ANOTHER THING that recently came to my attention, and this surprised me, was the number of home school parents who read my work. Perhaps I didn’t frame that quite right. Let’s try this again. They read my work to their home schooled children as an added bonus to their curriculum. I still don’t know what to make of that. I wake up every morning around 5am and sit behind this computer screen for no other purpose but to hope and pray that my pleas reach someone. As I write these very words, the coffee still hasn’t finished brewing. My family won’t be up for hours. And I could be catching up on sleep. I suppose that’s what Sabbath is for. Meanwhile, I do this because I want somebody—anybody—one solitary soul to wake up from the heaping of lies they’ve been fed by our Slave Masters. That’s all I can really do. It’s why subjects like this one are so important.
My least popular papers tend to deal with Walt Disney. I find that fascinating. Every so often I contribute a new entry to my series, Gods of Disney, but it’s incredibly difficult getting anyone to read them. Just so there’s no misunderstandings, they tend to be the least read in my ever-growing catalogue. Again, I’m not whinnying like a disgruntled pony at the Kentucky Derby. But this should tell you something. It certainly tells me something. Even in the “Truther” community, Disney is still a god.
In past Gods of Disney articles, I touched upon Plato and the Mysteries of Isis according to The Lion King. Theosophy and Mary Poppins. Psychodrama and Walt Disney World. The Druidic Mysteries according to Winnie-the-Pooh. The Star Wars Hotel as a sort of Westworld. And lastly, the Gnostic worldview of Marvel comics. You can read them here. Lion Ling. Mary Poppins. Walt Disney World. CIA. Star Wars Westworld. Pooh. Marvel.
This one goes out to all my home schooled children. Today we’ll be talking about alchemy.
Alchemy and Pinocchio.
In December of 2008 I took my wife to New York City for the very first time. The intent was to celebrate New Year’s Eve in Times Square. As a nationwide wedding photographer, I had already worked in and around the whereabouts of the city over multiple gigs, and felt intimately accustomed with her grid. I spent untold hours alone among a sea of people, just walking around the metropolis lost to my own thoughts, staring up at massive towers stretching their fingertips towards heaven like something out of Genesis chapter 11, trying to make sense of it all. In the sunset days and hours of 2008 (really, it was a very good year), I wanted to show Sarah everything I’d discovered along the way. Statue of Liberty. Wall Street. Ground Zero. Central Park. The guy who blows giant bubbles in Central Park. Even my favorite pasta joint. Those details are all bleeding together now; the fading dream of another lifetime. Soon, and perhaps very soon, the old the things will not be remembered at all. I prefer it that way. The day is coming when Mystery Babylon will be done away with for good. For such a task to be accomplished, it’s difficult imagining one solitary building in New York City remaining. Yahuah is an all consuming fire. Everything society is told to treasure, including works of art, will be charred to ashes in His presence.
The sun is just now rising over the Atlantic Ocean and I know New Jerusalem presently sits above us, right there above our heads and just over the waters of the firmament. It cannot arrive soon enough.
At the Guggenheim, they had this museum-wide exhibit called “theanyspacewhatever.” Isn’t that adorable how artists were able to talk about space and then cram the entire sentence into one word? Simply adorable. Guggenheim described the exhibition space itself as the medium. If you’re unfamiliar with the museum’s layout—it’s important to this narrative—the building, a product of architect Frank Loyd Wright, slowly spirals upwards within something resembling a spinning top or snail shell. The attendee can choose to leave the coiling path and visit any exhibit space along the way, “but the ultimate goal,” according to Guggenheim, is “to offer subtle moments of transformation.”
I want you to remember that last part. Transformation.
One such art exhibit, which veered off like the others from the coiling path, featured someone named Catherine Opie, an American photographer who had the habit of focusing upon life-sized pictures of beads. As in—a string of beads coming out of people’s bums. So right away, we can conclude this wasn’t a summer-camp thing. Also, nudes. Wherever Catherine Opie pointed her lens at anybody, or herself for that matter, clothes were hard to come by. For whatever reason, men and women would dress up for their aboriginal birthday in order to prove to Opie that they had a severe condition known as “beads growing out of their bum.” If there’s a scientific term for this, then forgive my ignorance, but it sounds incredibly painful. And there was documented proof of it everywhere. Breasts and penis and bum and most importantly to her transformative narrative—beads.
The above picture is supposedly Opie’s own self-portrait, but it’s difficult to tell since her face is wrapped up all mummy-like in leather. How very secret society of her. I was trying to remember a specific photograph that I’d witnessed with my own eyes in Guggenheim, and I believe this may have been one of them. For the record, the original print is a full vertical centerfold. I chose the slightly less revealing “let’s pretend there’s a bathing suit below the 38th parallel” horizontal edition in order to spare you the pornographic details while still making a valid point. Notice the subconscious slight of hand being presented here. You are a Pervert for showing up to her exhibit. The transformative effects are intended to make this mutilated and metamorphic lifestyle apart from Yahuah’s own image something akin to normal.
Also, I’m jumping slightly ahead of myself, but one cannot ultimately transform unless they first die to the self. You may want to take notes.
Sarah and I left the LGBTQ bum, areola and cock-a-doodle-do self-mutilating bead exhibit—really, its official name escapes me now—and started back up on the slow coil of the inward snail shell, or perhaps it was simply the Kundalini path, attempting to decide which exhibit we should veer off to next with what little time we had. That may have been the very day we visited the Statue of Liberty. So, we were on Mystery religion overload. Lady Liberty. Already, I’ve forgotten to mention the most important detail of all. The Guggenheim’s centerpiece for its “theanyspacewhatever” exhibition was something called “Daddy, Daddy,” and featured Pinocchio, the boy puppet. Pinocchio was lying face down in a pool of water. It’s probably the first thing you see when you enter the museum. The starting point of the journey. As my wife and I slowly made our way up and around the serpentine trail, we could look down at the lobby floor from practically any given point and see the boy-puppet, inanimate in his pool of water.
At some point my wife gasped, “Pinocchio is dead!”
“Daddy, Daddy” was probably the most disturbing art exhibit we’d ever experienced. We just didn’t realize how profound it was at the time.
It was our first lesson in alchemy.
NEARLY ALL Mystery-religion literature was at one time destroyed, but probably not for the reasons most would think. Yes, the church fathers had a heavy hand in it. When not destroying Natsarim literature, Saint Augustine helped to lead the charge. But it wasn’t simply occult knowledge which the bishops wanted eradicated. Theirs was a mission to scrub public understanding of who they truly were. Hypatia was brutally murdered in the streets of Alexandria for giving Christianities secrets away, and it was this. The Roman Catholic Church was nothing more or less than the Mystery religion with a face lift. The whore of Babylon. Even the Christians of Antioch were a Roman spook operation, via Ignatius. If you’re not following, then I suggest you read the following papers. Hypatia. Saint Augustine. Ignatius. And since we’re on the subject, Homer. Trinity. Steeple. Cross. Constantine. Unicorn. Mystery Babylon. Copernican Revolution. Starbucks coffee. The wool has been pulled over nearly everyone’s eyes. Mystery Babylon lives on.
We know practically nothing about what exactly went on within the catacombs of the ancient Mystery religions, but that is not to say we are at a complete loss. As children, most of us were seduced into its rites. Walt Disney made a habit of initiating us.
The year was 1940. America was on the cusp of the Second World War, and children were given a double dosage of enlightenment. Disney released Pinocchio on February 23 and Fantasia on the 13th of November. Interesting, both films were ultimately based upon the same source material. The Golden Ass. You know how Roman Catholicism wanted to scrub occult knowledge from public consciousness? Apuleius’ second-century novel was on their hit list.
The book survived.
The Golden Ass
On the outset, the story of The Golden Ass centers upon Luscious, the everyday unenlightened sort, whose careless experimentation with magic transforms him into a jackass of a donkey. Luscious spends much of the remaining narrative having to contend with the moral depravity of humanity. A cheating wife fills one segment. His final redemption comes through the alchemical process of self-enlightenment and a personal blessing from the goddess Isis. If you think I haven’t gotten around to describing Pinocchio yet, then I’d argue you probably haven’t seen the Disney production or the children’s novel which it’s based upon, written by initiate Carlo Collodi. Because to this very day, The Golden Ass remains the best glimpse into the initiation rites of the ancient Mysteries, and at its deepest, most intimate level. The story not only inspired Disney; C.S. Lewis based his fondest novel upon it. Till We Have Faces. It can even be argued that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is yet another analogous retelling of the Bacchic and Eleusinian Mysteries.
Mm-hmm, C.S. Lewis was in the know.
During his honeymoon in Greece with a dying wife, Lewis admitted to a friend that he found it incredibly difficult not to pray to Apollo the Healer to heal Joy of her cancer. The year was 1960. To Chad Walsh, professor of Weaton College, Lewis wrote:
“Somehow one didn’t feel it would have been very wrong—would only have been addressing Christ sub specie Apollinis.”
C.S. Lewis was essentially a Hypatia in reverse order. Whereas Hypatia used paganism to prove Christianity wrong, Lewis used Christianity to prove paganism right. If Lewis’ lifelong devotion in employing Christianity to promote paganism somehow confuses you, then we need to dispense with any preconceived notions that Mystery initiates saw themselves as immoral. Also, much of Christianity derives from paganism anyhow. Contrarily, Mystery initiates saw themselves as distinguished citizens. They alone guarded the “unutterable secrets” from the wayward soul.
For these reasons, Pinocchio’s real world analogy could hardly prove any more satisfying. In order to seek meaning and purpose, Pinocchio sells himself to Stromboli for fame. The boy puppet literally becomes a puppet for his Slave Master. Pleasure Island is therefore a metaphor for the profane life characterized by the engineered ignorance of the very masses whom Pinocchio had hoped to entertain. It is a place without school (knowledge) and laws (morals) as they pertain to the hidden knowledge and learned morals of the Mystery religion. The coachman indoctrinates children into a lifestyle of instant gratification knowing that such indulgences leads to a lifetime of slavery. If this doesn’t perfectly describe the world we inhabit, then there’s nothing more that I can do. I’m done.
The sick irony here is that Mystery initiates, as we shall come to learn, are the very people running the world. Hence, Stromboli and the coachman. They’re our Slave Masters. The Elite need indoctrinated children in order to work in their mines. Everything they feed us is a lie.
As the darkness of night takes its toll, the children of Pleasure Island succumb to rioting. They literally begin burning the place to the ground. And while you may think the donkey-faced foundlings are simply unappreciative of the “old world” they’ve been inherited, which is completely true in and of itself, it’s all a part of the intended magic. Their devilish behavior was programed into them by their Slave Masters. There’s a specific frame which depicts the Mona Lisa being defaced among countless other antiquities. This is precisely the sort of destruction we’ve seen happen with the World Fairs. Beginning in the 1890’s, the New World Order rolled millions of Americans out to various ancient Tartarian cities; Chicago, Buffalo, and San Francisco; and then destroyed them as a series of psycho-dramatic exercises, all of which was intended to initiate them into the cult of patriotism.
Over the last several months, we’ve witnessed the same disturbances to Pleasure Island with the CIA-sponsored Black Lives Matter and the fake media revolution in the west coast city of CHAZ. The CIA rolled out the COVID-1984 psychodrama and told everyone to go home. Most complied. They then told corona to quietly disappear just long enough to bus BLM and Antifa into various cities as part of their George Floyd psychodrama. When COVID-1984 suddenly sprang to life again, they told everyone to wear their reeducation face diapers and go home. See how that works? Marching orders. Compliance is key. They’re whipping us into tip-top shape for Agenda 2030. If Langley tells everyone to leave their homes and deface the very statues they placed there some decades eariler, perhaps even burn down a commercial franchise while they’re at it, slaves will gladly help the alchemy along. Statues. CHAZ. It’s all part of the script.
Here’s an added dosage of irony. The World Fair’s inspired Walt Disney. If that doesn’t help pinpoint Disneyland and Walt Disney World to a psycho-dramatic operation, then I don’t know what else to say. With Pinocchio, Disney is telling you the plan. “Come. Let us entertain you. Be our guest. Become a corporate slave with the rest.” Once the alchemy has taken its effect on a global scale, the New World Order will have us all working in the mines.
They’re erasing the image of Elohim in every participating soul and transforming them into donkeys.
You’ll likely recall that Pinocchio’s redemption arrives only after saving his father from the belly of the whale, Monstro—imagery stolen from the book of Jonah. Like the Guggenheim, Pinocchio died. “Daddy, Daddy!” Proof however that Pinocchio ascended beyond his training as a neophyte is given by way of resurrection. He is alchemically transformed into a new image apart from his creator. Isis—or rather, the star-fairy—brings him from death to a new creation.
I do not believe this to be simply a metaphor.
With what remains of Mystery literature, the specifics of any such resurrection ritual have either not survived or were never intended to be known to begin with. Apuleius holds much back. But this I am quite certain of. At some point in their training, the Master Masons met their god face-to-face. In The Golden Ass, Lucius, who has wisely outgrown the foolishness of his donkey counterpart, finally encounters Isis by the seashore. Again, their meeting is not merely a metaphor. Upon her final manifestation, a climax to the novel, the goddess introduces herself to Lucius with the following:
“Behold, Lucius, moved by your prayer I come to you. I, the natural mother of all life, the mistress of the elements, the first child of time, the supreme divinity, the queen of those in hell, the first among those in heaven, the uniform manifestation of all gods and goddesses. I, who govern by my nod the crests of light in the sky, the purifying wafts of the ocean, and the lamentable silences of hell—I, whose single godhead is venerated all over the earth under manifold forms, varying rites, and changing names. Thus, the Phrygians that are the oldest human tock call me Pessinuntia, Mother of the Gods. The aboriginal races of Attica call me Cecropian Minerva. The Cyprians in their island-home call me Paphian Venus. The archer Cretans call me Diana Dictynna. The three-tongued Sicilians call me Stygian Proserpine. The Eleusinians call me the ancient goddess Ceres Some call me Juno. Some call me Bellona. Some call me Hecate. Some call me Rhamnusia. But those who are enlightened by the earliest rays of that divinity the sun, the Ethiopians, the Arii, and the Egyptians who excel in antique lore, all worship me with their ancestral ceremonies and call me by my true name, Queen Isis.”
Disney’s Pinocchio reverses this order. Lucius encounters the goddess only after his adventures in foolishness, whereas the boy puppet is sent on his divine quest from the very beginning of the story, and then stumbles. Contrarily, Lucius is tasked with mastering death only after he has mastered the self—never the other way around.
Of this Mystery, Apuleius wrote:
“I approached the confines of death. I trod the threshold of Prosperine; and borne through the elements I returned. At midnight I saw the Sun shining in all his glory. I approached the gods below and the gods above, and I stood beside them, and I worshiped them.”
Sackcloth canvas. Apollo. Elohim above and below. Temple worship. Astral-projection. Sounds kind of like astronauts in low space orbit to me. But that’s probably none of my business.
Apuleius is letting us in upon his own intimate experiences. The man who wrote the best surviving glimpse into the Mysteries of Isis undoubtedly underwent a similar experience of immortalization. Spiritual alchemy. In a way, Lucius was his doppelganger. Perhaps it is the Ascended Masters whom he encountered. Astral-guides. The Watchers. Sons of Elohim. Divine beings. Stars. Certainly Sol Invictus. Or all of the above.
Sure, there’s creative licensing taken between Pinocchio and Ass, but its core spirit remains the same. Like the divine star fairy in Pinocchio, who transformed the puppet into a real boy, so too is Lucius granted immortality. Meaning, he has been born again into knowledge of the divine nature. He has discovered the elohim within. Even more-so, Isis has granted him power and wealth under the guiding providence of her power. He is no longer a clumsy fool dipping his hands where they don’t belong. He is a Wizard in his own rite. He will be wealthy and powerful beyond any grasp of Pleasure Island’s foolish donkeys. He will be a “discoverer” of Science, a mover and shaker of history. And just as importantly, we will know about him, because the world is a stage, and the serpentine seed has made him a star in their script.
Also, Jiminy Cricket receives his gold medal. The conscious has been transformed. Alchemy has done it’s intended work.
Elohim vs. elohim
Call them Freemasons. Call them whatever you want. The sick psychopaths running our world likely started out at one time as initiates in the Mysteries. I’ve been researching the Mystery religions for a multitude of years now, and from everything I’ve studied and read, the process goes down like this:
You enter into a dark cave, ingest DMT, participate in an orgy (all of which is complete with pyrotechnics and wild music), learn hidden truths and unutterable secrets, and then eventually, after you’ve attained enough discipline and knowledge, thereby rising through the ranks and emerging from some ceremonial shroud or coffin, the god or goddess of your devotion manifests itself before you and assigns you wealth, power, prosperity and influence under the swath of their providence. Like, you become one of those dudes we read about in Illuminati-endorsed history books. Plato. Isaac Newton. Sigmund Freud. Liberace. Walter Cronkite.
The gods have gifted us with planet earth, including everything contained within planet earth, and just about everyone loves them for it. It’s why I’ve also come to learn that Yahuah the Most-High Elohim is unlike every other elohim.
Yahuah brought a people out of physical and spiritual bondage in Egypt, led them into the wilderness, told them to pitch their tents around a mountain, and then descended from heaven in full sight of His congregation. We’re talking fire and smoke and trumpets. Nobody had to enter a cave and learn hidden mysteries or “unutterable” truths. Yahuah did all of these things before a host of witnesses, young and old, and then laid out His Law for everyone. And for every generation. Even the foreigner.
It’s like He said: “Okay, there’s going to be some dark days ahead, and the surrounding nations will lie to you and attempt to seduce you into the whore-domes of their worthless mysteries. Prophets will enter your camp and lie to you. And you may not even know what day or hour you’re living in. But whatever happens, however dark the hour, just be faithful to this Law. That’s it. It’s your lamp and your light in the gloom of night. The road is narrow, very few will find it, and if you do, it will carry you to the other side.”
Torah is our instructions in righteousness. If we love Him, then we’ll obey His house rules, because we want to live with Him, in His house. The Law is a reflection of who our heavenly Father is. If we want to be in His assembly, standing in His presence, then the Law we must obey. Try not to let cognitive dissonance win the day.
Really, it’s that simple. We too can choose the blessing under His providence. We can also choose the curse. This comes as part of disobedience. And just about everyone in history, even the very wise and educated, has hated Him for it.
I mean, people hate His Law. They absolutely hate it. Most people in the Bible hated His Law. The House of Israel neglected it to the point that they no longer knew what His Law actually said. The Pharisees added to it because they hated that His yoke was easy and His burden light. After Yahushua came to show us the way into obedience to His Law, the Christians of Antioch arrived to make acceptable doctrines for hating his Law all over again. There’s no end to it. This isn’t rocket science, people. And on a side note, they’re lying to us about that too. Space is one of those worthless mysteries I keep talking about. It derives from the Mysteries of Isis. And it’s fake.
If we refuse to listen to or keep His commands, which are eternal and for all generations, then we need to ask ourselves, why do we want to spend an eternity with Yahuah again?
Even Isis grants wishes.