BIT-STRING ENTRY #6
As I’ve stated, the primary directive of THE PROGRAM is enslavement of the Human psyche, the ways and means of executing such sabotage compiled in a hidden neural-chemical sub-directory that if printed out would be a Terabyte thicker than your current DSM manual.
Attempting to rub out or numb The Program via drugs or alcohol might throw it temporarily offline but it’ll inevitably reset with a vengeance, throwing more ram back at your psyche than you can handle. The end result: you either find yourself surrendering to an additive behavioral pattern or, in extreme cases of mental turbulence, you may opt to paddle yourself into oblivion.
The latter, sadly, is what Jeremiah has chosen to do. From my position on the shoreline, I can clearly see him drifting into a riptide beyond the waves, face down on his Roberts White Diamond board, arms lifeless and extended, a crucified surfer. My Tetrachromat vision is bombarded by his mutating aura which is now darkening from a fecal brown to a demonic red cloud rimmed in black. All telepathic inroads to his psyche are blocked by his end-stage depression and narcotic-induced paralysis.
Suicide is The Program’s fail-safe mode, and it has virtually beaten Jeremiah’s mind to a pulp, shutting down whatever’s left of his survival instincts, damning the last ripples of his free will. I feel a flush of overwhelming sorrow as I watch him slide off his board, offering no fight, no resistance as the blue-grey water swallows him whole.
Here’s a little nugget regarding suicide, Dear Human. Your departing energy unit becomes an anomie, an entity at loose ends with itself, eventually manifesting into a physical-sentient form that retains the nihilistic, narcissistic propensities that drove you to self-destruction in the first place… leaving you fucked up and cut-off from the UNIFIED FIELD for another life cycle.
I.E. – not a good move.
Empathy now gives way to a sense of emergency. I hitch up my custodial overalls and wade out, trying to echo-locate Jeremiah beyond the thundering shore break. I am forced to wait for a three-wave set to rumble in before I can stick my head fully underwater and sound my S.O.S. – a Cetacean call of clicks, whistles and telepathic sonar pulses transmitted over a narrow band of frequency modulated FM signals.
Spoiler alert: I share a few common strands of DNA with my seafaring brethren by way of Cygnus Alpha – but we’ll have to put a pin in my astrobiological history for the moment as I suddenly feel the acute vibration of Jeremiah’s pain and panic…. He’s been temporarily jump-started back to consciousness by the rude mechanics of drowning… his lungs filling, arms flailing, struggling through the death throes…
Fortunately, Cetaceans and Custodians of my ilk can hear up to 110 KHZ, while you Humans peak at around 20 KHZ. Also, sound travels four times faster in water. Within moments, a rescue pod of seven bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops Truncatus) answer my call and are now racing across a half-mile of ocean toward Jeremiah at top speed. Dolphins know a thing or two about suicide. It’s within their emotional range. So is conscious transcendence. The Program has never been able to net and enslave them. Only Humans can do that.
As for Jeremiah, his mind-body connection has passed through the pain barrier now. His lungs are full of seawater. Death has a choke hold on him now. It is in these fatal moments that I finally get a sketchy telepathic link-up to his psyche…
He is in that proverbial tunnel now, moving toward the white light… that intoxicating, heavenly white light that beckons his “energy being” to follow.
But then something remarkable and unexpected happens – something that affirms my belief in my CHOSEN ONE. Jeremiah breaks from the light’s hypnotic hold and peers back over his shoulder at the mortal plane he’s leaving behind.
And it is then, at that moment, that he sees what millions of other dying souls have failed to see.
A fluid stream of hieroglyphic symbols dripping in circular motion down the tunnel walls of his mindscape. His mind’s eye has captured in slow frame…
THE DEMONIC SOURCE CODE OF THE PROGRAM
And it is now in shutdown mode, ready to leave behind another carcass of enslavement.