Jon Rappoport, Visitor
John Q Jones had a good job, a good household, a good home, and a good yard. Every part was good.
Then in the future, he was strolling down the road close to his workplace and a smooth explosion went off in his head.
He seemed round and noticed a younger lady sitting in a parked automotive. She was studying a newspaper. And he realized he was studying her thoughts.
She was interested by a trip, a journey to Alaska, a boat experience, a guide, a boyfriend. He was studying her ideas and the feeling of doing it was beautiful, fairly lucid, fairly easy.
He was thrilled past measure. For a second, he thought he would take off and fly.
A couple of hours later, he left work and went to see his psychiatrist.
“I have a problem,” he stated. “Today, I read a person’s mind. And it was wonderful.”
“Hmm,” the physician stated, “I have a diagnosis for that. Paranoid schizophrenia. Possibly Bipolar.”
“Good,” Jones stated. “I need a diagnosis right away, and drugs.”
“I’m the man with the drugs,” the psychiatrist stated. “Let’s start you off with a sedative for sleeping and a bit of Haldol for your psychosis.”
“Sounds good,” Jones stated, “but what if it doesn’t work? What if tomorrow, out of the blue, I read someone else’s mind?”
“Then come back and see me,” the psychiatrist stated, “and I’ll up the dosage. Don’t worry.”
“The feeling of wonderful will go away?” Jones requested.
“Do you want it to?” the psychiatrist stated.
“You bet I do. It’s the hook. I could yearn after it, and who knows what I might do then?”
“Pleasure is a tough one,” the psychiatrist stated. “We pursue it, sometimes to our own detriment. I favor neutrality in all things.”
“So did I,” Jones stated, “until today. Now I have a…what would you call it…a desire. And it’s scaring me.”
“Desire is the beginning of all suffering,” the psychiatrist stated. “I read that somewhere.”
“The worst part,” Jones stated, “is that I’m becoming aware of a different space and time.”
“Dangerous,” the psychiatrist agreed. “I’m a member of a committee formed to look into other spaces and times. We’re hoping to draft legislation that outlaws them.”
“I hope you succeed,” Jones stated. “Suppose I couldn’t come back to my nice house and my nice life without feeling odd? That would be terrible. I’m a round peg in a round hole and I want to stay that way. You know, we go to church every Sunday. The Church of Statistical Average. The congregation is growing. It’s perfect for us. We love it.”
“I understand,” the psychiatrist stated.
All this time, he had been studying Jones’ thoughts, and Jones had been studying his. They each noticed a profound craving and a profound unhappiness within the different.
“Perhaps I should consider a lobotomy,” Jones stated.
“I wouldn’t rush into that,” the psychiatrist stated.
Jones noticed that the psychiatrist a) needed a lobotomy and b) wished for the braveness to undergo with it.
The psychiatrist noticed that Jones needed to learn minds on a regular basis and expertise the extreme pleasure of leaving atypical area and time. That was completely comprehensible. Who, having recognized the feeling, wouldn’t want it once more?
Jones noticed that the psychiatrist longed to swim within the ocean of telepathic communication.
The psychiatrist noticed that Jones needed to develop into unconscious and float like a space-rock within the galaxy, with no consciousness in any respect.
“How is your wife?” the psychiatrist stated.
“Fine,” Jones stated. “And your family?”
“Very well, fine,” the psychiatrist stated. “Are you still sailing on weekends?”
“Now and then,” Jones stated. “The weather’s been cold lately.”
“Yes, it has been.”
“Are you still playing bridge at the club?”
“Most Friday nights.”
Jones reached out and positioned a thought within the consciousness of the psychiatrist: “Help me.”
Silently, the psychiatrist answered: “I need help, too.”
The partitions and ceiling of the psychiatrist’s workplace fell away and uncovered a nice darkish heat area.
The two males started to weep.
“We’re alone,” they thought.
Then Jones stated, out loud, “Suppose everyone is like us?”
Faintly, they heard band music, after which individuals appeared, whispering amongst themselves and quietly enjoying devices, or maybe the whispering was coming from the devices.
“I think we just died,” Jones stated.
“No,” the psychiatrist stated. “This is a womb filled with friends. We’re being born. They’re waiting for us to emerge.”
“Emerge into what?”
“The happiness of being ourselves?” Jones stated.
“It appears so,” the psychiatrist stated. “We were in a play.”
“What kind of play?”
“I don’t know,” the psychiatrist stated, “but it’s closing. It had a good run, but ticket sales are declining, and the producers are resigned. They’ve given the order to strike the sets.”
“They designed everything we thought we were.”
He couldn’t keep in mind the final time he’d laughed at something. He thought he was going to leap out of his pores and skin. He tried to convey himself beneath management.
He laughed more durable and that led to weeping.
He smelled hearth.
“Something’s burning,” he stated.
“No,” the psychiatrist stated. “Some one. I’m burning. Can’t you see it?”
Jones strained on the darkness. He noticed an object rising like a rocket.
“Don’t leave me,” he stated.
The psychiatrist shouted over a roar, “I can’t wait anymore!”
Jones took off, too. He rose above his station, and felt the warmth.
After which, all of a sudden, they have been again within the psychiatrist’s workplace, sitting, dealing with one another.
“Your wife is still pursuing a graduate degree?” the psychiatrist was saying.
“Why yes,” Jones stated. “Two evenings a week, and weekends. Her advisor tells her she’s an exceptional student.”
“I’m sure that pleases her.”
“It does, yes.”
“We’re almost out of time,” the psychiatrist stated. “Anything else in our remaining moments?”
“Yes,” Jones stated. “One thing. Have you ever felt you were in a commercial promoting the very thing you were doing at the moment?”
The psychiatrist smiled.
“Almost every day.”
He stood up. Jones stood up. They shook arms and Jones left the workplace.
On the road, as he walked again to his workplace, he stated to himself, “I’m normal, I’m average, I’m normal, I’m average…”
His eyelids have been heavy. Fatigue unfold via his physique. He staggered into an alley and sat down on the pavement subsequent to a dumpster. He fell asleep.
Someday later, his reminiscences foggy, he was stretched out on the grass in a park close to the river.
Lights have been shining in his eyes. He blinked and seemed up. He noticed a cameraman and a lady in a pink go well with holding a microphone.
“We’re doing a story on the homeless,” she stated. “I’m from KGR News. How did you end up here, sir? Would you tell us?”
Jones tried to shake off his intense weariness.
He stood up, scratched on the stubble of his beard, and grabbed the microphone from the newswoman.
“Hey!” she stated.
“Would you tell me,” Jones stated, “how you ended up in the stage play called Your Life?”
He threw the microphone down and lumbered away throughout the park garden.
He walked a number of miles, entered the Grand Lodge, took out his bank card, and walked up to the check-in counter.
The clerk checked out him and frowned.
“I know,” Jones stated. “I’m a mess. I’m in actor in a play in town. We just closed our run and I didn’t bother changing my costume. I’d like your best room for a day. I want to clean up and get some sleep.”
The clerk gingerly took Jones’ bank card and ran it. He was stunned to discover it had a hundred-thousand-dollar restrict.
“Of course, sir,” he stated. “I understand.”
An hour later, showered and shaved, Jones referred to as room service and had them ship up a meal.
After devouring a steak and mashed potatoes, he referred to as his tailor and requested for a rush job on a new go well with. He spoke to the lodge concierge and put in an order for underwear, socks, a shirt, and a tie from a native division retailer.
4 hours later, he seemed within the mirror within the rest room and noticed himself as he was: businessman, husband, father, pillar of the group.
He was about to name his spouse and guarantee her he was fantastic, when he glanced on the sliding glass door and noticed his psychiatrist sitting out on the balcony calmly smoking a cigarette.
Jones walked over to the door, opened it, and sat down throughout from the physician.
“How did you get here?” Jones stated.
“Never mind that,” the psychiatrist stated. “For the past few days, I’ve been tuning into high-level conversations. First, it was the mayor. Then the governor. Then the president. Then, bankers in Brussels. Finally, a small group of men in Geneva. In Geneva, they were talking about a company called Reality Manufacturing, Inc.”
“Never heard of it,” Jones stated.
“You should. They said you were a key figure in it.”
He stared at Jones.
“Wait a minute,” Jones stated. “That’s crazy. You’re crazy.”
“They seemed very certain.”
“I’m in a company that makes Reality?”
“What about you?” Jones stated.
“My name didn’t come up.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Jones stated.
The psychiatrist shrugged. “Seems like we’ve gone through a wormhole or something.”
“Take it easy, Jones” the psychiatrist stated. “We’ll sort this out. I have a theory. You’re the most normal man in the world. You’re the epitome of normal. That must be a clue.”
“A clue to what? That I’m going insane?”
“No. Your extreme normality is a perfect cover story. Who would suspect that you’re hiding an enormous secret? I believe mysterious forces have hijacked your subconscious and are using it to hide a…system for manufacturing reality as we know it. You’re an agent. You just don’t know it.”
“And,” the psychiatrist continued, “I reason that if you die, reality will vanish.”
He stood up, took a step ahead, and grabbed Jones by the shoulders.
“I’m going to throw you off the balcony,” the psychiatrist stated, “and test my hypothesis.”
At that second, policemen burst by way of the door to the lodge room and rushed out on to the balcony. They separated the 2 males and put them in handcuffs.
“What’s the charge, Officers?” the psychiatrist stated.
“Sniffing at the edges,” a tall policeman stated. “Meddling with the grid.”
“Care to explain that further?” the psychiatrist stated.
“No,” the policeman stated. “You’ll be taken to a facility for reprocessing. After that, you won’t need any explanations.”
Two days later, Jones was reunited together with his spouse at a native hospital. A physician advised Mrs. Jones that her husband had gone on a bender and blacked out in a park.
She nodded. “I always thought he was too normal. Something had to be wrong with him. I understand now. He’s been hiding his drinking from me.”
The psychiatrist was by no means heard from once more.
On nights when his spouse is out together with her associates, Jones goes down to his basement and sits on an previous battered sofa and tries to keep in mind. He doesn’t know what he’s in search of, however he is aware of it’s there, in his thoughts.
Sometimes, a wall disappears for a few seconds after which reconstitutes itself. He hears faint music. He senses that the people who find themselves making the music are ready for him. They know what he wants to know. They need him to break by way of.
He calls them his “other friends.” He can virtually make out their faces. Faces in darkness, hovering in shadows.
Someday, after work, he passes a espresso store and sees, within the window, the lady who was within the automotive studying the newspaper, the lady whose ideas he’d learn, the lady who’d began the entire thing.
She glances his approach and smiles.
Listening to the faint music, he walks into the store and sits down throughout from her.
He says, “I wasn’t reading your thoughts. You were sending them to me.”
“But why?” he says. “Why me?”
“Because,” she says, “you were absolutely normal. Therefore, you were so close to the edge. Just a little push and you would fall off.”
“Falling off,” he says, “is quite an understatement to describe what I went through.”
“Yes,” she says. “I know. Have patience. The grid is collapsing, bit by bit. Your assistance is appreciated.”
Concerning the Writer
Jon Rappoport is the writer 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 within the 29thDistrict of California. He maintains a consulting apply for personal shoppers, the aim of which is the enlargement of private artistic energy. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has labored as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, drugs, and well being for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Journal, Stern, and different newspapers and magazines within the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on international politics, well being, logic, and artistic energy to audiences all over the world. You’ll be able to join his free emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.
(To examine Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click on right here.)
This text (The Normal Citizen Receives a Shock to the System) was initially created and revealed by Jon Rappaport’s Weblog and is re-posted right here with permission.
Like Waking Occasions on Fb. Comply with Waking Occasions on Twitter.
The Normal Citizen Receives a Shock to the System was final modified: November 15th, 2018 by WakingTimes
(perform(d, s, id)
var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s);
if (d.getElementById(id)) return;
js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id;
js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.7&appId=799509616835812”;
(doc, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));(perform(d, s, id)
var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s);
if (d.getElementById(id)) return;
js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.async = true;
js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js#version=v2.11&xfbml=1”
(doc, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));