You may have wondered: why does everything have to happen so quickly in television programs? Why are guests constantly pressed and pushed to be brief, more and more synthetic, to speak for a few seconds, and then immediately after they are interrupted, because we have to RUN in advertising?
I think the reason is very simple:
haste is in itself a powerful fear intensifier.
Communicating this permanent state of agitation, determined by the lack of time, increases the spectator's state of alarm, and that is ultimately his fear.
Every new event actually arouses concern in human beings, teases us, disturbs us, and so it should push us to UNDERSTAND what is happening, making us grow.
That is, fear is not in itself a bad thing, if it helps us to broaden and deepen our knowledge of reality.
But here the intent is not this at all, here the intent is pure and simple Manipulation, that is, we want to push people to believe very unbelievable things, and to do things they would never want to do.
So mass communication uses the most basic and most effective tools of manipulation:
first of all, as we said, increase fear, keep people in a permanent state of alarm and uncertainty,
so everything has to happen quickly,
there must never be time to think deeply, to better understand what is happening;
then you have to obsessively repeat the same message, but always in a hurry: repeating the stimulus is the most archaic of the means of mental coercion, and propaganda like advertising uses it without any scruple.
When you've put the person in a state of permanent fear, you have to weaken them, somewhat by blaming them: after all, it's your fault if things go so badly; a little flattering her: you are good at doing what I tell you; somewhat isolating it, both presently and emotionally, creating conflicts that turn everyone against everyone, and then increasing it by confusing it with the hasty increase of news that we can never delve into, because there is no time, and we have to RUN into advertising.
Every deviant consideration with respect to the repeated stimulus must be condemned, abrogated, ridiculed, mocked, trivialized, categorized as fake, also shown but in a context that shows its inconsistency, and in the end possibly marginalized from any honorable communication: their dirty and crazy environments of maniacs, narcissists, antisocials, provided however that they do not violate (our, increasingly strict) laws ......
At that point the Manipulator must offer a solution, a way out, which may appear as the only salvation to the poor victim, now exhausted and desperate, who will therefore at that point do what he would never have done in a decent state. serenity, and inner freedom.
Perhaps approving and even thanking his Executioner.
What a horror!
How can we react to this now so shameless system of Manipulation?
We have in a certain sense already indicated it:
Immediately slow down the induced mental frenzy.
Therefore, practice meditation and deep prayer with renewed intensity, simply to clear our poor minds and save them from the poisonous stings of universal Manipulation.
Furthermore, study the issues in depth, seeking different sources, comparing them with great calm and serenity, precisely scientifically, with the true method of rational verification.
Also keep the memory of what Manipulation proposes, and unmask its continuous contradictions, and its pure and simple and truly far-fetched and sometimes scandalous lies.
Finally, always returning to one's deepest feeling, to ask ourselves: but this thing they want to push me into, this conviction that they are so obsessively injecting into me (and excessive repetition is already pure violence in itself), how does it resonate in my heart? in my stomach? how do I feel, beyond the mental intoxication induced by the propaganda?
When we have created a large enough critical mass, which has the strength to follow these small spiritual tricks, and to aggregate in a spirit of friendship, we can begin to challenge the System of Lies in completely new, unprecedented, creative, and overwhelming ways.
Many of us are already working, in reality, with great joy and great confidence, to prepare an exciting Season of Refreshment, of Human Restoration.
I don’t know if any of you have a chest or trunk where you keep your memories. Sometimes the door of the past opens and many things related to our childhood come out. I opened the trunk of my memory and what I found is beautiful. My grandmother had this trunk, which was actually a chest, which served as a coat rack and bag storage, on which we children sat and imagined driving a carriage, complete with a simulation of the noise of the horses’ hooves, beating the timed heels on dark wooden board. This trunk, however, escaped its textbook location because it was in the corridor and did nothing but feed our curiosity as city children looking for new pastimes with which to pleasantly fill the long afternoons spent at grandmother’s house, slippers with heels and television on those TV programs that she called “useless things”. Although curious, we were not used to approaching the trunk in the corridor too frequently because we felt a sort of awe, most likely infused us by our parents, since inside there were “grandmother’s things that if you touch them she realizes and gets angry “. But one day I took courage and asked my grandmother to show me what was hidden in the trunk. She opened it and in the midst of letters, my grandfather’s military clothes, old newspapers and strange objects, photos of her past came out. I looked at that world in black and white and I wondered what colors the clothes and eyes of those people who unconsciously stared at me immortal from the photo cards had had. I asked my grandmother for the names of multitudes of objects unknown to me, information on their function, on what they had done, if the iron was really as comfortable as it seemed from the relaxed expression of a relative portrayed in the moment of starching a shirt. squares with an indecipherable color. And my grandmother promptly answered all my questions, standing, elbows resting on a round table now full of photographs; she seemed younger to me and it was easy for me to see in her the signs of that girl who survived the war.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 