When I was growing up, and I’m thinking my twenties and early thirties here, I was pretty disappointed in the people that surrounded me. Among the many disappointments of my somewhat less than ideal childhood there were these people using products to express themselves and solve their hardest problems. Feeling angry? Buy Back in Black. Feeling blue? Some Satchmo too. Want something? Need something? Don’t worry, there’s a product/pill/service for that! It was, and is, terrible to watch. Really, it’s a spiritual horror show not because it is necessarily bad to buy a product (I use products all the time to meet my basic and not so basic needs and desires), but because for these people the product had become the whole thing. It had consumed them and taken them over to the point where the matrix-supply chain was their entire lived world. They no longer asked questions; they no longer searched for answers; they no longer thirsted for truth; they only asked “What can I buy next.” They are lost in life, far from God, and dead in the world. Focused only on the next sale, devoted only to the next purchase, deflated by the embezzlement of their soul, they stumbled blindly towards death.
Now, don’t get me wrong here. I not blaming anybody for this. After all, who do you blame? Do you blame the corporations and the marketers who have chipped away at our already decimated childhood armor so they can leave us vulnerable and exposed? Do we blame the actors, artists, and musicians who sell their expressive power to the highest bidder and then engage in emotional manipulation and indoctrination? Do we blame the priests who rape our souls? Do we blame the parents who complicit while it all goes down? Do we blame our siblings, too young and naive to know better, who manipulate and exploit our weaknesses. Do we blame the friends who, doing what school has trained them to do, plunge the knife in deeper? Do we blame everybody, really, who knows but just stands back to watch. The truth is, by this point we are all victims and we are all perpetrators. If you want to point fingers and judge, go stand in front of a mirror.
When I was growing up it was bad, no doubt about that. But I got to say, growing up it wasn’t half as bad as what I see today. Don’t get me wrong. The inner “I” in me is still disappointed by all the people it sees hooked into the matrix-supply chain, but now as I gaze upon billions of people huddled, hunched, and hooked to the those tiny little smartphone screens to the point where they cannot look up from Insidious’s flow, my disappointment turns to horror. The enslavement of humanity is complete.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the exact opposite. Maybe it is the other way around. Maybe the little screen isn’t a tool to enslave the planet. Maybe the screen is a window into transformation. Maybe the smartphone is the thin technological wedge of global spiritual program for the expansion of human consciousness. Maybe. But then again, maybe not. Personally, I think it depends on what you, on what we all, do next. It depends on the choices we make, and whom we choose to follow. Do we mindlessly follow the trail of stale entertainment-crumbs to whatever soulless destination “they” lead us to, or do we take control of our life, our mind, and our souls and search for something more. Keep your eyes closed to higher realities, or open them up and see the truth that surrounds you. I guess the choice is yours. I will say this by way of reality check though. When half the planet is hopelessly hooked into Social Control Networks, and when these social control networks, pathetically feigning innocence, work with ethically bankrupt scientists to experiment on our innermost, sacred-most emotions (McNeal, 2014), it might be cause for some concern.
I mean really.
Have you ever asked yourself the question “What are the rich owners of Tinder/Twitter/Snapchat/Instagram/Facebook really doing to me?” If not, maybe it’s time you did.
I Am Michael Sharp
McNeal, Gregory S. (2014). Facebook Manipulated User News Feeds To Create Emotional Responses. Forbes.com