What happens when god thinks from your starry silence

“Should wild animals surround you think of the power of This Hearer of the Sounds of the World (NEN PI KANNON RI KI) and they will flee in terror. If you are pursued by evil men who want to make you fall from Diamond Mountain, think of the power of This Hearer of the Sounds of the World (NEN PI KANNON RI KI) and they will not be able to hurt you.”
Twenty-fifth chapter of the Lotus Sutra

One day I went with Grace into a good, rather empty restaurant in the "Croci di Calenzano" area, where a father and son of obvious Saxon origin sat at a central table, completely alike, despite a gap of about twenty years.

They were towering in stature, augmented by a sort of alert metallic arrogance, the immovable self-confidence of one who is at the center of the world, of the three times, of the universe known up to now. Above all, they were two poor stockfish, two nerds so neurotic as to make us pity, but whose sudden sight made us unhook.
They had the reaction of two flamingos surprised in an African reserve by the usual photographer because, as we headed for the chosen table, our paroxysm of laughter made the two of them twist their necks with an almost hydraulic simultaneous movement, devoid of any dancing harmony and living conscience .

We pretended to be a cartoon of their movement, complete with a steam punk mechanical buzz, extracted from a transcorrected anime - and laughter - where cowboys, crusaders, mummies and paedo-paleoastronauts were mixed in an American-literate style. By now the story, being full of brutality, is immediately amended in a checcohysterical key, given that whoever squeaks is instead good - I know, I look like the bad guy - but when you don't know which saint to turn to anymore, contemplate the comic side of reality.

We had seen, Grace and I, the same thing at the same instant in these two stockfish, father and son. After all, she has both "scientist" parents while I have only one, so we know the animal. Having parents with this disease is a bit like living with a Dominican father or two during the heyday of the most fervent Spanish Inquisition. They educate you day after day to a subtle, continued and aggravated subjection towards the wheel, the distributor, the emphyteusis or entropy but - what is worse - uniformly accelerated rectilinear motion. The theory rises in them, involuntarily, to levels of boundless psychoactive power; even existential, given that they won't try to comprehend, but rather to decrypt the world, even if it were a fragment of it, say, the cover of a book, a clitoris or a foreign license plate.  

You have only one satisfaction, as the son of a scientist: in middle school, when the teacher of technical applications asks, incredulous, several times "how does a hair dryer work" noting that you are the only one who raises his hand, and expects a race to who answers first. Because then he is forced with a gesture of his chin to ask you and you: “resistance and vortex of air”… “Anfolsi be more precise” "Professor Cessari, connect the hair dryer to the current, the mill begins to turn which sends air through a resistance, also heated by the current and...". And everyone shut up; someone giggles randomly while you look around in disbelief; the professor doesn't want to believe it either, but pretends not to notice by biting the bullet, walking towards his bunker-teaching desk.

In justice I must add something about my father. Like me, he never graduated and for the same reason: motivated presumption. Read it as an illness or file it as an accusation, but it's that you can't go to study with people you don't admire, and when you're still young you're not even ready enough to understand if they exist and where. And in the meantime life goes by, and you have lost the opportunity, at least that's what those who stoichiometrically calculate everything think.     

But… God thinks?

What happens in the agitated mind of an ideologue dedicated to mere material/visible existence?

Before answering this question, I would add that my scientistic father could at will draw a freehand line on the drawing board, without second thoughts, perfectly straight. On that one could put a ruler to ascertain that the line, about one meter long, was perfectly straight. He used an old-style drawing pen – with a wheel – the one with which we can only make smudges and patches today.

But he was hysterical. In fact, my father was very much from Romagna - that is, not/Emilian - an anthropological factor well summarized by Fellini; his mother still said the rosary, while his father frequented the best casinos in Paris and brought my grandmother a nice large table of chocolate as a gift. Who was better off of the two? Hysteria equals magic, who is it out-of-control he has a lot of power, he certainly has more iron in his blood and pumps more testosterone or estrogen even if he is a garbage man or a wet nurse; even if they become alcoholics and live and die ignorantly stubborn, well, live like unrepentant combine harvesters and go.
I just note, I don't advertise.

Also because God only thinks with you, if you asked yourself the question.
If you don't you can believe what you think you think in the shoebox that you have instead of a head.

At this point you can see how the poor neurotic-contemporary-supercontrolled scarecrow, now as fashionable as Giordano Bruno's Triumphant Beast lives: at a level of blinding spiritual misery that doesn't even register. To exorcise it one gives to rueda cubana or tango.

In general, to explain these two phenomena, the hysteric and the neurotic, I take as an example two historical figures: Benito Mussolini and Woody Allen, the king of applied hysteria - fomented & suffered - and the tormented jester of the worst neurosis. Anyone who doesn't have hair on their eyes can well understand this historical, but above all human, metaphor. Forget about personal or ideological sympathies, if you have eyes, you understand that something must suddenly get worse in humanity in order to improve later, as if it were a seed that can make us even more human than we are, not to improve us, but to take root and flourish with other archetypes, with the star powers of another era, that is, not powers like icy "drivers", but living archetypes: those who give birth to you, conserve, regulate, kill and, during all this, educate and warn you . On closer inspection.

Brief interlude for my Buddhist brothers. “Understanding All the Laws” would mean more than anything "manage with lively nonchalance the co-emerging phenomena that at this point we could define en masse 'cosmos' or even not define at all": for es. “you (cosmos) sweep (cosmically/cosmizzi) on the earth (cosmos)”. At worst, you'll get there in a few months, since pigeons have a dharmic duty to shit on our heads.  

How does God think (if any)?

My grandmother said the rosary in such a way that everything went "fine" - "fine" even in Parisian troubles - and that the stars stayed where they are, but no one explained it to her like that. It turned out that Georgios Stamatopoulos, the graphic designer who designed the flag of Europe with the stars in a circle, wanted to evoke the protection of the Virgin, probably not on the political project, but on the poor souls who would live there.

What does not dispose us to graduate - even if it does not necessarily happen in the future - is to note the fragmentation of knowledge inversely proportional to per capita intelligence. The Fox and the Grape? It's fine, if that's enough for you.
But here are the grapes (true and updated): if you want to see the facts and understand them, you won't be able to turn to science but rather to those geniuses you will be able to recognize among the bedlam of specialized zombies. The grapes were already generously offered by the vinedresser.
Let's be clear, we are all idiots, sooner or later. But here we are talking about an idiocy concerning precisely the ID prefix, the one that makes you say: "But then you insist?". And the point is that each of us "he knows his stuff" and does not want to withdraw; because in this case we are dealing with one (or more) egregoric idiocy, where we believe we are free thinkers while following an inertial flow which is unambiguous and predetermined; put another way, this concerns the collective unconscious since it (surprise!), is in fact also "superconscious”, and that it is such without even asking our permission. We are stubborn because we would know, without realizing it, that we are pure gnosis, gaze swallowing everything and everything and vortex of primordial emanation of every phenomenon.

We Buddhists call it tathagatagarbha, first of all to say that it exists, even if giving it a name makes it a further simulacrum. This trap is solved in the Diamond Sutra with a clever invention: "this is nothing but a figure of speech."

Let us come to a painful point. God oh no God

In high school, as an agricultural expert, I realized that various silent massacres of agricultural operators were taking place due to pesticides, but also minor massacres such as that of Topaz oil (erucic acid) and that of the hepatitis B vaccine (De Lorenzo / Poggiolini). A major massacre was that from the spraying of pesticides, implemented by the farmers drinking from the company well or by making wood for the barbecue with the annual pruning of the sprayed orchards. And seeing the anodyne answers to the murderous problem by the Order of Agricultural Experts (photos of hermetically sealed tractors with air conditioning also in sociological articles or dealing with the cultivation of pleurotus mushrooms) I reached indisputable conclusions at the age of seventeen.
Get up. Let me go. Give me a Zen monastery = God.

I was helped in this case by one of the geniuses who came to my rescue, a trade unionist, a real one. Lamberto Liverani appears in the historical photo with the masters Taino and Mumon, and he is the one above, bald, while I am instead the one dressed as a bat who dominates the Masters Mumon and Taino; well, we got lost around 1980 in the lands around Oriolo dei Fichi, Faenza, where we realized that there had been a massacre of peasants. Nobody knows anything about it even today; if he hasn't closed his eyes so as not to see, since the fact would be horrible, he has closed them because he is dead.   
Lamberto went to make sure of the fact and asked the trade unionist in question. He explained to him that the farmers were dying like flies because of the fungicides. He was pissed off but without hope of making anything known to his colleagues who, incredulous, had already denied everything. Better not pay attention: too horrible to know. In fact he had di-gni-to-sa-min-te stopped being a trade unionist.

I still hear speeches like: “No, look, Leo, you're very wrong, SCIENCE involves comparing data over time, with caution and double-blind experimentation and…” Who knows where the fuck they live! SCIENCE? here the Carthaginian elephant has already died of cold on the Cottian Alps while instead Hannibal took him to Capua. Global warming...

If they haven't seen fiction n°1 – when they have been trained, i.e. stuffed very well – imagine if they will see scam n°2 when it is global and hypnotically acted out now and again, to everyone and on every newscast.   

Almost as a land surveyor, I pointed out to my chubby classmate, myopic and enthusiastic, the toxicity of the new industrial "Acupric" plant protection products, of the same color and viscosity as the previous "cupric" ones - which were instead completely harmless - and how a dealer of the consortium and a farmer, "acup" sounded perfectly like "cup". His serious reply was: “Eh, you know, science must go on, these things happen”. While his real answer was: “Of course they die! They don't wear masks!". They choose the most mentally handicapped and give them a bright career.

Haven't we heard this before? Mask (doesn't work), tampon (not even and whoever invented it explained it to us) and finally (since the other two lies were believed) "You don't get vaccinated... You die and you kill others..." he tried to give us what sank Greece and who tried with Italy and who ran away and who still turns around to see if they are chasing him. While in various cyclists left the Tour de France in tears confessing that they could no longer suddenly, after the 3rd or 4th jab, do the stairs, not to mention the tennis players who leave the competitions due to "blisters" - never seen before - while a certain non-vaccinated sample kills everyone.

One should be able to understand what convinced materialists have in their heads. They really believe in a Promethean ideal that is up there in the air while wanting to believe only in the "tangible". But they also believe that every reality, condition and human question has as its central theme a radical, structural, inexpressible, impossible to resolve "fact", since the sickest of scientists have a radar in operation that decrypts everything as a danger, given that they present a eternal end, responding to an infinite question never expressed, never experienced in a pure living act. The only value left to them is to grab-fight-prime, because they believe that the "primordial impulses" really exist, responding this to a mechanical consciousness, made up of small detonations of nitric oxide between synapses, flowing through certainly more imagined cylinders how real: but they don't understand this. They believe in primordial drives - uncontrollable & only educable by the way - an idea identical to that of the Christian "embodiment of evil", or of "original sin" which are routine and obvious to the Western mind, as well as inevitable. Apparently.

On closer inspection, this radical fact is actually an overwhelming emotion.
Without gnosis the most devastating implications flourish. Dante evoked Virgil in the comedy because he knew what gnosis was. Arcangelo Tarantini, a nuclear physicist and Latinist friend of mine, found in every sentence of Viriglio - every - the winks left to speak to initiates like him, therefore to Dante, who not only saw a lot of stuff, but who also could hands in the plot of the real, being famous for it. Gnosis = falling in love-vision-worship of naked reality VS slavery to the prefigured and awaited truth.   

My father used to call me, partly out of affection and partly as a joke, "Mr. Marsilio Ficino” because I argued and poked my nose into everything. Anyway. Like my classmate, even more my father, she was a scientist as a reaction to the violent, hysterical ignorance of her fellow villagers. Like many others, he hoped for a more scientific world, that is, a better one because it was more polished, transparent and reflective. A well finished object was for him a simulacrum worthy of worship and he showed it to you smiling, decanting it with very sweet words like “Cast… Do you understand!? Cast and stamped! At the same instant". The famous real-time invented by this gang of nerds already seems like a promise of eternity, albeit robotic, chipped or hypermedicated, and here the question arises: “How can you be a Buddhist carrying this hallucinated faith with you?”

My father became Catholic and it was there that I sensed the continuity of an unconscious but fatal egregore project.

When you prophetically live in a time-duration where every ex-stante is a scratch on the wall and is at the same time very futuristic – it already slips into an “unlived” elsewhere – then, to reason in terms of your own delirium, you will end up sooner or later then to visionary hypothesize an apocalypse/entropy. When such an overbearing idea is triggered in the collective ecclesia, this bullshit has nothing to do but wait for its time to come true, or, as the "apocalypse" speaks: Reveal. But it is useless to talk about it with the Christian/scientists (same prophetic race as oimene), who undeniably do well to pray and to receive sacraments, and to vaccinate all the latter, waiting for the world to come, amen.

I heard them coming: here was the TTIP transatlantic contract – promulgated by powerful multinationals – which the European Parliament had to sign, without practically being able to read the noose clauses; this is the will/diktat of the famous European commission, which was never elected, but placed there by an unknown hand, as one goes to the snitch in curling by slipping and brushing the ice. This disaster was stopped in time by Donald Trump, but even earlier Lorenzin was delighted by Obama, with the title on the AIFA page: "Italy is the leader of the vaccine invasion of the world", I quote off the cuff from the script of “The Empire Strikes Again”. Having just been to the USA I had already seen the result of the mandatory serums on a poor child I was treating and on the devastated state of health of an entire nation assaulted from within. The mother got the hint and took the child away from vaccines and from school.

I know I live in a narrative because I know I was born into it, and I also know that there is nothing sinister about it, unlike those who believe in a sprawling and drowning matrix, so that they see all over the place occult symbols and plots instead of insist on names and moves that are already known and well foreseen.

Giordano Bruno, we said: there is no prophecy in his narration but an everlasting myth, as Sallustio explains. The Triumphant Beast falls from Heaven due to a feigned distraction by Jupiter, these are issues of epochal friction, in this case they are passing aeonic shadows in the form of gene serums and collective hysterias, this time, scientistic; Mercury and Minerva inspire us, poor Saulini, Bruno says, with the former the most useful tactic, and the latter with gnosis.

Big blows on the rump are foreseen, forming part of highly articulated strategies, where sovereign nations regain share against the wider multinational geographical dispersions. Scatter that you scatter, invent and invent money, pretend and pretend to buy everything and everyone, sooner or later Sardanapalo arrives who instead moves cannons, planes, submarines, men, non-virtual but deadly helicopters, which put an end to the precious lives speculative/ democratic of these babies.      

Giordano Bruno and Robert Fludd invoked the most fragrant life's zenith via Psalm 91: "Under the Shadow of Your Wings YHVH", where the Most High heard the sounds of the world, and above all where he does not paint collective apocalypses, but where he awaits us in the challenge that is life and victory for everyone who is truly alive.

“He will cover you with His feathers, under His wings you will find refuge.
His faithfulness will be your shield and armor; you will not fear the terrors of the night
nor the arrow that flies by day,
the plague that wanders in the darkness, the extermination that ravages at noon.
A thousand will fall at your side and ten thousand at your right hand;
but nothing can hit you.
Only if you look, with your own eyes you will see the punishment of the wicked".  

No, it's not a prophecy. See a little.