"Overwhelmed, as One would be,
Placed in my position.
Such a heavy burden now, to be The One,
Born to bear, and bring to all
The details of our ending.
To write it down for all the world to see."
-Lost Keys (Blame Hoffman)/Rosetta Stoned
for Astarte.
I was wandering around aimlessly through a painting by Hieronymus Bosch.
No, really. That is not an exaggeration.
900 micrograms of the most visually mindblowing, showstopping LSD I have ever taken, a bit of ketamine and MDMA, wandering through a crowd of about a thousand people wearing woolen hippie hoodies, octopus hats and tie dyed t-shirts. Psychedelic Americana Kitsch, but somehow slyly self-aware of this. It was like something out of Andy Warhol's back catalog, or a complex self-referential viral marketing hoax perpetuated by the Church of the Subgenius.
Lately, I have taken to spreading memetic thought viruses to large groups of people. Outside of the internet, the festival environment seems most ideal for this. Congregating with those who are particularly susceptible to ideas that most of society considers to be deviant or dangerous is a way to plant your seeds, one by one, and not get caught. You don't tell them this, of course. Then they realize what you are really doing and the whole game is up. Shit, I just broke the fourth wall. Woops.
Shifty grifters strolled up and down shakedown street, peddling this and that. We sell nothing. It occurred to me that perhaps LSD was a placebo packaged as a powerfully mind altering chemical, and that the supposed windows and doors that it opened really only lead us back to our natural state of awareness- that of an animal in the desert night, entranced by the stars and boundless extension of its natural environment. Awake. Alert. Aware. I was not overwhelmed or perturbed by any of the seemingly nonlinear chaos and insanity swirling around me. Internally, I was centered and grounded while the chaos swirled around me. I was still, like the eye of a hurricane. It felt like home.
HIIOHHHH!!! Sorry there, didn't mean to interrupt... If you need me I will be over there in the bushes, vomiting up my mescaline...
So here I am at one of the smaller pocket festivals- one of the good ones, half rave, half acid fueled hippie freakout party, the ones where you are free to dance like a weirdo and just be who you are. I have grown to appreciate the smaller, cheaper grassroots gatherings where they do not pack you into thousands of rows of cars like sardines in a crushed tin box. Although I would not personally say that I align myself with any sort of specific countercultural movement (I myself seem to be somewhat of a chaotic neutral), I was definitely feeling a bit like your run of the mill acid freak, and I looked the part in my green four leaf clover "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!" pajama pants and a Dead Kennedys t-shirt.
To put it simply, what I learned is this: I am you. You and I, we are one in the same, in as much as we all share a common origin, and a common point of return. We are all a part of a movement, and as you may very well know things are ramping up to such a point of climax and sociopolitical upheaval that when the masks finally come off, we will be FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE how stupid we were for not remembering this all along. I am, like you, an AGENT OF CHANGE. We are change. We are not static person, places, or things, but rather as Bucky Fuller asserted, verbs. We are works in progress.
I often like to think of it like the MC Escher drawing, of the hand drawing itself. We are all actively working to co-author one another's semantic scripts and constructing each others' realities daily, regardless as to whether or not we are personally aware of this. Some of us begin to wake up and remember that we are all just dreaming ourselves and one another always and begin to play. They create as an act of love and for the joy of creation itself.
I consider it my goal to help give the needed "push" in this direction to those who are seeking it when I can.
Wearing oversized blue plastic sunglasses and drinking PBR, or being a Trustafarian does not make you unique if you are simply parroting or regurgitating marketing gimmicks disguised as profound wisdom. Join my cult. Frank Zappa once said, "Everyone in this room is wearing a uniform, and don't kid yourself." In all probability, the entire acid driven countercultural movement of the 1960s that transformed into the rave and festival scene of today was initially engineered by the CIA. If you don't believe me, do a bit of research into the connections between Tim Leary, the manufacturers of Orange Sunshine acid, and the CIA. 
I admit that here I was a bit internally conflicted. Of course I spotted the uniforms and the real plebs- Not the office job suits, but the trust fund hippies who only pretend to embody the message they proudly display on their t-shirts. I am not one to judge, but I do find it to be ironic. Regardless, the sheer overwhelming amount of love as a palpable and measurable form of energy that I felt was invigorating and fed a form of intoxication within me more powerful than any acid trip- That which is called "hope".
I looked around me and I saw hundreds of awakening minds! The most powerful awakening minds in our culture. I mean this in all sincerity and there is nothing misleading or snarky about this statement. I felt love. The kind of love that the early Christians called "agape", which is not the misleading and potentially disasterous "romantic love", but real love. Love as a bond that holds everything together and conjoins "this" to "that". Yoga.
As the band left stage, I felt a presence draw me over to a glassblower's tent. Space funk emanating from huge loudspeakers- Mothership Connection. Everything else was winding down. It was about three in the morning and I was peaking on 900 micrograms of the most powerful acid I have ever eaten and so it only made sense that I would gravitate like a moth to the flame. I slithered over to the tent and took a seat.
A skilled and masterful craftsman with light in his eyes sat in near stillness within the tent. On the walls of the tent the words "METATRON" and "JAWEH WAS HERE" were painted. Various symbols from the Kabbalah, the Torah, and the Hebrew alphabet were printed around the shop walls in dayglo psychedelic paint. He looked at me, smiled nonchalantly and nodded his head as if to say "Hello", and unfolded the tools of his art before me. He displayed his implements of creation on the table while George Clinton sang about star spirits. As he began to work with his tools, shooting flame from a small torch to mold and shape the malleable glass with his Will, I spotted a copy of The Keys of Enoch on his work table.
Hardly surprising, right? I mean, of course I owned a copy and there are only a very few in existence. It isn't very widely publicized or widely known, but there are a few copies out there, right? Nothing too unusual here... He saw me eyeing it with curiosity and smiled.
"Do you mind if I have a looksee?"
"Sure," he said.
It was about this time that I noticed his jacket bore stencil painted emblems of the sacred geometry of the Flower of Life which represents the gradual unfolding of the species' collective destiny through unlocking the vast amounts of potential stored within our DNA and cellular memories. On the opposite side of the jacket, the emblem of the Eye of Horus- a well known symbol of the Illuminati. 
I opened it up and began to read. I looked through the diagrams and pictures I had become so familiar with- Merkabah chariots of light, Christ before the throne, flaming Hebrew letters and illustrations of the prototypical Adamic intelligence- the divine body of the human. I was shown in detail how the various hierarchial powers of the earth were cast down to govern the lower realms due to the karma of their actions and the density of their egos. I was shown how various wheels within wheels operate in order to help raise the level of awareness to the level of the heart and beyond, and the coming ordeals that will face humanity before this occurs.
"What you are holding in your hands could very well be the most important book in existence. They edited all of this out of the bible, and the information has been lying dormant- Waiting and lurking. It is time for it to come out of hiding. What you hold in your hands are the keys to ascension for all of humanity. You have told me you own a copy. There are only a few in circulation. Have you ever read all of the keys, end to end?"
I confessed to him that I hadn't.
"You need to do that. Each of the keys are designed specifically to reprogram aspects of what human beings call 'the brain'. Equally important- learning to speak and pronounce properly the original Hebrew names of God, as if you yourself speak Hebrew. Fuck it, just learn Hebrew. If you are doing this, you need to be prepared. Do it right. You will come to learn the language was received"- and here he emphasized the word- "... And that the proper annunciation of the various Hebrew names of god serve as auditory resonant frequencies designed to unlock portions of consciousness most humans are not aware of."
I became vaguely aware of how he continued to use the word "humans".
And again: "You know, trying to teach humans like this... It is a bit like trying to teach a caveman how to express truth through symbolic logic. You are trying to teach them the alphabet, or abstract thought and all they can do is say 'UGH! UGH!' and grunt." He mimed beating his fists on his chest like a furious primal man, and laughed. Someone passed me a bubbler.
It's perfectly normal to see this, right?
I felt dizzy... The chemicals were hitting me harder. How much of this was really even happening? A congregation of heads had gathered in the tent, and were silently listening to our conversation. They nodded to themselves or interjected occasionally, laughing as if they knew what he was up to- He was fucking my brain on a whole other level.
Someone spoke and said "Hmm... does it feel like the temperature in here is rising?"
I continued to leaf through the book, reading the descriptions of various choirs of heavenly beings or angels and their appointed functions within the universe and our galaxy.
"Metatron... Metaron, isn't he the voice of God? The head angel, yeah?"
He smiled. Light began to emit from his eyes and he moved in closer.
"Metatron is the angel who takes you before the presence of the father, holding your hand like a little fucking child lest you be completely and utterly consumed and burnt the fuck out at the full on presence of the divine.... Until then, the brotherhood of Melchizedek will get your foot in the door. "He laughed and leaned back.
"Lucky," I said, after I realized that I did in fact know his name, "This is all a bit heavy for me right now. I'm trying to take this all in but it is somewhat overwhelming. Would you mind if I rolled one of your cigarettes?"
"Go for it," he said, nonchalantly, and went back to his work.
Lucky... Lucky...
"Why is your name Lucky, Lucky?"
He paused, and thought for a moment.
"Because I am fucking lucky to be alive."
The music began to change... An old song my Uncle used to sing to me... "I'm looking over, a four leaf clover, that I've overlooked, before..."
I looked down at my pajamas. The green leprechauns, the four leaf clovers... Lucky...
I had overlooked it before... But of course, how fucking obvious it had been all along. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks and from that point on I knew I could never go back. What I had been overlooking my whole life was staring me right in the face all along. Everything I touched, everything I tasted, smelled, saw or heard... All of it was me. I was it, and it was me. I truly was in the presence of the Divine, and I could never not be in the presence of Divinity, because the Divinity was everything, and I was it. It was me.
I prepared to cross the Abyss.
I flipped to a page that describes a choice that all entities will be confronted with- to pass through to the new level of being with nothing but love in their hearts, and to obtain paradise. Those who chose to continue to have hatred and fear in their hearts would be lost. I was forced with a decision. Meanwhile, in the background the glass blower who somehow seemed strangely nonhuman began to play backwards auditory noises, sitars, chanting picking up, tribal drumming... Hindu? Mayan? Eastern? What the fuck was it? And then, distinctly Mayan. The drumming picked up. The chanting, ancient tongues, wild drumming, frantic, orgiastic. Building. Building. The pressure. I felt light headed, dizzy...The disembodied voice told me "Congratulations. Your initiation was successful. Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
"Best party I've ever been to," Lucky said and smiled with a look of amusement.
"Some of this music they've been playing here, you know? Pretty powerful stuff. Almost as if it could draw down the angels themselves...'
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