TIME TO COME CLEAN! (updated)

Reincarnational fragments – or, more accurately, aspects of my multidimensional Self - have been accumulating and reintegrating in my conscious memory since 1969. This isn’t a continuous process. Many years go by when I am not aware of or bothered by these furtive intimations of immortality.

Sometimes a parallel life inserts itself into my immediate reality and I don’t know what it means or how to use it until much later. For instance, I came across the name Cthulhu in my teen years, chancing upon some paperback reprints of H.P. Lovecraft’s gothic tales of terror. At the time all Cthulhu represented to me was some indescribably hideous and scary monster from the subterranean depths of our collective unconscious, something you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

Subsequently I read two stimulating novels by Colin Wilson (The Mind Parasites and Philosopher’s Stone) and there was further light shed on this Cthulhu character: Wilson acknowledged Lovecraft’s source material but painted a somewhat different portrait of this entity, the first God-King of Mu, whom he called Ktolo and described as a very lonely being that after aeons of absolute rule in this remote sector of the galaxy turned somewhat misanthropic and withdrew from mortal view. Within generations Ktolo had entered the realm of myth as The Ineffable and Terrifying Presence, the Nameless One All Souls Have To Face On Judgment Day, and so on.

In effect, Ktolo had become the Devourer of Souls, the Invisible God all men feared. He it was who installed the earliest machinery of remote government on this planet. It facilitated the smooth administration of Mu’s far-flung colonies and kept everything humming along in apparently orderly fashion. Greed and Fear, Carrot and Stick: the tried and tested Management Method still in use today, after all these hoary millennia.

Ktolo’s sad story might well have inspired the legend of the Beauty and the Beast, in that he had begun to regress to the point where he felt himself too grotesquely complex, too repugnant, too horribly indifferent to ever be loved. What became of Cthulhu-Ktolo? No one knows and no one dares speculate. We may assume that Ktolo got so bored with existence that he longed for death, a permanent end to it all. But, alas, dying is just as illusory and transient as being born: Ktolo found himself scattered over time in myriad incarnations, each with a built-in dread of regaining total recall, for that would only result in Ktolo finding himself trapped in his own ego for eternity.

We do know, from documentary evidence collected and translated by the enigmatic James Churchward, that after the long reign of Ktolo, one of his descendants rose to new heights of popularity as King Ahau of Mu (aka One Hunahpu). This was just before the destruction of Lemuria, circa 83,000 B.C.E.

It was after the March equinox, 1993, in Bundoora (an aboriginal burial site in Victoria, Australia, where once stood a prediluvian stone circle) that my memory of having been Ktolo reactivated. I realized then that even in my present incarnation I had retained the same consonants (KTL) in my 3D name, Kit Leee. For some reason, many people, even old friends, have insisted on addressing me as “Kitleee” instead of just “Kit.” Now I understood why!

The implications of my life as Ktolo only recently struck home, after I obtained a Skyview Astrochart from my friend Katharina Bless. My lifelong antagonism towards all forms of external authority (in other words, government, bureaucratic control mechanisms) suddenly made perfect sense. Who would know better how detrimental government was to true spirituality than the one who instituted it on this planet during the infancy of human civilization...

That's right, folks, I'm the bloody nincompoop who introduced bureaucracy to Earth!

And that’s not the end of it. I just finished reading a 730-page account of Sir Frank Swettenham’s career as a colonial agent in Malaya. He arrived as a fresh-faced cadet in 1871 and by 1883 had been appointed British Resident of Selangor. It took him another 12 years to become Resident-General of the Federated Malay States and another 6 to be made Governor of Singapore. Before he opted for early retirement in 1904, he was named High Commissioner of the Straits Settlements as well. In short, Sir Frank was perhaps the most ambitious and hardheaded imperialist that ever clawed his way to fame and fortune between the 19th and 20th centuries. 

And it was he who introduced the idea of “development and progress” to what was once a tropical sleepy hollow, more than 90% of which was covered with luxuriant jungle (today we’re lucky if there’s even 30% left). Indeed, Sir Frank Swettenham was the blithering idiot whose excellent but environmentally destructive work on behalf of Ego and Empire I’ve been battling to undo in the last 30 years.

Throughout his illustrious career in Malaya, Frank was known to support the political supremacy of the Malay chiefs and his final act, two months before he finally checked out at the overripe age of 96, was to write a strong letter of protest against the proposal of the Malayan Union which would have granted all ethnic groups full rights as citizens under the Union Jack. With the benefit of hindsight, this was perhaps a far better idea than leaving state affairs in the hands of unscrupulous pirate kings and scheming grand viziers.

Well, once again, I only have myself to blame because I was that pompous bastard (can’t recall how I stumbled upon this particular realization but I’ve known it since 1989).

As for other lives, other personae, there’s much I have to say – but not here, not now – takes too much work putting it all in words. Language itself tends towards linearity and can never satisfactorily express the nonlinearity of multidimensional experience. However, it CAN hint at interconnections and far-flung associations and inspire fairly instructive analogies and metaphors.

For now, let’s just say that I have no one to accuse of screwing up the world but various aspects of myself (including those directly involved with what has been recorded as the Anunnaki colonization of the planet about 440,000 earthyears ago).

Yes, the atrocious misbehavior of covert agencies like Mossad, MI6 and the CIA stems from my own fear of being dethroned, of losing control. The sociopathology of industrial tycoons like Bill Gates (a majority shareholder in Monsanto, the most evil enterprise on earth, and arguably the greatest megalomaniac in the annals of linear time) is a spinoff of my own deepest, darkest desire to be the Sole Star in the firmament, the Only Living Deity (and a jealous one, to boot, who will tolerate no graven images lest they present my likeness in an unfavorable light).

So what does one do in view of this terribly incriminating self-knowledge? For a start, laugh and forgive oneself one’s apparent trespasses and stupidities. Next, to acknowledge that there is ultimately no one “out there” causing all these problems: it’s only bits of oneself that have yet to be brought safely home and celebrated as prodigal sons and daughters of our own limitless being. Why curse our experiential vehicles when they break down? We designed them and we must own up to minor design flaws, all of which can easily be rectified as soon as we learn to outgrow being embarrassed by our own excesses and oversights. Hey, Mr Hyde, you can’t hide forever...

By Chiron’s grace, may I be wholly reintegrated and healed, so that henceforth and ever after all will know peace, unity, harmony, perfect joy, and endless bounty.

The Entity Currently Going By The User ID:
ANTARES
~^@^~


[Written 9 January 2003, revised 12 February 2012 & 20 August 2015 & reposted 13 September 2016, 30 August 2019, 12 May 2020 & 13 November 2020]

An email to Tania (from my 2017 archive)...

Over the many decades I have been researching the esoteric (no less than 50 years) I have encountered and temporarily adopted many different stories - about how Existence came to be, how the Universe began, the age of our Solar System, whether life on earth spontaneously appeared as an anomaly, or we as a species evolved from the primates or were genetically modified by technologically advanced time or space traveling races. Interestingly, the more I learn, the less I know!

All I know for sure is that everything is a story. Our lives are stories and "history" has been a feeble attempt to document the briefest span of time (no more than 13,000 terrestrial years or so) from the male perspective - that's why it's called "his story" - which mostly revolves around invasion (penetration), domination (might-as-right) & colonization (impregnation), hence the supremacy of warlord bloodlines on this planet and the ridiculous amount of energy and resources squandered on unnecessary, mutually destructive conflict.

In effect, once we acknowledge that it's all just stories, we can begin to reclaim our inner authority as creators of our own stories - and our freedom to rewrite, edit and modify those stories. So as one who by nature prefers Happy Endings, I am in the process of rewriting my own story, and as I expand my sense of Self to include and incorporate the entire Cosmos, I am also rewriting the Story of Life.

And I can attest that I am 100% convinced that all religions and priesthoods serve only one purpose - that is to shock and awe the innocent, gullible human psyche into an inherited fear of invisible and almighty forces or powers, so humans will never gain enough self-mastery to rebel against established external authority, i.e., God, Government and Gurus.

In short, I totally reject all scriptures - especially the so-called Book Religions or Abrahamic Agenda - as puerile nonsense nobody in their right mind needs to waste their time taking seriously.

My personal credo can be summed up thus: the only true god/goddess is the one you see in the mirror. All other representations of "divinity" must be questioned - but you may take for granted that All Life Is Sacred, as it is generated from a Supersentient Galactic Matrix - or what some might call the Sacred Feminine or Aeonic Creator known to the Gnostics as Sophia - better known today as Gaia-Sophia.

My blessings & love to you all!

Antares

~^@^~

18 July 2017

[First posted 16 December 2017]

ARE WE STILL WAITING FOR THE MESSIAH? (reprise)

I haven't written about local politics since the Great Reset of May 9th, 2018, apart from a 500-word overview for The Edge's Merdeka Special.

There are several reasons for my silence. First, I have been preoccupied with the construction of a guest facility behind our house which has consumed much of my energy and all of my cash reserves. Secondly, now that Barisan Nasional is no longer in power, I feel that my political crusade (which began after October 1987) is more or less accomplished. Thirdly, people are getting much more vocal on social media now that the fear has receded and the cacophony of clamorous voices isn't something I wish to add to, although I look upon it as the grating sound of a nascent democracy akin to construction noise (which we tolerate when it's our own house that's being built).

So why do I feel compelled to put in my two bits' worth now? Truth be told, folks, I'm fatigued by the quarrelsome adversarial nature of political rhetoric. I have never liked to argue for the sake of argument, which I regard as nothing more than a competitive sport, a game of semantics. cunning lingual exercises that never penetrate beyond mere superficialities.

Above all, I have never subscribed to the notion that authentic change can be effected on the political level, that all it takes is to replace one captain or manager with another. It's the very idea of being subject to external authority, generation after generation, unquestioningly surrendering our innate power and sovereignty as conscious individuals, that needs to be reassessed and outgrown.

So why did I publicly endorse, consistently over 20 years, the prime ministership of Anwar Ibrahim? The answer is simple: I am no game-player and find politics every bit as tedious and banal as courtroom proceedings. I generally prefer engaging my right brain and gut feelings to getting embroiled in hair-splitting left-brain exercises. That's why when Anwar led a massive rebellion against Mahathir in 1998 I decided to monitor him closely. His determination, stoicism and tenacity impressed me greatly, so I made Anwar my political avatar.

Through Anwar I could be vicariously involved in the grubby, sordid world of political power play, without physical risk to myself. I can't imagine enduring 10 years of imprisonment for my political views - but Anwar did and I wholeheartedly admire his fighting spirit and resilience. To me his astonishing perseverance against all odds qualifies him as a bona fide national hero.

Anwar Ibrahim was politically crucified in 1998 by Mahathir, who spared no effort to humiliate and crush his adversary. Not only did Anwar survive six years as a political prisoner (and, I believe, at least one attempt to poison him with cyanide), he successfully resurrected himself as a messiah and led the opposition coalition called Pakatan Rakyat to a near-victory in March 2008, then again in May 2013. Indeed, were it nor for the all-too-obvious partisanship of the Election Commission which aided and abetted massive electoral fraud, I'm certain BN would have fallen five years ago, and Anwar anointed as Malaysia's 7th prime minister.

I was overjoyed, like many others, when Anwar Ibrahim received a full pardon from the Agong on May 16th, 2018, vindicating his 20-year battle against the behemoth BN. It was a great relief for everyone who can't bear to witness such grotesque travesties of justice, and a poignant moment indeed for his beautiful family. For me, it didn't matter who deserved the most credit for removing the utterly corrupt BN from power. Whether we succeeded with Mahathir leading the charge... or voters silently resented Najib's brutal incarceration of Anwar... or the rotting white elephant in the room named 1MDB finally began to stink too badly to be ignored... it's purely academic now. I'm certain it was all these factors, compounded with the collective will of a sizeable majority of young voters, that won the great victory against cynicism and fatalism.

What prompts me to speak up now is the vitriolic antagonism I see directed against Anwar, even before he made his "PD move." Cherished friends whose opinions I respect and value have risen up as a bilious phalanx of vociferous opposition in an attempt to thwart Anwar Ibrahim from fulfilling his political destiny.

He's too ambitious... a political chameleon... he endorses the reactionary Turkish dictator, Erdoğan, whom he regards as an ally... Anwar will be forced to pander to the religious fundamentalists, just to maintain his power base. 

That's what I hear all the time on my Facebook newsfeed. Anyone who makes a career of politics has got to be ambitious and adapt chameleon-like to changing circumstances, so these are actually positive traits. As for cozying up with the likes of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan... well, it could just as well be Paul Wolfowitz, Bashar al-Assad, Emmanuel Macron, Vladimir Putin or, God forbid, Donald J. Trump. End of the day what we think we know of public figures is mostly from media reports. Anyone can be easily demonized by media shills with an occult agenda. Remember what the Zionist-controlled media did to Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi? One day we might even discover that Winston Churchill was far more villainous than Adolf Hitler, and that Barack Obama was, in truth, a Manchurian candidate installed by the CIA on behalf of the Deep State.. so keep your mind open (at least a crack).

Can all these well-informed, highly intelligent and articulate friends be utterly wrong? Yes, they can. Their judgment may be clouded by their own biases, fears and prejudices. After all, they are mostly the same "street-savvy" Anglophilic crowd who delight in dismissing Donald Trump as a buffoonish boor, unfit to occupy the White House. That's right, folks, this may come as a shock to you but I have nothing seriously negative to say about Trump's presidency, which I view as instrumental to a Great Geopolitical Reset.

Notwithstanding DJT's apparent lack of lexicological range, I am inclined to regard him as the reincarnation of some ancient Roman emperor who has been given the opportunity to step up to the world stage at this evolutionary juncture as a wild card (or more appropriately the Joker), even as the entire deck is being reshuffled. 

Enough of meaningless labels like left and right, liberal and conservative. Life is way too complex and fluid to fit into a simple binary context of Good and Bad, Right and Wrong, Democrat and Republican, Whig and Tory, Government and Opposition. If you can be so easily classified as either this or that, then it's probable that you haven't been completely candid with yourself. Or perhaps you have been conditioned to rely on ideas and opinions injected into your psyche by the plutocrat-owned miseducation system and mass media - instead of your own instincts and intuition.

I doubt if there has ever been a political figure of note who isn't somehow controversial - who inspires admiration from some and triggers fear and loathing in others. If the founders of the world's main religions were active in today's cybernetic world, imagine what the media pundits and shills would have to say about them - whether they be Krishna, Laotse, Confucius, Siddhartha Gautama, Moses, Jesus, Muhammad or Baha'ullah. Imagine the scandals buzzing around them like bluebottles, the stinking muck raked up, the nasty remarks, cynical deconstructions, scholarly critiques written about these long-gone icons. Humans, time and again, have created gods to adore and worship - only to rip them apart or crucify or debunk them when they suffer a collective mood swing.

Perhaps it's time we begin to accept responsibility for how we experience the world around us - instead of hoping for a messianic cult figure, some great savior to rescue us from the confusion and mayhem of everyday reality. Don't you think it's puerile of us to still believe that a single president or prime minister or guru figure can set aright all that has gone wrong in the nation, resolve all problems that beset humanity, and lead us all to the Promised Land?

Having said that, I'm painfully aware that the vast majority of my fellow citizens may not be ready as yet to upgrade their own software and become self-governing entities. They must be given time and a conducive space to take their first faltering steps into an unknown, but potentially glorious, future. If I were to do the unthinkable and offer myself as a political candidate, my open disregard for all forms of institutionalized religion would scare, shock and offend too many. I probably wouldn't survive a week in politics. However, someone like Anwar has not only survived, he actually seems to thrive in the midst of controversy.

Nobody can dispute his resolve, tenacity, resilience and inner strength. His remarkable rise in politics, followed by a fall of mythical proportions, and his ultimate resurrection and ascension, lead me to conclude that he is indeed capable of overcoming all obstacles and inspiring the entire populace, regardless of racial or religious conditioning, to transcend the artificial divisiveness that has kept us from becoming a truly splendid and accomplished nation.

I don't reside in Port Dickson, but if I did, I would support Anwar Ibrahim in his quest to be reinstated as an active Member of Parliament. Those who condemn his strategy of triggering a by-election through the voluntary resignation of an incumbent MP do so without a full understanding of all the nasty intrigues going on behind closed doors. This species of low-grade jostling for positions and power has long been part of political culture everywhere - not just in Malaysia. Non-players and outsiders only know what gets reported - or leaked.

Occasionally an internal rift reveals itself like a crack in the wall, weakening the prospects of a particular political party owing to petty ego conflicts. Unless you are fully immersed in the water, it's impossible to know what's lurking below the surface, and even then you can be caught off-guard by sabotage and the invisible machinations of rivals. This is a game of thrones I myself have chosen not to play, except by proxy.

There appears to be a contradiction here: while I have never taken economics or politics all that seriously, I am at the same time aware that the 3D Matrix is still largely influenced by the primal drives for money and power. A single individual at the helm, with the unwavering support of a large enough majority, can dramatically alter the course we chart as sovereign nations. A charismatic leader can steer the ship of state towards dangerous reefs by publicly preaching unity while privately sowing seeds of discord and discontent - but he or she can also opt to play the pivotal role of maintaining harmony and stability during a major transition between eras.

On April 14th, 2008, I was present at the Sultan Sulaiman Club in Kampung Bahru when Anwar Ibrahim made a stirring comeback speech in which he declared it was time for us to replace Ketuanan Melayu (Malay Supremacy) with Ketuanan Rakyat (Supremacy of the People). The response was unanimous and absolutely moving. Looking around me, I saw locals in white skull caps and robes enthusiastically cheering Anwar for his vision of Greater Unity and Harmony, transcending artificially imposed racial and religious barriers. It was as if we had finally stepped across an invisible threshold between adolescence and adulthood as a nation. I saluted Anwar for articulating this truly powerful sentiment and he reinforced this vision by intoning at every subsequent ceramah:

"Anak Cina anak saya, anak India anak saya, anak Iban, anak Kadazan, anak Melayu semua anak saya!" 

I am inclined to believe that, after ten years of unjust imprisonment as a political dissident within a tradition-bound feudalistic establishment, this is essentially what Anwar Ibrahim desires to be congratulated and remembered for. His destiny, I am still convinced after 20 years, is to steer the nation back on its intended course - to evolve gracefully into a unified, harmonious and mature melting-pot of diverse cultures, looking forward instead of backwards.

There, I have broken my silence.

5 October 2018

My Journey through the 11:11 Doorway (Part Three)

The ability to enjoy solitude is a characteristic common to all explorers of inner space.

Since my early teens I have been intrigued by the esoteric far more than the exoteric. Being the youngest in the family with an 8-year gap between me and my next brother afforded me the luxury of inhabiting my own space with no siblings to distract me. I grew up with plenty of solitude, especially in the afternoons when both my parents were at work. 

I learnt how to entertain myself for hours, exploring our back garden with its four mango trees and a thick morning glory hedge acrawl with ants, ladybirds and spiders. Just beyond the hedge was a narrow drainage ditch with a fascinating ecosystem of tadpoles, baby fishes, water snails and weeds. I could spend hours in the back garden, alone with my thoughts or capturing ladybirds for my miniature circus (putting them on their backs and watching them roll their eggs round and round with their legs). When I grew bored with this game, I’d release them in the garden. 

Sometimes I would just lie on the couch and daydream about making epic movies, visualizing the opening sequences and composing the soundtrack music in my head. Other times I would hang out in the kitchen with our China-born housekeeper and bombard her with questions about her life.

A major event occurred when I was 11 that totally altered my destiny. I was in Primary Six and one day a teacher stepped into the classroom and called out a few names, mine included. He said we were to assemble outside the headmaster’s office in the next few minutes. I was thrilled, thinking we had been handpicked for some special honor, like designing and painting a new mural or initiating a school magazine. Instead, we were hectored by a stern-faced, cane-wielding headmaster who declared us to be the “bad hats” of the school. Me a “bad hat”? I couldn’t believe that anyone could possibly see me as a “bad hat.” Okay, I was among the talkative ones in class, and was fond of making wisecracks – but that was as far as my sense of mischief went. To me a “bad hat” meant a hooligan, school bully, someone who got involved in gangfights and vandalism. 

Anyway, there was no one to defend us and we weren’t allowed to argue our own case. The headmaster acted as jury, judge and executioner. Each of us received a few strokes of the cane and were instructed to hand a sealed letter to our parents. I was deeply wounded in my soul by this incident – but, in retrospect, it served me well in later life – because the profound sense of injustice I felt completely shattered any illusion I may have had about the wisdom of authority figures. Thereafter, I consciously chose to be my own best authority on everything. I no longer looked to emblems of external authority for guidance.

It was around this time that I made contact with my own Atman or Oversoul. Buckminster Fuller calls it the Phantom Captain – he was on the verge of suicide at the age of 32 when his Phantom Captain spoke to him. Whatever name you prefer, I thought of it as “Jesus” at the time. So I would have long chats with “Jesus” every night and it was a calm, clear, supportive intelligence that was never harsh or judgmental. 

Eventually, there came a moment when I merged with this “Jesus” entity and fully integrated it within my operating system. My attempts to persuade others to do the same weren’t particularly successful. In most instances, hardcore believers accused me of blasphemy or spiritual arrogance. 

Or else they simply assumed, as my parents did, that I had gone mad. And so I found myself in an asylum for 3 months (which proved to be an entirely educational experience for a 19-year-old). After that I learned to keep my mouth shut – unless asked for my opinion by someone genuinely interested in hearing my personal insights.

I also realized that the intellect, with language as its tool, was an astonishingly devious device which could, using cold logic, rationalize just about anything – including cruelty, torture, social injustice and tyranny. So I learned to rely more and more on intuition, and to trust my gut feelings over other people’s learned opinions.

This is why when I came across Solara’s writings on Guardian Angels and 11:11 Doorways, my intellect didn’t get in the way and dismiss it all as pure fantasy or poppycock. Indeed, the wide ground covered in her writings convinced me that she had explored many different paths and was able to integrate all of it into her own personal cosmomythology in an enchantingly feminine, imaginative and undogmatic manner. Solara’s ability to speak from an angelic as well as entirely human perspective was most impressive. Although my mind was unable to understand the significance of the 11:11, my entire being accepted it as a cosmic wake-up call – and I began to see 11:11 more and more often, in digital clocks, car licence plates, hidden in the most obvious places.

I had spent years devouring whatever material I could find that might shed some light on the mystery of existence. My interests were eclectic in that I enjoyed science fiction as much as historical works. The question of extraterrestrial intervention in planetary affairs was as cogent to me as speculations on the nature of Consciousness.

I delved into books on Zen, was inspired by the Tao Te Ching, collected a set of Alice Bailey’s writings, joined a Tantric cult, consumed classic studies on the occult like Pauwels and Bergier’s The Morning of the Magicians, and Colin Wilson’s encyclopedic research into a wide spectrum of metaphysical phenomena. I enjoyed reading about fairies and pagan magick, and was fascinated by the Arthurian legends and the mystery of the Holy Grail.

I investigated Aleister Crowley, Alan Watts, Bertrand Russell, Robert Anton Wilson, Tim Leary, John C. Lilly, Terence McKenna, G. Spencer Brown, and Buckminster Fuller. I also read all of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes series, Edgar Rice Burrough’s Tarzan stories, and Robert A. Heinlein’s brave explorations of alternative relationship scenarios. 

That’s how I was able to maintain my own left-brain, right-brain balance; a keen sense of adventure and, most importantly, a healthy sense of humor. It wasn’t till March 1993 that I finally met Solara and experienced a complete emotional body clearing and a whole new high that lasted several years. 

[Part Four]