The Farm

What better system could you design?

Create beings capable of immense love. Make them mortal. Make them bond deeply to one another.

And then make sure that sooner or later they lose each other.

My dear ones,

If we let ourselves look beyond the age-old romantic story surrounding sex, we will see that it is one of the greatest traps on this plane of existence.

Sex is a simple, brilliant and powerful mechanism.

Sex isn't just pleasurable, and it isn't just an expression of desire. Our bodies were designed to make the chemistry of reproduction so rewarding and so powerful that human beings will fantasize about it, chase it, fight to the bitter end for it and even destroy wonderful relationships. Destroy everything.

For the orgasm that comes with conquest, a person will assume false identities and sell anything imaginable to get it. Anything.

Sex creates the next generation of the farm.

It's a sweet chemical wrapping for creating more human beings. More bodies entering the farm, more mouths to feed, more bonds formed. Another cycle of survival begins.

And so another fear takes hold. More suffering becomes possible, feeding the masters of the farm. They don't even need to force us to breed.

The animals on the farm.

When reproduction is the most intoxicating experience, the animals breed on their own.

A brilliant mind built this farm, which simply keeps reproducing on its own.

And then more death. Another harvest of life energy.

We got a new body yet again and reached adulthood for the millionth time. The hormones surge and sex enters a mind-fogging equation of attraction and rejection, pursuit, competition and deceit; anything goes.

Obsessive jealousy to the point of possession.

Betrayal and more betrayal. Violence.

Heartbreak. Fear of loss. Fear of growing old.

Fear that you'll be replaced by a younger woman. That you'll be replaced by a richer, better-looking man.

Abandonment. Shame.

Divorce, revenge, battles over property and custody.

Insecurity. Loneliness.

Emotional drama everywhere, and it all revolves around the lowest level of consciousness: sexuality and the lust of the flesh.

That's how they milk life energy from us, like milk from cows.

It's an operating system whose kernel revolves entirely around sexuality, and around it they built a farm.

Out of this software kernel grew a sophisticated world in which sex is used to sell almost everything.

Women serve food with their tits out, or their butts. What does it matter, as long as we buy. They wash shiny cars in wet, half-transparent bodysuits. It's in perfumes, in makeup, in clothes, in movies. Almost everything we're tempted to buy has a kernel like this.

At its core is subliminal seduction, strongly felt but never spoken of, or else blatant and right in our faces.

The masters of the farm know exactly how to push our buttons. Sex bypasses all logic and thought and goes straight for our animal instincts.

Bull's-eye.

And once they've captured our desire, they can attach almost anything to it. Buy this and you'll be attractive. Wear this and you'll be wanted. Bulk up your muscles and drive a car like this. That's how you'll get women.

Change your body, because it isn't sexy enough. Sculpt your nose. Enlarge your tits. Lift your ass. Plump up your lips.

What matters is that you stay fuckable.

Stay desirable.

All of this feeds the fear that, heaven forbid, you won't be chosen.

Because the farm needs more flesh.

Cannon fodder.

It needs raw flesh for the next war. Suffering bodies for the new pandemic. More victims for the coming twin-towers disaster. Blood money for the attack the newspapers already foresaw. Unlucky bastards for the earthquake next Thursday afternoon.

And every now and then there's a software upgrade. This time it's social media, turning humans into products in a mechanized digital mating market. Look at me. Validate me. Tell me I'm beautiful, that I'm attractive, that I'm sexy. I've been waiting ten minutes for you to hit like. Give me a child.

And just like that, another milk cow is born into the farm.

So you're pregnant again, with heartburn, scrolling a screen. Ugh, look at her body. His life is so much better. She's younger. He's hotter. I'm fat.

Why doesn't my husband look at me like that anymore? Why does my wife like his photos? Why is he messaging me? Why did she choose someone else? Why am I alone? Why am I not enough?

An emotional wringer. That's how energy is milked on the farm.

And then add porn to the phone, and the farm is on steroids: instant stimulation from thousands of bodies and hundreds of thousands of fantasies. No need for a relationship. No need for intimacy. No need for love. Just endless sexual consumption. Want. Consume. Release. Feel empty. Want again. Consume again. Release again.

Wherever we go we'll find it, the same loop everywhere in the world.

Hunger. Eat. Satisfaction. Hunger again.

Want. Buy. Get attention. Get excited. Take a picture. Post a photo. Another photo. And again, this time showing your butt. A flirty like, a phone number thrown in. Meet up. Sexual stimulation again. Want. Consume. Release. Feel empty.

The farm wants you to chase. To want. To get. To consume and want again. And again. And again. It never wants you whole.

A whole being is hard to control.

A whole being doesn't chase. Doesn't consume desperately. Doesn't need likes.

Everything here is carefully designed around wanting. Sex and reproduction, because of the multiplying of the talking participants on the farm.

At every moment, another consciousness arrives into another needy biological body.

Now this body needs a drink, food. Clothing and shelter. A toy. Money. More money. Tests and clinics. Kindergarten and school. An education that programs you. A job. Unemployment.

Now she's a teenage girl and he's a teenage boy, and they want sex. They need release. They breed. Their children want it too. Generation after generation.

Bodies produce bodies. Attachments produce attachments. Fear produces fear. Death produces grief.

An emotional wringer on repeat.

And the wheel keeps turning. On and on and on. What a wonderfully efficient farm, running itself without awareness.

Without stopping. Without reflecting on its own nature.

And sometimes someone wakes up and starts asking questions. Just as long as he doesn't post them. His account has been restricted. He disappears, is arrested or imprisoned. Just as long as he doesn't talk about it with the cows on the farm.

So the farm wraps everything in romantic programming.

Find your other half. Your soulmate. You need someone; you're not complete alone. Find your one and only. Find her, the one. Propose to her. Come on, get married. When are you finally going to have kids? Family. Mortgage. Another loan. Credit line.

Commit to her. Get serious at last. Be a man. Surrender. Settle down. Submit, it's sexy, it's feminine.

Get attached. Get even more attached.

And then spend the rest of our lives afraid of losing everything we've attached ourselves to. Your identity. Your beauty. Your youth. Your man. Your queen. Your children. Your family. Your libido. Sex. Your body to the worms.

Fear is an energy pump, the fuel of the farm.

We're offered pills and shots, just so we'll calm down. Just until next time. Until the next anxiety attack. A pill to sleep. A pill to stay awake. A pill for an erection. A capsule for happiness. A shot for a slim figure.

Prescriptions and potions for milk cows.

And when these bonds come undone again, in the middle or at the end of life. Suffering. Mourning. Pain. Despair. Rage. Guilt. More suffering more pain.

More fuel for the farm.

What better system could you design?

Create beings capable of immense love. Make them mortal. Make them bond deeply to one another. And then make sure that sooner or later they lose each other.

All in order to start over. A new country. A new era. A new family. A new kindergarten. A new bicycle. A new school.

But it's the same mating software. The same desire. Sex and reproduction again. The same soul in the body of a new cow.

The same farm, only with no memories and zero insights.

Because everything we've been trained to love here comes with an expiration date. And then deletion.

Your woman. Your man. Your animals. Your friends. Your body. Every such bond holds the seed of loss and grief.

More than ten million years on terra firma, Mother Earth. Generation upon generation. The same pattern of reproductive drive. The same software encoding desire, sex with its magnetic pull of attraction and repulsion. The same climax. The same release.

But always the same farm.

Why was consciousness placed in an organism with such an overwhelming reproductive drive? Why is sexuality tied to approval? Why is it tied to identity?

Why is it tied to worth?

Why is this biological button wired to so many emotional reactions?

Why does rejection hurt so much? Why does betrayal cause such immense emotional devastation? Why does sexual jealousy make intelligent people lose their sanity completely?

Sex creates bodies. Bodies always create need. That leads to a struggle for survival. Emotions are wrung out. The cow produces milk. The farm is profitable. What matters is keeping people aroused. Chasing. Craving. Fucking. Breeding. Comparing. Searching. Forming attachments. Afraid of loss. Afraid of growing old. Of being alone.

What matters is keeping our emotion factory running.

The perfect farm doesn't look like a farm at all. The cows don't see fences. They don't see tyrants. They don't see themselves being harvested, squeezed. The software is so well disguised that we think we have will and freedom of choice. We think it's our own idea.

I want. I need. I dream.

My will. My needs. My dreams.

They're not yours and they don't come from you. It's the farm.

We produce the emotional harvest ourselves. We replicate ourselves. We police ourselves. We fear for ourselves. We kill ourselves.

Just build the right programming and the farm will breed and run on its own. No one talks about it, and whoever dares to speak quickly becomes no one. He disappears.

To break through the fence of the farm, we have to ask questions.

Why does sex have so much power over human consciousness? Why does society turn it into a weapon everywhere?

Why was your self-worth ever tied to the question of whether someone wants to fuck you?

Why do people destroy their peace in terrible relationships? Why are they afraid to be alone?

Why can jealousy turn love into hate overnight?

Why does sex produce the next generation of bodies that enter the exact same loop?

Escaping the farm doesn't mean being afraid of sex.

It simply means that sex stops owning us. We stop serving the hormonal engineering designed to enslave us to addictive chemistry.

There is sex without obsession. There is sex without jealousy. There is sex without addiction. Without confusing chemistry with love. Without letting another body become our reason for existing.

There is sex without confusing possession with connection. There is sex without confusing ownership with love. There is connection without dependence.

There is conscious sex without unconscious programming.

Yes, all of these exist, and we also have enough neurons in our brain to build a consciousness that isn't addicted. Isn't dependent. Isn't needy. Isn't a chronic consumer of exhausting, reactive gratification.

The farm feeds on unconscious reaction. It is fueled by a hormonal automaton programmed for reproduction. When we are aware, we stop reacting automatically to the button being pressed.

Every time you observe instead of reacting, you stop feeding jealousy, stop chasing approval, stop letting desire rule your consciousness, your destiny.

You get better and better at recognizing when your biological avatar is pulling your strings. You stop behaving like a breeding bull, an animal machine with no self-awareness. And every time you choose conscious awareness over reactive programming, the farm gets a little less from you.

Slowly, less and less.

The way out is deep within.

To observe in silence, see the way through the fence and the hidden program, and know that we are not that program.

We are not a product, and we are not chemistry.

This is not

sexual repression.

This is sovereignty beyond sexuality, seeing clearly what the farm has wired into your sexuality.

May our journey bring insight,

❤️

Ran

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