The crop circle trend trailed off to nothing long ago, or no longer seemed remarkable—no longer operated as a mystery. It came to prominence in the late 1970s, though circles were reputed to have been found for centuries. At its height, in the early 1990s, the whole phenomenon gained a considerable media profile—particularly in Japan, the Japanese being a society with an active interest in the occult. There were even media “stakeouts” with the latest night-vision equipment to catch who or “what” made the circles.
As with all religious events—and this was a religious event—there were five camps: believers in angels; believers in aliens; believers in science; and believers in skepticism—then there was the fifth camp, the people in the gno, the people who made the circles. The believers in aliens and angels are self-explanatory: the crop circles were messages from extraterrestrial or inter-dimensional entities. The scientists, who made careful records as regards the circles, maintained that “atmospheric plasma” and perhaps “microweather” were to blame. The skeptics maintained that the crop circles were manmade.
However, as a man who actually made the circles noted, nobody in the believer camp was interested in an answer: the whole exercise was really a social pastime for the summer—every summer the various factions would gather in the area near Stonehenge, at a particular pub, and chew the cud as regards “the mystery of the circles”. Believers meditated in the circles and swore that “the energy” made their dowsing rods twirl; skeptics would stakeout fields with night-vision in the hope that they would catch someone at it; and the scientists would come along and carefully measure each formation, record its whirls and so on. Then all the groups would converge on the pub and try to settle “the truth”. As the circle-maker observed, vast egos were involved in this search for “truth”—and little truth was discovered. People whose lives were otherwise devoid of mystery—the supermarket, the school run, the office—found a sense of awe in a world that long ago abolished this sensation.
The hullabaloo was ridiculous; and it certainly showed up “science” as more or less nonsense, for the scientists who formulated hypotheses about atmospheric plasma, microweather, and miniature vortexes in fact dealt with men with planks of wood supplemented with a rope handle—a great way to overcomplicate the situation. On the other hand, some skeptics who tried to replicate the crop circles—did so successfully—found themselves compelled to carry on and become complicit in the phenomenon; it proved to be more fun than skepticism.
Yet the circle-makers also reported many paranormal experiences as they made their circles—telepathy, orbs of light, time fluctuations, weird noises, and synchronicities with crop circle designs. After all, the circles were giant sigils—magical operations, spells. For those with crop circle gnosis, as opposed to the various believers on the outside, the crop circles were on the one hand entirely explicable—they made them—and on the other generated their own paranormal phenomena (as if they were guided to create them). If you have the experience, you understand that belief is false—and yet there is something more.
The same applies to political movements, the people who talk about politics are engaged in a social pastime—they have no genuine interest in a resolution to the situation, and would be upset if it happened; it would ruin their game. Trump illustrates this nicely; he attempted to implement what conservatives had talked about for decades—yet they all resisted him, since he upset their pastime: every year we come here, complain about the left, and then leave satisfied yet beaten. The same would apply to the radical right, even to Twitter dissidents: if a person made genuine moves to save the West everyone would unite against him and complain about him—since he would upset the social pastime. This is the difference between those who gno—the doers—and those who talk and believe.