The Passage (Book 1)

I decided to stop reading and make this note because I wanted to clarify a point I was trying to make in a previous note.

And then, since I am stopping to publish again my thoughts, I will point out that one of my sleeping dreams from this morning was: this. A type of sleeping dream I cannot recall the last occurrence of.

That's what I saw in my sleeping dream just before getting out of bed. That visualization my mind was what I am visualizing with the text I am now reading, in the early scenes of The Passage, Book 1 of 3, Part II, Chapter 15, The Year of Zero.

I have before in past occurrences over the past decade clearly documented that such occurrences are credible experiences to me. The best example that comes to mind was a rebroadcast of a "The Simpsons" episode. I wrote about the sleeping dream I had of a "The Simpsons" episode I had never watched before. And then a short while later, I watched, for the first time for me personally, the re-broadcast and then was baffled by the similarity to my sleeping dream, documented earlier here on my blog.

Other people want to tell you they've had similar experience but THEY ABSOLUTELY HAVE NOT. All you're hearing is the wishful thinking of the desperation of their cowardly fear of mortality.

I had been out fishing. There were other people around I cannot now recall. I caught a very big fish. My father, who ever that was, would take care of it. I was thinking of putting it in a freezer in the cabin nearby. The people seemed - seemed - to be familiar to me in the sleeping dream, but I don't know who they were. Nothing else was familiar. Until the end. I saw my current bicycle, the hybrid. I was about to start riding it away from there. I saw myself placing a folded, fabric blanket in one of my packs on the rack of my bicycle.

The point I wanted to clarify is something that has come to mind before and I may have written, fairly sure I have, about it, but seems pointless to dwell on.

This is stuff that only the monkeys care about. They are incapable of problem-solving so the monkeys - all of you who call yourselves 'human' - with your over-inflated sense of self-importance - get all worked up about that sort of stuff.

Religion, "spirituality", it's all just desperation of their cowardly fear of mortality.

They are incapable of independent thought so the irrational primacy effect traps their minds in a box of dullard mediocrity.

In this case I am again now thinking to myself of intelligence that is capable of transferring knowledge to human minds by means that science cannot explain.

Now, the dullard monkeys out there, they don't know the first thing about science. Learning is hard. Guessing is easy for the lazy-minded. So any *easy* explanation that comes along, they POUNCE on it. And they WILL NEVER NEVER NEVER let go of it. Because they heard it first.

I've been reading this book, created by persons unknown to me, demonstrably RELEVANT to me personally, and I reassessing my notions that I have referred to as "The Thirteen Floor".

The thing is, an intelligence that can communicate to me beyond means I will ever understand, could have read those stories too, watched too those videos, gained understanding of those stories.

Me, I'm sort of caught in my own loop of mediocrity. I can't let go of this, and I thought I explained this better recently but now cannot find the text I thought I wrote, because of my journal that goes back to August 2005. I could just dump all of it and not care but I cannot shake the feeling there is something important for me to find. No other options are presenting themselves to me. And there are plenty of people out there who know what I'm doing that could present other options for me to consume my time.

And also, if some intelligence can communicate to me certain ideas and knowledge then that same intelligence could be doing the same to other people. And that theory explains why they are not speaking out. They are being commanded to remain silent. At this stage. At some later point, there may be different commands to all you dullards out there.








The Passage: A Novel (Book One of The Passage Trilogy)

Justin Cronin

page 247 of 881 (Amazon Kindle Version)


"It's...bright," she said quietly.

"The mountains," he explained.

He drove the final miles by instinct, following unmarked roads that took him ever deeper into the forested folds of the mountains. A hidden world: where they were going there were no towns, no houses, no people at all. At least, that was how he remembered it. The air was cold and smelled of pine. The gas gauge was nearly empty. They passed a darkened general store that Wolgast recalled vaguely, though the name was not familiar - MILTON'S DRY GOOD/HUNTING, FISHING LIC. - and began their final ascent. Three forks later and he was on the verge of panic, thinking he'd gotten lost, when a series of small details seemed to rise before him out of the past: a certain slope of the roadway, a glimpse of of star-dressed sky as they rounded a bend, and then, beneath the Toyota's wheels, the expansive acoustics of open air as they crossed the river. All just as it had been when he was small, his father beside him, driving him up to camp.



- posted by Kerry Burgess 5:05 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Friday 26 October 2018