Multiple universes and enhanced life

Multiple universes and enhanced life

Notes toward a theory of overlapping universes

by Jon Rappoport

October 28, 2016

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

“If everything is already connected to everything, as we’re told, the universe would be one dead hot dog, long past its expiration date. We should, instead, be considering a universe of separated forces, and when they come in contact, they can produce sparks of surprise, novelty, spontaneous energy, and synchronous possibilities…” (The Magician Awakes, Jon Rappoport)

“The 19th French Impressionist painters were all dedicated to revealing light in nature. They made all their subjects bathe in it. But each painter pursued that goal in a different way, as if he were describing a different universe. Perhaps they were also showing the collision of several universes…” (The Magician Awakes)

Consider a different way of looking at things: The life we are living has an invisible characteristic which is massively important.

This characteristic is the meeting and overlapping of separate universes.

When this phenomenon occurs, it produces what some people call synchronicity. The important thing is: this synchronicity is spontaneous in the moment and alive and vital and brimming with possibility. If we recognize it, it “fills the cup to the brim” and spills over. It is abundant.

Some physicists claim that, in order to make sense out of quantum theory, in order to track its implications, you need to accept multiple universes.

If you wanted to move into even deeper waters, you would consider the proposition that such universes interconnect and overlap.

During roughly the same period that quantum theory appeared, painters were exploring simultaneous universes. Cubism and Collage (Picasso, Braque), Surrealism (Dali, Max Ernst, Roberto Matta). Writers were moving that direction (Rimbaud, Andre Breton, Apollinaire, Jarry).

Conceiving of this universe as one space-time continuum would naturally lead to the question, “Why not more than one continuum?”

Dreams, in their episodic unfolding, shift radically from one scene to another, and the dreamer isn’t jolted out of sleep by the changes. He goes on the ride. He’s absorbed in the action. He’s a kind of explorer, on a search, and if the voyage takes him from one universe to another, so be it.

But in waking time, we want our experience to be serial, to follow the rules. We want our language to bolster the rules. Subject, verb, object. And so we ask, as well, that our problems lead to solutions in a straight line.

Occasionally, we might wonder whether there is an entirely different way to effect solutions, particularly when we’re dealing with a stubborn or chronic problem.

In a way, that was my impetus for developing what I call Magic Theater, based on Psychodrama, in which people would improvise roles in dialogue with each other.

For example, when faced with Problem X, the person plays the role of “the person who has already solved X.” And in this role, he speaks with “someone who is struggling with X.”

A new situation is invented, where two separate universes, so to speak, collide and overlap.

Or a person plays the role of Problem X itself and speaks as that problem, to someone who is playing the role of “an inhabitant of a universe in which Problem X could never exist.”

In a general sense, you simply have two people play the roles of inhabitants of vastly different kinds of universes. They sit and talk to each other.

In approaching the subject of simultaneous overlapping universes, the notion of synchronicity pops up. Thirty years ago, I used to walk around Los Angeles with my camera snapping hundreds of pictures. At the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, on a Saturday afternoon, I was standing outside the main building taking pictures of Rodin’s large sculpture, The Burghers of Calais. A heavy-set woman wearing a long coat suddenly stepped into the scene and looked up at one of the Burghers. I caught her in the frame and snapped the shot. Later, when the black-and-white photo was developed, it turned out that her overhanging hair-do was nearly identical to the piled up arrangement of hair on the Burgher she was staring at. Her head was the same wedge shape as the Burgher’s. The similarity and the dissonance (a metal man, a flesh-and-blood woman, from two different epochs) were startling.

A few minutes later, inside the Museum, I was focusing my camera on a very large painting of several 18th-century courtesans reclining on a couch in a luxurious chamber hung with rich heavy curtains. This was just the kind of painting I would ordinarily pass without a second glance. Two girls stepped in front of the painting and looked up at it. I snapped several shots. Later, after developing them, I saw that the girls were wearing all sorts of costume bracelets and rings. The contrast between the girls’ and the courtesans’ jewelry, and between the young fresh faces of the girls and the opulent experienced faces of the courtesans, was quite marvelous—and the photo diminished the distance and separateness between the girls and the painting. The universe of the girls and universe of the painting suddenly met and overlapped.

As a wandering photographer in Los Angeles, I experienced many of these spontaneous synchronicities.

This was a different order of reality. I would never have found it, had I not been carrying a camera and taking pictures. It would have been invisible. But there it was, on film.

I was prompted to think that the reality of the street is much more than we usually believe it to be. That “more” is actually there, all the time. But we stumble past it.

The “more” is multiple universes. We ignore them, because we’re trained to.

Suppose we are actually living in multiple universes all the time, and the gist of it, all the time, is the spontaneity and surprise and novelty that imparts life and vitality to the whole operation. If we could see it.

And we don’t see it, because every time we experience a glimpse of it, we discount it as “fantasy,” and we stash those moments, as memories, in the place where they seem to belong, THE IMAGINATION.

And then, by living with imagination, we re-discover simultaneous overlapping universes….

We expect and insist on a flow of cause and effect in space.
That’s the way we conceive of events. A to B to C to D.

This is the story of investigation in this universe. And it works, of course. It works brilliantly.

What happens in an engine? Trace the flow of energy through the working parts and out into another mechanical framework where the energy gets something done. A to B to C.

I’m simply proposing an additional way of looking at events.

As an analogy, take this odd view of magnetism. The piece of iron is already “attract-able.” It has that quality. And the quality involves vibration, motion, a reaching out. And then we have the magnet, which already has the quality called “capable of attracting something.” And the magnet and the piece of iron are separate and simultaneous worlds. And it is this fact that gives strength to the overall attraction. The magnet and the piece of iron could forever exist as separate. They could never meet. They are self-contained worlds. They aren’t inherently connected because of their “attitudes” toward attraction. They are whole and separate. Then, when they come near each other, there is an explosion, an overlapping, which stems from what they already are.

And in the same way, separate but simultaneous percolating of different processes in the body meet and overlap. Side by side “worlds” operating in their own ways, in the body, create a condition of health.

Imagine that each “world” in the body exudes energy radiations, its own particular DIFFERENT radiations. The neurotransmitters do. The hormones do. The blood system does. The digestive system does. The immune system does. And so on. And when all these distinct and different energy outputs, as multiple universes, meet and overlap, you get health.

We are tuned to say, “Well, health is expected and understood when everything is working well. We know about health. We’re very familiar with it.” But suppose the situation I described above—separate universes in the body simultaneously existing side by side—IS REALLY A SYNCHRONICITY, in the sense that its nature is surprise. A thing that wasn’t predicted and isn’t blandly familiar at all. Just as people you never expected to be walking on the street at the same moment are showing up on the same street at the same moment, and you never notice that surprise because you’re trained to expect the category called “people walking on the same street”—in that same sense, these worlds of operation in the body are all about surprise and novelty and are really of a fantastic nature—and THAT is somehow why health appears.

Spontaneity, over and over and over again.

Exit From the Matrix

And suppose we are actually living in multiple universes all the time, and the gist of it, all the time, is the spontaneity and surprise and novelty of the overlappings.

And we don’t see it, because every time we experience a glimpse of it, we discount it as “fantasy,” and we stash those moments in the place where they seem to belong, THE IMAGINATION.

Many people, these days, want to say “TOGETHER, not SEPARATE.” They have their reasons, which are too tiresome to rehash. I’m suggesting that separate can be brilliant, can imply simultaneity, spontaneity, the juice of life, multiple universes.

After all, when physicists say “multiple universes,” do you immediately jump in and say, “Well, they’re just one really big universe”? Do you? Or do you admit the fascination of OTHER universes not inextricably bound to the same laws as this one? Other places, other events, other people, different, thrilling.

When you dream, do you tell yourself all dreams are actually one big glob of dreaming, or do you jump in and explore the unique landscape in front of you in the dream you’re in? And isn’t it exciting when one dream collides with the next one, and you make the jump—from one universe to another?

So…what makes the life we know interesting and intriguing and thrilling and worth living is actually: the collision of multiple universes that naturally deliver spontaneity, surprise, novelty, and synchronicities that give us the chance of discovering new paths and roads and futures.

And along those roads, we can invent greater futures than we had previously imagined…

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at or OutsideTheRealityMachine.

Duck Dynasty On Trial

Duck Dynasty On Trial

by Jon Rappoport

December 27, 2013

Author’s note: Based on experience, I know at least a few people out there will believe this is a factual account of a true trial. Brain damage? Public-school education? Drugs?

No, this account isn’t real.

It’s more real than real.

I have never met Phil Robertson. I’ve never watched Duck Dynasty. The last time I ate duck was 1968. I went back to chicken and turkey. I’ve seen ducks. The ones with green heads are attractive. I believe ducks are well-behaved, in contrast to their distant relatives, geese, which are a quite nasty bunch. And that’s it.

This is a transcript of the secret trial of Phil Robertson, patriarch of Duck Dynasty.

The trial was held in chambers, with only a robot stenographer present, as a third party, on May 2, 2014, in the US Federal Court of Public Speech and Hate Crimes, Judge Tomas de Torquemada presiding.

The Judge conducted an interview of the defendant and rendered an absolute and final verdict.

The transcript was leaked to this author. The anonymous leaker is now being sought by Homeland Security. His whereabouts are unknown. It is rumored he has gained “asylum” in the swamps of Louisiana.

Judge Torquemada: Good morning, Mr. Robertson. I see your gag and shackles have been removed. Are you comfortable?

Phil Robertson: My mouth is fuzzy, Your Honor.

Judge Torquemada: Fuzzy? Fuzz? Is that a derogative reference to the police?

Phil Robertson: What? No. My mouth is dry.

Judge Torquemada: Do you own a gun?

Phil Robertson: Yes.

Judge Torquemada: Do you ever think about guns in a positive light?

Phil Robertson: Sure.

Judge Torquemada: Indicates an undiagnosed psychiatric condition requiring treatment. For the record, I want to state that, contrary to media reports, the defendant has not been placed in thumb screws or a stock. Homeland Security had, in fact, brought these devices to the defendant’s cell, but upon examination, they were non-functional.

Phil Robertson: Your Honor, the cops set a speaker outside my cell and blared loud music for two days.

Judge Torquemada: Correction. These were federal agents, not “cops.” The purpose of the music was to deter you from hate-ruminating.

Phil Robertson: Why am I on trial? This is a federal proceeding. My conflict was with a cable television network, a private corporation.

Judge Torquemada: True, but when the public response rose to a pitch of 147 [a federal “red-line” index-measurement], it became a national security issue.

Phil Robertson: Security against what threat?

Judge Torquemada: Hate speech is a kind of bomb. Its detonation creates ripples. To put it another way, it is a highly contagious germ. Permitting it to spread unchecked results in escalating levels of hate directed toward protected groups.

Phil Robertson: So I’m a disease carrier?

Judge Torquemada: Your words, sir.

Phil Robertson: I was being sarcastic.

Judge Torquemada: Sarcasm directed at a law-enforcement officer is a crime. Haven’t you seen the “no jokes, please” signs placed at airport security checkpoints? The stenographer will note that Mr. Robertson has just committed a class A felony. Let us proceed. Mr. Robertson, did you voice, in a magazine interview, the opinion that homosexuality is a sin?

Phil Robertson: I did.

Judge Torquemada: And when you made that comment, were you acting the role you play on your television show, Duck Dynasty?

Phil Robertson: Are you kidding?

Judge Torquemada: Another piece of sarcasm. Stenographer, make a note. .

Phil Robertson: On the show, I’m myself. I’m not playing someone else.

Judge Torquemada: Why did you assail homosexuality?

Phil Robertson: I didn’t assail anything. But I believe homosexuality is a sin.

Judge Torquemada: On what basis?

Phil Robertson: The Bible, which is the word of God.

Judge Torquemada: In other words, religion.

Phil Robertson: My religious conviction.

Judge Torquemada: Are you aware the Constitution mandates a separation between Church and State?

Phil Robertson: I’m not a government employee speaking on behalf of the government. I’m a private citizen.

Judge Torquemada: Yes, but when your statements become public, and when they take on the characteristics of a contagious organism, the government must assert a position vis-a-vis public life. Public life is the government’s domain.

Phil Robertson: Since when?

Judge Torquemada: More sarcasm. You’re piling up offenses, sir. As you may know, holding strong religious feelings of a fundamentalist nature is listed, in various law-enforcement manuals, as one of the telltale signs of potential terrorist activity.

Phil Robertson: I’m not a terrorist. I love my country.

Judge Torquemada: So you claim the Bible condemns homosexuality.

Phil Robertson: It does.

Judge Torquemada: I’ve read the relevant passages. Would you admit the Bible is an example of hate speech?

Phil Robertson: No.

Judge Torquemada: But you see, it is. And therefore it should be banned, or at least censored to remove the offending statements.

Phil Robertson: God made those statements.

Judge Torquemada: And you believe in this God. So you are aiding and abetting. And God is guilty of hate speech. He should be censored as well. If he existed, he would be.

Phil Robertson: He does exist, sir. I’m sure He’s watching this trial.

Judge Torquemada: I’m taking that as a veiled threat against a federal official. Clerk, make another note. This is an act of terrorism under the Patriot Act.

Phil Robertson: You’re right, it is a threat. But it’s not coming from me.

Judge Torquemada: You’re delusional, sir. You, knowing the mind of a fictional God? You needed treatment a long time ago. Anti-psychotic medication, at the very least. Perhaps shock treatment or a partial lobotomy. It’s too late now, though. This trial will proceed. By the way, do you have an unlicensed vegetable garden on your property? Do any of your relatives sell lemonade by the side of the road? Have they ever brought a toy gun or a picture of a gun to school? Have they ever posted a political statement on Facebook? Stenographer, make a note to launch an investigation into these potential violations.

Phil Robertson: What happened to a jury of my peers?

Judge Torquemada: I am that jury, by proxy. I am every citizen who has ever suffered at the hands of haters. I take my responsibility seriously. I carry that burden with pride. I am also no one. I earn no fame from my position. I serve humbly. I refuse personal gain from this work. I believe in the ultimate Oneness of the people and the State.

Phil Robertson: You lost me there. How can you be no one? You’re a judge. You decide cases. You’re supposed to refer to the law of the land. The First Amendment right to free speech. And where does any law state that the people and the State are the same thing? I disagree with all of this. You’re just cooking up a sentence for me. The people are above the government. The government was created to serve the people. This isn’t a dictatorship.

Judge Torquemada: You’re wrong on every count, Mr. Robertson. One, I make my decisions on behalf of the people. Two, free speech doesn’t extend to incendiary pronouncements. Three, the people and the State are very much the same thing, because the State is the embodiment of the people’s needs. For the good of all. We’re all in this together. If we weren’t, we would have chaos. My job is to cull the outsiders, who are a threat to the Whole and the common social contract. You’re also wrong when you claim the government shouldn’t take you into custody and put you on trial. You attack gay men, a protected group. That’s a crime.

Phil Robertson: I wasn’t attacking them. I was saying they’re wrong. They’re committing a sin.

Judge Torquemada: Yes, and statements have consequences.

Phil Robertson: If we had to account for all the consequences of what we say, if we had to be responsible for every interpretation another person might place on what we say, we’d all be silent.

Judge Torquemada: That option has been considered. I take it you have no intention of retracting your injurious statements about homosexuality.

Phil Robertson: I wouldn’t retract my religious faith, either.

Judge Torquemada: Will you throw yourself on the mercy of the court?

Phil Robertson: I’m not seeing any mercy here. “The court” is slicing a whole lot of baloney.

Judge Torquemada: And your God will punish me for it?

Phil Robertson: That’s up to Him.

Judge Torquemada: How would he punish me?

Phil Robertson: He has his own court. He makes the rules.

Judge Torquemada: Care to hazard a guess?

Phil Robertson: I don’t know, maybe seasoning and roasting you on a spit?

Judge Torquemada: Where is his mercy, then?

Phil Robertson: He sent his only Son, Jesus, to die for all our sins. So we could be redeemed. That’s seems like mercy to me.

Judge Torquemada: Toward the son?

Phil Robertson: Toward all of humanity. His Son could take care of Himself. He endured His suffering and pain.

Judge Torquemada: I’d like to see you burning at the stake on a boat floating down the Hudson River.

Phil Robertson: I’d like to see you when you meet your Maker fifteen seconds after you die.

Judge Torquemada: Before I pass sentence on you, sir, I’d like you to understand the bigger picture. Make no mistake, you are an obstruction to the aims of the State, and I will remove the obstruction. But on a different level, and this is important to grasp, the whole embroilment between the “the people of faith” and the “gay community” is a shadow play designed to distract the population from the theft of their world.

The new world coming into being has nothing to do with “rights” or “special interests” or “protected groups.” These are ultimately fictions of convenience. The new world is entirely composed of special interests, by which I mean giant corporations that are taking over the production of all significant goods and services, and their distribution.

The men who operate that program are kings. The population of earth will be the labor force and the consumers. In their leisure time, they will take their little pleasures as they see fit.

You, sir, are a temporary fleck of contagion in this bloodstream, because the kind of freedom you represent, in cartoon form, is independent of the State. The new freedom is under the roof of the giant factory and the giant office building and the government building and inside the warrens of workers’ living quarters. It is freedom inside the system.

As limited as that freedom will be, it is based on superficial physical pleasures. Choose this pleasure or that. If having sex with inanimate objects became a popular trend, it would first be tolerated, and then eagerly championed. Whatever it takes to sustain the workers’ sense of personal satisfaction.

Do you glimpse the real perspective now, sir?

I could sentence you to death or life in prison. I could lock you up in a mental institution, where doctors would work on you and, after a few years of treatment, you would never be able to think a cogent thought again. But instead, I will take a humane course and release you back into the world.

I’m confident that, within a year or so, you’ll find yourself in the middle of an unseemly scandal, and your reputation will suffer irreparably. You will be a stained man, another popular figure who faded into obscurity.

These scandals have a way of surfacing without warning…if you get my meaning…

The Matrix Revealed

Phil Robertson: I’m a simple country boy, Judge. A lot of what you just said went by me—

Judge Torquemada: Really? I doubt that. You’re no barefoot redneck. You and your family were rich before Duck Dynasty ever became a television show.

Phil Robertson: Any person can voice his opinion. That freedom has all those ripples you spoke about. It spreads. Other people wake up. This isn’t a little thing. It’s bigger than big. I know you want to stop it. You’re in a bad place with that. It isn’t going to work.

Judge Torquemada: Oh, it’s already working. We’re an army of disciplinarians. We’re everywhere.

Phil Robertson: Who’s in a delusion now? Your thing’s boomeranging. You people went too far. Most Americans are willing to settle for live-and-let-live, but you want a lot more.

Judge Torquemada: I’m still a fifteenth-century man, Mr. Robertson. I want a confession from you. I’ll settle for one between us, in this room. Now. Alone.

Phil Robertson: A confession of what?

Judge Torquemada: Your sins.

Phil Robertson: That’s between God and me.

Judge Torquemada: You’re missing the point. Between you and “your God,” now stands the State. You have to go through the State. All roads are built that way.

Phil Robertson: Okay. I confess to being right about what I said in the magazine interview. And the last time I looked, a man doesn’t have to apologize for being right.

Judge Torquemada: Don’t you understand? There is no more “being right.” Every statement a person makes is judged by its effect on others. That’s the filter.

Phil Robertson: Then why didn’t the State just censor my interview?

Judge Torquemada: Because we’d get too much blowback. In this day and age, we use media and public reaction as our censor. We invent public reaction when necessary.

Phil Robertson: I’m outside the State. What I have as a human being isn’t given to me by the State.

Judge Torquemada: That’s all changing. Soon, it’ll be obvious to everyone that they have all the diseases and the mental disorders the State says they have, from cradle to grave. And that’s just one example of how the great change is coming about. People will have only the money the State says they have, only the property the State says they have, only the freedom to assemble and travel the State says they have.

Phil Robertson: That’s not America. That doesn’t have anything to do with America.

Judge Torquemada: America is a fantasy that’s dying out. It’s just a name, a word. America is part of that new world I mentioned. It’s a contributing member. It abides by international rules, for the good and glory of the whole body.

Phil Robertson: Here’s another part of my confession, Judge. You’re a madman.

Judge Torquemada: Correction. I’m a servant of the cutting edge. You’re a throwback. I’m the new revolutionary spirit. If people knew me, they’d hail me as a most humane creature toiling on behalf of the poor, the suffering, the ignored, the oppressed. They’d build statues of me. I’m an officer in the poor people’s army. And our ranks are growing every day.

Phil Robertson: You’ll be stopped.

Judge Torquemada: Do you realize how hollow that sounds? You’re talking from the past, Mr. Robertson. You’re a desperate man flailing against change. You’re a small ogre in a swamp, stomping around and gibbering. Already, new events and stories are superseding your outbursts.

Phil Robertson: You’re a loser. You have nothing of your own. You’re an empty shell. You’re just a reflection of the mob.

Judge Torquemada: Finally, something on which we agree. I never wanted to be anything more. I’m the sum total of what people believe they need, which is satisfaction delivered to them by the State.

Phil Robertson: If, tomorrow, people woke up, you’d just fall apart like dust.

Judge Torquemada: Ah, but you see, they won’t wake up. They don’t want to. They don’t want to be independent. Think about this. If the best that can be offered, in the way of a strong independent man, a hero, is you, a cartoon on a television show, then what chance is there that we’ll see a return to individual “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”

Phil Robertson: I’m not trying to be a hero.

Judge Torquemada: For a few weeks, you were, to a fraction of the population. It was a tempest in a teacup. It’s over now. You have nowhere to go. That’s why I’m making my offer.

Phil Robertson: What offer?

Judge Torquemada: Why, to join us, of course. Work on the winning side. Expunge your sins. Take your place in the force that is shaping the new world.

Phil Robertson: Doing what?

Judge Torquemada: Speak on behalf of the poor, the suffering, the oppressed, the needy, the victims all around us.

Phil Robertson: My faith is in Jesus, and He speaks for the suffering in His way.

Judge Torquemada: Exactly. You want to express your deep faith? Do it in that fashion. Come back in the public eye as the defender of those who can’t defend themselves. Emphasize that part of your savior’s message. We really are in this together. You only have to see it. All that other misdirected action—throwing the money changers out of the temple, making accusations against the wicked, decrying evil—it’s unnecessary. By serving needs of the needy, and nothing else, all our goals are achieved.

Phil Robertson: I don’t decide what Jesus should or shouldn’t have done.

Judge Torquemada: Stop thinking in terms of deciding. That’s the old way. Just do what’s best for everybody.

Exit From the Matrix

[Robo-Stenographer 240s-vT2 note: At that moment, the room went dark. When the lights came back on, a few minutes later, both the Judge and the defendant were gone.]

Update: (AP) July 2, 2014: “The family of Duck Dynasty patriarch, Phil Robertson, has finally confirmed that Mr. Robertson went missing after a trip to Washington DC two months ago.

This coincides with the national uproar stemming from an unconfirmed report that Mr. Robertson has shaved his beard, cut his hair, and has purchased a gay massage parlor in San Francisco.

The scandal has exploded globally across websites, blogs, and tabloids. Even mainstream news outlets are carrying the story and reporting new developments on a daily basis.

A gaggle of conspiracy theorists claim the unconfirmed massage-parlor-purchase report, which they call a blatant falsehood, came from a highly placed government source. White House Press Secretary Edward Bernays brushed aside these claims as speculative paranoia.

‘Why would the government concern itself with such matters in the first place?’ he said. ‘Duck Dynasty? We’re talking about a television show. Some people like to imagine the government is forwarding a culture war. We have far more important issues to deal with. We serve the needs of the people of the United States. Furthermore, as the federal brain-mapping project reaches the end of its first stage, researchers have discovered that freedom is merely a series of neurochemical reactions, which can be switched on or off by an external operator…’”

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at



FEBRUARY 28, 2012. Every large civilization eventually prefers robots to people. It’s question of management and organization.

What is the most efficient way to move pieces around on the board?

Of course, this presupposes that the major decisions are coming from the top. Well, in a huge organization, where else would they flow from?

It doesn’t matter whether the president, chief, CEO, leader presents himself as a hawk or a dove. He assumes wide-ranging personal freedom is a disposable commodity. It can be shaped and re-fitted and cut down. Freedom isn’t important. What’s important is the model. The structure. The lines of command.

At the same time, the people are attached to visions and dreams of freedom, so they must be pacified with rhetoric. But after a certain point, even fragrant lies aren’t going to carry the day. So the emphasis has to shift to The Group. The We. The all-encompassing collective. Expressed as an ideal, a quasi-religious notion. A goal.

As if everybody has always known that the “I” is a minor theme in the symphony of “We.”

And this plays well for all the people who have no clear-cut sense of themselves as individuals. They see no problem, because they have already sacrificed themselves on the altar of some collective. They like this tune of “We.” It makes them feel comfortable. It allows them to ignore any nagging remnants of memory, wherein they were strong individuals.

And remember, the promoted “We” is a con. It isn’t real. It’s a device, a strategy to bring populations into line, inside the structure.

Yet, even among those independent individualists who can maintain their awareness, there are frustrations and confusions. Where is the power? Where is the transcendent ability to thrive in the midst of the herd?

Where is the magic?

Free, strong, and powerful” work up to a point, but what happens when one feels he’s drilling at a steel wall a mile thick?

Answer: the same thing that would happen if a person tried to run on one leg.

If he had forgotten he has two.

And this forgotten quality is that much maligned thing called imagination.

Often comprehended in the abstract; sometimes deployed for moments here and there; but rarely used with enough intensity long enough to surmount consensus reality.

People offer a litany of excuses for “misplacing their imagination.”

It all boils down to this: “I’ve bought consensus reality lock, stock, and barrel, and now I want to use my imagination while remaining a dues-paying member of the comfortable consensus.”

Jack True, the brilliant hypnotherapist I interview 40 times in my new collection, The Matrix Revealed, used to call this bind “the ant and the honey.”

The ant loves the honey. It’s spread out all over the ground in large pools. The ant keeps going at it, and sooner or later he begins to believe the supply is endless. He begins to become bored as well, but he can’t think of what else to do. The honey is there. He likes honey. He senses he has some capacity that will allow him to “get past” it, but he can’t quite grasp what it is. He also feels that, if he gives up the honey, he’ll suffer. He’ll be cut off. He’ll have nothing. He’ll discover he’s nothing without his addiction. After weeks or months, he feels ill. His health is deteriorating. But he assumes this is just the price he has to pay to live among the pools of honey. It’s the way life is…

For the past 50 years, I’ve been embarked on a path of research whose purpose is increasing the range and power of imagination.

Consensus reality is, more and more, a worn-out stage play. It revisits the same territory, over and over.

You could call it the universal conspiracy. Why? Because it takes widespread participation to maintain the illusion.

Imagination is the faculty that can and does breathe new life into the actions of the individual and the world.

Not as a one-time shot in the arm; not as a one-time effort at manifestation; not as a piece of vague wishful rumination. Instead, imagination as the fuel and the engine and the compass, the central energy.

And then, there is enough magic.

Then life takes off and the work to reach new horizons means something, because you’re inventing those horizons.

Jon Rappoport

Jon is the author of a new collection, THE MATRIX REVEALED.





by Jon Rappoport

January 21, 2012


My phone buzzed. It was the president. He told me he needed me in his office. The revolution in Iraq was gathering steam, and an Islamist majority in parliament was likely after the next election.


I told him I’d be there in two hours.


Where are you?” he said.


New York. I had to fly up here. A few pieces of quick business. I’m almost done.”



Pushing through the late-afternoon winter crowds, crossing the line from Chinatown into Little Italy, I saw the faces change and I began to hear Italian, and I saw my man.


Just over six feet, compact muscle, wearing a black leather jacket. His eyes were closed. He was feeling his way between people. His bald head was shining under the sinking sun. His hands were large. He flexed them as he moved.


First came the brief sting of images: snake, lizard, dragon. Each with embroidery. Scrolled hieroglyphics, Chinese pictographs, Runes.


Next, nationalities: Dutch, Norwegian, finally German.


I glanced at molded propositions, a length of chain links he subconsciously deployed, the end of which was murder.


I caught the end of a red directional line and followed it. I turned from Mott to Canal to Broadway, knowing my map was scrambled, as it always was, because I was no longer, strictly speaking, walking the streets of New York.


In a small alley, there was a parked black Escalade. This place was also fantastical, and I would never find the actual one. I didn’t need to. I worked my end-game in an equivalent, which nevertheless carried its crucial moments into the waking world.


I had long since stopped trying to plumb the meaning of the change.


I was there, at the car, when he arrived. We were alone. He looked at me with open hatred, as if he knew I had been coming.


Why are you photographing me?” he said.


Is that what you think I’m doing?” I said.


He opened his jacket. I observed transparent spheres containing gears within gears. I smelled burning ash. The sun, light blue, was overhead among clouds, floating in a lake of wandering corpuscles that orchestrated gusts of wind.


I was a 20-foot tall character in a children’s book. I raised a sledgehammer over my head and brought it down on the pavement next to him. The sidewalk shattered, and he fell silently into the hole.


I dropped the sledgehammer, walked over, and peered into it.


Twenty feet down, emitting a blue glow, a small stone castle stood on a carpet of moss. I couldn’t see him.


Suddenly, a welter of hot smoky emotion rolled up from the hole and struck me in the gut.


I was back in my cabin in the Andes. I heard running water from a stream, the chopping of wood, and farther away, the coughing of an old car laboring on a hill. I stood up straight and the pain was gone.


I looked around the dim room. The floor had gathered dust. My narrow bed was upended, and the mattress, lying a few feet away, had been cut into pieces.


Taped on the mirror above the bureau was a small rectangle of gray paper. Scrawled on the paper: “he was a terrorist.”


I had written it to remind myself where I had been.


I had cut the mattress apart, to alert myself that it was time to leave this place.


Then I was in rocky hills, jumping up to the summit, where I could see chunks of walking food. I spotted four of them. They all turned toward me and then ran.


I pursued one of them as it raced low to the ground, remembering the man in New York was dead, remembering I had taken my work seriously, remembering my father was living alone in a brownstone on West 90th Street, off Central Park West.


The son he knew was a lowly janitor on the High-line, a walkway built over an old elevated subway between 14th and 23rd Street.


My job was sweeping the concrete, spearing food containers, and wiping down the railings.


My father wasn’t proud of me. He was bewildered about what I had made of my life.


I caught the small thing between my teeth, shook it three times, and broke its neck. I carried it to a place between rocks, lay down, and took a bite of flesh.


When I had finished my meal, I head a voice say, “Let’s kill that boy.”


It was coming from a car parked near the equivalent of the corner of 17th Street and 10th Avenue. I walked over to the car, rapped on the window, and held my policeman’s badge against it.


The window slid down. I didn’t wait to see the faces. I blew a breath of paralyzing amnesia into the car, turned, and walked away.


I passed a bookstore. Inside the huge window, ducks in a row, were hardbound volumes with the title: SHAPESHIFTER: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. One of my names was listed as the author.


Probably a misstep. I make them.


I walked into the store, along an aisle of best sellers, and into a room where a hundred people were crowded, listening to a woman in a business suit. She was channeling an entity and doling out monotonous advice.


I tore away the veil of surmise, and suddenly everyone in the room realized the woman was inventing the Other.


After a minute, the listeners began getting up and filing out. Disappointed hurricane watchers; today’s storm didn’t make landfall.


After the room was empty, the woman in the business suit stared at me.


What do you want?” she said.


Nothing,” I said. “But would you like to become an elephant? I could teach you how to switch back and forth.”


Get out of here,” she said.


Then, she was an elephant poised on cheap electric-blue carpet.


I waited a moment.


Would you like to come back?” I said.


She flicked her mottled trunk at me.


At that moment, several federal agents walked into the room.


I held up my badge.


NYPD,” I said.


That’s okay,” one of the agents said. “We’re after the elephant. It’s a shapeshifter.”


Lot of that going around these days,” I said. “Have they passed a law against it yet?”


National Security issue,” the agent said.


Well, it would be. They’re upsetting the very foundations of our way of life.”


He glared at me.


You making a joke, Officer?”


I spread my hands.


Hell no. I mean it. We can’t let these creatures roam the streets.”


The elephant made her charge and thundered by me, her mud-stained eyes glowing with hellfire.


I was sitting in the Oval Office, across from the president at his desk.


Before we get to the Iraq situation, sir, I can give you a list of the precise lies you need to tell to be reelected.”


He scratched the back of his head.


How is your list different from my list?” he said.


Well, we’ll have to compare them,” I said. “But I assure you mine is the result of a lifetime of careful research.”


Yes,” he said. “But if I read your compilation and I’m not satisfied, what then?”


Then,” I said, “I can turn you into another man who stands a better chance of winning.”


And what do I do with the old me?”


Oh, you’d still be the president, but you would have undergone a complete personality shift.”


He leaned forward.


You think I need one?” he said.


Have you ever considered becoming a ferret?”


A what?”


Or an owl?”


Are you out of your mind?”


I could give you the personality of a ferret or a porcupine. People respond to animals. Nixon was a weasel. Bush was a kangaroo. Obama was an undernourished whippet. What do you want to be?”


The president stared at me.


You’re serious,” he said.


I nodded. “Of course I’m serious. Without an animal persona, you’re basically invisible.”


Well, I’ve always liked mules,” he said.


That won’t work. How about a copperhead? We haven’t had a copperhead since Woodrow Wilson.”


He shook his head. “No snakes. But perhaps an ant. An ant is a man of the people. Member of a group, a collective.”


When I poured honey on his desk, he bent over and began lapping at it.


From the walls of the Oval Office streamed thousands of ants. They came in files and ascended the desk and approached the honey. I heard a faint chittering as they procured their drops and turned and scaled down the legs of the desk. The whole operation was very orderly.


Sir,” I said, “you’ll win in a landslide.”


He smiled horribly at me and went back to lapping the orange goo.


I spoke to him in low confidential tones.


Mr. President, now that you’re in full possession of the hive-nest-colony consciousness, you realize your sacred duty to act against serious threats to the collective. Twenty years ago, it was discovered that pharmaceutical drugs kill 106,000 Americans every year. That’s over a million people per decade. Your own agency, the FDA, has certified every one of those drugs as safe and effective. No drug can be sold without such FDA approval. Surely, you see what you must do in this situation.”


He looked up at me. He was clearly shocked.


Why yes,” he said. “How could I have overlooked this before? I’ve had the report on my desk for some time. I must have been distracted.”


I waited while he phoned his attorney general and instructed him to issue search warrants for FDA headquarters and arrest warrants for the top tier of agency executives.


Not all remedies are perfect. My adjustment of the president’s personality was an attempt to make the best of a bad situation.


As the president’s national security advisor, that is more or less the core of my job. I make changes quickly.


And now I have a confession to make. All these tricks I’ve been playing here and there, these on-the-fly adjustments and solutions, and yes, even these shape-shifts, are merely a sub-category of something else…and it is the something else that is truly important.


What I am able to do is generated out of my imagination, an infinite well of possibility.


Finally, my imagination itself is born out of my imagining it.


If you can find a spiritual tradition on planet Earth which declares THAT, you’re not on planet Earth, and you probably aren’t anywhere in this universe.



Jon Rappoport

For information about the upcoming Magic Theater workshop in San Diego, contact me directly.







by Jon Rappoport

January 17, 2012


You can read this article as fantasy, metaphor, crooked analogy, speculation…or something more. Many people will decide it’s an impossible fantasy. I can only say that, to me, it’s the next step in everything I’ve been writing for the past five years.


The essential question I tackle here is: how powerful is imagination?


What can it really do? What unobserved effects has it been creating since the dawn of time? How far-reaching are these effects?


Is it possible that imagination naturally leads to an unprecedented revolution in the very make-up and composition of the universe?


At the outset, I want it clearly understood that nothing I write here is meant to excuse people for doing nothing, for just hanging around hoping for miraculous deliverance. Imagination is an active force, not a passive one, and it is an individual attribute.


I want to tip my hat to my friend, artist Rick Dubov. Rick and I have been doing Magic Theater dialogues recently, and a few of the central ideas in this piece surfaced in those dialogues. I had been keeping them to myself, and finally aired them, and we took off from there.


Universe may not be what we think it is. It may be much LESS, in a way, than we think it is. It may be a fixation, by which we falsely define ourselves. More importantly, what if imagination has been having an enormous and direct (unseen) effect on universe “since the beginning?”


Over the past 15 years, it has occurred to me many times that imagination has been creating holes in the very universe we all accept as permanent and eternal.


Contrary to accepted science, these holes don’t suddenly cause horrific consequences, because although this universe is quite real, it is also an illusion, and as such it simply remains in place, even if pieces of its space have been deleted. Yes, I know, quite far out.


Okay. Here we go.


New York, over the decades, has seen artists migrating to lower-income neighborhoods, moving into lofts, and opening galleries.


The largest of these journeys moved from Greenwich Village to Soho to Chelsea. Presently, in the Chelsea area, bounded roughly by 29th St., 17th St., 10 Ave., and 11th Ave., there are 350 art galleries.


It is certainly the densest concentration of galleries in the world.


These operations change their shows every 4-6 weeks, so the sheer amount of art moving through their doors is staggering.


Every time an art migration sets up shop, neighborhood property values rise, new retail operations open, and untold numbers of visitors appear.


In other words, the surroundings adjust to creative pioneers.


Or to put it another way, the environment adapts itself to imagination (art).


What if this pattern exists on a much, much broader level?


Painting, and in fact all the arts, invent their own spaces, times, and energies.


Up until now, we have, for the most part, been satisfied to say that works of imagination are decoration for, or additions to, the already existing space, time, and energy of this universe.


Because, as citizens of what is considered to be a more or less eternal continuum, we assume and claim to know that the energy, space, and time of the cosmos are primary, monopolistic, and all-encompassing.


I suggest something quite different:


The whole force of imagination and creative invention makes significant and deep changes in the so-called primary space, time, and energy of the universe.


Far from being mere decoration or “additive insertion,” the result of imagination in action is radical and real.


One might say it punches holes in the fabric of space, in the space/time/energy continuum.


That we have not seen these holes (unless we want to interpret inferences of black holes and wormholes as evidence) does not mean they don’t exist.


Our tendency is to deny anything before our eyes that doesn’t integrate with our interior picture of what reality must be.


We could take this principle further: even if we create new realities that supersede the familiar and the “eternal,” we quickly deny the implications of what we’ve invented.


As artists, we’re blind to the most radical effects of our own art.


Millions and millions of artists working over long periods of time establish new beachheads of time, space, and energy, against which the background of “old” physical space, time, and energy begins to fade and dissolve.


The so-called eternality of the continuum opens up gaps and loses its solidity in places.


Dean Radin, in his classic work, The Conscious Universe, argues that the totality of well-designed published laboratory studies of paranormal phenomena reveal a success rate greater than probability. In other words, statistical odds don’t rule the day. Something else is happening.


For example, a volunteer sits in front of a large glass case, which contains a funnel down which small balls are released. The balls end up falling into spaced holes to the left or right of vertical center. The apparatus is designed to yield the statistical probability: a 50-50 spread of balls (half to the left of center, half to the right.) The volunteer is told to try to influence the pattern of balls so they will move to the right or left.


A comprehensive analysis of the published literature indicates volunteers do, in fact, exert an overall paranormal influence beyond the 50-50 expectation.


What paranormal researchers so far fail to see is that this act of “influencing” is actually an action of imagination.


Imagination changes the laws of the space/time/energy continuum.


Art, which is a far more intense action of imagination than “mentally influencing balls,” does the same thing.


We aren’t living in a continuum-universe bounded by unalterable laws. This universe, from the most important point of view, is a default structure that exists AFTER the power of imagination has been subtracted.


And when it is added, the continuum changes.


One of the most radical changes would be a “fading effect,” as new realities (spaces, times, and energies) are invented in great profusion and with great power.


Consider New York City itself. If you transported a human from 1700, when the city was simply two rivers and forests, to 2011, his state of utter bewilderment would be overwhelming, as he stood in the middle of Times Square at night. He might actually think space and time themselves had been transformed.


Presently, millions of people believe that an observer affects matter at a sub-atomic level merely by the act of observing. This belief, however, is a version of re-arranging deck chairs. It doesn’t posit that new energy, space, and time are superseding and replacing the old. It clings to the old idea of universe.


It is patently obvious that, since the dawn of art, artists have been creating and introducing new energy into reality. The law of the conservation of energy is applicable, if at all, only in a narrow range that excludes the power of imagination. Well, if new energy can be created, why not new space and time?


And if this creative capability exists, and if its influence is strong enough, why shouldn’t art (imagination) begin to replace that other work of art called universe?


Why shouldn’t the overall force of art wake us up to the fact that the universe isn’t primary and never has been?


The old Tibetan magicians practiced creative exercises in which they imagined personae, and the announced objective of these techniques was the realization that UNIVERSE IS A PRODUCT OF MIND.


The magic was, in fact, the capacity of an individual to delete pieces of universe or spontaneously invent space/time/energy that had never existed before.


For some years now, Dean Radin and his colleagues have been conducting experiments with random number generators, placed at various positions around the planet. These devices continuously spit out random sequences of numbers. Radin has discovered that, just before momentous events (such as 9/11), the quality and degree of randomness produced by the machines significantly alters.


This has been taken to confirm collective precognition. Realizing that something shocking is about to happen, the consciousness of billions of people exerts an effect that is registered by these machines. A coherence previously not present comes into being.


That is a general hypothesis. Let’s consider translating it into another obvious format: billions of people, sensing a momentous event on the immediate horizon, CREATE AN ENERGY THAT HAS NEVER EXISTED, and this energy affects the random number generators.


New energy is created (imagined), and the environment adjusts to it.


A most profound transition is underway. How long it will take to become visible to everyone is speculation. But the outcome is: the work of art called universe will no longer be primary and “eternal.” Instead, imagination will engender millions and billions of works of art that supersede it.


Think of this transition in pedestrian terms—a painting that has hung in a room in a museum for centuries will be replaced by a series of new paintings.


My assertion is: this process, millimeter by millimeter, has been happening since “the beginning.” The idea of it was too radical to consider. It is no longer too radical.


The idea that, no matter how much we imagine and create, universe will always be universe, is just that: an idea. It has no intrinsic power, except for the power we attribute to it.


Lately, as I’ve engaged in a number of Magic Theater dialogues (see my blog archive here for many articles on the Magic Theater), I’ve begun to consider that the dialogues are, in fact, works of art that punch holes in universe.


The overwhelming sentiment among the populace is dedicated to rejecting the notion of such effects. Their whole program is a pledge of allegiance to normality. In other words, every situation, at bottom, is assessed by the proposition that universe is the ultimate reality, forever the same.


And yet, everywhere we look we see the results of imagination and invention. I’m taking it a step further. Universe is also the result of imagination and invention. And just as one style of art, which was acclaimed, in its time, as primary and final, was eventually placed on the shelf in favor of a new emerging style, universe, too, will be put in storage. It can be dragged out for conversations based on low-level consensus, but we will realize that something far more adventurous is in the ever-expanding foreground:


The individual…










And then nothing will ever be the same.


Actually, it never was the same.


Universe was a children’s book we all read a long time ago. When we need to refer to the sentiments and delights and conflicts and push-pull emotions of that story, we can remember. We can bring it back and enjoy the moment. Otherwise, we’re each launched in expressing the unbounded force of our imaginations.


Until that day, people will staunchly defend universe-as-it-is, with all its rules and restrictions, while they take every opportunity to file into dark theaters and longingly watch fantastic personages break every one of those rules in paranormal fireworks.


I say universe has a beginning and an end, in the same way that a famous novel has its time in the sun and then fades from recognition. It was a long-running play, and then the audience dwindled and the performances closed down.


It was always that way, except that a trick was thrown into the mix. If people could be convinced to bow and scrape at the play, pay deep homage to it, even pray to it, hope for it to grant their wishes—then perhaps it might go on and on forever.


But it won’t.


Because other plays, more and more plays, are being written and performed in profusion.


I suggest that certain anomalies, puzzles, confusions, and mysteries in physics can be worked out by starting from the premise that imagination is superseding the illusory “permanent” effects of universe. And that fades and holes and other phenomena are opening up in universe as a result.


Imagination has no illusions. The universe does.


The primary laws of implicative logic are indeed applicable to the work of art called universe, and to all thought that attempts to operate within that field. But outside it, the force of imagination does not concern itself with those laws, and never did. To imagination, for example, the stricture against logical contradiction is a joke. And there is no pinnacle on which “the one and only work of art” sits. That’s the biggest joke of all.


Imagination hasn’t been powerless all these centuries. It has been changing universe and punching holes in space and introducing new energies and replacing sections of universe and even altering time. It’s been doing all sorts of things—all of which we’ve denied.


Now we are coming of age. And I don’t mean the New Age, in which people try to believe some external force will deliver all their dreams to them. No, I mean an age in which we, by the power of imagination, invent multiverses without limit or end.


The Tibetan magicians (who at one point dominated the spiritual path in their culture, before the priests took over), would probably agree with the main points in this article. For them, the idea that the universe is a product of mind was far more than just a fancy. All their techniques were geared to realizing this profoundly and permanently—and jumping off from the realization to launch what some people would now call paranormal feats. Such feats included deleting pieces of universe and creating space/time/energy of their own. There is, of course, debate about whether these practitioners were actually able to perform such acts.


I would highly recommend John Blofeld’s extraordinary book, The Tantric Mysticism of Tibet, and any of Alexandra David-Neel’s books about her travels through Tibet. Blofeld’s description of what he calls “deity visualization” is a key to understanding the original practices of the Tibetan magicians.


Jon Rappoport


For information about the upcoming Magic Theater workshop in San Diego, in March, email me directly at





JANUARY 2, 2012. The first workshop, held in San Diego last month, was a smashing success. So I’m scheduling another one for this March.


When: Saturday and Sunday, March 3 and 4.


Where: San Diego.


The 2 sessions: Saturday, 11:30AM-6PM. Sunday: 9:30AM-1PM.


To sign up, contact me directly at:

I suggest doing that soon; the workshop will fill up quickly; we need a fairly small group to make the dynamics work.


Here is a statement from Rick Dubov, who has participated in a number of Magic Theater dialogues:


I came to my MACIC THEATER sessions with Jon with the feeling that many of you have had, I’m sure—namely that the reliable systems and ways of doing things are antiques by now. And furthermore they just don’t WORK!


I have had two sessions with Jon and I will tell you that new worlds are being born by the second in me. We started our sessions with the theme of my fears and worries about money, and what I have discovered is astounding.


But these sessions are not some pie-in-the-sky, passive writing down of affirmations. That approach is antique and weak. In these sessions YOU become the active creator of your life. Jon has stated this many times in his posts, but I am here to tell you that I am now living this, after only two sessions, and I look forward to many more of these sessions.


In fact, the sessions have created an infinite thirst and hunger in me for more living in my creative imagination. This also is not just a fun holiday from the dreariness of daily routine, this is life transforming.


I will close by saying that in just these two sessions, in which I have indulged most wildly in my imagination, I feel more solidly rooted in my life on numerous levels. And finally let me say this…even upon my first entry into the MAGIC THEATER. I was stunned and amazed, and remain so.”


For those readers who are encountering the idea of the Magic Theater for the first time, you can access this section of my blog archive at to learn more.


The Magic Theater is beginning to spread. As a result of the first workshop and my private clients, there are presently 3 separate groups operating. I’m sure more will follow.


Hope to see you in San Diego in March!





by Jon Rappoport

December 14, 2011

A person who won’t play roles is left with the role he has. For various reasons, he’s so in love with it he doesn’t want to budge from it, even temporarily. For example, he fervently believes, in his present role, he knows everything worth knowing.

Or he’s playing a central role of victim, and he won’t vary from that because he envisions losing something important if he does.

Or he thinks reality is tough and nasty and he must have a role to match.

In any case, over time, his persona COAGULATES.

Like a clot.

It may be a beautiful wonderful clot, but it hardens. And there he is.

And when the Magic Theater comes through town, with

222356789456789023456432890 available roles to play, just for starters, he passes on it. He says NO.

Starving man at table. Feast. “Give me bread and water.”

Every person who’s ever had a drug experience or a spiritual insight or a big up of any kind comes back down—and he comes back down because he’s got his coagulated role waiting for him and he can’t be late.

But the thing is, if he’s played a few hundred roles for a few hundred hours, improvising them with other people who are doing the same (Magic Theater), when he comes back down he sees his central role with different eyes. It doesn’t look the same. He realizes he can go beyond it. He can branch out. He can kiss that hard coagulation goodbye.

One thing I learned at this past weekend’s first Magic Theater workshop—the people who show up want to play roles. The people who don’t, don’t. It’s an easy line.

It isn’t about knowing; it’s about doing. And the more you do in the Magic Theater, the more you end up knowing, but what you then know is made of stuff you never could have gotten to otherwise.

It’s instant knowing. Spontaneous. Direct.

I’ve spent enough of my life looking at the coagulation of other people. I’ve learned all I need to about that.

I’m riding out into new territory.

And like everybody else, I’ve experienced enough coagulation of my own, too. It doesn’t really matter what a person produces out of that coagulation of personality, because eventually he needs something else. It’s called freedom. Breathing new air.

Imagination. In the Magic Theater, it lights up all over the place.

Like a comedian with a million jokes, people have a million excuses for staying the same.

Or they can improvise their way to a million new surprises.

It’s an easy line.

Yeah, it’s called freedom.

The Magic Theater, as I’ve written before, is based on Psychodrama, but it’s really something new. It’s an endlessly flowering tree, a rope across a canyon, a rocket to the stars and beyond, a flip into different universes of one’s own making. It’s all created in the moment, in a dialogue between two or more people playing roles. Where it goes depends entirely on the imagination of the people involved.

I suppose you could have boring Magic Theater, if the people are dedicated to boredom. Hey, that might be fun for a half hour or so. Play the most boring creature in the cosmos. So boring the cosmos just folds up in his presence.

But really, Magic Theater is thrilling. It’s funny as hell. Once you pierce the usual strictures of subjects conversation is supposed to be about, it seems you do pretty much end up in comedy. It’s hard to avoid.

We’re all sitting on a joke, after all. We’re sitting on it day after day, and the expanse of that joke is enormous, and maybe it keeps getting bigger and bigger, the more weight we put on. Our sober attitudes are like struts and pillars and connectors and beams that hold the whole universe together in a stern pattern—and the secret is, when we start to play really interesting roles together, the whole tight structure falls apart.

Like Pablo in Hesse’s Steppenwolf (where the term Magic Theater came from), we laugh the whole System into oblivion, and if it still stands after that, it’s just the stage it was meant to be, where we do more and more theater, with more and more imagination.

Endless rich contrary imagination.

Does this ring some kind of bell with you?

Because after last weekend’s Magic Theater workshop, it makes perfect sense to me.

I’ll tell you this. The world is built to impose on us more and more and more deadened and leadened thought and feeling. We can try to solve that by fixing every wrong thing and detail on the planet, or we can come at it from the top and do so much Magic Theater that eventually, as an incidental side effect, the whole deadened and leadened business comes apart at the seams and we’re all holding royal flushes.

That’s the way I intend to go about it.

I’m starting to plan the next Magic Theater workshop. Let me know if you’re interested.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at