - His wrath, and sympathize with the evil doers, for they're gonna get it. But even if you do that, in the dark depths of your Mordor basement subconscious, everything is topsy-turvy, that dad you so adore is a devil, his hugs and head pats distorted into sexual molestation, his carefree protective spirit morphed into ritualized endangerment. These things are inescapable as one can't will away one's reflection in a pool. Closing your eyes does no good. The waves have you.


In HAXAN: WITCHCRAFT THROUGH THE AGES we see several Medieval women of various ages and class strata tortured by the clergy into revealing the sabbaths they attended, naming names and citing abusers. This conjures to me the way hypnosis jars loose memories which may well be false, may well be the subconscious reflections of reality. Maybe if you torture a person long enough, they'll 'remember' the witches sabbaths they attended, the torture itself will create them they will name onto you the persons there and who did or didn't you know what the arse of Lucifer. Hypnotize a kid and go deep enough they'll either remember some kind of occult basement ritual involving all sorts of sexually depraved initiations, sex with parents and neighbors and demonic chanting robes; hypnotize an adult, they'll remember going aboard a space craft and being probed by aliens.

The question arises: is it all the same psychic phenomenon? Does prolonged intensity suspend conscious discernment between truth and illision, dream and waking, trigger either FMS (False Memory Syndrome) or some kind of vivid sleep paralysis reflection of the current scene being endured (i.e. the hypnotist or inquisitor being reflected as Lucifer)? Does it kick loose the barriers put there around our minds, the way a sandcastle hems in a piece of the ocean suddenly kicked open by a bored child as the tide rolls over it?


Hold that "thought" for a moment dear listener... but you can't. It's already gone, until lifetimes from now someone tortures or hypnotizes it out of you.

I've come to some bizarre conclusions about the way differentiation of self occurs - the 'break' from total unification with the oceanic Mother/I AM beyond space and time.

Consider the delivery room where you were first so differentiated. Consider the total darkness of the womb with closed eyes, and then opening them with a painful spank on the ass the immediate intake of air into the lungs like kickstarting a lawn mower, kicking a wonky TV. The utter dependency, feeling of paralysis as limbs first begin to move. Adults get all misty about it, but artists remember all too well the adjustment period from oh sweet nothing to a world of wipes and shots and shitting and--especially if you were born in the 60s-70s when breast feeding was considered unhealthy; nd being forced to sleep in dark rooms with rows of other infants, each of you sequestered from the others by plastic or glass trays was considered preferential; meanwhile giant parents and masked nurses loomed over you like moai, feeding you powdered formula from plastic bottles while they smoked unfiltered Luckies. Once in a while one grabs you, roughly, and gives you some painful shot or demeaning diaper change, with all the nurturing care of a tired surly underpaid fast food worker.

Eventually, hey, it all works out. But oh man what a scary start. That infant care room is so cold and rough we endeavor to forget it as soon as possible; it's the original trauma, and it creates a kind of instant amnesia. Maybe we try at first to recall where we were before we got stuck in the roach trap womb, what important papers we never got to finish before the other guy shot us, or goodbyes never said because the roof collapsed or the killers got away because we were dead before we could identify them.... but unless we were experiencing stress high enough that our PTSD continues past this amnesiac barrier, we don't remember...

It's the same thing really, as Manchurian Candidate Monarch 7 programming (1). The trauma of delivery is duplicated, the orienting into a new identity compressed.

So do the math: masked figures, obscure chanting (medical jargon, foreign language?), pain, degradation, parents, aliens, giants. demons, arse-kissing and degrading ass related issues. lien anal probing = rectal thermometers = molestation = Satanic ritual. it all fits, man, like Freud fits into the drooling infant's crib.

Rather than try to insist aliens or Satanists are real or not, I prefer to take the Schrodinger's Cat approach - which is to study the phenomena of myth in these cases, for in 'knowing' for sure the aliens, or the Monarch mind control subjects, or Satanic basement pedophile cult networks in your neighborhood, etc. are real or not, the myth, the paranoia, dissipates. So instead, I think along those lines, the fluidity of the Schrodinger's Cat box, the in-between state is what gives these myths their hypnotic power. I only reserve judgement for those who would try to debunk too hard and vehemently, as if any doubt or open-ended phenomenon is their personal enemy, for they are like the audience member at the movies who rather than get into the story and enjoy it, has to loudly scoff at how fake everything is, ruining it for everyone else.

It's pointless to try and separate the real from the imagined, the 'cover memory' vs. the dream symbolism of Freud, the sabbaths recalled under church torture in the Inquisition, the ritual Satanic abuse at an institutional level 'remembered' by hypnotized children, and the sex power trips of higher dimensional reptilian alien beings inhabiting the bodies of powerful figures in world orders. and the primal scene of the child being beaten and the mysteries of adult initiation - the enigmatic terror and excitement of those childhood mysteries surviving into adulthood, kept alive through the magic of paranoia.

The old saying 'just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you' might well be reverse-engineered - to not just mean if you're paranoid they WILL be out to get you, that they can somehow sense your senses sensing them. Your paranoia might be like a magnet, the way a person across the street senses you looking at them and turns to see you too --neither of you ever turn to look usually until that one moment.

Notice the men in black sometime, and suddenly they're everywhere - ignore them and they disappear. Stare at them and they know you know and suddenly--without a word--you're on their list. Unless you forget about it --tell no one. They'd only think you were crazy, anyway. How do you know you're off the list? When you stop worrying you are. It's not like it's going to get around the workplace or school. Your thoughts are your own; your vilest subconscious distortions are kept deep in the dungeon.

Until torture, hypnotism, or a fever blows open a hole in the floor.


NOTES
1. presuming that exists in reality blah blah

2 comments:

Dennis said...

Paranoid? Damn darkness for sure. I was having a nice day. The violence of youth, spankings, isolation, verbal abuse, religion, is not nurturing. It is an evil climate for sure. Perhaps amnesia is a tool for humans, young and old, to survive the inherent madness of our culture? I look back on my youth in a mostly positive experience. To shine forth is key. 87

Erich Kuersten said...

exactly -
the question then is, is there a sort of basic start-up screen for repressed trauma. In other words, whether or not you were beaten and abused as a child (and repressed it) or not but still 'remember' under torture, hypnotism, or duress, a similar scenario, just from general childhood phases (toilet training for example - as the child 'learns' to be ashamed of one's excrement, flushing it away, etc. and then dreaming, as I do when asleep but I need to pee, of trying to find a bathroom at some bizarre complex, but the one I find is like a giant bathhouse half-flooded in pee and other repressed fluids.