|Fake Spirituality Inc.|
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|The People's Crooks Inc.|
|Third World Impoverishment Inc.|
Most of them have no idea what they’re working towards, the most bovine and least spiritually sensitive of them will imagine that they are indeed doing good and helping world progress as a whole. In their lodges they will re-enact the various mummeries they have been taught, and they may enjoy the convivial lunches, but something is eluding them, they may be sat with people who they think they know, they may be part of a group they think they understand, but unsuspected to them lies a whole other dimension of communication within the lodge, of looks and gestures, and words unspoken but whose meaning is clear to their other brothers. Of secrets, of compartmentalisation, of special meetings they know nothing about. This is the real business of the lodge.
Make no mistake, this is ‘their’ world. Everything in it is there because they’ve put it there. Their bottom line is profit and if they can corrupt humanity along the way so much the better. They do everything at cut price, polluting our food, our world and our minds. They tease us with visions of semi naked women, driving our benign desires to an acrid frenzy, sexualising everything in the whole world to make a buck, they give life and they take it away. They have instituted a fake twilight life where most of us live through our TV’s in a virtual fantasy. They make us work, they make us buy, we work, buy, on and on until we one day die. We do it all at their bidding, no wonder they act like God, albeit the old testament version of God, when they have so many souls caught in their thrall dancing to their tunes.
It was several years later from the time of my introduction to the awareness of Masonic techniques and their use in training programmes of various kinds, and their involvement in the world of TEFL teaching, that I myself was finally made a formal offer to join them, albeit an insinuating and suggestive offer. It was a job interview to a far eastern country for a teaching job. It is said that the secret services (which I later found to be entwined with Masonry when I arrived in Japan) recruit not with a word but with a look. The look is a peering penetrating stare as if they are trying to look inside you, I received the stare and just smiled back, this it seemed was the correct response as I was later told I had got the job. At the end of the interview I was also told that when I returned back to the UK in the summer I could visit my friends, but by then I’d have ‘something better than friends.’ It was clear to me then that I was being recruited not just for a job but also to enter Freemasonry.
The first thing I considered about my ‘mentor’ when I arrived in Japan, was that that he seemed somehow ill. Like terminally ill. He was a thin grey man who never seemed to sleep. I would watch him teach English to children and though he bounded about with seeming energy and enthusiasm, the smile never seemed to reach his eyes: he seemed to force the ‘happy’ expression onto his face and this made me wonder. Was he a well man? What was the burden he was shouldering to make him have to fake his way through life?
Things started off strange and grew inevitably stranger. The strange recruitment system of the Illuminati Freemasons meant that I was never solicited directly to join the Freemasons, just hints and allusions in a constant stream. For example the man would roll up the trouser on his left leg frequently for no apparent reason and ask me if I knew who I was. He would have these strange imaginary phone-calls where he would be in the next room talking to someone, rather strangely, about me. He would never explicitly talk about me but he would allude to things he must have somehow found out about me, but then de-contextualise them so it would appear random and more startling. In these phone calls he would loudly refer to himself as ‘Mr Mason’.
The odd thing about these Masonic people who have reached a certain level of initiation is that they seem able somehow to read minds or at least use some highly accurate system based on uncanny synchronicity. For example in my mind I would wonder ‘what did he just say?’ and strangely in the next room he would repeat it. I found that if he said something which I didn’t catch he would repeat himself in his imaginary conversation next door. It was an unusual coincidence to say the least. This was the first time I noticed this and on subsequent occasions have observed that some people are very definitely capable of reading minds, but this is not strictly accurate, it would be more accurate to say that they are ‘told’ what you are thinking. This is one of the results of serving what Manly P Hall the Masonic philosopher termed: the "arcanum arcandrum[i]", the secret mystery. An invisible and all encompassing awareness that knows all and communicates all to its servants in Freemasonry and other walks of life. One speaks and acts without understanding, but is fed information and instructions from this mysterious source, so that other people involved understand the words and actions and their significance. When one serves these ‘invisible masters’ one is little more than a marionette, acting for unknown purposes and without any concern for the consequences of their actions; service to the unknown ‘force’ is the ‘be all and end all’ to these advanced Freemasons. This force is what people generally know as spirits or demons.
The most unusual of these confirmations came in Egypt when I met a Nile delta farmer who provided tomatoes and various salad vegetables to Sainsbury’s supermarket. He seemed very well off and wore a suit, to say he was a farmer is probably over-stretching his role in the whole affair of growing vegetables but the fact is he was the smooth faced affluent fluent English speaker who made all the deals and got all the money. He owned the farm and since he said he was providing for Sainsbury’s it must have been rather a large farm. Without remembering the specifics about the particular conversation I came to the startling discovery as we chatted that he always seemed to say exactly what I was thinking; it was unusual because our backgrounds had been vastly different, different countries and cultures yet somehow he would say what was in my mind and a second later he would gush it out. I felt peculiar as is sometimes the case during intense periods of metaphysical flux so I did what I always did in these situations and entered a Zen state. I advise everybody in the world to learn to acquire the Zen state, it instantly provides a safe ledge over the maelstrom of a turbulent reality, when the world itself dissolves into madness and chaos and you feel the tendrils grasping towards you, hack them off with pure silence peace and stillness. Nothing matters apart from the still silence and the peace of the primeval void. It is the voice of nature. Harmonious in its perfection.
When I stilled my thoughts and literally had nothing going on inside my head he suddenly fell quiet and shrugged. Until this point he had been carrying on a machine gun fire of conversation lifted directly from my thoughts, suddenly he was still. He kind of looked at me as if beaten and shrugged. He said nothing more and left shortly after. There was no information in my mind to feed on and as such he had no instructions to follow. It seemed to me at that point that the man was wholly possessed by the "arcanum arcandrum" his every thought and action being a mere series of ‘suggestions’ from this force; always a reaction to the thoughts of the person he was speaking to, he simply had nothing of himself in any of his conversation because he no longer existed as an individual, he was a just a human interface with the hidden power. Sounds weird, make of it what you will, I just want to let you know that there are things, people and situations which are much weirder than most of us are used to.
Anyway, back to Tokyo. Things came to a head when a lady came in, and, under the cover of being a prospective new student, questioned me quite seriously about whether I wanted to join the secret services and become a spy. And it seemed to be what I had always secretly wanted all along. I used to have this nagging insecurity playing in the back of my mind like a computer subroutine. I had reached a point in my life; for so long it seemed I had been moving to different countries and semi-frantically crossing continents before it occurred to me that despite my travelling and my collection of sights and souvenirs, I wasn’t actually going anywhere. I used to get these life panics from time to time. The last time it happened to me I had just bought a single ticket from Madrid to Paris, and had paid a premium for the dubious pleasure of watching Pocahontas on the video screen just above my head. I had quit a job in Spain because it was a slave factory and I’d wound up skint and worried about the fact that I was skint again. Sooner or later it seemed to me, I would have to start taking responsibility for my life: I wasn’t young anymore, I couldn’t live a carefree existence counting on the rewards of youth, and the spectre of an infirm and impoverished old age loomed, but I was more haunted by the idea that I might in some way fail at life. I put it all down to reading John Paul Sartre and getting sucked into all their bullshit Masonic angst-riddle literature.
That the fruits and pleasures of life might be denied me, that I might be one of the losers buried in the seething underclass, my turn of mind denying me the simple folk pleasures such as football on a Saturday afternoon, soaps and walking the dog. That life wasn’t for me; I had ideas above my station. But the more knowledge I accumulated the further away the real world of money and mortgages seemed until it was gone from my horizon. It was a ridiculous charade, and a painful stressful one. There’s something about knowing too much, learning too much, that effectively removes you from a culture where soaps and walking the dog are the order of the day. Like the Pulp song Misshapes which I always loved:
“We weren’t supposed to be, we learned too much at school now we can’t help but see that the future that you’ve got mapped out is nothing much to shout about.”
I should say that life failed ME and not the other way round. The dreams of childhood had stayed with me through my early twenties like buoyant balloons full of hot air, some of them had been bobbing along with me and now looked distinctly tired and deflated, such as Fighter Pilot! What the hell was that doing there? A relic from a fourteen year-old’s Top Gun fantasy. Oddly enough there was one fantasy left, one which remained intact and still existed within the realms of feasibility: secret agent. Since being a child I had harboured a wish to be James Bond 007, to enjoy casual international travel, to lurk under and over the radar of everyday life, to be a hero, to be strong, to be....special. We all want to be special, we all have the possibility to BE special. The tragedy of life is that everybody seems in a hurry NOT to be special. To be ‘normal’; to support a football-team and have a common bond with other people. Human beings seem to be in need of the reassurance of belonging to a herd of one sort or another. A family for instance is only one sort of herd. Some cultures have huge extended families and while this is conducive to self support and independence from the state, at the same time it cannot be denied that these large extended families always impinge on the independence of the individual members.
I have no doubts that the media and the television is just another ‘herd’ which certain people belong to. ‘I read the Guardian’; ‘I think Stephen Fry is such a genius’; ’Stewart Lee doesn’t believe in God and neither do I!’ People learn to share the opinions of these hot-air balloons wafting out through the media because these people are witty, charming and successful. People subconsciously take their views and comments as authoritative and so a herd forms. The UK is really not a country made-up of individuals, but herds of people who share similar ideas and probably even wear similar clothes and behave in a similar way.
Ok, it all seems pretty naive looking back, but while in Japan I was offered the post I had always dreamed of, or at least a ‘way in’. Trouble is the whole James Bond fantasy took a tumble when I actually met the brave new generation of secret agents. It seemed that the main duty of a ‘spy’ in Tokyo was not to save the world and cause heroic explosions, but instead to sit at tables in ex-pat pubs and bars, and spend the whole time watching what all the other foreigners are doing.
Quite what they were looking for I do not know but there is something unmistakably craven and contaminated about someone who literally, spies on other people. Perhaps if the people they were spying on were dangerous or a threat to world peace but they weren’t, the spies just spied for the hell of it. One gets the feeling that their bosses had nothing for them to do most of the time so they just spent most of the time sitting in bars and spying on people drinking lager and watching sports. They were spying on nothing but people like you and me hanging out in bars. They weren’t even that good at it because you could tell they were watching you and half of you wanted to go up to them and say ‘what you looking at pal?’ but the rest of you couldn’t be bothered. Then I expect they went back and reported it all. Just sitting, watching, while pretending not to.
I don’t know about you but when I go to a pub I like to enjoy myself, these guys didn’t seem to be allowed. They seemed grave, unhappy, and uncomfortable, there really is no word however to describe the feeling one gets from meeting a spy, a kind of pity mingled with contempt. Pity at their condition, contempt that they willingly signed themselves up for it. I expect they too wanted to be just like James Bond one day.
Spies and operatives come in all shapes sizes and colours. The most intriguing but no less pitiably lost group of soul slaves concern the Filipino child minders, or at least those operatives who work under the ‘cover’ of being child minders. I shared a house in a quiet area of Tokyo called Hiro, it was just around the corner from the Slovakian embassy in a three storied house. I don’t recall the number of the house but strangely the Japanese landlord seemed to think it was ‘33’, it wasn’t however, it was 27 or something more banal, but when people mention the number 33 it should alert you that you may be dealing with Masons. The famous 33 degrees of the Scottish rite of Freemasonry represent the 33 degrees of separation between the original 0 degree longitude meridian point which passed through Paris, and the point at which the ‘watchers’ of the Old Testament were said to have arrived on Earth at Mount Hermon[ii] in Lebanon.
We went into the house and met one of the Filipino tenants, the room was on the third floor and was reached by a door on the second floor and a private staircase, the door leading up was next to the bathroom and as the landlord unlocked the door the Filipino lady said she didn’t know the room was there. Odd I thought, it seemed clear enough that there was a door, fairly close to the bathroom-door, the landlord made something of this and said, as he unlocked the door, that it was ‘a secret room’.
Often you find Masons trying to evoke mystery and mysticism at the slightest and most tenuous opportunity. From the very first meeting with these people I thought they were daft, and despite all of the extraordinary and unsuspected abilities of these Filipino women with their strong national tradition of witchcraft and magic, I left the house five months later with my initial first impressions intact. I maintain to this day that essentially the Masons are stupid. They simply do not have the awareness to see what a paltry and embarrassing life they live.
Admittedly, some of them are downright dangerous and evil, as we shall see later, but it is necessary that in order to be endangered by Masons, one must first be subservient and cowed by them, a trick I have never learned as it not the dog that walks the man but it is the man who walks the dog, and these Masons, by surrendering their free will to the orders of their hierarchy have lost their human birthright as sovereign beings, they become something else, something slightly lower on the evolutionary scale of things.
And so unwittingly I had stumbled upon a strange kind of Masonic Big Brother house. I don’t really know how else to describe it, basically it seems that after leaving the pale bone demon at Christmas time (a Tibetan bogey man who looks uncannily like my boss at the school in Tokyo) and refusing to join the secret services, I had hoped to move out and move on but it seemed that his ‘people’ were already one step ahead of me and I was back under their microscope.
There was a strange cast of characters at this house. There was a girl I nicknamed ‘Miss Snot’, an Irish girl, who was always blowing her nose and creeping about outside my door having imaginary conversations with people about me. I’ve noticed this is a tactic Masons like to use, this way they have plausible deniability if you take them to task, they can just turn on you and say ‘are you mentally ill or something? I’m talking to my friend’. Because they never said anything directly to me I decided not to say anything directly to them either. I think they got increasingly desperate as they realised that I was neither particularly interested in joining them or even talking to them. At one point as I came down from my room I noticed the girl was all dressed in white: white skirt white jumper, she said ‘hold on a minute’ disappeared for a little less than a real minute and returned all dressed in black. I knew what they were getting at, like the old Jackson song ‘It don’t matter if you’re black or white.’ Like I say: daft!
I really didn’t see the point of these silly theatrics. Had she suddenly completely changed her clothes to tell me something? Was it symbolic? Or were they merely trying to unbalance my sense of order and sanity? I suspect all of the above are true. The girl had a relatively minor role to play compared to the Filipino’s involvement in my ‘training’.
In the free Tokyo ex-pat newspapers and magazines one often finds advertisements and notices which raise many questions in themselves. If you go there now and thumb through the classifieds and jobs section, the chances are you will find offers of employment to Filipino women. One such advert I found said something along the lines of: ”wanted, psychically gifted Filipinos for ethical work in Tokyo area...” This raises two main questions immediately. Firstly, are there various agencies who know that psychic powers exist and they can use them for some purpose? Secondly if it is necessary for them to make the distinction that the work offered is ‘ethical’ then what else is going on out there behind the scenes involving ‘psychically gifted Filipinos’ which is not ethical?
It seems that I was living with just such a sample, as to whether they were ‘ethical’ or not, I have my doubts. Their cooking certainly was not. They seemed mostly to eat fish head soup and it smelt extremely bad: more like a vile spell being brewed in a cauldron than anything anyone would actually eat. But as to what these Filipino witches actually did in the house during the hours of darkness I am almost reluctant to mention it. Metaphysical experiences of the kind the Masons are involved in are so far removed from most people’s everyday reality as to be the best possible means of defence against people escaping from their clutches and trying to tell other people what it’s like. A picture soon emerges of seeming nonsense, science fiction mixed with fantasy and mental illness. Anyone who can actually accept and itemise the process of training and eventual involvement in Illuminated Freemasonry and, like me for example, manage to write it down, is finally held to ransom by the incredulity of the reader. It is up to you dear reader to try to broaden your sense of reality and what is really possible in order to accept the veracity of what I am saying. Some people may have even experienced something similar but have since put it out of their minds for lack of being able to explain what had happened to them. There may exist whole episodes of Masonic chicanery, lost in a grey haze at the very back of people’s minds. An unexplainable and uncomfortable mystery which lies there like a pearl growing inside an oyster.
What these witches seemed able to do, and indeed a South African Shaman friend of mine later confirmed this to me that it was something she could also do, was to be able to project their consciousness into somebody else’s mind. Because this kind of thing is seldom mentioned on the six o’clock news or in Eastenders, people have no awareness of it so it doesn’t exist. But there has always been throughout culture and society, a suspicion, and the odd documented cases, that something truly extraordinary lies sleeping just beneath the surface of our trivial and materialistic society. As a child it was Arthur C Clarke’s World of Strange of Powers on TV which allowed me a glimpse of this infinitely more interesting set of possibilities than Sunday roasts and the morning papers. The thing is what we call being alive and conscious is the same thing for everyone. Consciousness is not billions of separate blobs but it is one unified field. Our experience of life and our awareness is within this field. Therefore it only requires the right techniques, rituals and initiations for the person’s awareness to be removed from an isolated point of view, into seeing the bigger picture and being aware that distance, separateness and individuality, is a kind of illusion or false perspective. In the true perspective we are all one consciousness.
The Filipino witches knew this and with this awareness they acted upon my own mind and consciousness at night in a rather unsettling and unpleasant manner. I realise that there are very few accounts of this process and many of my esteemed readers may be coming to the conclusion that perhaps too much foreign sunshine has baked my brain but I would like to offer the following intriguing volume as corroboration for my experiences.
The book is called The Chasm of Fire[iii] by Irene Tweedie and documents a woman’s journey to India to study under a Sufi shaman. In the account she details the occurrence of her mentor actually entering her mind at night time and projecting all sorts of unsettling and unpleasant images in her mind. Most of the images are of a sexual nature and Tweedie fails to understand the process and why her mentor is doing such a thing to her. Eventually she comes close to a nervous breakdown and becomes very lonely and depressed to such an extent that she abandons the training. It’s a strange book, and leaves one with the lingering impression that these so called ‘wise men’ are actually expert torturers of the human psyche.
Suffice it to say I was subjected to similarly unpleasant visions and nightmares for many nights and could actually see the Filipino women in my mind’s eye. They also spoke and shrieked along with the subconscious journey I was being taken on, and the words I actually heard them say coincided with what I was experiencing in my mind. This was all quite a surprise and was fairly stressful. Fortunately for my sanity I had learned some techniques of psychic self defence. The first was to fire arrows at the witches in my mind’s eye and it seemed to have an effect as they would cease their shrieking and mind tricks. However the second method was more satisfactory as it was non-aggressive and more ‘ethical’.
I had taught myself Zen meditation and could close down my mind and cease all mental activity at any time. Very useful if you are starting to lose control of what’s happening in your mind. There are many people who attribute disordered thoughts or strange discarnate voices speaking to them, as a technological method of attack, but my awareness is that all of these happen as a result of the Masonic and Wiccan techniques of hacking consciousness which they have perfected over thousands of years and kept secret mainly by flooding the world with materialism in order to direct most people’s awareness towards a red herring.
From what I have observed of the higher realms of Masonry there is much that is very sinister indeed. The mysteries of initiatic science: the birthright which is kept from the profane, is little short of black magic and is used (again from what I have observed) to create nothing short of a mind controlled international army which at any time can be mobilised to perform any task without consultation of individual conscience and under strict, military style orders.
What better way to control someone’s mind than by actually being there? These people can literally be present in your mind as you go about your business. This is a dark side to the new age goal of ‘oneness’. It all sounds very cosy but oneness with what? What they mean is ‘oneness’ with the hierarchy: every person has their place and position and their psychic orders. You can imagine how complete the slavery must be when you can’t leave the room where the master is giving orders, or stick your fingers in your ears because the master is inside you forever.
I soon realised that if these people could get inside my head then it would be the death of freedom, individuality, privacy, autonomy, and all the things that we treasure and enjoy. So I made my mind up and flew out of there and came back to the UK. They were getting increasingly desperate though in the last few weeks before I decided to leave and at one point the whole group gathered outside my door and spoke of ‘initiation’. The secret agent dreams and the riches of success and wealth would just have to go on hold. I would rather be poor and free than a rich slave. Any day.
In retrospect I am extremely glad I never joined the Masons, not only to hang on to my individuality, but that, with research, I have uncovered the truth behind the disturbing rumours about their various unpleasant activities.
[i] Manly P. Hall, Lectures on Ancient Philosophy: An Introduction to Practical Ideals, p. 433, Published by Philosophical Research Society, Incorporated, 1984
[ii] Chapter 13 of the Book of Enoch
[iii] The Chasm of Fire: A Woman's Experience With the Teachings of a Sufi Master (Element Classic Editions) Paperback – July 1, 1993 by Irina Tweedie