Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry, Chapter 7

Astronaut Charlie Duke left his family photo on the moon, 1972. NASA (public domain)

Some Inner Life

We normally don’t remember much of anything of being a child before the age of reason, which is when the ego becomes rock solid so to speak, around 6 or 7 for most kids, or when the front teeth fall out and grow back, because our center of identity isn’t formed enough to organize memories around. While exceptions may abound in the form of memory snapshots, ‘me’ moments where we are ‘I’ enough to take a selfie, a sequence of events would be rare to remember. Yet I have always had that memory, isolated like an island in space, until the island joined its continent when I saw the devil again face to face. It’s the memory of that dragon-thing tricking me to the Void (I was 4), mostly of its shit eating grin as it slammed the storm cellar door on me, but also its trickery to get me there, over the course of time, each time leading me further and further down through the lower worlds, which I’ve since learned are what we call the hells, to that cut off from existence called by many names because it really is there and has been experienced by more than just I.

Driven by a strange will down ever down,
The sky above a communique of Doom,
He strove to shield his spirit from despair,
But felt the horror of the growing Night
And the Abyss rising to claim his soul.
Then ceased the abodes of creatures and their forms
And solitude wrapped him in its voiceless folds.
All vanished suddenly like a thought expunged;
His spirit became an empty listening gulf
Void of the dead illusion of a world:
Nothing was left, not even an evil face.
He was alone with the grey python Night.
A dense and nameless Nothing conscious, mute,
Which seemed alive but without body or mind,
Lusted all beings to annihilate
That it might be for ever nude and sole.
As in a shapeless beast’s intangible jaws,
Gripped, strangled by that lusting viscous blot,
Attracted to some black and giant mouth
And swallowing throat and a huge belly of doom,
His being from its own vision disappeared
Drawn towards depths that hungered for its fall.
A formless void oppressed his struggling brain,
A darkness grim and cold benumbed his flesh,
A whispered grey suggestion chilled his heart;
Haled by a serpent-force from its warm home
And dragged to extinction in bleak vacancy
Life clung to its seat with cords of gasping breath;
Lapped was his body by a tenebrous tongue.
Existence smothered travailed to survive;
Hope strangled perished in his empty soul,
Belief and memory abolished died
And all that helps the spirit in its course.
There crawled through every tense and aching nerve
Leaving behind its poignant quaking trail
A nameless and unutterable fear.
As a sea nears a victim bound and still,
The approach alarmed his mind for ever dumb
Of an implacable eternity
Of pain inhuman and intolerable.
This he must bear, his hope of heaven estranged;
He must ever exist without extinction’s peace
In a slow suffering Time and tortured Space,
An anguished nothingness his endless state.

from Savitri by Sri Aurobindo
(Courtesy of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram Press)

I don’t know when the inner journeys down to the hells began, but it stands to reason that they began soon after birth in the journey towards orgasm my mom gave me and then, once established, moved more to sleep and dream where there was more playtime available. We really have no idea how open a baby is to changing channels if you get the picture here, having come so recently from someplace else that I can most easily describe as the inner world, and babies are as much in the inner as in the outer and mix the two together. A demon can take advantage of that inner creature that they are. My mom wasn’t the monster; it was. Already inclined to that because of being sexually abused as a very little girl herself, which it had probably engineered as well, as these creatures curse a family for generations, the demon was an invisible but powerful influence on her will, the Hostiles Powers major prompters on human will in general, which we are all but ignorant of.

She didn’t just start sexually abusing me, however. It probably wasn’t an accident I was born with an anus too small, as the Hostile Powers do have some degree of power to cause the body to become ill or have an accident, and so they may also have some power to affect our bodies in the womb, especially the organs of sex and elimination, which are interestingly one and the same, the area of our body that concerns them the most, the erogenous zones. The family doctor, who delivered me, instructed her to open my anus wider using her lubricated finger, and that made me cry, and so to sooth me afterwards she’d rub and kiss me down there, my penis coming erect and, to make a long story short, she sucked it, surprised to find I’d have an orgasm. Soon it was “orgasm change that diaper,” as my muse describes it. When I was an adult, and my mom was describing it to me, a sketchy, non-detailed description, she said it wasn’t sexual but beautiful, and that she had no sexual desire when she did it, denial of course, but these details are unnecessary at this moment. Now I must deal with your disgust.

You probably feel you’re feeling it because you’re such a good person, and such abuse by a mother upon her child is so rare, an abomination of nature, and you, being so normal and moral, just feel like throwing up when hearing about it. There is an Eastern spiritual notion that suggests that revulsion is just the flip side of attraction, and if you really are superior to something, like have no strings attached to it, you are neither attracted nor repulsed but are unmoved when confronted with it, meaning you don’t have a moral reaction, which, when you think about it, is the only attitude to have to deal with something like this properly.

My yoga adheres to this notion, teaches the practice of equanimity, but adds the soul’s say on the matter, or its feelings when confronted with the world’s pain rather, which isn’t a reaction but a conscious response aimed at healing. A non-despondant sorrow the soul feels, for all parties, the abuser, the abused child, and the world that’s been abused. It’s universal, and therefore it heals. You do not know yet that healing involves both the abuser and the abused, or the criminal and their community, as I keep saying, and that in order for one to be healed so must the other be also, or at least the heart-felt attempt made. It’s because we are souls, not bodies, and we are united, not separate as it seems. If you were truly moral and ethical, it’s with this healing sorrow you’d confront this page in our book.

What if I told you that such abuse by a mother isn’t so rare as you might think, not as common as the cold and not always outright fellatio to orgasm, but a mother sexually stimulating their baby nonetheless? If you’re a mother maybe your hand has seen at least the possibility? How many mothers do you think were sexually abused by men when they were little girls? How many of those mothers only bring that up when they have their hand on their baby boy’s penis?

Now what if I told you that, in the scenario with my mother, I’ve basically described our fall from paradise, showed you who the snake was, what the apple was, and who was Eve, or, Pandora opening that box, or, in non-representative terms, I’ve described how we separated from the animal kingdom and became the painfully self-aware creatures that we are, where the human condition came from?

Even today, a mother being her baby’s lover, to the nth degree my mother was with me, with the combination of the environing romantic focus of her consciousness, her worship of me, the demon’s interfering hand, and the at once expanding, at once dispersing, effects of orgasm upon a baby’s consciousness, you’d get a different kind of kid. Don’t try this at home folks. The kid you’d get a demon would love to play with, a kid who knew the difference between good and evil because evil had him by the balls, literally and figuratively, a kid who’d wind up doing evil despite wanting to do good, a kid, if the divine didn’t intervene, as it did with humanity long ago and as it has with me, that would suffer so and bring suffering to others, and last of all you’d get a kid that’ll bring you to ruin with the way today we reach back in time to punish sexual sin, and not even in death are you safe. Do you know my mom’s good name?

I remember reality getting bleaker and dimmer the further down through the lower worlds the demon and I went, in my travels with it as an infant and toddler, and there being a pressure down deep hard to bear, what gave me the feeling of claustrophobia, but the demon soothed me through those patches, although many times I went back up, ignoring his pleas and coaxes. This journey took years actually, started sometime after birth and ended when I was four. I don’t know if it were his intention all along, to get me into the Void, or if it occurred to him as he slid me down towards it, him taking me down to the hells just part of the process of his game of really having his way with me. The same question comes up with the Nazis and the hell they took several million Jews through. Whatever the case, the Hostile Powers were behind that too.

You’d want to hear about the hells, but I don’t remember much of anything except a general sense of weirdness way past anything the world under the sun gets weird about. During those three years of inner exploration, I retraced some of those steps down and can describe a hell or two, but the map I’d recommend is not mine but Savitri’s, but here I will say they are not just places to punish man in the afterlife, although we might find ourselves in one for however long it takes us to grasp ourselves by the neck up and out of it, but they are worlds or realms unto themselves that the people of hell are born into. Finally he got me all the way down to that storm cellar door, which is how my mind represented the entrance to the Void. I remember all manner of things and pieces of things whirling around there, houses, trees, patches of ground, whatever, like reality was just barely able to sustain itself, not enough to give a ground to anything, just to the things themselves, not stable enough to sit anything still, except that storm cellar door, which sat there stone-like defying all groundlessness around. We were at the edge of existence, and I knew it. To get me down that far he’d really put on a show to make me laugh, and before I knew it, we were there. He opened the storm cellar and told me to jump in, and even though I was only a toddler, I knew the gravity of going down in there. The look of nothing is like nothing you’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t budge, no matter what, and he finally gave up, and, however it happened, I came back to myself awake in the world of daylight, most probably in my bed, as I don’t think in was in one of those episodes of my mom administering to me orgasm.

How long before he got me again to that no-realm of everything whirling around in a groundless chaos I can’t recall, to that storm cellar door, but he got me there the same way, by getting me to laughing with his antics. I sobered up though seeing him open the cellar door. “Look,” he said, “I’ll jump in and jump out to show you how easy it is, and then you do it.” You’ve heard the Superman joke of him jumping out a high rise window and coming back in it so to convince a hapless person, who didn’t know he was Superman, to do the same? It has some basis in fact. Chevy jumped in and jumped right back out. You can fool a toddler so easily. I went to the hole and jumped in without so much as a stand there and hesitate, the same way I’d jump out of airplanes when I’d become a paratrooper, why I’d usually be first in the stick, the line of paratroopers in the plane. I turned around once I was in to climb back out, but blocking my exit was the shit eating, grinning face of that damn demon, who’d gotten what he wanted, and he slammed the storm cellar door down shut. If the look of nothing is like nothing you ever seen, the feel of it is like nothing you ever want to feel, like being an island on freezing fire outside of existence, how I wrote about it as an adult more fully remembering it, years before I encountered Sri Aurobindo’s description in Savitri. His captures it well, and I can do no better except to add the following effect: if you figure the pain of circumcision early in life gives your penis a message of pain so to program it all life long from too much pleasure, can you imagine what the pain of having your existence cut off would program in you at four?

Once the storm cellar door was closed there was no hint of any exit, of anything at all actually, not even space if you do understand what nothing is, or that there would ever be anything, since I had the sense this was for eternity, and a toddler can know there’s a forever when faced with it, and never again would I be anything more than a blot completely and utterly alone and feeling a claustrophobic terror my self could not sustain, and I screamed and I screamed, but in hopelessness no one can hear you scream. An insanity raging panic is the picture I’m painting here. I vividly remember losing my mind but nothing after that moment. We can only take so much, thank God.

What would a demon want with putting a human child into the Void? The question might not even come up because it’s, well, a demon, and they are just monsters, have very little self-control when it comes to being diabolical, and they will take things, and us, as far as they can, and that’s how you catch them, as my muse says, “catch them in the noose of the fury of their acts,” but they also eat. What he wants is life force, the tainted kind that has ill will at its roots, what Robert Monroe calls loosh, whose Journey’s Out of the Body and Far Journeys were big influences upon me, as Castaneda’s books were, only Monroe’s more trustworthy, at least as far as Far Journeys, which was a far as I read him, but again, the main map I’d recommend here is Savitri. Our Earth is their feeding ground, all half-conscious worlds are Savitri points out, and we are basically their cattle, the conspiracy of conspiracies that gives rise to all the many unfounded ones that claim some human group, Jews for example, secretly control the world, but they are not an organized ‘Illuminati’, although they are more intelligent than we are, but are a pell-mell mixture of different kinds and groups of demons competing for feeding space. There is, however, a Satan, not the head of all demons but simply the most powerful. The demon in my life, the family daemon as the Greeks called these things, isn’t Satan but a minion, what the term Rakshasa comes close to describing. What’s eating you?

I’ve always had a memory running parallel to being tricked into the Void, one where fantastic beings that had stars for heads carried me to someplace of beyond the world, a place of perfection and beauty, and they put me before a being seated up high in a building that an ancient Greek temple might give some small hint of, but it wasn’t something built, came up out of the ground itself like it a part of it. I could not see the being it gave off such a bright light, but it gave off no heat, only pure love, and I was bathed in that. The feelings there, they washed the worst hell off you.

Sri Aurobindo’s character in Savitri faces the Void and subdues it with the look of his immortal soul, but I was rescued, and the isolated memory above, always coming hand in hand with the other, is an example of the divine coming and intervening when the monsters have gone too far. I mean, you can only do so much to a kid before God steps in, but, my God, you can do a whole hell of a lot. In any event, this put the divine into my life, and the two have lived side by side all my life, the divine and hostile powers, and even the broadest-minded reader would have trouble with me. I’m sorry.

Castaneda also says that, if you do call up an ally, expect it to communicate with you in some way soon after, which happened with me immediately upon arriving at work right after conjuring the damn thing, or what I couldn’t help but think was a communication so intensely coincided it was with the conjuring. It unfolded over the course of two weeks, but that first day was the most intense and hardest to live through. It had started with Kevin, and it’s so interestingly connected to demons that we need to talk about him, to make an allusion to a movie that has no idea. When I got to work everyone was asking me, “Did you hear about Kevin?”

He was a young co-worker of mine, quite interested in my inner experiences and study of Castaneda. Our unusual conversations were the talk of the 3 to 11 shift. Unbeknownst to me, the night before the conjuring, on his day off, he’d called up the Towers looking for me. He was in search of LSD and made that known to at least one person he talked to. He figured I might have some, but I only smoked grass, scared to death of acid for aforementioned reasons. Soon after getting into my station in the driveway of the east tower, as the doorman, I was called to the office, told about Kevin and questioned about distributing LSD, not by the police but by the personal director, Mike Marchant, a very likable, tolerant guy who had that rare gift of being able to successfully juggle the needs of management with the human condition of the employees, but, as great the guy as was, you knew he’d side with management in a pinch.

Sometime after making those phone calls, Kevin took his wife and baby son hostage, according to the police report, and fired at the patrol car that’d been called, and so the Houston police S.W.A.T. team had been called out. He was arrested without anyone being harmed, and jailed. This news, combined with the growing exclamation point in my consciousness of having just conjured a demon, those goddamn exclamation points, which had flooded me with unremembered things, was more than my reality could cope with, but I held my cool and didn’t run out of that office screaming and waving my hands in the air like I wanted to. No, I told Mike, I didn’t offer to sell Kevin LSD nor anyone else, was not involved in that, and didn’t know why he’d go off, although I had a strong suspicion, that I dared not voice, it somehow had to do with that demon, the time difference notwithstanding. Mike believed me, and that was it, or at least with being questioned about it, but it was far from over.

My apartment block was a welcomed sight that night as I came home from work. The railroad tracks right behind it always gave me a sense of living at some boundary more significant than just where the tracks ran, but I could never put my finger on it, although the entire building shaking every time a train came by made me think on it often. It was almost midnight, as it took more than half an hour to drive home from downtown Houston. I lived on the second floor, and as I walked up the stairs I could see something was wrong with my door. It was slightly ajar, and that jolted me back to fear. I was sure I’d locked it when I went to work. Walking in, I could feel something. Yes, the environment had definitely changed. I telephoned Randy (no cellphones then), my best friend, the only regular visitor to my apartment, actually the only visitor, who I’d given a key to so he could come in while I was at work when he got off work in the evenings, so he could smoke some grass and listen to my strange music, which I had on cassette tapes and played on a tape recorder. My whole apartment was strange, and I cultivated that vibe. Even the plants in it grew weirdly, not in the normal way the plant would grow, stalks turning at odd angles, leaves reaching out in different directions. I had no pets.

His voice shook as he spoke. He told me he wouldn’t be coming to my house for awhile, maybe not for a long while. I asked him what happened, and he told me that he’d come in as usual to smoke some grass and listen to music. He turned the recorder on and got high, seating himself on the sofa. Within a minute or so he said he heard my voice on the tape saying, “Randy, help me I’m trapped, help me.” He said that, although I was pleading with him and using a terrified voice, one he’d never heard me use before, he thought it was a practical joke I was playing on him, so he got up and rewound the tape. My voice wasn’t there the second time. He said as soon as that sunk in, every hair on his body stood on end. Then he heard what seemed like every dog in the neighborhood barking nearby, and so he looked out the window, and the dogs were barking up at it, how dogs sound when they’ve cornered something unnatural, a monster , simply beside themselves with frenzy. They were barking up where he stood. He said he just dropped everything and ran out of the apartment as fast as he could, too scared to even stop and close the door. He said he slept with a Bible for some days after that, and his wife, Denetta, said he woke up a couple of times speaking in another language. That’s what she said. He didn’t come back to my house for a month or more, and he gave me back my key and never came again when I wasn’t there.

The next two weeks were hell, in the sense that I now had something of hell in my living room, meaning literally and in the center of the living space of my thinking. I didn’t go to see some religious ‘expert’, like a priest or something, because I felt no affinity with any divine house, Christian or otherwise, and I highly doubted anyone I spoke to would have actual knowledge of demons and could help me. I would just be told to pray and go to church, stop trying to gain knowledge and just be a good religious person. I was not even tempted to go that route.

Instead, I went to my Greek professor, Dora Posi, and told her all. I didn’t go and see my thesis prof because I felt that he, being an official historian of NASA, and I forget his name, would scoff at the story. I did, however, write my midterm paper on the events in question, and he gave me a B for insight. I dropped his class and idea to do a thesis, not because of the grade, but because my mind had been blown, and I saw science hadn’t yet any real clue of what was going on here on earth with us. He told me when he had to sign my drop form that he had been waiting for me to come and see him. I asked him then why didn’t he say that. It seems his position of authority, the one he held in his head, wouldn’t allow him to take that hat off a moment, be my friend, and invite me in.

My Greek prof was able to do that. Although she was an agnostic, really an atheist if you got right down to it, didn’t believe in ‘spirits’, she had heard the story of Kevin going off and the S.W.A.T. being called out on television news and said she believed that I believed what I was telling her. She said it was odd that the story seemed to have been taken off the air, as she only heard it once and that was it. That’s because some very rich and influential people lived in Four Leaf Towers, including the pastor and friends of the then President George H. W. Bush. Interesting that Interfin, the management company of the Towers, had the power to take a story off the air, just so residents wouldn’t be alarmed, but that’s another story that I can’t tell you because I don’t know the facts of.

Dora advised me to stop thinking about the events for the time being, to stop going over and over them in my mind, to come back to them when I was more stable, and to use Greek to ground myself, as she saw I was dangerously close to becoming mentally unbalanced such was the degree of fear I lived in. She said just bury myself in studying Greek, and bury myself I did (although I continued inner exploration, using Greek, and my job, to keep me focused enough on the outer world not to lose the ability to function in it), becoming proficient in translating Greek, even scoring in the top 10% of the nation on the national Greek proficiency exam by the time my studies came to an end three years or so later. This was an instance advice really helped. She told me her door would always be open to me, for anything, and it always was.

Two weeks after the conjuring, Kevin called me at home. I was surprised to hear he was out of jail, surprised he was even still alive, after he told me, giving his account of his going off, he shot the windshield out of the cop car when it drove up. He was chipper and said he was ready to be taught. I was suspicious, and now I think I must’ve told the story of the conjuring to someone at work, but I actually don’t remember doing that. In any event, he described, on being jailed, how he was lying on a cot next to a dirty tile wall, which was a reflective surface. He looked into it absently, and low and behold silver animal shapes began to appear, and something seemed to want to materialize, but before it could, he went berserk, and they put him in the psych ward. Now he was out and wanted me to be his teacher.

It sounded all too arranged, and so I told him that, if he was going to go off and hold his wife and kid hostage with a shotgun, and shoot at the police, then obviously he needed to see a psychiatrist, not me, and not to call me again, ever. That sounds mean, but, like I said, it sounded like he’d been put up to it. It might be that’s what happened to him in jail, as it does seem the demon had something to do with him going off, but I tend to think in calling me he was being coached by someone, and I especially suspected that three years later when I discovered Interfin had bugged my apartment, but it was a different apartment complex, one in the museum district of Houston, and someone from security lived right next door. I say discovered, but a mind game was played on me at work when I went to sleep and wasn’t supposed to be sleeping, a game that showed me someone had been listening to me in my apartment that day trying to remember out loud the complete “to be or not to be” Shakespeare quote. When I woke up I found the complete quote written on my notepad. Maybe the guy next door was just listening through the wall with a cup or something, and maybe it was a one time thing, but I doubt it. They played other mind games with me over the years, once to show they heard me in my truck too, or maybe it was just a one time thing too to make me think they heard everything, but, whatever the case, they were sneaky, and I wouldn’t put it past them to have had something to do with Kevin calling me. That’s the trouble with surveillance; even when it’s telling the truth it’s a hidden lie.

The man I sat across from at that table in Ascent Institute in Safed was obviously all ears, although he got nothing of the greater measure of the story I’m giving you, but he pretended not to be impressed in the least. It was an act I could see right through. He wanted to hear more, but instead, he feigned to be put off by me, told me to take off the keppah, stop pretending to be a Jew, get rid of any thoughts about converting, and go. That’s the trouble with orthodoxy; it’s more into itself than truth. Moshehiem had told me a saying among the orthodox, told it with such pride in his eyes: “God Himself can tell me to change the law, and I’d obey the law.” I think that says it all.

I’d had a lucid dream sometime not long after the conjuring where I lived in a country house, and Randy came from the city in a station wagon loaded with food and supplies. The driveway bordered a barbed wire fence on the other side of which was a very large field that sloped up a ways off and to the left into a high hill on which were tall pine trees, the kind that had long, bare trunks and short branches that began about two-thirds up the tree, just that small patch of trees near the top, the rest of the hill and field cropped grassland. On the other side of the driveway was the house, a large, one-story, wooden, country house. Randy and I were unloading sacks of groceries from the back of the station wagon, the kind that had a large back door that flung up instead of out. As he was in the house with his current load, I noticed sacks were missing, and with a start I realized they were being stolen right under our noses. I saw a well-worn trail that went to that patch of trees, a hole in the fence where it passed there. As I followed the trail with my eyes from the driveway to the hill, a heavy sleep came over me, and it was all I could do to keep myself awake and look. I knew that Randy would never see what was happening because of that sleep, and with a start I realized no one can, because that sleep prevented us, and I became lucid, realizing the thieving creatures were demons, and they came from that patch of trees. I looked at the house and felt them call me to come to them, as they were in the den, what I just knew looking at the house. Even though I was lucid, I was still scared, because I knew I was dealing with more than just dream characters; I was dealing with demons.

I girded up my loins, meaning I gathered myself in courage, and walked into the house, into the dimly lit den in which, seated on chairs, sofas and such that lined the walls of the room, were a number of small dog-dragons, all making a chanting-like humming sound. One of the creatures got up and rushed towards me, and I could barely stand there without turning tail and running. He stopped in front of me and sort of slithered up my body, breathing heavily against my neck, panting and growling at the same time, as though in both lust and rage. It had a wolf’s teeth, and being lucid in no way eased my fear of what they could do to me, but although shaking with fear, utterly terrified, I was also drawn to it, attracted even, and I marveled at how I could betray myself with such feelings for the thing, and I understood at that moment that’s what demons were made of, those intensities of contraries, lust and rage side by side, and that’s how they hooked us, fascinated with death and sex as we are. I didn’t know if it were going to kiss me or tear my neck to shreds. Then it whispered in my ear, “This, this is what it’s like to meet the Weirdings.” Upon him saying that, they all began to chant “Weirdings,” like dogs panting out the word. Before he kissed me or tore my throat out, before I knew which he’d do, I woke up in my bed in my apartment there next to the railroad tracks.

The dream wasn’t a nightmare, as it would surely be labeled today with our propensity to play the victim card on anything hard and scary life confronts us with. It wasn’t one because it gave me just what I needed to begin to understand what was going on, not only with me, but with us humans here on earth. It all depends on how you look at it, and that determines what you get out of it. I knew I was being introduced to these creatures, as they knew I knew they are here.

They hide from us until we see them, and when they see they can’t hide any longer, then they try and get us to focus on them, try to determine our view of them, or even to win us over to their side if we are so inclined, or they hook us into them by hoodwinking us into thinking they are here to quicken our evolution. In the contrary way the world meets us, because there’s a basis of truth at the bottom of every lie, since nothing can exist without an element of truth, they are here for that but unwittingly, not as beings who want to be here for that, since they are here to do everything they can to keep us from evolving so they can keep eating, want us to remain half-conscious, not become fully so, but I’m putting intention on beings that really have none, as one has told me, “Our aim is no aim.”

Unwillingly they fit into God’s will by testing our metal, are guardians of the threshold for enlightenment, the journey to the soul center, the rise to Supermind, for any spiritual movement that reaches beyond the world, as we see it as animals anyway, which is at face value. So you can see them as monsters to fight, or as creatures that unwittingly test you to see if you’re ready to evolve, and it’s when you see them as the latter that you can just let them go until such time as you have to face them because they are right in front of you blocking your way, and then it’s not them you’re fighting but that part in you that responds to them. Again, it’s all in how you look at it.

I did not have this look then. My yoga gave me this attitude, but it would be years before I’d become a disciple of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. Now, I mean then in that apartment in Houston waking up from their introduction, they didn’t interest me because I’d been so burned so early on, and here I’d been burned again. I knew they only wanted to cause me and others harm. But how to put the genie back into the bottle? It seemed to me it was loose in my apartment, but that really wasn’t the case, since it’d always been near me, behind me and under my feet actually. It was my shadow as Jung would say, and I’d read a lot of him and had a Jungian perspective on things, which made it easier to assimilate the knowledge of this demon attached to me. At the time though, it felt like the thing had come out of the woodwork, and I had to put it back in.

Sitting on my sofa one night, afraid it was going to materialize right in front of me, because I was watching these flashes of a small arc of angry, red, auric light jumping around the room, first here, then there, it struck me that, since there was the Darkness, there was also the Light, what I’d learned in a big way in that divine experience but hadn’t yet come to terms with, but here it seemed a very viable option to investigate further, and that was the turning point for me from a path of knowledge to the spiritual path. I just begin to think on and investigate God and the Light.

It didn’t take long before I began meditating and doing pranayama, yogic breathing exercises, opting not for the worship side of things but for the practice. Having been an atheist and come back to divinity, I didn’t return to the old man in the sky the monotheism of the West and Near East believe in. Seeing with your own eyes replaces belief, and you can just get down to business, the business of knowing God. It just took awhile before I put the knowledge I’d gained in that divine experience into head, heart, hands and feet.

Within a few weeks, maybe it was a couple of months, I’d make the journey to the well of soul and to my higher self overhead, what just happened unplanned as a result of an all out, no holds barred, inner exploration, but one now turning to God and not to the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. Although to reach my soul center I had to confront the Hostile Powers again as guardians of the threshold, in a story I’ve put on our blog Harm’s End, called “A Hidden Resource Guide”, the urgency of dealing with them faded away. It would not be until my arrival in Auroville years later, right after leaving Israel, that I’d see that dog-dragon again face to face, its true form, and, despite our many attempts to give a picture of one, you’ve never seen an alien from outer space from a dimension other than the physical, believe me.

To the well of soul: I was reading Hesiod’s Theogony (an English translation), reading it part of the syllabus of a Greek Mythology class taught by professor Posi that I was taking. I came across a verse that talked about how it took a hammer nine days to reach Tartarus. Something clicked, and I saw ancient knowledge, disguised, as the ancients most often presented it. I realized that the ‘falling place’ I’d been finding myself in had a destination. My visual field is a blank, and I’m in twilight, that place between waking and sleeping that if you just open your eyes you’re awake in bed, and I have a sensation of falling or simply of travel, what direction unknown. I saw it would actually take me somewhere if I can go the distance. I decided to try to get to it, wherever it was. This had no similarity to going down through the hells to the Void, although it’s like you’re falling in a void, since this is a straight travel and going down through the hells is, well going down through hell worlds. I think you get some kind of picture here. Just know there’s a down there and an in here, the latter I’ll explain shortly as the well of soul.

Lucidity was coming almost nightly back then, and so I made an intention, what to do when I awoke within a dream. I’d been doing that a lot, asking questions, that sort of thing. I thought I’d just get back into that chute, what I’d come to call the falling place, and to do that I’d meditate and do pranayama in the dream. The first night I became lucid near the football field of Thompson Intermediate, where I played football as a child. I was on the street next to the field. I began to sit down in a cross-legged position, and as I did a monster came jumping over the cyclone fence from the field, eyes rolling in a spiral, completely mad and berserk. I woke myself up before it could get me.

I don’t remember how many nights went by, maybe a couple, when I became lucid and remembered the intention, and the two don’t always happen together, your dreambody being actually not your surface self, but closely aligned as they are. It was nighttime, and I was in a very large motor pool, and off in the distance the buildings in it were changing colors, and the anomaly triggered lucidity, as anomalies often do. I began to sit down to meditate, and a big mac truck suddenly appeared headed straight for me, horn blaring. I just closed my eyes, unperturbed, and as it got to me it just melted over me, and I began to do deep breathing and entered the chute. I don’t know how long it was I was falling, and it’s not exactly a fall, but what it is I can’t rightly tell, when I got scared that I’d been falling much longer than was safe. In my inner exploration I greatly feared going into a coma and not being able to wake up, and I was claustrophobic, and although the chute isn’t a tight place, it feels like a tunnel, a well you’re falling down into. I panicked and opened my eyes, and I was awake in bed.

I had another go some nights later. I determined to count this time to keep track of how long I fell. I don’t remember the dream from which I entered the chute, but enter it I did, by meditating and doing pranayama. That I do remember. It happened that I lost count it seemed I’d been falling so long, and I got scared again but this time didn’t panic. Then I heard my mother’s voice and my sister Gwen’s, pleading with me, each with that tone of voice that reached me, that tone of voice I knew, knowing them so well, when I knew it was an emergency. They were saying, together, “Donny wake up. You’re in a coma. You’re in the hospital. You’re being tricked. Wake up. Wake up!” What is a body to do? I opened my eyes, immediately realizing I’d been tricked by them, because I wasn’t in the hospital, obviously, but in my bed in my apartment there by the railroad tracks. You see what I mean by calling them, the Hostile Powers, guardians of the threshold. It’s not that they want to be. They’re just trying to keep us in a little coral of limited and cramped experience. So they try and stop us, but if we keep going, if we persist, we get out of that coral. They can’t actually stop us.

The arrival only I remember, not what dream put me in the chute or even the being in the chute, only that I just kept going no matter what. I’m afraid I can’t really describe it very well it’s so different from the material realm. I went through a boundary unlike any I’d ever experienced, and I splashed down into, suddenly entered and was engulfed by, a blue ocean made of space, not outer space, but Spirit space. It took my entire being, not just my body as water does, and it was wonderful, so very light, no heaviness to it at all, so very safe and warm, not in temperature but in feeling. In it were floating things that looked like little arches or quarter notes, the only objects I saw there. All else was formlessness, but saying that seems it was nothing. This something seemed greater than the world. I was just drifting there, and, although I tried not to, I drifted right through one of those arches, and I had the feeling it was a being, but I didn’t harm it by passing through it. There was music there, but not what we know as music. It was the fabric of the atmosphere. Can I say it felt a bit like home, as other as it was? It was certainly very familiar, like I’d been there so many times. I don’t know how it happened, and I was only drifting there for a short time, some minutes maybe, but I found myself awake in bed in that apartment on the 2nd floor. There seems to have been some rush of movement to come back, colors and forms flashing around me, but in any event, it was a short trip back to the world under the sun.

There were no signposts or anything to tell me where I’d been. I only knew I’d been to some place fundamental of Spirit. It didn’t change my life, turn anything around, and it took my many years before I really know where I went and what that accomplished. But it did make possible an ascension in a couple of weeks that I will fill in later on in this story’s spiral. I went down into the well of soul, the inmost place inside myself, not down really, but in. Let me explain. I think we go there sometimes, all of us, and when we were children we went there often. We recharge our batteries there, as we are spirits that have put on deep diving suits so to live down here in the worlds, where our movie’s taking place. You know when you wake up and have had the most refreshing sleep that you have gone into the well of soul and bathed in its energies. We never remember it because it happens in dreamless sleep, where we don’t bring any memories back, but if you make the journey consciously, you take your conscious down there and make a hardwire connection to the soul. It takes years, or has taken me, for that connection to flower into surfacing things of soul, but there’s no mistaking when it does. You know deeper than a man is speaking. And I continue.

Rottweiler attitude
I reach out.
I’m not sayin’ on phones.
I’m just reaching out to you in the darkness:
give me back my keys.
You took them long ago,
and I’m just a lady pawn in your scheme.
I’m not vocabulary.
You are society and I am man.

You seem so much bigger than me.
You break open jars.
I am not a kingdom to myself.
I can’t test limits.
I have to conform to your idea.
That’s the only way I can live.
You’re impossible to live with.
You treat me like a serf.
You don’t know my gold.
You just military me.

How do I get out of this?
You won’t allow me to breathe
if you’re not there to say how much and when.
Can this be right?
What do you use me for?
To set things right?
That’s not allowed.
I think we’re prohibited from speaking
if we give a truth a back name,
show what’s going on underneath things.
You’re scared of that.
You chop people’s heads off.
Now you socially ostracize them
to shut them up.
I’m not talking to power but to you
common citizen,
your power.

Okay Rottweiler,
give us a load of your voice.
We’re listenin’ all ears.
Has this ever been said to a man like me?
That would overturn the applecart,
if society heard him.
Look I know how we was made,
and I can show you.
You don’t want to hear that.
It’s too upside down,
pulls insanity on our teeth,
questions reality,
challenges you in the very notions of yourself,
changes society.

I’m here to do that.
Will you pray with me?
We are a temple of reality.
We can get in there with God,
go ups and downs.
We can arrange our ship
to match reality.
Are you game?

Are you just a notion that plays safe?
Where is your bold and daring move
listing reality at its source?
Can you see there?
Are you happy where you’re at?
Is this freedom?
What can you say to time?
You’re in the bullpen
to pitch a world series?
How do you count yourself,
a figure or not,
where you captain your own ship?
Come and see me.

I pin you to the world
an adventurer’s worth.
I show you reality stares back at you.
I play with fire.
I stand up and sing my name,
an actor in a field that knows that.
Can I show you figures of time,
the parenthesis within a parenthesis within a parenthesis within a parenthesis we are? /
And there’s no end to the parenthesis.
We are some little ship
sailing on time
in its minuscule range.
We barely front reality.

We are all there is
we have been told all our lives.
Break out of that shell.
We are foot soldiers
where reality meets the world.
Have I you tantalized you yet?
I question reality,
I’m down to music.
I’m a butterfly.
Can we wave at each other,
and you not crush me?

Leave your time spirit at the house.
It’s not fair to human beings.
It needs some nail cutters.
It’ll scratch your eyes out
crossin’ the street,
puttin’ somethin’ different on your life.
You are not a well of soul
time spirit.
Let’s get away from you.
Let’s meet each other in peace.
Let’s be brothers and sisters.
Let’s give individuals a chance to be themselves
and like them for it.

I’ll keep rubbin’ music
until you hear me.
I’m a plan,
and I’m situated right here:
where you meet reality,
and I’m not goin’ anywhere
in a larger reality.
I’ll keep personifying time,
show you the Supreme,
give you your own set of keys.
I know how theys made,
between a rock and a hard place.

Okay we’ve spoken this out:
my need for a refuge from you,
my need to change you,
my need to let’s be friends.
Come on,
hear time,
hear the storybook,
hear what I have to show you.
It’s a whole other look,
and I’ll give it to you for free.
Wow, that’s a load off my mind.

Now please, the door to time,
can we see beyond its integer?
It’s a position in on itself.
It sped along.
The universe gave it lore.
You’re sideways.
You can even see the chapters of the book.
I admonish you to read them.
That’s five minutes help me;
I’m gonna get to the bottom of things.
I’m gonna see how we tick.
I’m gonna see the nature of the universe.
Can I come to your house,
There’s the dog.
Hi honey.

You have some room I finish?
If it’s in her house,
got stuff
on her daughter’s liberal.
The control there,
so it’s biopsy.
You have an extra couple of minutes?
Call the police.
It’s your only number
when faced with what bothers you.

Why daddy did you come to Pondicherry?
Telling my history.
It’s solved.
It’s the light of green.
You think it’s worthless.
You ignore me so completely because of it.
You got it on your sleeve.
You’ve got it under wraps.
I mean to tell yah
this is a lie:
how you hate it.
You guys
took my photo.
I would even say you like to hear me speak.
No one says anything about it.
Keeping silent is their job with me.
They block me.

And you look good.
Look at this:
I’ll just put it on ‘im,
a huge idealism,
and then I tip you over
for bad stuff.
Referring to an incident,
all these unlovely moods.
I could get over the counter detail.
Judge me.
Hit me.
I’m in your pants.

Is that a school?
It’s a wide open space
I think you gather the world.
Hear somethin’
that doesn’t introduce kids in the wrong way.
I will show you their time with us.
Send a piano.

Zip it,
my fondness for them
in that big snake in my pants.
I wouldn’t throw it away.
I’ve integrated care.
As I said,
harmonize the demon.
He’s there,
but you don’t feed ‘im
the harm that child.
He’s stays aloof with you,
and the child stays safe.

I’ve integrated childcare
with your attraction for them.
You’ll tell me I’m wrong,
but why else are you so scared of their disease:
the feelins’ they house in the body with genitals?
You run from that.
You think it’s ugly.
You even punish them for it,
a touch touch with themselves and other children.
What is that?

Society you’re mean.
You’re scared of that.
I can scapegoat all day,
but I will never see the problem.
I love my children dearly.
I just pour over them
one ounce of sweetheart.
I’m a for use platform.
I can’t get over it.

I think that was the parent that doesn’t cross lines.
Many, many, do,
and you don’t want to see that.
Where have we come right here?
To the stranger in the room.
Look I’m being honest with you.
I’ve got my pants off
right here in public.
Oh my God society and its genitals,
you would think they’re monstrous baby guns.
They are so loud, you know?
All hands on deck.
We’ve gotten to the bottom of gun,
just right there.
I’m existential tired.
We’ll fill this in another day.

Made a lot of references to soul.
That’s what we stand by.
We can’t stop playing.
That’s the soul puts on time.
Your morality is made from it.
It’s your true sense of right and wrong.
It’s where you’re at.
I’ve found my soul.
I see people
that doesn’t form itself.
They’re ignorant of soul,
and they can’t take it out and study it
how you see life,
how you see that God is not
under the dominion of soul.

The soul challenge:
that’s not wearin’ to Western socks
or your notions of life.
The course of history
has evolved a world soul.
We bring it up in dream.
It shows us our time marks,
where we are good,
where we are bad.
You investigate it,
and put morality in its place:
soul finds it.
Can you come see that?

Do you see it?
We find our soul.
It’s there
all over the world.
That’s Seattle
to know there is a soul.
That’s somethin’ you gotta do:
understand soul in terms of you.
You have the guiding lamp of your life,
and you stay true to it,
and you manage to become
great the players play all night.
You are no longer a hazard to people.
You’ve heard science in its more mature shoes,
and you’re ready to evolve,
and you’ve cleared history,
really got that outcast thing
where people take you in again,
and you become the soul in time.
That’s the story.

Next post:

Chapter 8
A Small Open

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