The Underworld of Prana

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Compulsory education is regurgitation. On a Tuesday in September, a teacher in Texas leads children casting a spell for the President. Their prana helps pull down some buildings in New York City. She opens the ceremony. “Get ready!” “Kite.” “Yes, Kite. Get ready!” “Hit.” “Yes, Hit. Get ready!” “Steel.” “Yes, Steel. Get ready!” “Plane.” “Yes, Plane. Get ready!” “Must.” When researching Hillary, I found a voodoo ritual where a priestess regurgitates black gumbo for the congregation. The disciples eat her potion thinking it gains them magical powers. But the gumbo is a lifelong possession. Like the priestess, teachers regurgitate spells to children. Our children swallow them for the powers of reading and comprehension. The installation of language forges a permanent bridge for possession. For the rest of our lives sound enters the mind imbued with meaning. We are hijacked by language as it steers the pictures and chemicals that form in the eye. We can manipulate each other with the spoken sigils of the alphabet. All of us are possessing one another with the spell of language.

None of us need words to communicate. I can reach you deeper with my vibration. We need no schooling to comprehend. All we need is the desire.

The lowest among us is the atheist. These human creatures are the spiritually amputated. To stare at a motor protein and call it entropy reaches new heights of malnutrition. ‪Three minutes after Dr. Scientism insists the universe came from nothing, he tells us matter can never be created or destroyed. We are surrounded by the meat machines of stupidity. If you feel I am hard on atheists you’re paying attention. Atheists are pissing in the pool as they wade to the bar. They carry themselves like the octopus dumping warm ink under a smile. May my cruelty be therapeutic. A clean pool is better for everyone who wants to swim. I know we can turn zombies back into people. It requires a pokey stick and the will to get the job done.‬ This is the energy work of prana. The spirit can grow back like the tail of lizard. In the words of Nathan Bedford Forrest, “Keep pushing boys! We got the skeer’d in ’em now.”

When someone’s words tell you the President is racist ask them about Building 7. The silence you hear is their endocrine system missing a gear. In one question, you show them how ridiculous it is to be moved by words from a man’s tongue they already hate. Show them the true reality of government like a flasher opening his trench coat on the street. If you believe you can’t change someone’s mind or you can’t make a horse drink, get out of my calvary. We are Jedi alchemists on horseback. If the government can change a mind, so can we. This is the work of prana. We transmute awareness through the magic of language.

Words are the voice box enlisted. Our words move mountains, change vistas, and open gates. Don’t cheapen your arrows by blunting the tip. Keep your tongue a taut bow for the mighty sky hunter you are. Sarcasm is a lie with no backbone. Sarcasm is the language of the hyena. Hyenas are the beasts in the fluorescent hallways of the machine. They’ve followed so many orders they cackle at the lifeforms stuck in the system. They spit through the plexiglass, “I just work here.” Your satisfaction is none of their business. Their eyes call you incredulous for expecting better. Don’t join this pack of hyenas. Honor your voice box as the captain of your will.

Parthenia is the prana of virginity over time. The altar on your mantle is charged by this prana. When it’s dusty, the energy is low so you give it love and attention. The prana economy repays you three-fold each afternoon as you walk by. Every action is an exchange of prana. Every moment is an investment or a withdrawal. Learn to see the receipt of each transaction.

Washington DC is the psychopathic capital of America. We have to decentralize our consent to cut its supply. We can only do this by changing the subject of government. Right now, as you read, someone with no birth certificate is roaming the clouds past the ice wall in an airship. He is a freeman. He has friends in a submarine playing the trombone for whales. These men don’t play in our games of hunger. Society calls them pirates for not participating. They are waiting for us to join them. Every day we feed the lie we miss the golden dawn. Right now, our kids buy shrink-wrap firewood at the gas station. In every breath you are reborn. Make eye contact with your mantle. Resurrect the world right now with three deep breaths of intention.

The ego is prana. They shame the ego so you’ll stop protecting it. They tell you prana is Hades so you turn your head and run. The prana economy is happening beneath our feet regardless of the denial. We are surge equations firing a solution from recoil to pounce. We are energy, texting the universe through our skin. We are the synaptic passion of electric bubbles in the belly of the giant turtle. This whole place is prana. From the rocks and the clouds to the thoughts and their passion. The prana economy does not distinguish good from the bad. If you hate Trump or if you love Trump, you donate the same lifeforce. This is why we must change the subject of our government. You learned Columbus discovered America so your mind would erase history. We are the people of the Longhouse. Our ways have been burned and scattered by satanic hyenas. We are seeds of a new tree popping up from black ashes. We are grateful they tried to bury us so deep. They lie about history to disempower us. This must mean we are powerful.

Political, economic, and religious prana all works the same. Your belief is a living currency. The prana economy is hidden like an underworld black market. The only thing stopping your entry is a velvet rope with a sign that says VIP. They don’t want you to see the lifeforce flowing from the routers behind the curtain. This is the aether of an electric universe. Fear fills your body now as you contemplate your trespass. This is prana of the body energizing you like a taser. Prana trusts you to make the right decision with its juice. Jitters are the surge of every blood vessel standing firmly behind you. You are no longer afraid as you transmute the strength to push yourself behind the curtain. Welcome to the forbidden engine room of the universe. This is your captain’s chair. All systems are fully operational. All crews are standing by for your command.

My new book Blueprints for Mind Control is on shelves now! Paperback, eBook, or I can mail you an Autographed Copy

The post The Underworld of Prana appeared first on James True.

Original source: https://www.jtrue.com/blog/hades

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