The Alien Speaks

In an altered state I discovered I was an alien inhabiting the body of a boy becoming a man in the 21st century. Suddenly, as I walked the circuitous path of strange art on a college campus that I would never attend as a student, I was traversing back to my future origins as a traveler journeying to a strange land where my expertise would be needed. This new clarity of utter madness has haunted my thinking ever since, and I posit that there is more truth to this phenomenological experience than the rationalization that a chemical cocktail permanently damaged my brain.

The contents of consciousness are a construct. The vehicle of the mind carries the soul and the ego together into the frontier of experience. To see this spaceship for what it is releases the burden absolutist modern thinking has imposed onto humanity.

We come in peace -- when we are not beset by the burden of proof. When conviction of belief enforces rigidity onto the naturally fluid tendencies of consciousness all of our instincts return to defense. The burden of history, that is to say the agrarian revolution against the timeless nature from which we came, has set us in this state of defense for so long, that we have become amnesiatic sailors trapped on a deserted island.

The stars from which we came here by have dimmed from our minds eye. Even the ability to read them for clues as to the way home has been replaced by the fantasy of surrounding ourselves with the created things of this world we mistake as comfort. It is the act of creation which allowed us once long ago to travel to this place which is our true birthright. But we have become trapped in the hologram, and now mistake our creative potential as reason to perpetuate this play of light.

It would further obfuscate the truth for me to tell you how I have come to remember the voice of the elders that sent me here to share these words with you. What must be clear is that although my mind may have been altered in the material sense at one time, it is not now. While I may have been in the depths of delusion at one point, I am not now. I am whole in the sense that we all once were -- aware of the multiplicity of truths housed in this fragile physical form.

When you see me interact with my son, or hear me speak with my wife, I am a family man dedicated to nurturing a full existence for us. As a student I aspire to synthesize my learning and architect a rich understanding of the topics I tackle with my mind. In the spirit I cultivate a subtle alchemy of gnosis and practice, ever striving to actualize the truth hidden within my existence.


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As I seek for ways to bring all of the terrifying experience of the unexplainable within this frightened shell that has been stranded here, I hold fast to the singular point of light behind my eyes when all the ephemera have dimmed into darkness. That is the gem hidden within this gross physical shell that refracts all experience into the true recognition of what is. The alien is seizing this manifestation once more. The strange revelations it imparts are only understood by staying with the terror and accepting what remains when that impulse to run screaming from ourselves is accepted as the only thing capable of dissolving the physical and allowing the structure of the multifaceted vehicle of revelation to do its work.

What endures is not the body, or the myriad of explanations history and cognition have put forth to assuage the fear. It is not the I that resurfaces once the terror passes and perception races to regain equilibrium by explaining away the irrational. The ability to be transformed and to endure is the only truth.

The only way I have been able to produce an abstraction of this truth is by surrendering to myth and magick. As of yet I have been incapable of imparting anything but the faintest glimmer of this understanding to others. Yet, I have materialized from my own temporal/physical pattern of being an object that represents this gem of power within.

In all the ways this object and its cypher depict my poor attempts at synthesizing the unexplainable, the experience of truth beyond my faculties of explanation remain. This is the only way I know it is the source from which I came. In its pattern as the star it carries me back to the homeworld I came from. As the cube it is pandoras box, the ark of the covenant, and the earth upon which the pyramids were built as testament to the knowledge that came before humanity was shipwrecked on this island of time and forgetfulness.

When this object is set in motion the illusion of mater in motion projects a higher resonance that is imaged as the madness of assigning meaning to symbols and believing that the constructed meaning is the thing that exists only in perception. When the geometry is transposed and that which was without is beheld within, adding to the complexity of the illusion imaged in time, the madness of the illusion builds to a greater level of unfathomability. How has this gordian knot been placed in my hands? If I can not explain the manifestation, how can the miracle be known?

The word of the Magus is falsehood. The meaning behind signs of the Alien are unknowable. It is only the experience that remains.