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John Hogue http://www.hogueprophecy.com    

I hate writing about myself. Anything said will only have a glass fragment of truth and not present before you the whole mirror reflecting a human being. Fragments held too tightly as the whole truth tend to cut and slice one’s hand. Any identity or label is a piece of the whole person; however, as this is the dark age of Kali Yuga, let us move forward in the darkness of print.

Over the past 30 years, I must have studied enough on my own to become a Rhodes Scholar but I attained no degrees, short of the minimum requirement–a high school diploma–in 1974. More than this degree in society’s de-education of my intelligence was too much to bear. The price for a further dulling of intelligence required I assume too many others’ degrees of BS, BMs, acidic PhDs of borrowed knowledge. Thus after a number of interesting adventures, nervous breakthroughs and jumps into the unknown, I currently, and somewhat cheekishly, go by the title “Rogue” scholar.

I define myself this way because I am in rebellion with education in general. I see it as the root cause of perpetuating fossilized traditions and human misery. I specifically rebel against the famous dictum ‘those who do not learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat them.’

I propose that those who teach the lessons of history have done a lousy job and therefore have doomed us to repeat the lessons of history.

We teach each new generation to repeat the past and call it the future and that past is full of false promises, aggression and war. The costumes and technology may change but essentially the same fearful, judgmental, aggressive and warmongering human pathologies are spoon fed to the young until they turn green with it and believe as they are told that this color of prejudiced perception is ‘normal.’ If war, and aggression is to end, then programming each new generation to repeat the past has to end. I therefore strive in my books on past and future history to expose the taken-for-granted flaws in perception.

I have written 18 books and counting on the tradition of prophecy; in other words, the ancient fascination half baked with true paranormal intuition, topped with good educated guesses about of how  repeat the past and call it the future. They have been printed and passed out 1.3 million copies published in 19 languages. The first 11 books were made of dead trees. The latter batch since 2003 have been published in the brave new world of photons and electrons. The books are:

Nostradamus and the Millennium (1987)

The Nostradamus Datebook (1990)

The Millennium Book of Prophecy (1994)

Nostradamus: The New Revelations (1994)

Nostradamus: The Complete Prophecies (1997)

The Last Pope: The Decline and Fall of the Church of Rome (1998)

1000 for 2000 Startling Predictions for the New Millennium (1998)

Messiahs: The Visions and Prophecies of the Second Coming (1999)

Nostradamus: The New Millennium (2002)

Essential Nostradamus (2002)

Nostradamus: A Life and Myth (2003)

The Last Pope Revisited (2006)

Nostradamus: The War with Iran (2007)

Predictions for 2008

Nostradamus and the Antichris, Code Named: MABUS (2008)

Predictions for 2009

Predictions for 2010

Predictions for 2011

A rogue scholar sets out to disturb the sleepy givens. He nourishes in the reader a true form of the word ‘skeptic’ which means ‘one who investigates, digs deep for answers.’ A skeptic is not judgmental. Mostly the word is used to promote cynicism and not its original meaning. A skeptic observes and never assumes anything. He doubts as that word was intended in its Indio-European roots: ‘To hover between two possibilities.’ He does not stand on tradition. He looks with fresh eyes. He is always in the new moment living in a state of beginning. In that freshness there can come forth intelligence, innovation, and original insight about the inner and outer universe. A rogue scholar finds the doorway to eternity in the atomically small yet powerful point of each present moment.

A rogue scholar has the unenviable task of disturbing people’s sleep. He questions assumptions and poses often shocking alternatives. For instance, we assume we are civilized when perhaps civilization has yet to happen on this earth. We assume we are human when it may very well be that our humanity is still in seed form.

We are trained to think and feel that we are individuals when we are all idiots.

Yes. We are all idiots. That is our bondage through programming.

This Greek word comes from the root idios, which stands for ‘identity.’ Society trains one to be excellent and extraordinary, be it in intellectual and social accomplishments or in pathological behavior. If I am to follow my society’s aim at living an extraordinary life then this requires that I I-dentify with emotions, thoughts and things. I am ‘John.’ I am an ‘American.’ I love this. I hate that. I hope, I fear, I do the I-diot.

Idios also means being ‘special’ or ‘distinct’ from other personalities. I-diocy is what you get when the society seeds the empty skylike being of a child’s soul with the dark rain clouds of a borrowed identity. Nevertheless, if one is aware, one sees that for any identification to exist, it requires its opposite. If society and religion can program you to I-dentify, there is a chance you can deprogram yourself from religious and societal conditioning and experience dis-I-dentification. No matter how dark is society’s hurricane of beclouded thoughts and feelings conditioned to roil life into ego personified, it must rotate around a profoundly becalmed inner eye in its center. That eye in the idiot’s storm can be a window to the larger sky we have forgotten. It is a reminder of the unbearable lightness of being infinite.

And now for something a little more biographical:

For all of you astrologers out there, my body and brains were born 7:32 AM (Pacific Standard Time), 29 October 1955, in Hollywood, CA. (No kidding! I am a native of Hollywood). Fortunately for me my beloved mother laughed the moment I slipped through the vaginal curtains onto life’s stage. I like to believe her laughter at that crucial moment–like so many of her other wonderful gifts of love and support down through the years–gave me a positive and life-affirming perception of existence. Truly, one needs a good sense of humor to get through life–more so if people tag the donkey’s tail tag on you of so-called ‘world authority’ on Nostradamus and prophecy!

Before my mother’s labor of laughter, and before my parents met, Irene Hall and Bud Hogue were in the movie industry. Dad (who died in 1997) was a studio grip during the 1940’s and 1950’s and worked on over 200 of the era’s finest films. My mother was a dancer at MGM and Paramount Studios. She worked with some of that film era’s most famous musical comedy personalities: Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Judy Garland, Mitzi Gaynor, choreographer Busby Berkeley, composer Ferde Grofe and Ester Williams, to name a few. They worked on some of the same movies but didn’t meet and marry until after both had left ‘the biz.’

Between 1973-77, I also spent some time in the professional performing arts as a musical comedy actor and Opera singer under the tutelage of William Chapman, Broadway star and lead baritone of the New York City Opera, and his wife, Irene Chapman.

Those years in the theater expanded my capacity to celebrate life and singing helped open my heart and flood my brain and body with moments of ecstatic joy. Yet by the age of 22 I left it all. I had started practicing the techniques of Zen meditation the year before and had experienced a glimpse of something as vast and shattering to my perceptions as it was paradoxically quiet and ordinary. Thus I began to remove myself from the social and often back-stabbing political world of opera. The glimpse of perceiving a bigger more universal and connected world through meditation brought me back in touch with the innocence of childhood, and to a childhood need to delve into the mysteries of life and death and record these examinations in the creative solitude of writing.

My friends and colleagues from those days still puzzle over why I abandoned a promising singing career to become a wandering seeker and writer on mystical matters. All I can say to them is that the moments of heightened consciousness experienced while performing were of more interest to me than having a stage career. I wanted to discover if such moments of ecstatic awareness could become one’s moment-to-moment, twenty-four hour experience. Since the late 1970s I have embarked on an inner journey of self-observation, investigating and writing on subjects of the occult, parapsychology, mysticism, new religious movements and prophecy. This search has taken me several times around the world. I have spent extensive periods in India experimenting with ancient and modern meditation techniques and living in ashrams and alternative communities.

Meditation is the guiding force of my life, but how can I tell you about this journey inward to find my self again, without tarnishing it with judgments, dialectics, words?

If I ever greet you beyond the veil of these words, we might find a way to share this mystery called meditation. I will not speak of it, I will sing it to you, dance it; we will hug meditation, we will “silent” meditation. Our sutras will be giggles.

I do not yet know “who” I am but meditation allows me to often see “how” I am.

Through understanding the hows of my happiness-sadness-love-and-hate, I observe their rough-and-tumble within me with greater distance. Meditation helps me to watch the movement of my thoughts and emotions. I become more a spectator than a participant in stress, pain, and denial. Through meditation I have been able to uncover the root cause of all my misery: The fear of change, and lurking behind that, the ultimate fear–the fear of death. Meditation has helped me observe the mechanics of misery and fear.

There’s a Sufi metaphor about identification. Misery doesn’t come to us, we unconsciously seek it out and hold on to it, like flinging our arms around a pillar. As we squeeze tighter we yell, “Oh, if I only could be rid of this misery and pain!”

This misunderstanding is our choice. As American mystic Adi Da once remarked, we “do” misery, we “do” expectation. Hell is not a place, we “do” it.

My own journey into meditation and spiritual rebellion began from a nasty experience I had as a seven year old, when I moved to a new school in a new neighborhood.

I was in love with the little girl sitting next to me in my second-grade class. When she was moved to another spot in the classroom, I was brokenhearted. The teacher, like many adults I knew then (and now), liked to hide her fears behind a facade of power. She looked as big as her fear, and when she demanded to know what was the matter with me, I didn’t speak in words but in pain, and sobbed into my hands. My expression of naked feeling elicited from kids and teacher alike an immediate wave of hostility and derision. For weeks after that event, I was treated with disgust and fear as some kind of “thing.”

During an atomic air raid drill for World War III–so common in the years following the Cuban Missile Crisis–I accidentally bumped into the largest kid in the class while groping in the dark classroom for my place to “duck and cover” myself. His immediate reaction was to slug me in the stomach. Crying, doubled over in agony, I asked him why he hit me. Still a kid and not yet completely formed into the proper masked and label-loving adult, he was struck by the blow of my existential question.

“I don’t know!” he blinked, bewildered. “It’s what dad told me to do. When you’re hit, hit back.”

That was my first hard lesson in programming.

It got worse. When he and a gang of kids would chase me off the playground every recess with tether balls and stones, I had to run my little ass into a nearby storm drain trench. As I huddled there, I was forced to face the reality that people were neither sane nor loving; they only pretended to be. The children would forget about me and wander back to the swings and sandboxes, but I could never forget this heartbreaking truth, heartbreaking because it set me apart from people. It made me aware that I am alone.

But no bitter experience is without its sweetness. Crouching in the trench, chin buried in the pungent grass, with tearful, wide eyes gazing at dancing clouds in a silent sky, I also became aware that Nature did not – could not – reject me. It was more than a friend, it was a beloved. As I became aware of my aloneness, Nature accepted it. Was it.

After that I could not see fear in Nature, only innocence. There is no judgment in Nature’s stases and catastrophes. It is unnatural man, divided against the Self, who judges them. There is life, death, violence and peace flowing from animals, Earth and plants. They don’t judge or feel divisions like we do. The rosebush doesn’t compare itself to the lotus and commit suicide. In fact, no animal except man commits suicide or indiscriminately slaughters its own kind. We compare, and throw our minds and hearts into the turmoil of division. This division becomes projected onto all of our relationships with other human beings and with the Earth. As we become more and more split off from our fellow humans and from the planet, we create all the conditions that draw us closer to death, personal and global.

The insights of my personal apocalypse made it hard for me to buy into all the ways people suppress the natural within and destroy the ecology of Earth with their fearful greed. A new and tender consciousness arose that at the time had no words. Looking back on it years later, I realized it was then I made the commitment that has forever sabotaged my efforts to embrace life as it is socially presented and commonly accepted. That is why I never succeeded in opera or fit with anyone’s projections and expectations.

I somehow understood in my child-mind that a truly natural, spiritual person would be as silent as that sky, as playful as those eddying clouds, as rich with the fragrance of wisdom as the grass cushioning my chin. A natural human being, like the grass, could not dictate or push his or her fragrance on others but would simply be unable to contain it.

In the intensity of that terrible moment of rejection, Nature showed me how to sniff out the unbearable lightness and sacred light of a natural and ordinary, human being. These flowers in humanity’s manure field would possess the silence of Nature and an equanimity in the face of Nature’s two polar complementaries–destruction and creation. I would instinctively recognize these enlightening-up people by their laughter and celebration uncaused, by the gleam of a second and consciously recognized childhood sparking in their eyes. I would know them if their silent gaze and presence were not disturbed by fame or infamy, riches or poverty, life or death. They would remain inwardly blissful, unaffected by life’s vagaries or any attempts by those outside of their silence to abuse and disturb them. These natural human beings would be happy in a palace or in the dirtiest holding cell. And if sadness on rare occasions came to their doors, they would watch it rather than indulge it, until sadness moved on.

I have spent the bulk of my adult life traveling around the world in search of such men and women. I have found them. Many of their quotes about the human condition and its future appear in my books. They are my criterion for saying you and I are unnatural.They have also showed me–in their unique ways–that meditation, the science of self-observation, is the only medicine that can cure the insanity we have become and give us back a future.

I do not ask or expect you to believe me. In fact, there is no point in either believing or debunking what I’m saying without a sincere and intimate investigation on your own.

I am satisfied with the ongoing process of my own apocalypse. I have met a few members of the genus Homo novus (the new humanity foreseen by many prophetic traditions) and their fragrance is meditation.

The words “meditation” and “medicine” have the same ancient root. One heals the body, the other the soul. If we look from a more occidental angle, the words “meditation” and “mechanic” also have the same roots. If you can watch your entire mental-emotional engine without getting caught in its grinding gears, if you can see it as the dispassionate and watchful “mechanic,” you will then find ways to fix your “engine.” It will start working for you rather than disturb your ride through life.

The study of the world’s meditation techniques and religions naturally expanded into a study of prophecy. I first became interested in predictions out of fear. Fear that an apocalypse was unavoidable. At that time in the early 1970s, I felt no responsibility for my planet or myself in the matter of its survival. I was reading every prediction made in the last 10 millennia just to see if there was a safe place to weather the coming holocaust expected for the year 2000.

As the years passed, the addition of meditation in my life revolutionized my study of prophecy and the occult. As a result of practicing this inner science I became aware that no safe place exists for anyone except within the still point of consciousness itself. I have come through this 30-year study of predictions recognizing that each of us is responsible for the misery and auto-suicidal tendencies that could destroy this beautiful planet. In other words, each of us does our part to create either doomsday or a blooms day in the early decades of the 21st century.

It is my experience that prophecy works because we are predictable. Conditioning each new generation to blindly follow our habits and traditions without questioning them only condemns our children to be as predictable and tragic in their future history as we have behaved in history’s past. As I said earlier, I don’t believe we’ve ever had a future. We recreate the past and call it the future, with all of its predictable traps

So far we have failed to fix our world because we deal with the symptoms not the ‘dis-ease’ itself. We need a new science of self-observation so it can become aware of the roots of our suffering. Only this understanding, shared by millions across the Earth, can alter human destiny for the better. As I see it, if humanity wants a future – rather than a regurgitated past – it will have to be deprogrammed and deconditioned. In the next 30 years, Society’s habit of turning every enlightened child into a manageable mediocrity will have to end, or civilization will collapse from stresses coming from pollution and overpopulation. If people can free themselves from their fossilized religious and traditional conditioning then the new humanity of the next century will be spontaneous and unpredictable.

You cannot predict what untethered intelligence and love will do next. Perhaps that is why so many of history’s proven seers witness so few events beyond the first decade of the next century. Rather than 2012 being the date that time ends, as certain prophetic traditions and pop-Apocaloids believe, humankind begins to free itself from its past conditionings and therefore its future cannot be easily foreseen.

With this said, it is always important to remember that we live in no other time but this atomic and eternal moment. A study of prophecy should not nurture our future-oriented obsessions. Doomsday or a Golden age of peace never comes today. They are potentials of the living present. I propose that a study of prophecy has value if we use the foreseen future potentials as the reflections of our present actions. Only in the present do we have the power to change tomorrow. Only by living totally in this moment do we have a chance to avoid tomorrow’s darker potentials.

In 1986, I returned from my first wave of world travels and communal experiments to the “normal” world. I lived in a stairwell in Seattle for three days and then found marvelous digs along the Lake Washington coast in suburban Seattle where I eventually began writing my first book, Nostradamus and the Millennium, which came out in 1987. By early 1988 I flew a few more laps around the world collecting prophecies and experiencing spiritual communities in Italy, India, South East Asia and Australia then returned to Seattle in 1990. There I began a nine-year book writing marathon with the Millennium as the finish line.

The 1990s were the most sedentary decade of my life. I rarely was able to leave the confines of my modest one-bedroom flat–so intense was the outflow of books and the desire to share my experiences. It seemed as if I spent the last decade staring at the magic mirror of my Macintosh color monitor. Locked away like a termite queen in her chamber producing offspring, I gave birth to Millennium Book of Prophecy (1994), Nostradamus: The New Revelations (1994), the 1,000-page tome Nostradamus: The Complete Prophecies (1997), The Last Pope (1998), 1000 for 2000 Predictions for the Millennium (1999), Messiahs: Visions and Prophecies for the Second Coming (1999), and right this moment I’m pasting together a little pocket book on Nostradamus for those of you who only have time to read 63 pages rather than 1,000 pages of Nostradamus.

I wasn’t always a literary shut-in. I did sneak out of my termite chamber to have a life whenever possible and as the decade moved along and the books started crowding the bookstore shelves I began to get a greater number of those do-I-know-you? stares. My owl-like and bearded mug, beret-covered head, and dandruff-dusted shoulders have found their way on over 100 American, European, and cable television shows to date.

Some of you may have seen my talking head and beard about once a week on History Channel or History International Channel these days. Here’s the growing list: