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by Georgi Stankov Posted on June 19, 2015
by Luz, Jazzowy Kocioł,
Poland, June 19, 2015
Hope you find some time for this rant, guys – especially since we are on vacation. Kinda. First things first. I am a musician, a jazz musician. I play the piano, guitar (I used to play classical guitar long ago in school), bass and drums. I am twenty-six years old Polish guy. I like to write songs, but almost nobody wants to listen. I mean that my music is slightly out of the vibration of the Hive Mind.
When I found your interpretation of body changes, Mr. Stankov along with other health-wise PAT members, I was astounded. That was the story of my life, or of the LBP. I don’t remember a day that was not painful to my soul and gradually the process started to deteriorate my physical health. It is very interesting, since a lot of the symptoms are purely psychosomatic. I mean – through the pain I discovered the power of human Mind.
It all went full pace during my journey to finally find out what happened to my father. He was isolated from me, as an alcoholic, but – what I later found out – a genius being. I was told he was in Germany, while he was living circa 100 km from my place. I’ve never got a chance to speak with him, because my mother abruptly found for me another ‘daddy’ (sic!). I was three then. My father died 5 years ago. He stopped drinking and there were a lot of pharmaceutical drugs with which he substituted drinking. Drugs against depression. There is no pill for the lack of Love. The last book he read was ‘Eros, Kosmos, Logos’ by Ken Wilber. Some inspiring concepts.
Poland is a nation even more beaten and downgraded than Spain, Italy or Greece. The plan was to isolate Russia from Germany, to create a buffer and literally – another State of the US. Cultural invasion commenced. The Germans got it straight – they called it “Kulturkampf”. Kill the Polish spirit. Now it’s like a Hive Mind and a Snakes’ Nest everywhere. That’s because right here in Poland we got an excruciating spirit climate. I mean, there are no people here, just a bunch of goddamn robots.
I used to study political sciences (dumm = stupid) and Polish literature and I quit both because of lack of any opportunities. There is no point in going to school anymore, Schade! Everything I know I have learned from the Books and from the Internet. My whole life I used to study music, for real, but also every kind of art whatsoever. Movies, books, poetry, stories – mostly stories. Because there is a story in every melody.
You know for sure that jazz musicians (especially Coltrane, T. Sphere Monk, but also great visionaries like Bill Evans or Krzysztof Komeda) were highly evolved spiritual beings. Some people idolize Coltrane (Baptists somewhere in N. America) and think about his death like it was an Ascension of some kind. It was! He wrote LOVE SUPREME, a great conceptual piece of music, played live only once. Check it out, if you don’t know it.
At some point in time I started to think very blue about life, I mean, I used to live in constant depression. It is that simple – just look at the abyss of stupidity of the so called ‘humans’. Eventually, all my family and all friends, even the ones I used to play with, abandoned me. My mother still wants to put me in a psychiatric ward, because of the revelation of the Apocalypse. Because it is it, guys, the Evolution, the Great Shift. Sort of: “From now on only up and don’t look back”.
I want to tell you about the shift, about the Ascension of 2012, because I got through it and in consequence was dragged back to my ‘family home’ or a nest, particularly a snake nest, by force from a German forest near the Baltic sea. My family and friends wanted to put me in a closed facility, they thought I am fooling around, babbling about WTF and didn’t realize that I am an extraordinary being, I mean, I am a Genius Spirit. You are also.
WHAT DO THESE GUYS KNOW? Psychiatrists, TV soul doctors, pre-paid philosophers, pundits, talking heads. We could change it all, we can. I mean, give them for free all the answers. The body is exchanging at the molecular level! For FUCK SAKE, IT IS THERE, JUST REACH OUT AND GRAB IT. But sadly they don’t want it and the pain of stupidity was excruciating at that moment. They just want to live the life their Protestant German juncker-militarist grandparents wanted to.
On the 21st of March 2012 I experienced a Shift of an extraordinary kind – for almost 13 hours I disappeared, and the day (around 07:00 am) turned into night (around 19:30 pm). Nobody noticed anything. I went to Breslau, or Wroclaw (Lower Silesia) on the main Square and started to ask everybody. Precession? New Ice Age? Alien Abduction? I went to my favourite music/piano bar and stopped their party and asked publicly. Nobody responded, and after a while they started laughing at me! The psychiatrist, my ‘mother’ dragged me to, said I SHOULDN’T MEDITATE and that IT IS NORMAL IN A STATE OF PSYCHOSIS. I MEAN, WTF?
I think that psychiatrists are the worst scum on this uppermost Mother Planet, they literally poisoned a lot of my friends. They don’t respond normally, this is very painful for me, i.e. when your friend you used to play with is behaving like a poorly constructed machine. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
After the Shift I started travelling around Poland without money. I used my ID card to get credit tickets. I made some 1000s of fiat fiduciary shit European currency of debt. I was in all major cities, but stopped finally in a forest near the German border. I used to live in a shack and watch the wildlife. The most beautiful days of my life, winter/spring. I explored the German villages. Pretty scary s***, the way they use to live. I can’t live in a city though, the magnetic field is just too heavy. I wonder how you have managed the intangible field of the old cursed city of Munich, Mr. Stankov.
I know – it is a little bit chaotic, but it’s late, or early – pick one SVP. I can speak German, some French, a little bit Russian, but my primary langauge is Polish. You don’t know Polish I presume, that’s a pity, cause during my days as a student I wrote a kinda prophecy of this crazy shit that happened during the last few years.
Now I have finally met a friend, a girl, who is maybe the last living soul in the surrounding area. I got some friends; all of them are round 55-60 years old. The youngsters just don’t get anything. We stopped by my friend from the old Band days – cause I used to have a rock band which people liked, but jealously hated when I turned my back. It is so sad. But there is hope. You know, no mail would put the things in place, because our beings are Fractal.
I mean, I’ve really started enjoying EVERYTHING. When I read your books (still not all of them though, it is a s***load of info) I always love to learn, despite they DON’T WANT US TO LEARN. They want us to obey. I’ve learned a lot when I started to steal from them. I mean, the corporations. I’ve got a revelation from a kid (my ex-girl little brother) – he told me from out of nowhere that from now on he will be a friend only with the Thieves. Never mind, a different story. Aliens everywhere.
Right now I am exploring the waves, I mean telepathy-empathy and the general field of a human being. The impact of thinking about someone distant. The language is just a dummy, the true extension is the energy of the interaction. It is fascinating. Still all artificial languages are not enough. The Gnosis is the language, but it is the Outer Space. The Silence within. Because it is really silent, just listening to the harmony of its own… something. The Ocean.
I really wish we could meet, I mean, it would be great if we could meet on our road trip in August. It would be superb if I could congratulate you and meet Carla, cause she is truly powerful. I don’t know if you are still in Munich, or somewhere in North America, maybe we will succeed. I just want to play you something with this girl, which is a Channeller from her very first years. Yup, she saw Arcturians around her bed. Crazy s*** isn’t it? Sorry for the ebonics, that’s how we roll. Remember what Dostoevsky said about children. Hopefully, we will find them all and teach them, HOW TO ROLL.
Licht und Liebe (Love and Light)
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by Georgi Stankov Posted on June 21, 2015
by Kari, the Sunshinegirl, June 21, 2015
Hello Georgi, I hope this finds you well. I really liked that you have compiled the PAT story and I can’t wait to download them all.
I have been pretty busy with school lately. I decided to stick it out for some reason, even after I told you I was quitting. I don’t know why… maybe it just keeps me occupied during these doldrums… as you so accurately described. I only have 2 more classes so why not?
I was looking through an old journal today when I found a piece that I wrote about how I was raised and my journey to escape that programming! It details some of my journey as a PAT member to when I moved to Hawaii and thought I had found my Lemuria… interestingly enough, parts of Kauai were once Lemuria and I was told by a shaman that I lived there during this time and that is why my heart yearns to see it restored.
I hope you like this. It feels very fitting to share it on the Eve of our transition to New Lemuria.
I opened the door and stepped out into a world that couldn’t uphold me,
couldn’t even recognize me.
And so I cursed my gifts, for what good were they anyway?
Nothing about me fit here… in this world.
I don’t think many caught it – the day the spark left my eye,
they didn’t even question why.
They just figured I’d joined “reality” but I have a secret –
I never really did.
Because I am not a new generation, I am an old soul,
and I am not a follower, I am a leader.
And I did not come here to learn, but to teach,
and to show,
So, imagine the pain and the deep shock to my heart
when I stepped out ready to be ME,
and was met with dark hostility.
So no, I didn’t finally blend in,
and accept this world,
like you thought I did.
I just retreated to my inner world,
and gave up on yours.
Because you see, yours is sick,
and it is dying a little more everyday,
Everyday you contribute to a disease,
that will eventually dissolve into nothing.
I know you had “high hopes” for me,
that I would succeed at this game and
come to my senses.
I can gladly tell you that I have –
but not in the way you thought I would.
I crossed an ocean to protect myself from the concrete,
that tried to silence my soul.
And from here I write to tell you,
that I am not standing in a penthouse,
but I am standing on green grass.
And I listen to the wind,
instead of cars at night.
And my belly is very acquainted with the Earth.
And I can tell you about sea turtles,
and which flowers smell the best!
I can take you on the most majestic hikes…
but you don’t want to go, do you?
Is it all too beautiful for you?
Too beautiful to believe it’s true?
They taught you to keep striving to be more,
while I was discovering I was always enough.
From here – I preserve my love of self,
and things are simple and they finally make sense.
Because, it was never meant to be hard,
but you were always telling me it was.
And now I know what is about to come,
and it will be proof of my internal world,
and the tears that will come, on that day,
I do hope you will see them,
because that may very well be the first time you ever
When I open that door and step out into a world,
that recognizes me…
a world that sees my gifts.
Where I can expand this SELF as wide as I wish,
And here, you will be the stranger,
but please do not worry.
There will be no harsh words for you,
no one will force you to “fit in” right away,
Then it is your heart that will be shocked,
but you won’t be alone like I was.
I will help you –
because I know this world well,
it was always inside of me.
And what I was trying to tell you,
though I didn’t have the right words always.
Words were never sufficient anyhow,
and so… I rest now,
So that soon, I can show you.
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by Georgi Stankov Posted on June 20, 2015
by Georgi Stankov, June 20, 2015
During the doldrums before the ascension storm, it feels as if we are riding on the Pequod, Herman Melville‘s fictional whaler. But instead of scanning the Atlantic’s horizon for signs of Moby Dick, we idle away the final hours in this crumbling reality, knowing that the storm will break lose only after we have moved to New Lemuria.
And we do not need to blame the devil that has taken possession of the few remaining internet trolls for this seemingly interminable lull as we know that nobody has any influence on the divine orchestration of the End Time scenario.
It is generally acknowledged that Melville’s novel “Moby Dick” on the mythical white whale:
“For, it was not so much his uncommon bulk that so much distinguished him from other Sperm Whales, but, as was elsewhere thrown out – a peculiar snow-white wrinkled forehead, and a high, pyramidical white hump. These were his prominent features; the tokens whereby, even in the limitless, uncharted seas, he revealed his identity, at a long distance, to those who knew him.
The rest of his body was so streaked, and spotted, and marbled with the same shrouded hue, that, in the end, he had gained his distinctive appellation of the White Whale; a name, indeed, literally justified by his vivid aspect, when seen gliding at high noon through a dark blue sea, leaving a milky-way wake of creamy foam, all spangled with golden gleamings.”
is in the first place a profound reflection of the author on the colonial exploitation of the New World and not an adventure story. The name of the whaler Pequod, hunting Moby Dick, symbolizes the blood-thirsty history of mankind on its way to redemption. Let me remind you that the Pequod was named after a native tribe whose villages were burned to the ground by New England’s Puritan settlers, in one particularly brutal instance with 400 people trapped inside. The Puritan chronicler William Bradford’s second-hand account runs thus:
“It was a fearfull sight to see them thus frying in the fyer, and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible was the stinck and sente ther of; but the victory had wrought so wonderfuly for them, thus to inclose their enimise in their hands, and give them so speedy a victory over so proud and insulting an enimie.”
I recently wrote that Canada is a country founded in crime and so does the USA. Both are in the same boat, idling throughout the oceans in search of the mythical white whale of redemption… or perdition, just as humanity is now striding towards Ascension or physical death in the coming MPR. As Melville knew all too well, any possible outcome is only within the confines of the human mind. For those of you who have not read this voluminous novel, a masterpiece of world literature, or have read it but forgotten the narrative, here is a short synopsis:
“Nantucket. The little island off the east coast of the United States is the capital of American whaling in 1850. Sailors, traders, harpooners – they all hope to make big money on land or on a whaler – and if not, then at least to have big adventures. One of them is Ishmael, who wanders through the bustling harbour in search of a whaling boat that will take him out to sea. Together with the homeless boy Pip and the fear-inspiring Polynesian harpooner Queequeg, he signs on as a crew member of the Pequod.
The commander of the whale boat is the charismatic, some would say despotic, Captain Ahab, an experienced seaman and whale hunter who lost his leg several years earlier in a struggle with the gigantic white sperm whale Moby Dick. Now he is obsessed with taking revenge on the legendary creature. Neither his long-suffering wife nor his crew suspect the true extent of his obsessive thirst for vengeance. Only Starbuck, the First Mate of the Pequod, a very religious and level-headed man, fears that this journey will not be a regular whale-catching expedition…
On deck, Ahab finally tells his crew what the real goal of their voyage is: the death of Moby Dick. Ishmael, who is now friends with the harpooner Queequeg, is fascinated by his captain’s charisma, willpower and determination. He casts Queequeg’s dark premonitions to the winds. Starbuck, however, keeps reminding them of the blind vindictiveness of Ahab, whose madness and manipulative tactics can mean death for the seamen.
On the long and arduous journey across the Atlantic, which takes the Pequod around the Cape of Good Hope and to the South China Sea, the crew members are subjected to hunger and thirst, to the terrifying stillness of the doldrums and to naked fear. Yet Ahab unswervingly pursues his goal: the hunt for Moby Dick. When the harpooners of the Pequod kill one of the white whale’s companions, the seamen get an idea of the anger and power of their enemy. Yet their first encounter with Moby Dick is only a taste of the apocalyptic struggle between man and animal that is about to take place on the high seas, and in which not only Ahab and the white whale will meet their fates…”
Ahab, the captain of Pequod, embodies the cabal psychopaths in power who are entirely driven by irrational vengeance against the wonders of the Source and the pristine character of Gaia’s nature, and especially against her human and cetacean inhabitants. Moby Dick embodies on the other hand the miracle of life as a divine creation that evades the senseless battle of life and death with the dark Ahab, as this white whale, an incarnation of ascended masters and a guardian of the earth, is fully aware of his immortality. But when confronted by Ahab accepts the challenge and transfigures into God’s vehicle of the Last Judgment.
Moby Dick is essentially the light warrior of the first and the last hour – the mythical, unique white sperm whale, the symbol of purity and elemental force of karmic resolution.
And then we have the crew, the rest of humanity, who are divided into blind followers and critical admonishers, but altogether a spineless bunch of people that follow the psychopath in power as long as he is the unquestionable captain and thus put their lives in danger in their blind fealty. This is the destiny of humanity in these final days as described in this novel:
“On the third day of the chase, Ahab sights Moby Dick at noon, and sharks appear as well. Ahab lowers his boat for a final time, leaving Starbuck again on board. Moby Dick breaches and destroys two boats. Fedallah’s corpse, still entangled in the fouled lines, is lashed to the whale’s back, and so Moby Dick turns out to be the hearse Fedallah prophesied. “Possessed by all the fallen angels” (Ch. 135), Ahab plants his harpoon in the whale’s flank. Moby Dick smites the whaleboat, tossing its men into the sea. Only Ishmael survives. The whale now fatally attacks the Pequod. Ahab then realizes that the destroyed ship is the hearse made of American wood in Fedallah’s prophesy. The whale returns to Ahab, who stabs at him again. The line loops around Ahab’s neck, and as the stricken whale swims away, the captain is drawn with him out of sight. Queequeg’s coffin comes to the surface, the only thing to escape the vortex when Pequod sank. For an entire day Ishmael floats on it, and then the Rachel, still looking for its lost seamen, rescues him.”
The only question that remains to be answered is, whether there will be a “Mutiny on the Bounty“, sorry, on Pequod. The chances are slim, but that is not the question now. Just as Melville transcends the hunting of Moby Dick into an unknown Odyssey of humanity across the endless oceans, so do we transcend our modest lives into a cosmic saga about the most fierce battle ever fought between the forces of light and the dark masters of senseless revenge in this multiverse.
When the doldrums prior to ascension engulf our lives, it is worth it to be aware of the epic battles we fought and won throughout this lifetime on behalf of All-That-Is. We are the Moby Dicks of all multidimensional oceans and ours is the victory even as hunted giants in human gestalt. We are the albinos of the new human races and at present the black sheep in the flock. But this is all part of the game which we have already won in a brilliant manner.
Now we must bring about the patience to overcome the doldrums of ascension in the next few days before the storm will flush us into the paradise of New Lemuria, which we are now creating for ourselves, thus leaving behind all the Ahabs to drown in the oceans in their futile hunt for Moby Dick.
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