Channeling Jesus
 
at the meeting of the Timelords
and the Council of Deities
 
 
 
By John Kaminski

http://johnkaminski.info/
 
 
 

Check out this amazing fact, o devout supplicant!
 
Jews and other sibilant sycophantic slimeballs have labeled me as one
of the most prominent atheists writing on the Worldwide Web. How then
does it come to be that I’m the one, more so than any other writer I
know, who’s always quoting Jesus — and especially his utterance that
remains the most important piece of advice in human history, “Throw
the moneychangers from the temple!” (Too few people ever realized he
was talking about your own heart.)
 
I’m not too concerned about what that vignette might say about me, but
I think you should take note of what that might say about churches.
What filters through to us from the miasmic media doesn’t seem to
contain many of the messages of ole JC these days. He’s been erased
from the playlist along with all the other champions of the human
spirit, replaced by Jewish comedians, who are then criticized by
Jewish commentators as examples of how stupid America has become, and
they’d be right about that.
 
When I was a kid I used to be a baseball statistician for various
leagues, and always liked lists and rankings and cross-referencing. Now
I like doing the same thing with deities — that’s right, gods — just
to see how civilizations saw things. What I found long ago was that
gods are like our individual names, they identify us to others as
citizens of the realm of this or that god. The pharaohs named
Amenhotep were all named for their god Amen, whose vestige still lurks
at the end of every Christian prayer.
 
Today, most of the names throughout Western civilization tie us to the
Christian bible, as it was disseminated to the world by the European
invaders. And so few people know that when Constantine finally made
official the brand new Christianity as the religion of the Roman
Empire, a great blackout was put over civilization, a conceptual
ceiling on all conventional thought. All versions of human history
competing with the new official dogma were eradicated.
 
The greatest thought crime in history occurred in 391 AD when the
Roman emperor Theodoric, a rabid Christian, burned the Library at
Alexandria, cutting off from posterity from an extensive history of
the world over the previous 2000 years, which would have honestly
illuminated our own past. Instead, we got dogma, 2000 years of it,
constantly embellished and twisted to suit the perversions of the
times.
 
Corrupt from its very beginning, the long history of the church and
all the competitive spinoffs that developed have deluded humanity to
the point where the only tangible record that really sticks in the
annals of time is that the messages from the gods, which are clear
enough to most of us, are turned into the most monstrous atrocities in
the hands of priests and businessmen.
 
I enjoy seeing what people were like, what they loved, how they lived.
Share this dream with me, then, about what it is we want.
 
[Coughing. Seats shuffling. A single chord on a violin is heard.]
 
Imagine you are watching a play from an elegant booth in a theater,
much like that one in the Ford Theater, all drapes and candlelight,
that Abe Lincoln sat in that night that changed history.
 
Note about the cast. The polymath Velikovsky noted that Zeus, Jupiter,
Ammon, Marduk, and Shiva were all the same god, so when you view them
through your 5D glasses conveniently placed by your theater seat, they
all meld into one, and you hear the agreement of their words from the
most ancient of times. The same historical time compression process
also renders Horus, Apollo, Dumuzi the shepherd boy and Jesus into the
same personality, that prodigal son worshipped by the entire human
race from time immemorial as the hope every parent has for his child,
as well as the longing for one’s own lost parents that we turn into
our gods.
 
And a note about the set, as you view it from your plush and puffy
seats. The building on the stage looks like a three-dimensional chess
set, 33 stories high with a Masonic seal on the front, what can I tell
you? Ghostly vapors dance slowly through the girders and gradually a
meeting in a diaphanous amphitheater takes shape.
 
Sarasvati, Hindu goddess of the river, plays in a burbling stream,
watching her cousin Chilchiatlicue, the Mayan goddess of water,
astride her spaceship that looks like a motorcycle, peering into her
telescope out into the stars, riding high with her hair swept back.
 
In the center of the crowded party, Zeus and Krishna were munching on
wild eryx drumsticks (tastes like chicken) when mighty Krishna turned
to the zesty Greek, nodded towards Chilchiatlicue, and said, “You
know, on the streets of Cancun, her picture is always mistaken for
that Mayan king, Pacal Votan.” With his mouth full of food, Zeus
mumbled, “Kings, who can keep track of them?” Krishna smiled and said.
“Cancun was a lot like Thermopylae, warm in the winter. Zeus, I’ve
been meaning to ask you about Leda, you know, that girl you turned
into a swan.”
 
The lion skin clad Olympian spit his mouthful across the room and
gasped for breath. Right at that moment, Apollo and his sidekick
Mercury came winging down on the scene. Apollo nudged Krishna in the
side and said, “Ask him about Athena.” Mercury kept on writing.
 
Krishna, in his most regal tone, spoke. “Zeus, tell us about this line
from Aeschylus, or was it Pindar, that says here “Athena sprung fully
formed from the brain of Zeus.” How exactly does that work?”
 
All at once a clatter arose in an anteroom, and a giant hammer came
crashing through the heavy wooden door. The beautiful boy Mithra,
sitting with his cousin Adonis on a couch made of saffron and silk,
put his hand to his head and exclaimed, “It’s the Norse gods again!
That hammer surely belongs to Thor.” An elf came running out of the
room, snapped his fingers, and made the hammer disappear. Adonis
whispered back to Mithra. “That’s Loki the Trickster God. Stay away
from him. He has much too human in him.”
 
High above on this moonlit evening hovered the Valkyries, humming a
choral number from the Bacchanides. Far beyond the mountains to the
coast, the Erinyes sang in the sea, and their voice swam through the
humid summer air to Poseidon, who was actually doing a surfboard
number to a wave machine in the fitness center of the hotel.
 
The meeting is about to start, they whispered, and suddenly all the
gods gathered in the main living room by the fireplace in which the
flame gods, Agni and Mars and their ilk, peered intently out at the
gathering, awaiting the portentous words that were about to engulf the
group of earth’s gods with a message they had never before heard.
 
The time-lords were coming. Only Krishna and Buddha had ever met them.
 
A giant white beam from the center of the galaxy suddenly appeared,
first as a small white pole that ran from floor to the canopied domed
ceiling hundreds of feet above. At first only inches wide it crept
outward, slowly engulfing everything in its blue white light, then
everything began to become grainy, then, everything disappeared.
 
Eons passed. But in the darkness, suddenly there was a voice, the one
voice that is always there when there is no other. It was Mary, his
mother.
 
“Jesus, is that you?” she asked in the infinite darkness.
 
“Always and forever, my dearest mother.”
 
“What happened,” she asked.
 
“We all serve at the discretion of the time-lords, mother. That I can
find eternity in you as you can in me is our only solace, and as we
know, this light that connects us with its love is infinite, it never
goes out. It animates everything that moves, both living and not. And
it will keep us safe in our eternal dream.”
 
“Why was everybody saying those awful things about you, my son?”
 
“It was just the Jews, mother, doing what they have always done. And
the scribes wrote it wrong, mother, when they ascribed evil traits to
those born not of their liking. Really the line of darkness in the
human heart is tied to the stomach and the loins, and when two of the
three are happy, then a person can find the way to be happy. When I
said I am the way, the thing that was important about it was the way
and not me. People are just slow to catch on, mom. They are ruled by
their passions and impulses, and are eager to escape into things that
feel good but have bad effects. People get rich selling good feeling
bad effects, and they don’t realize that makes them sick, too. They
say bad things about me because they want to keep selling their own
bad things.”
 
Suddenly, the ultra blue white grains began to congeal, and suddenly
everything was back to the way things were before the time-lords’ white
beam emerged and engulfed the room.
 
“What happened?” asked Allah, suddenly standing beside Zeus and
Krishna. “Big Al! (pbuh — no fatwahs, please!). Where you been
hiding?” said Zeus affectionately. “I’ve been with my people,” Allah
replied. “They’re behaving well, notwithstanding how the agents of
that runt G-d pose as devout Muslims and wreak havoc with behavior
that we would never be caught doing. And of course the weak willed
human world believes the Jewish spin, because corruption is sweet and
life is short. I don’t know whether we should blame ourselves or not,
my fellow gods, because after all we are only the creations of those
who seek to worship us. How can we gods not be like the strange,
unpredictable humans who created us?”
 
“And where is that nasty Levantine hill god Yahweh anyway,” Zeus
snarled. Mithra answered, embarrassing Jesus: “He’s out in the gutter
where he usually is, trying to sell the filth of his own fear that he
has created from his own excrement.”
 
“That’s a little harsh,” said Allah. “What are you? Soft on Jews?”
Zeus retorted. “Not likely,” Allah responded, smiling.
 
“We are the manifestations of human hope,” intoned Mighty Krishna,
acknowledged king of all the gods. Then Zeus chimed in: “How does that
song go . . . ‘mountains may crumble . . .’ I’ve seen it all come
tumbling down too many times, and we’re still around.”
 
Buddha, silent until this moment, spoke. “Time is only for a time.
Life is only for a brief instant, like the mayfly, who lives only one
day. Your wish is god’s command. He will never take from you what it
is you have. He has given you more than you could ever repay.
Therefore, shower him with the precious gift of your time, and your
rewards will be great.”
 
Fortuna, the Roman goddess of fortune (who looked like an airline
stewardess back when they were still cute), spoke out of turn: “Every
time we get this place organized, something bad happens.” Pan flew in
and commented: “I told you it was a bad idea to do cities. Everyone
lost their connection to the planet.” Hesus, the druidic divinity and
grandfather of the traditional Jesus thoughtform, stared up at the
starry night and simply said: “Start planting. That’s all we could
ever do.”
 
Hermes, Greco-Roman god of businessmen and thieves, had been sitting
on the roof of this place all this time, calculating his investment
strategies based on the timing of the return of the light. He was the
lookout, and he signalled down to the assembled throng that he could
see it off in the distance, and it was coming back. He sounded a lot
like Nixon saying there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
 
Suddenly Memnosis, Mayan Master of Cosmic Memory, informed the group
that the time had come, that the galactic tsunami was upon us, and
those who were to continue on could only do so as light beings (which
is why those metaphrands came in handy, because they were made of
light), which best of all, automatically eliminated all the Jews from
coming along because they had no light in them.
 
Then the whole place started shaking, and the slow white whirlpool
began cartwheeling all the characters in a slow motion ride that
looked like the yellow brick road to Oz slowly rotating into a
Twilight Zone night. And then the lights went out for good.
 
Eons passed in darkness. And then the question that made the universe.
 
“My son, are you there?”
 
“Yes, mother, always and forever.”
 
“Mmm, it makes me feel so good when I hear that.”
 
So we leave our fantasy theater with a script we can take to the end
of time and it would still be the same.
 
In the diminishing pyrotechnic mist of the stage set, Ahura Mazda, the
wise lord of the Old Persians who embodied both good and evil, chatted
with Ma’at, the Egyptian deity whose feather of truth was weighed
against the human heart at the time of departure. If the heart was too
heavy, so the legend goes, the soul was fed to Thoth’s dog.
 
She looked up at handsome Old Persian deity whose wings sprouted out
of either shoulder, and softly said to him: “Did you ever hear that
song the universe sings? It goes like this. ‘Men are starlight, and
women are the night. Now you must make a wish.’”
 
 
 
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida
preaching the message that no problem in the world can be
authentically addressed without first analyzing tangents caused by
Jewish perfidy, which has subverted and diminished every aspect of
human endeavor throughout history. Support for his work is wholly
derived from people who can understand what he’s saying and know what
it means. http://johnkaminski.info/ 250 N. McCall Rd. #2, Englewood
FL 34223 USA