‘The Bird of Paradise’ (from ‘The Politics of Experience’)

The following is a very interesting and highly telling esoteric look at the secret history of creation from psychiatrist Ronald David Laing (October 1927 – August 1989), who is usually cited as R.D. Laing.

R.D. Laing was a Scottish psychiatrist who extensively on mental illness, in particular, the experience of psychosis. He held a number of unorthodox views that ran counter to most of the psychiatric community, with taking the expressed feelings of the individual patient or client as valid description of lived experience, including serious conditions like schizophrenia. Although he rejected the label, he has always been associated with anti-psychiatry and spent most of his life promoting it.
(Wikipedia - R.D. Laing)

Interesting enough, he is regarded as a great thinker of the New Left, which campaigned for a broad range of social issues such as civil and political rights, feminism, gay rights, gender roles and drug policy reforms, or what is now known as ‘Politically Correct’ or ‘Social Justice’ movements. He is in fact a major figure in the early movement, providing much of the psychological framework for controlling people without their knowledge. His book, “Politics of Experience” is a must read for anybody wishing to understand the underlying concepts behind much of the current political philosophies of the New Left and Globalism in general. (Politicsof Experience/The Bird of Paradise)

In addition, R.D. Laing was also a follower of the esoteric, and deep within his book ‘Politics of Experience” is a second book called ‘The Bird of Paradise.’ (It should be noted, that the ‘The Bird of Paradise’ is not in all copies of this book, but primarily only in the older copies printed in the 1970s). Within this ‘The Bird of Paradise’ there is in fact a remarkably good symbolic retelling of the secret history of creation. Now, if you have already read ‘UNLOCKING THE DREAM VISION: The secret history of creation,’ then you will find the following very enlightening and insightful. For those who haven’t read it yet, then this is a small peek into the secret history of creation held within the mystical esoteric symbolism.

“Majestic forest, hot summer’s day. Proud trees well rooted in earth, scraping heaven, tall, powerful. A forest as it’s grandest.

The woodcutters come. They saw and hack down the trees. Who can endure or escape the agony of those saws? The trees are felled – processed in sawmills, sawed down and down and down, finally to sawdust, finer and finer grained, less and less and less, dissolving into the stuff of all the world.

The Lotus opens. Movement from earth, through water, from fire to air. Out and in, beyond life and death now, beyond inner and outer, sense and nonsense, meaning and futility, male and female, being and nonbeing, light and darkness, void and plenum. Beyond all duality, or non-duality, beyond and beyond. Disincarnation. I breathe again.

The farther in, large or small, the more and less there is, more and more nothing, further into the atom, further out into space, nothing. The Portal of the last Judgement of Autun and the center of an atom are identical. Jumping Jesus. Ecstasy. Cosmic froth and bubbles of perpetual movement of Creation Redemption Resurrection Judgement Last and First and Ultimate Beginning and End are One Mandala of Atom Flower of Christ. The eye of the needle is here and now. Two heartbeats enlace infinity. What we know is froth and bubbles.

Light. Light of the World, that irradiates me and shines through my eyes. Inner sun that emblazons me, brighter than then ten thousand suns.

Terror of being blinded, frizzled up, destroyed. Clutch at myself. Fall. Fall away from Light to Darkness, from Kingdom into exile, from Eternity to time, from Heaven to earth. Away, away, away and out, down and out, through and past winds of other worlds, spiral energy dance – through and past galaxies of stars, colors, gems, through and past the beginnings of contentions. The fingers of the one hand begin to fight and fucking themselves into incarnation. Demigods, heroes, mortal men. Carnage. Butchery of spirit in final horror of incarnation. Blood, Agony. Exhaustion of spirit. Struggle between death and rebirth, enervation and regeneration.

Cosmic vomit, sperm, smegma, diarrhea, sweat – at all events, an insignificant particle on the way out….

The vision has ended, I am starting to dream again. Concussed. Fragmented scraps of memory. Poor raw, smashed Egghead. A time hemorrhage in the body of Eternity.

Beginning to think again – to grasp, to connect, to put together, to remember….

Only to remember to remember, or at least remember you have forgotten….

I must never forget again. All that searching and re-searching those false signposts, the terrible danger of forgetting that one has forgotten. It’s too awful.

Behind above beyond and in man the war rages on. Man, me and you, is not the only site of the battle, but he is one region of it. Mind and body are torn, ripped, shredded, ravaged, exhausted by these Powers and Principalities in their cosmic conflict that we cannot even identify.

We are the shattered, tattered, demented remnants of a once glorious army. Among us are Princes and Captains of Armies, Lords of Battles, amnesic, aphasic, ataxic, jerkily trying to recall what was the battle, that sounds of which still ring in our ears – is the battle still raging? If we could only make contact with Headquarters, only make our way back to join the main body of the Army….

A soldier on the Wall at the furthest reaches of the Empire – looking out towards the darkness and danger. The next nearest comrade is out of sight. I must not desert – I will be recalled to the Capital in good time.

Groupings, orientations, crumbs, fragments, bits of the jigsaw, a few demented ravings that may help the reconstruction of the lost message. I am just beginning to regain my memory, just beginning to realize I am lost, just getting faint sounds of old familiar music – snatches of old tunes, moments of déjà-vu, a reawaking of a long numbed agony – an unendurable realization of what a debacle it was, what a shambles, what betrayal, horror, stupidity, ignorance, cowardice, craven lust, wretched greed. Faint recall of a raving nostalgia for the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory, Paradise Lost….

We tramps have so lost our wits we do not know what to steal, or even how to beg. We are the bereft. Derelicts.

Fishes, washed up and out in their death throes twitching, rubbing themselves together for their own slime. Don’t be a shy fish. This is no time for dignity or heroics. Our best hope is in cowardice and treachery. I would rather even be white that dead.

Mid-ocean. Shipwreck. Survivors are being picked up. The crew is saved but not the Captain-Governor-The Boss. The rescue ship moves away from the scene. Empty, still, desolate ocean. Slow track over the surface. Suddenly, like a bird, I swoop down. There is the Captain. Is he dead? A sodden doll just afloat and no more. If he is not already dead, it seems he will certainly drown soon. Suddenly he is washed up at a fishing village. The fishermen don’t know whether he is alive or dead, a captain or a doll or a queer fish. A doctor comes along, guts him open like a fish, or rips him open like a doll. There is sodden, grey little man inside. Artificial respiration. He moves. He reddens with blood. Maybe he will make it.

How careful I must be! What a near thing! If only this really is the King coming back again. The Captain come to take command. Now I can start up again. Putting things in order. Repairs, reconstructions, projects. Plans. Campaigns. O Yes.”

R.D. Laing, Politics of Experience. The Bird of Paradise: pp. 181 through 185 (1967)

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“UNLOCKING THE DREAM VISION: The secret history of creation” reveals the meaning of these mysterious esoteric symbols for the first time. It is a fascinating journey into one of the most heretical, blasphemous, and controversial accounts of creation ever told, for both believer and skeptic alike.

 

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