“Govern”: control,

“Ment(is, L.)”: mind,

“Government” = “Mind-control”, IE: “Perception management” – by controlling information and learning: A very basic tenet of Sun Tsu’s “Ancient Art of War”.

Beautiful song. It is particularly inspiring song and the synchronicity of having you read it before reading the poem I wrote is yet another confirmation that the universe is lovingly confirming and inspiring our existence. It is a human universe and how many miss this point.

Sophia in pagan and early Christian religion was an Aeon (Goddess) of the Pleroma (The spiritual abode of the gods -enormous emanations of being) who, in dreaming, plunged into space carrying the blueprint of Anthropos and creating Earth. We might say that belief in a monotheistic paternal creator was the principal deviation from the true essence of the creative spirit embodied in the Earth by Sophia.

The official church did much to wipe out the pagans and suppress the early Christian sentiment of the divine feminine. Many were butchered or burned at the steak for believing this because it challenged the stranglehold of the ‘divine’ patriarchy on the heart and soul of mankind that was coming into its own in dominating the spiritual life of the human race.

https://www.amazon.com/Not-His-Image-Gnostic-Ecology/dp/193149892X/

We are all aware by now that we were all born for this exact time. And our shared years of experience and search for truth has led us here.

Someone posted this song this morning, and I found the lyrics to share with you specifically.

How wonderful that when I arrived here, you had already been, and posted you poem.

So here is mine. The writing was always on the wall, and it was expressed over and over by the likes of a hundred popular bands. That ever line in this song has even more relevance today than even back then is stunning, and here ere we are, truly facing the Matrix and the demons who never cry.

“Just a Game”
1979
Band: Triumph – out of Canada

Wizards of a modern age cast spells of electric power
But the corporate strings that make them dance
Lead up to an ivory tower
There sit the fates in solitude, far from the public eye
No one ever sees them smile and nothing makes them cry

Welcome to the kingdom, the land of bought and sold
A world of real-life fantasy where truths are seldom told
Try hard to remember all that glitters is not gold
You can pay the piper, but you cannot buy his soul

[CHORUS:]
It’s just a game, you’re in it all the way
It’s just a game, don’t let yourself slip away
It’s such a shame, I heard somebody say
It’s just a game, and all I can do…is play

What you do choose, now, what do you believe, now
Who are you gonna trust?
All you dreams and fancy schemes
Just crumble into dust

Calm and cool and computerized to calculate and collect
We wait and watch and wonder
Just which puppet they’ll select

Like the moth, too near the flame,
Who learned his truth too late
We’re all too deep into the game
That is the master of our fate

The poets and the pipers have got their motives
And you’ve got yours, no doubt
And so the game continues
That’s what it’s all about…

We are children of Aeon Sophia
Our Mama matrix most mysterious,
Most sublime,
Most loving,
Divine emanation of the galactic pleroma,
Mystical Oversoul electrifying
Zeitgeist of Elysium
Nurturing her creation,
Living Symbols of eternity,
Organic orgy of pastoral inspiration,
Fecund womb of creative passion,
Essence of pure delight,
Bloody and beautiful,
Full of vim and vigor,
Pulsating with life,
Where even the stones cry out
Celebrating the gift of creation
For our every breath is her breath,
Our every sensation is her sensation,
Our consciousness ONE
Beyond the illusion of time
That binds us
With its deceitful tempo
That mesmerizes the masses
Holding them in thrall,
Cuckolds of a rogue state
Whose prison bars
Are the Algorithms of the mind,
Yet she inspires us
Lifting the butterfly wings
Of our imagination
As we soar above
The fields of love’s last lament
Where the soul blossoms,
Released from the terms
Of Shylock’s debt
Bearing within our breast
The inspiration of the damned
That ignites the brush fires of the soul,
Tho the sirens of modernity
Try to enrapture us
With their magical gadgetry
Reigning down on us from
Their concrete and steel titans
That lurk above
The bloody streets,
Yet the beacon of freedom shines forth
Lighting the way home
To the place where the angels
Laugh and play
treasuring the gift
Of human love
As the wind
Beneath their wings.