Tales from
the Heart:
- the Collective Imagination



What does it mean that recent films have given an emphasis to the sacrificial Arts of Plant-Nature:
"Guardians of the Galaxy":=: "We are Groot" <<short videos from each film>>;
as well as the hard lessons from the Teaching Tree in "A Monster Calls"?

Shorter Answer, which will permit the reader to avoid the details below:
The Divine Feminine is slowly being revealed - in a new Way in our Age, after a kind of historical/cultural eclipse.
We lost the words, and some of the traditions, when the three monotheisms in their patriarchal madness,
threw over the Goddess/so-called Pagan Religions.  Goblins and Witches and things that go bump
in the night.  Sort of.  The Hidden World is making itself more visible, via the Arts, and
that Hidden World is very down to Earth.  Shit happens, and people can get scared when they
encounter Underworld/Upsidedown/Land of Faerie/Shadow-world stuff ...
... in normal life.  There is an Unseen, and there are Old Ones.
For a Wise American Shamaness's introduction: Marjorie Spock's:
"Fairy Worlds and Workers - a natural history of fairyland"

SHE Never Left of Course, though many just lost sight of HER, and also HER SON - that story,
in its personal/objective/subjective/poetic/representations in words, follows.

Just keep in mind that human beings today are not, in terms of their consciousness,
of the same nature as we were when the eclipse began.  We live now,
in a scientific Age, and that has consequences.  In the light of
Owen Barfields idea: Final Participation, modern folk will
find that their relationship to the Mothers-may-i is very different. 
SHE HERSELF is no longer what We were, in the way-back long-ago when-before.

word-mess by Joel A. Wendt ... his CV: http://ipwebdev.com/hermit/thetree.html

A Song, written in the Season of All Hallows Eve,

photograph of a detail in my study

in response to brother tale/teller Stephen Clarke’s illuminating discussion/artistic/reconstruction
of the so-called Mexican Mysteries, a la Rudolf Steiner/Anthroposophy.  

First to Stephen: thank you ... when I read your’s aloud to my Lady, we both had much pleasure.  Me, trying to man-splain some of your thought, while taking pleasure in just the reading aloud - the sounds of the words on the tongue.  I remarked to Her afterwards, that I had finally found someone whose writing is denser than mine.  A single word, a half a phrase, Clarke’s-indications of more to come, whispers of the wind in the own mind/gate, a treasure to be read many times, slowly, and for this soul, while ganja dancing.

song begins with mysteries

on our deck, the pale square pool on the right ...
when seen from above,
contains: "Swamp Thing", self generated ... how?
who, what, lives here ... making such Art?

The Collective Imagination?  The "Dreaming"?

Intoxicants have always aided the search for truth: In vino veritas.  The world of Archetypes (Plato's pure forms) is an actual place all our own minds touch.  The more potent the Name, the more dangerous the unveiling when directly experienced.  In my own biography, I abandoned intoxicants for thirty years, until chronic knee pain led me once more into their freedom.  Just for some - not all, but for those of us raised a bit rigid and unspontaneous, the intoxicant helps the true/heart/mind sneak from behind its own masques, and flower.  One of the Blessings of Social Media, that region of Cyberspace that touches with words and picture.  Everyone a tale traveler/juggler/dancer to the music of life.   Here's a facebook page I frequent, in order to pester those who use the language: Steiner: Speak.

For an example - of Seven Mysteries that is: Where is the Cosmic Christ?  Who is the Cosmic Christ?  What is the relationship between the Cosmic Christ and either/or/both/and the Residents of the Inner Earth (Faerie, some say), as well as ordinary human beings?  Does anyone care?  Are such question capable of being answered?  What are Questions?  Questions are the seeds planted in the mind/side of soul, by our past/future selves, in order to enable we/us/our-me's to chart a course on Our Own "journey into sea's of thought very far from ordinary lanes of intellectual shipping". T.S. Elliot's blurb on Owen Barfield's "Worlds Apart". 

Ganja winds blow some into the Dreaming: the Spiritual World?  The Collective Imagination?  The Collective Unconscious?  I practiced Geotheanism for years, in seeking to understand human social/political existence.  This study/craft/art involved a very conscious use of the Imaginative picture forming capacity of the mind/soul.

As part of those studies, I was drawn to certain American Arts&Literature, particularly: film, television, science fiction novels - all rooted in the imaginative on their own.   What do these artists see/know/understand?  From what/which wells of the depths of the soul&spirit do these artists draw?  After some time I began to realize that there was a "collective" imagination, which arose through the fact that those who create comedy&drama must, by necessity, work from archetypes - the shared sense of the World Cuture reduced to words on pages on a screen, entombed/static from generalized inner pictures of the common nature of what it means to be a human, a man, a woman, a child, a self-invented sparking/fire wearing many costumes.  Yet, without the common/shared aspects, the "audience" does not connect, sympathize or otherwise feel disgust, affection, ... all the various emotions that Art is meant to evoke.  Face it face book, without us you are not a rich/vain/asshole, living proof of the observation sentiment: love of money is the root of all evil.

An example is this art you are reading, ... here is a tale i 'n I picket up from a post on Facebook: From/in the recent TV series on SunDance: Cleverman, the aboriginal living on the other-side permanently - the older "Cleverman", is teaching his student - still stuck most of the time on this side, and when new guy keeps complaining about what the fuck just happened
older guy sez ... to new guy (more or less): That that IS,  being as it happened, which ought to be a lesson since a given is that what is dancing in you/us is greater than we - yet - dying into us too - feeding our becoming, but still the What's Next needs your attention more than your current waste of breath in blasphemous song, in the tune of why me.


the cognitivedistortion.com people named this "frozen_soul.jpg"

In Geoetheanism, part of the practice is to unite changing form, into its natural unity in terms of the total changes over time - now-time marries linear-time, so I've learned to read American Arts&Literature as a kind of script of what Art Sees, but cannot reduce to abstractions, and other vanities.  I wrote short pieces on what could be seen by such a practice, for example" In the Western, a particularly unique American art form, something deep in the American Soul/Character was exposed.  I was even published in an Anthroposophical publication, a news-for-members three or four times a year, money available ... folks editing there appear as if they are busy in love with a German guru they quote all the time - not much of America to be found in print, except:, ... Where my article: Learning to Perceive the American Soul (subject: the Western) was preceded by a review by William Bento, of my book: American Anthroposophy.  Although, wasting breath is one way to play.  Words on pages.  Lives facing spiritual ruin.  Fires burning the world to ash.  Steiner has all the answers - NOT.

In carrying out this activity, over the course of many decades, I was, as with all of us, confronted by the riddle of biographical existence itself.  My personal story/biography can be found below, as the skeleton on which the flesh of my appreciations of the meanings latent in the Collective Imagination - the Dreaming, are set forth.  In my book The Art of God: an actual theory of Everything, is developed how the world is organized, with the center of all spiritual (non-material) activity being the individual biographies - all of them simultaneously.  Cosmic Arts&Crafts.  In what follows I will tell of my individual biography, in that I had a lot of help, ... well you'll get the point if your bother to read on ...

Leading us to/through: Who or What am i 'n I? Urban Dictionary sez "Ini = We ... In Rastafari, Word, Sound, Power is Divine.  So, 'in a way', there is no 'I', no ego, just 'we'. OnE hEArt. OnE lOvE. OnE blOOd. A metaphysical cousin to namaste."

All of us me's - we 'n me - the wider scope of Everything?  Stuck in the endless Now, experiencing.  Sent, this i, a poem to a Harvard Publication - they wanted a “title”: “Drowning in Wonder” walked by, and I wasn’t even stoned.

Seer-ing is knowledge-ing.  One day i 'n I saw the human biography as the Holy Grail Way experienced over multiple lifetimes, a tiny universal axis/shape/form - ..+.. - all the same, this Way is not producing sameness but individuality.  We are kin in that we all share an avatar physical body, and kin in facing more than one life, death, and whatever is in between.  Beyond that, each is unique, and all are meant to suffer, to feel, and thus to know.  The Now/Experience cannot be escaped, even through the gates: of death, of sleep, of forgetting, or even of madness.  But a good book, some good company, a bit of song&together:  Why do we like Hobbits?

What lives then in the individual biography? Since the one I know best is my own, it will have to serve -- in what follows -- as a key to appreciating the choices and nuances we all know too well.  My story told me more than a few (but not all) tales of legends, in the sense of the bones in graves of time and the endless oceans of limitless inner-space.  Gravitas is essential, but without Silly we are not alive.  

Keep in mind, that like all of us, I was/have been and will be battered and blasted by Fates unexpected, and most amused when slow dancing ...  It (the universal/personal aspects of my biography) will have to bare examination, because they/it was given to me as a gift, in all senses, and by this the tale-trail of woe and wonder being all that I have to give back --- the story of a personality in the aegis of its time.   In an early Tarot reading, my younger brother Doug unveiled that: my inner life is as The Fool, my outer life is as The Hermit, and my life destiny is as The Magician (or The Juggler, which is a story of stories and story tellers, and the reason we are in dangers waters, what with the young so ill-educated and loaded with debt.  WE SWIM IN SEAS of lies&liars).

On the side, as a kind of appetizer: How can I, twice-born: first in Montana in 1940 [joey - my body brother) and then again in the San Francisco Bay Area Mystery School - 1971 (Joel - me), having apparently (if you trust visions and invisible voices) lived all of my recent incarnate lives in the Americas, ... how then can I not be a “native” American? 

"rainbow warrior"
all bead art on these pages was created by my own hand

A moment of not-to-be-repeated advice dear reader, dropped along-side the Way: Instead of reading my story too much, start to write down your own story - in my story there is little of you, except in the most general way, but when I write about where born and being there/then a teenager, and the culture that surrounded me, you can do that for yourself.  Each of us is a book, that is writing itself, and the occasional taking of notes, thoughts, and even bad dreams and strange knocks on the door can be useful.   Sharing is optional, but has many virtues as well.  All the same, I try to write to entertain, and the links below are just spices for the moment - not authorities to follow.  This is a meal not to be rushed.  AND, the reader gets to pick and choose from a wide ranging menu, many diverse tastes to follow, or not.

The only distinction, between me - the how can I not be a "native" American, and modern First Nations peoples, is Culture, in the sense of ideas known to be true, in a particular style of language as is appropriately useful for the purpose of joining that Way of Vision-Journey.  As explained in Clarke (2017) - at least to my appreciation, don't blame Stephen - to the extent that my “Christian” culture, seemingly hung up on a Cross at the expense of the Resurrection, ... that 2000 year old religious culture has made it difficult finding a conscious path to the Mothers may-i --- ... At the beginning of our shared biography, joey did not even know the Mothers existed, much less where to find an authentic guide - his birth/culture/language omitted it.

Even science, as taught in school, shoos away any hint of what came to be libeled paganism - Ways of knowing the invisibles that surround us - there being nothing that is not alive, self-aware, fully conscious, and on occasion radically different - primeval even.  Unnatural science becomes a belief system-religion woven of non-empirical theories, without being Religious.  Without an I-thou & me-thee relationship, Nature is a thing, and can be treated as such.  Fires in Northern California.  Hurricanes all over the southeast coasts.  Science has no hope of helping us in the Face of Mother Nature, until science recognizes Her as an Actual Living Planetary-Scale-Amazing-Being, Who is quite able to regulate Her own atmosphere/climate/breathing, using vulcanism to change the abledo, and cooling the world as needed.  Carl Sagan was right to fear (for unnatural science's sake as a religion) Demon Haunted Worlds.

And, for those infected with Steinerism, or any kind of "ism", there can be a mind/prison, as in: being in bondage to an idea not experienced, such as the ugly axis/perception/division duality of Good&Evil.  Same with regular "Christians", e.g. protestantism and Catholicism.  Mote (a bit of fire) and Beam (a lot of dry wooden-thoughts), seem in today's world to have created extreme personal, national, and inter-dimensional conflagrations.  A world on fire with intimations of end-times, various apocalypses, and too many apparently out of our control acts of ... of What - random chance gone amok?

What about the geological record?  The human embryo is life, before it makes its bones.  The Bones of the Earth, the left behind solid - layers of metamorphosis, caterpillar to butterfly is simple.  The geological record is the left behind bones of a sequence of massive scale living metamorphoses.  Nothing to Something, in total sacrifice :=: More Cosmic Arts&Crafts.

Going to shock a lot of folks to get it that Mother Earth (the first Word, wording), whose Infinite Life Sphere (the Son - In It (the - second Word) was Life and the Life was the Light of the World) ... the mother-earth we seem bent on ruining, are actually Cosmic Beings open to conversation and sharing, having Themselves helped us along our own paths to becoming.  Do you, dear reader of this dread-noise, Feel that when you look at Nature&Friends, they are looking back?  Artists know this, with instinct, and much is Coming that are certainly "Stranger Things" concerning the "upside down.".  What dark secrets of the human psyche can be seen in the allegorically-maybe, but people cutting up other people has been around as long as there have been sharp instruments:=:horror movies, science fiction, and Washington D.C.?

[bit of a spoiler alert, although the archetypes are all rendered wonderfully - a very enjoyable bit of Art: In Stranger Things a young girl is experimented upon by mad scientists who force from her latent psychic powers, which the madmen don't appreciate, one effect of which is that she (#11) causes a breach in the threshold between the Unseen and the Seen, and something dangerous creeps through.  As an aspect of the Collective Imagination this is allegorical, but has some justice: the Land of Faerie is not kind to arrogant/ignorance.  Check out Suzanna Clark's Johnathan Strange and Mister Norell.<available on Netflix streaming, and in DVD etc...although, a book in the hand is a very nice pleasure, at 846 pages no less.]  The other Clarke, as in Stephen, points in the direction of the Englishman R. J. Stewart, for instructions practical, and otherwise.]

Who you're going to call? 

In the Interior of the Earth Mother, as invisible and wondrous as our own soul-inwardness (mind - tales -tails), there is neither Good or Evil.  Not there, not at all.  But Steiner (a king) said otherwise, as do preach the Churches (shepherds) endlessly.  What do the Artists have to say, in response to their understanding of the speech of the existing "what is", amidst the trials of trying to be human, when there arises that moment of looking within the own dark, to discover that it is looking back at us, suggesting we may be IT, a duo.  Besides Columbine's Eric Harris and Dyland Klebold, ask Heath Ledger and Marlon Brando.  Ask the broken soul that shot the fuck out of Las Vegas.   Yes, they all being Dead, that's a problem, although not in the Dreaming Beyond.

Something is coming, ... the forgotten dark is unveiling itself.  All the songs of the modern world contain this base-beat rhythm - even Hip-Hop.  Is it the Beast from the Abyss, or is even that Idea lacking wisdom?  In the movie "Arrival", Old Ones manifest, able to turn space/gravity/time on their/our  heads, and H.P. Lovecraft dines out with Benjamin Whorf, played by a woman.  The Collective Imagination here delivered an odd message: first, after the Old Ones giving away their whole language/secrets to the "translation" expert, they announce that in 3000 years, they will need our help.  As current mad scientists rediscover an Other-Country of the Lands of the Mother - which are right in front of us all the time, will we try to invade, control, wipe-out?  What if part of the embodied in matter -human folk, want a stronger barrier/threshold, and more control in an effort to continue and/or advance human dominance?  How far will the Gods&Goddesses go in giving away to us all that they are/were/and ever might be?

The Divine Feminine is Unsettling Everything, bringing a Broom for the tidying up of much confusion - in Her Visage as the sensual aspect of Eros, leaving the mind's/perceptions to its own devices.  The first Tree Huggers were called Druids - a very interesting art.  Nature will be Touched, even if by flood and fire, and dread pirate Roberts returns to the dreaming we call death.  Then, the miracle, ... the surviving new uprooted/endangered, human being finds his/her deepest self in caring and sharing and being just company.  We need less things and more each other.  The aftermath of the grave weather and earth events (hurricanes, earthquakes, and maybe even flying saucers), gives birth to changes in human consciousness.  People make choices-hard, and find then in themselves something they forgot - kindness, empathic-concern, and a will to help as costs/risks to themselves.

a misty morning outside my study window - November 2017
What lives there gazing in, while I am looking out?

All the same, I do not find evidence of there not being a Journey to the Mothers (going beyond Good&Evil) writ large in my biography, as well as obvious - though with great variety - in a lot of other biographies.  I/We may well have  mis-labeled/named experiences, - hard to see what your culture does not notice in its Language.  Meanwhile, ... the True Source still not holding Herself back from catching me when I fall; and, as with all of us, there is a lot of falling to be had.

joey, whose physical, astral and ethereal bodies I inherited in the Fall of 1971 (he would have been 31 that coming December), was acculturated in a small community, consciously/culturally led/shaped/guided by Masons (Shriners), with/along side the Knights of Columbus, both building stuff in our town such that it has many Public&Catholic Schools, and a Public&Catholic Hospitals or two, while the dominant places to party remained hangouts for lodge brothers (with secret handshakes) of all kinds: bars, nightclubs, drive-in movies and eateries.   Our biological avatar source-Dad was a 33rd degree Mason (as in Freemasonry) = a Shriner, with a funny hat/fez thing worn in parades.  Mom gave me (Joel) a Freemasonry book of Dad's a couple of decades ego, wherein it was taught to Dad&Friends that we humans were immortal spirits experiencing many incarnations.  A heresy to the Knights Columbus by the way, as well as to a lot of so-called ordinary protestant churchgoing folk.

Church-wise joey was confirmed at 12, as a Lutheran, a ceremony attended by an Angel, but by then he knew better than to share those moments of wonder.  Next, came mom&dad changing our "church" to Congregational, for the reasons that among the German rooted Lutherans everyone was old, whereas among the Congregationalists, there were more young family folk, nearer to mom&dad's age and our (the three brothers) ages as well.  Church every Sunday, sort of, with Easter being a time of getting a new suit of clothes, perhaps even new shoes.  Mom taking pictures of her boys, just before getting in the car to go.

When joey was about 14, he was elected (by some girls) - as a freshman - to be the president of the local Congregational Church Youth Group: Pilgrim Fellowship.   The minister was disturbed at the sly games of teenage girls, but for joey a stroke of fate with many branchings - looked good on his college applications.  The Town also provided baseball diamonds, a huge swimming pool, and staff support everywhere.  Winters included helping a friend (Mike 0.) with his paper route.  Outdoors a lot, in all kinds of whether/weather. 


some winter fairies dancing cold, left circles in the ice, outside of River House, above the waters of the Assabet

Meanwhile, for the teenagers, the Masons created/named a youth center, and it seemed to be religiously/monetarily neutral territory.  A bowling alley, a cafe, a basketball court/arena with a stage for both the game and the sock-hops - very ‘50‘s, called The Demolay Memorial.  It was dedicated to our town’s recent fallen warriors, and built a few years after WWII. 

I suspect, this being Montana where a prime virtue is to be good neighbors (as long as you’re white, and - even if poor or otherwise - “safe” - moms&dads rules - modeled, not spoken), ... this virtue led to all the recent fallen being named in a bronze tablet covering one brick wall at the Memorial entrance-way, ... that this was done without religious exemption was assumed, no doubt even included some Jews.  joey’s favorite identified-as-Jewish neighbor (joey had no idea what being Jewish meant) ... the man owned a very large garbage and scrap collection operation, such that one nice summer afternoon this kind person drove through the neighborhood a Fire!Truck!, just sold to him for scrap, to go on its last ride about town all covered over with boys, no girls allowed.  Even out on the highway - Sirens and Lights and all.  Santa has many names, and works all year long, 24/7 as we say, being a spirit of giving and all.

>>>except, ... some of the fallen may be not-listed ... what might have been hidden by the massive culture-wide lie about who Native Americans truly were?  A path to being away from abject poverty, and alcoholic brutality has always been just down on the corner, where the Army Recruiter’s hang out, wherever kings and insane politicians (taking no risks themselves) need soldiers to die away from home.  See Clint Eastwood's fine film on Iwo Jima: Flags of our Fathers, for a mostly true story of a Native American soldier in WWII.  An "indian" was among those who raised the flag:

Growing up in small town culture in Montana, home of the free and the brave - starting in the Season of Christmas 1940, was to be taught a lot just by omission.

joey/Joel have two brothers, and various cousins by the linkage of blood - the avatar stream.  The two brothers are two major teachers for us.  Some vague categories as an introduction - they will visit on occasion later in the story.  All the brothers (Looney-Lou, Puny-Doug, and Snoony-joey) are born in December, suggesting a regular Easter-tide fertility in mom.  Twin-Cousin Joy Ellen Olson was born on the same day as joey/joel Allan Wendt (12/23/40), about two hours before or after, and 1000 miles apart.  Grandma Edith was the first to hear, from letters arriving after the first of the year 1941, and on the same day, ... one from her own daughter and another from her daughter in-law.  People always didn't have easy phone service in that way back then, ...

Lou, older by five years - now 82 - a wanderer by instinct, gets into serious science, succeeds, but something is missing.  He and I lived different times together as adults, often talking science.  You could say that Lou's heart was a bit broken by having graduate students that wanted to be spoon fed answers for a test, and who don't give a fuck about learning how to think/practice actual scientific inquiry.  Lou ran away from teaching and research, and his own family, a sensitive soul in a cruel age***.  He often later worked for the National Park Service, being expert in skiing and mountain climbing, thus available for mountain rescues and such.  These days he lends his
mind to the mysteries of strange objects on Mars and the Moon, while hanging out in the company of others his age, all needing some degree of medical care - while being mostly just broke and poor.  A modern business model takes care of our aging folk, as long as the owners get to dip their beaks in the flow of government tax money, being recycled.

Still, hardly a community these places, where a life-times' wisdom and such remains closed books because the young were/are often not taught to honor their elders, at the same level which/of Aboriginal Peoples.


a sensitive soul in a cruel age***:

***A second spring

within life's matrix
alternatives branch, bud
and wither.
The delicate lace of
fine new leaves against
a patched gray sky suggests
the pattern.
Many branches and growing points
exist together.
Farther north and west
where winds exposed to
snow chill the
and lives
and winter's death has not
been rescinded.
A second spring will come
new buds flower
the soft rains warm
chill soil.
This promise lies implicit
In the earth's course.
Somewhere within the matrix
as on earth
is always ending.

lou w wendt

winter-dressed trees, in still beauty, a cocktail party down in the roots: River House.

Doug, behind joey by 8 years, youngest-biggest, artist, KSAN disk jockey: Midnight Dread, musician.  Now dancing as fast as he can to make ends meet, he still finds time to perform/create his Ghost Town Sound.  As of the writing of this he is 68, and furious about what evil the arts of publicity (paid liars all) have done to our Country (a moral understanding he got from dad-Wally, who was in the advertising business - which was even then in a rush/tempation to sell by telling too many not-true stories).

None of the three of us never figured out how to make a buck, and remain poor today, although in far different circumstances.  Many of our children are doing much better.  All of us woke up to the missing culture of our youth, each in our own way.  Lou traveled around looking for and at, Medicine Wheels, guided on occasion by Bald Eagles sitting on a fence post out among/in the other-wise empty plains and rough hills.  Doug, living several years now back in our Home Town, fled with his family from San Francisco, when rioters came too close; and, ... Once Home sought out the spiritual depths of love of the Earth, as well as the mysteries of local Spirits (see Ghost Town Sound).

Doug tells this story:  In the last trip, old green International Caravan fully loaded, with family (lady and two youths), their pre-suv Suv breaks down on a highway in Western Montana, and contrary to being ignored, which is normal in urban/sub-urban area freeways&streets, every single person/whatever that drove by stopped.  Everyone stopped and asked if they could help.   Montana's a different place, and not the only such place either.  Big Sky Country.  Two national parks.  Shards of ancient history as well - the fella in Spielberg's Jurassic Park was based on a guy who dug up all manner of old bones in the Plains of Eastern Montana.  Many visitors to the State, stop by the Custer's Battlefield Memorial, wondering ... it's parked in the southeastern corner of ... the State of Awesome.

All three of us lived with the Arts that killed the silly savages every Saturday Afternoon at the movies.  TV was joining in.   joey and his buds played cowboys and indians, got permission (around age 10 or 11) to own bows with arrows, and bb-guns, although the first rite of passage was receiving (usually from an older relative): a pocket knife around the time it came to first attend school.  How could a boy play mumbletypeg if he didn’t have a pocket knife?   I had a favorite one with a pearl handle, from our biological father, which joey received after Dad's avatar's death, and which was taken from me by the TSA at an airport - you know the place - a Steel Temple to Fears, where domestic governmental approved grade A terrorists-protectors weave their arts of intimate search and destroy, and we travelers suffer so that politicians can pretend to be doing something real.

Would not want having to eat, pay my bills, and otherwise keep the Wolf at Bay, - would not want that job - anyone do you think makes a career there?  Fact is, most of my own person to person encounters felt like a dance of mutual suffering - of "oh what the fuck", lets us just get this over with, and avoid the temptations to being assholes :-: Hello's, how are you's, please and thank you's, and have a nice day, - social kindnesses very much Mother-like.

>>>If girls had rites of passage, it was probably learning to deal with boys, who were certainly more dangerous than pocket knives.<<<

the Grandmother Tree, at River House, in the Fall - wonderful conversationalist, true to the slowthinking of trees,
captured so well by Tolkien's TreeBeard. 

Dad was a fly fisherman, and only hunted - with shotgun - fowl.  We ate what he caught, killed, and cleaned.  Sometimes a spheroid of copper/steel bird shot was found by a young tooth.  Going hunting with Dad scary/exciting - walking stubble fields holding a weapon that can kill, if not treated wisely.  Senses alert in the cool of the dawn light and colors of late Autumn, chill winds, bird cries, and walking on stuff that makes crunch/crunch/song each step.

We all belonged (including Dad's poker and fishing buddies) to the local Country Club.  Our family dogs - almost - (Duchess and her many sell-able puppies aside :-:? mom's pocket money?) - never lived inside, even in the middle of the savage Montana blizzards and 40 below Februaries.  These were always well bred bird dogs and have their own story.   They easily came to the whistle, and had serious caves in which to snuggle out of the wind with food and water nearby, amidst generous piles of swell dog smelling old blankets, many wool - none synthetic - yet alone, a lot, perhaps Mom-banished for smelling up the house, while the Duchess was always well groomed, and often allowed inside. 

Dad fed and watered them, personally - mostly - boys get older, and dads&moms do too.   Spoke to them, touched them, asked them to sit and to stay, ... trained them from about week eight, if weened to solid food.  Always had a word&pet on leaving for work, and then again after coming home. 

Dad’s last hunting queen, Gypsy Rose, an elegant Wirehaired Pointing Griffon,   outlived him, spending her mellow years with our younger brother’s family in San Francisco.  She even starred in a short humorous film Doug made (shown a couple of times on Saturday Night Live), and spent one afternoon at home staring into space for eight hours after devouring a left in plain sight near-ounce of Mexican weed.  Do such remarkable creatures, so unlike us "humans" - we being upright&uptight, - do animals always live in the "dreaming"?

In Tarot, the Dog is featured on the Tenth Arcanum :=: Wheel of Fortune,

on the right-horizontal-mid-line of the cross in the circle of life, moving heavenwords, opposite the Monkey, who is moving EarthWords.   Dog, a companion, both of us following each other out of the wild, and into domesticity.  Faithful are dogs.  Selfless in loving (Duchess - a black cocker-spaniel-with-papers) - knocked down my little brother (he of the ganja left out for Gypsy Rose), then aged 2 or so.  Just before Doug walked into a street of fast moving cars (the main road to the East Base - where the Army Air Corp hung out during WWII), Duchess knocked him down and sat on him, his screaming drawing exited attention from several - even neighbors.  Unable to face the memory of whose lapse it might have been as regards the leaving open the gate to the fenced-in back yard.

Mom stayed home - a husband and three boys - lots to keep fresh and clean and mended.  Plus, when no one else is home she can play her collection of classical records, pick up a trashy detective novel (in hardcover collections, once the money is there for that pleasure), and lay back with some vodka in a tea cup.  Smart lady.  Four men pissing every day in the same toilet, so in the mom&pop designed new home (the  40's warped into the '50's - where the "boys" get to help/labor Ways of reducing cost - - - she makes/invents a removable/washable clear-plastic cover to hang down the nearest wall, part instinctive guilt trip and saves on what you have to clean every damn day over and over again.

I have found no memories of her being a tippler - a sipper of the sauce over the course of the day, but my older brother did that tea cup bit, and its the kind of thing you learn by seeing someone else take some vodka and make it virtually invisible as a substance.   In small amounts the vodka-sauce can’t easily be nosed out by others, which multiplies the virtues of this mild vice, what moderns have come to call: guilty pleasures.   

only we know our own minds, and should be free to make adjustments as necessary: self medication is not a vice, it is a virtue...it is excess that makes for the WTF!

I am an addict.  I will always be an addict.  We are all addicts.  All of us burn with desire, - for something - even if it is just continuing to be able to breathe while some asshole is pouring water down your throat.  Buddha called this stuff: Noble Truths.  I'm of the traveler/gypsy school - intoxicants help discipline the will, nor do all artists Puny, writers Snoony, mountain climbers Looney, choose traversing this Veil without medicinal aides, self applied, since only we know the true state of the own mind.

And, also for Mom, her own car, the Country Club, traveling to Advertising Conventions in big cities without the boys along - most of the time.  Long vacations at cabins on lakes in the Rocky Mountains of Western Montana.  She's achieved a life impossibly far, from growing up dirt poor in the back end of a one room school house in the grassy plains of Eastern Montana, her own father having died of the flu in 1921.  In the dry lands, where farmers were in revolt against bankers - a still unfinished much needed war, for/as most Americans are Wage Slaves, &Commerce rules in D.C.

Mom was/had been also taught that her boys were animals (evolution).  She, growing up in the Eastern Plains, was raised to know about "training" animals.  She had skill with her voice, that like a lot of moms, stopped boys dead in the tracks, knifed with guilt, even if not entirely guilty.  Bottoms got spanked, and on rare occasions, faces got slapped.

Mom and Dad met at college, at the start of the depression.  He’s a big time basketball hero and when he graduates she has only had two years, mostly on track to marriage and kids.  College sweethearts pranked in a famous fake-real school annual.  Off to his hometown, at that time the biggest city in the State - Great Falls - to become a business man, eventually buying his own father’s advertising agency, which name is still used today.  Think about what that means.  Dad was a authentic pillar of the community.  Over 600 people came to his funeral, including former Sigma Alpha Epsion brother Chet Huntley, of Huntley and Brinkley, Mike Mansfield - Senate Majority Leader, and Montana Lt.Governor Ted James.  When Nixon came to town running for office, Dad was on the stage - not alone, but all the same.

Me being white privileged 'n all ... He was saved (4F) from WWII by bad knees from years of pounding up and down the floors of basketball courts, and a lingering kidney weakness, having had rheumatic fever as a teenager  - before there were antibiotics
- and kept home and out of school for a year His death in 1968, was accompanied by Martin Luther King's death, Bobby Kennedy's death, the Chicago police riots/end-of-a-Party  at the Democrat Convention - the death of a parent washing tides in all souls -  joey tries to master his chosen-fate - a separation; an affair consummated after the separation; quiting a strange job helping Allstate Insurance Company cheat its own customers, if they had a claim under their un-insured coverage; washing dishes in a restaurant (first job like that - how many people learn some of that kind of trade).  Dad dies, and it all goes to reboot.

Back to the famous fifties in GF: Curious boys gather information.  joey&friends having played at hunting and killing, and had a few wrestles, we then graduate to CAR! 

Friend's Dad sold cars for Ford.  Best-buds first car to play with,
a 6 years old used one of these, needed paint.  We were 15.
The car came out in 1949, and it was 1955, we were
getting driver's licences, but after school
borrowing keys, and using up gas
scared the owner/relative
would catch us out.

Riding about for the pure joy of it.  Driver was usually whose-ever relative owned it, usually ...

With! Girls~!?!~

- sometimes.  We drive by a dark side street in downtown GF, not much with street lamps.  On one darkened side a door, maybe colored red, illuminated from above with a small cone of yellowish light - a tiny exposed bulb, nested in a green tin shade,  just like in the movies.  That’s where you can fuck an indian whore, we teach ourselves, beginning the well known rite of bragging our way to sexual wisdom, learned at the feet of older male liars ... in a town with this proud story/legend:

Hill  57 was where real indians lived.  Kind of in a heap of trash too.  Kind of place where a boy with even a few beers finds a road, past/through/around a fallen-over barb-wired gate, pointing to distant lights, and in the better part of valor we turn around and go back to town.   Heard at dinner, from Dad: The Rotary Club went out there and installed plumbing and running water.  Meant as a kind of late Fall Christmas Gift.  By the New Year, the men living there had taken it all apart so as to sell it for liquor.

A dark seeming culture, mostly mentioned in the back-pages of Montana Newspapers when there was tragedy, such as car wrecks caused by drunk indians.  Meanwhile, ... joey did Boy-Scouts, and spent lots of time in both Glacier National Park and Yellowstone - even into Canada for Banff, in support of Lou's&friends mountain climbing treks.  Indians barely visible although highway signs denoted some sort of land tribal stewardship/ownership, such as: Blackfoot Reservation.  Custer was famously on our side - a hero and a fool.  We only stopped for gas and stuff on the main highways.  Never drove into an actual community.  Never thought about it.  Mostly didn’t know such might even exist in an imaginable way.


Funny though, isn't it.  How Scouts, boys and girls, are an excuse to create safe organized camping experiences, for kids that otherwise are born in hospitals, raised inside houses with inside plumbing/electricity and go to brick and mortar schools, where thoughts are planted, cultivated, and for some even enjoyed.  Western Civilization having a very curious relationship to the Natural World - an un-ensouled relationship.  No I-thou / me-thee.  The two traditions (with a few actual practitioners) clash, and yet, Aboriginal Wisdom, being closer to the Earth-Truth (in practice - knowing all Seven Mysteries), while the Elder-Wisdom/Stories, turned away from an always-and-even-now ensouled world, ... tales of watchers, tinkers, and experimentalists - trying to master the stuff/thing/soul-less matter.  The Gods of the Forge Victorious, buoyed up by the Cruelty of Heartless Numbers Dancing.  Is there a better Way to convert plants into thoughts, other than by setting them of fire, and then taking their lifeless ash to a tool/of lenses for looking closer?  Electricity and the Spirit in Nature. 

There was an Indian girl in senior year history.  Didn’t seem to have a friend.  joey was shy, and blossoming girls too hard to make as new friends - how do boys not acquire the habit of staring at chests, since they are fresh from the miracle of watching daily these obvious changes in a once upon a time icky girl's figure.  I scour his memory for her name, but there is only this observation: she seemed to wear the same white blouse, dark skirt, and plain flat shoes everyday, probably freshly laundered.

One day she stopped coming.  Rumor had it the village males had decreed she needed to go to work for the benefit of the .... what, .... ?

Life for joey was rich, College loomed, high school was in its last year ... much to do, even worth being teased by the highly plausible assertion of his best bud of all, Michael O., which was “that the reason you got elected Senior Class President was because none of the really cool people bothered to run for anything, so when that girl behind you in home room nominated you - not even telling you, and there you were one morning on a ballot no one really cared about.  Do not get big headed.”  Like I said, Mike was joey’s best friend.

"silicon angel"

joey gets ready to breathe out: ... this event lived one day at a time - while occasionally very intense - ... being here reviewed while I who is writing this is breathing in the memories still rich after all these years ... 

In 1969 Tina and joey (seen below on their wedding day in 1962) ... reunited, after separation adventures, self-divorce papers, and other impossible causes,

moving Doren and Marc to SF Bay Area - with dreams of flowers in our hair.  We arrive two weeks after the deadly People’s Park riots in and around U.C. Berkeley.  She gets a job as a secretary (she’s very good at this trade, and her new boss is an important man in a big company, located in a high rise overlooking the Lake in Downtown Oakland); joey finds a job underwriting casualty risks for an insurance company, ... a large office building on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, within walking distance of U.C.B.  Heels and hose, and suits and ties, with babysitters on the side.  All the same, serious weekend hippies.  They were there - but not physically - just close in time and space - when the Woodstock generation, the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll generation, met its shadow at Altamont speedway. 

It makes sense - Altamont, the anti-Woodstock - if we consider celebrations magical, and that the trouble there happened while certain musically inclined poet-drunks and heroin addicts sang their Sympathy for the Devil - bad ju ju, requiring a hell’s angel to knife to death a drunk - sacrifice in blood - total of four people died that day. The Dionysian ‘60‘s gives birth to a Nixonian hangover ‘70‘s. 

Politically, ... the new culture of the left pushed, and the right/white establishment Shoved Back.  A Culture War at its heart, although deaths of pride too many.  The ‘60‘s won - no Way possible to stop the music, whether blowin on the wind, we shall overcome, or let it be, ... and those, who yearned for a return to the fantasy fifties they watched all the time on TV, ... those folks lost children to wars, farms to corporations, while the movies glorified sex, and violence, a march of slow time, among/where the greatest virtues were everything staying basically constant.  Part of the Heart Land of America had justifiable traditions, which all the same were getting old and sclerotic - the children fleeing the dying culture of farmlands and rural towns for the vital living culture of the cities.

Two places where changes take place slow and/or fast - urban/rural.  Sometimes we have to move, and visiting the rest of the world is good for Americans.  Very good, even if just out of town, and somewhere else than where you have been spending most of your time.  joey bounced up and down the edges of the Rocky Mountains: Great Falls to Colorado Springs to Denver to Missoula Montana to Denver again, and then go west young man to SF. Bay Area.  I come on board, next move is to Sacramento, then to near Mt. Shasta, .... then all the way across the country to New England, and New Hampshire.  Fires of separation and more mommy/and daddy singing its complicated ...

Only to go West again, all the way to SF/Sonoma, for a couple of years, until once more a siren call and I've gone East to NH once more - believing in a voice over a phone, and a bunch of e-mails, that fortune was smiling.  We were together for less than a week ...

Moves are where we trust the stars of our own imagination, unless drafted, in prison (physical and/or mental), or running as fast as possible away, more than toward.

Rested in NH a while, tho' soon off to the West again, stopping at Prescott AZ - note feature in upper right, Prescott has a "natural sphinx", which the Yavapi Indians called: "lion lying down" ...

- ... for reasons of family and being near youngest daughter [middle daughter Jennifer, having remarked it is not so much what you do during a girl's adolescence, but that you are there - around].  I met a new personal friend, a doctor by trade, and when youngest daughter Brie was done with high school (for graduation I gave her money for her first tattoo, and pre-sold mom-Dawn the idea as well).  Brie is a social pioneer, throwing gender issues to the winds, and plotting to be on the first Mars Mission as an astro-engineer.  We had a Facebook blow up, and currently do not talk.  I chastised her and some of her friends for the abuse of language in the terms: "White Privilege", which being racist on its face, is also a complete abstraction that never fits real people.  Although, ... having come into our language, it must play its role, however distracting it will be.

Prescott >>> DrFriend&I ... me going back to Fair Oaks CA 21 years after I left (she'd been there as well) .  Then once more East, riding the fire of biographical trials of rejection (7stageswork): body/friend/A.Society/living space cusp - go/flee to kids/family in SF Bay Area - i.e. go to the Past, or toward the unknown, to NH (she of the Scottish/Aboriginal blood lines-avatar - having an empty half-garage made into a studio apartment, - stayed there 9 months, doing a lot of writing, including American Anthroposophy and Biographical Necessity ... and finally then Concord, MA, where I met my Lady, we finally Traveling to Paxton.  joey mostly bounced North and South, while I bounce West and East.  Some details lurk - see below.

Those souls of the American Heartland, upon loosing the '60's cultural war, remained behind: Rural&faded-suburbs/rustbelt - where they went on yearning for an imaginary better than the present lost past ... and like a fruit too long ripening, became politically, the Tea Party:

 - a well aged soul-wine. 

Then, after that brief last moment of sanity, their dreams of a lost world were consumed/absorbed by the white money establishment.  These are churched folk who never should have been made fun of, because that very stability they provided was essential to any possibility that wanted to be born.  Ever know of a place where folks gather, and there isn't a church.  Without the folk born of Depression, WWII, and the gasping for a break of less-rapid-change '50's, there does not come into existence the foundation for something Culturally New, a revolutionary/dawning to say the least.

Without our ancestors, we are not.  Without our children, even if that "child" is just a bad drawing made by a homeless person, or a triumphant terminal tower (and this too shall pass) ... who are we without purpose?  A wonderful question everyone should be completely free to answer in their own Way.

The Gods&Goddesses Having a Profound Interest in Fertility, and at the same time being Gloriously Indulgent, ... we are free to screw up all of it, albeit within limits - -- - one can only hope&pray.  Social Existence is Living, and an Art not of man's-making.  Everyone gets forgiven, or no one gets forgiven.

Social-politically, a worshiped past fantasy leads to a regressive stance (lets go backwards instead of forwards), which is a call for at least standing still and digging in your heels where-ever there is a t00-risky-chance - change being too fearful and out of control.  Along the road with the song nothing getting fixed, in the key of failed promises, constantly, we find- - ->abortion still exists, and black and brown people are - culturally - scary unknown with seriously bad reputations - from this stew of frogs in a slow cooking pot, the anti-’60‘s cultural conservatives became really angry, and voted for, and remain devoted to: Donald Trump. Rough Justice from the Spirit known as: Karma’s a Bitch.

the movement of the djin, in and out of bottles, has always been involved in chaos = self containment is a virtue

We, as a species unknown to itself, are confused, afraid, and seriously discontent.  Everyday the News shows us all the fires.  It is what they don't show - the wider context, when not present makes for harm.  Most people did not die today, and there were more births than deaths.  Not everyone's house burned down, and when the weekend gets here, there will be PARTY, or Church, or Both.

Maybe there's a purpose to what a so-called transcendentalist called Lives of Quiet Desperation.  Lots of burning, but not everyone burns fast, or even burns at all.  Mote (tiny fire) and Beam (dry wooden thoughts).  Perfect storm for a Planet wide social catastrophe.  Are we having fun yet? (tip of the hat to Bill Griffith)

Want To Understand?:? ... try imagining Trump, McCain, Pence, et. all. from the Inside Out (see the movie) - somewhere/when/how in the bowels of history's deep past has grown the freedom of all folk to/do are/be given free reign to personalize the World in their own image - Gods&Goddesses - they got to do it, so then must humans be all the same/free.  Is there a risk?  You-bet-cha.  Untamed Freedom + carnal desire = the Beast from the Abyss of the Unknown.  If choice is not real, than we are just a bad memory in someone else's wet dream.  Its a dark secret, or not, but all that stuff in Vudu about Loa/Riders be true.  Ask the Las Vegas shooter.  Looking for causes of local reality dysfunctions?  ISIS violence?  A mindless asshole sitting in the American Presidency? 

We all are familiar with our Own Dark, and even so The Trump Voters like him - those whose culture died to become the compost for new culture, ... they like Trump almost as much as he likes himself.  Tear it all down fire and brimstone, with just the right bit of cheeky noises - a businessman playing at “Curb your enthusiasm”.  I’ve got this under control.  Better times are coming

                                                          Steve Bannon dancing to
liar liar hair on fire

Insectiod/dying soul-forms - ... when the Social needs dissolving into Chaos, people arise who are self-tasked with tearing social order down, in part by showering the world in thoughts more akin with the bright/bloody knives in horror movies, ... thoughts which slash at the Souls emerging - the Children, ... a press/indulgent parade of ugly thoughts that are anti-human thoughts.  I am not a Number.

The Great Internet's Shadow is loose in every hack and fake news art.  American Politics as a self-immolating deconstruction, where prescription drug addled public servants stumble in the dark fear of getting caught out, and hung from a street lamp.  Good&Evil dance all over politics, as do Sane&Insane, or Healthy&Sick as a Dog. 

Ganja becoming legal, and alcohol intoxication burning out through excesses on college campuses (modern partying not new, but comes and goes in phases - usually connected to people who dream big, seek joy, and need to blow off steam) ... an odd music to wars being fought over who gets to control the food we eat, and the medicines we are being forced to take.  "the Third Event", as it is named in the Hopi Prophecy.  Consider the social implications of changes in modes of intoxication.  DrunkWhiteBaldHeads falling ... while, little noticed, She catches them whatever their purported sins.  Monsanto, setting itself across the grain of life, ... is about to run into a Medicine Woman Knot, which will break the blade to pieces.

We’ve had a Revolutionary War, and a Civil War.  We've had a century of seemingly endless war/s to crown the 2nd Millennium becoming the Third [WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq - just the major base cords].  Can there be a better War?  A Grandmother War - offering Tea&Company for everyone, just as long as discussions are civil, and discourse sane.  Star Wars. (The Force). Star Trek (dreams of a more social future).  Aliens (women warriors manifest).  Monster Computers (machines in the image of man, who turns out to be: god-becoming).  Guardians of the Galaxy (We are Groot!) 

repeat chorus: The Force Dreams of a More Social Future, Women Warriors Manifest, Machines in the Image of man god-becoming, We are Groot! the kickass Goddess/God of Life. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EiArkpxCdtk Baby Groot Resurrected and Dancing.

Wisdom Songs dominating the commercial Collective Imagination, dancing in the debris of an increased failure of governments to deliver on any level anything except artless divisive rhetoric, and "zombie lies" (tip of the hat to Bill Maher).  Thanks tho' for all the stand up comics.

Back/time/step to 1971, and to Trouble in the form of changing the jockey of a reasonably healthy white American male avatar body, around Michaelmas in the Fall of that year.    joey and I change places of operation - I get his physical body, his astral body, and his ethereal body.  He gets a rest - a much too sensitive soul, yet having in this sacrifice given me more than one great gift.  All the same, I’m not joey, and the mix of Joel and Tina, as against joey and Tina starts to fray on the edges of the already expectable and existing wounds ...  

the bonzai liberation front


"vanity of vanities, all is vanity", Ecclesiastes preaches

from a work-friend of joey's, a girl who saw, and touched ...

"There once was a man named Wendt,
whose mind become boggled and bent.
On fine sunny day,
Wendt went away,
and no one knew where Wendt went"

Four months later, moral gridlock.  Stay in family or walk away again from a difficult situation.  The situation where when a child needs/wants a simple answer, the first thing adults say is: “its complicated”. 

I leave the house on Everett Street and start to walk, ... aimlessly.  A couple dozen blocks away a big isolated hill: Albany Hill.  It is surrounded by the flat straight street neighborhoods of the East Bay, below the hills where money gets a better view.  Albany Hill ... an
upthrust against the horizon, as the distance lessens, She becomes a shape not unlike a tiny wooded Ayers Rock, ringed below with a bunch of developers' wet dreams/ten story apartment towers, among which weaves a road up through real woods to the crown, where only trees, a few shrubs, and well trod trails converge.  Comes with a Cross, not too big though.  Some of the trees are taller.

I wonder what the local tribes of Native Americans saw, gazing among the original (unbuilt-upon) grassy-salt-mud-flats to where She stood, alone, garbed in green, and then past Her - to and out the gate to the sea.   One evening at sunset, I was atop a rise above Albany, and saw seaward how that sea gate turned to gold as the Sun dropped directly behind it, out of sight.  The bridge non-natives have added is not inartistic - steel taming a limit in the wild, at dangerous costs, but still there after all these so few years.

Maybe the Big One will redecorate the steel, as well as other innovative wonders.  Golden Sunsets will continue, for those blessed enough to survive: What?  Rudolf Steiner dreamed dark dreams in the Dreaming, and thought he could wrestle them with scientific rigor.  His Europe was lost to the Divine Mystery, captured root and soul by a mindless materialism that marched to the tune of no more religion of any kind (except ours of course - we science-geeks being smarter than all the prior civilizations of mankind).

things fall apart, the center cannot hold, we need to be told until we are sold ...

Arriving on the Crown of Albany Hill, a large rock offers a place to rest from the walking.  A first prayer since many years ago when the magic was taken from joey’s heart, ... a plea for release against the weight of darkness - a moral gridlock huge in its paralytic force.  Stay with Tina, or go, which joey had himself done just a couple years before, and seemed to my/his emerging new-self something wanting to repeat.  What about the children?

Then Gone, ...

... so simultaneous that prayer and miracle are indistinguishable.  And lingering - permission to choose, and to choose and not worry - either way stay with Tina or not - either way will work out.  Not just dark removed, but worry as well.  I walk home, go into the room with our water bed in it.  I’ve been gone many hours.  Tina comes in, sits, I speak from a soreness in joey’s lingering echoing heart: Why didn’t you give me any choices about these children.  You know you know exactly when you are fertile.   And, its not them - they are miracles, but you - you keeping choice to yourself? 

I start drowning the both of us in my/his tears, weeping too a gift from the prayer answered.  She can’t comfort such pain.  Doesn’t know how?  Who would know how to heal the seas of karmic wounds we see everywhere.  Everyone tries to do what they can, and suffer the consequences, although not always silently.  As a parent we struggle with the heart tugs of caring to much or to little.  Given that Our Cosmic Parents do not grant all prayers, this signals how stuck we are on such dilemmas - compelled to hard knocks-learning in a deep school, which includes learning to share the pain.

While there will not be many Navajo Blessing Ways done among white folk, the personal biography is itself a passage in the tradition of the Holy Grail.  Neither the Holy Mother, or the Son, stand off at a distance.  They could not be more close, as He baptizes us with Fire and Holy Breath, and She Endlessly Replenishes the falling and fallen.

Over time this miracle came to repeat itself, as I discovered - through self-observation - The Second Eucharist in the Ethereal.  A big deal in a way, although the shock of the first time becomes more normal as we learn to trust the fires of our own heart, against the social tides everywhere drowning sanity with untamed hungers.

first attempt at this art, ...
encouraged by our younger brother's Lady,

a seer/painter in her own right

... became a gift to her

We divide the children.  The two older - Marc and Doren with Tina, who worked everyday and needed the kids to be as self sufficient as possible, while toddler Jennifer went with her out of work weekend hippie dad, who burned with a fire to learn.  We shared the three treasures every weekend, one taking care of the immediate needs of them all, while the other had a whole weekend off.  The kids were together each weekend in spite of us - something modeled for us by others facing divorces, ... our church/community fosters discussion, and asked to participate in a Church Journal, I offered the name New Wine, which was used.

I saw the School that was there - the San Francisco Bay Area Mystery School, organized by Providence as School Master/Mistress.   Almost 14 years lay in front - an adventure lived moment to moment.  Novels/music/movies/lectures by gurus/books to pass from hand to hand/casual sex/ finding that I already could see, so I looked.  And looked, and looked. 

A book is given to me: Seven Arrows.  My joeyechoing heart breaks, and tears flow as I discover that Hill 57 was a scary mask set in the way of supposed good Christian Folk.  Those Indians of our youth had wisdom ways easily equal - if not better than - Tibetan and Zen Buddhism - - in 1971 all the rage.   Some of my friends/companions/house-sharing spirit-speaking folk, went landward in the mid ‘70‘s, via Rolling Thunder and such as the American Indian Movement (AIM).  By the time that decade had passed, I had found Rudolf Steiner and his serious students.  Got some help in that ... the Burning Bush visited me, personally.  Kind of knocks your head of off your shoulders for a good long time.

joey had gone to the [borrowed? imaged from?] , USAF Academy

for three years (straight out of high school in 1959) - these folks want you to touch physics, math, and how to take measurements on a running jet engine, all the while the ice-cream of planes and rockets - all the boy-toys from whenever.  Sophomore (3rd Class) year joey became uncertain as to whether he could actually drop atomic bombs on people - being as he still believed those magic Gospel stories of his youth - believed them deeply, and ... well the Cold War is very real when you wear a uniform.

Fate saved him from an agonizing choice.

Like all star-crossed lovers, Tina and joey surrendered to first son Marc’s need to get here before all the fun was over.   He was born the Spring of the year JFK was murdered.  The Air Force Academy is history, and three years later, in Summer, in Missoula Montana (where Doren is born/wrestled into flesh - a hard journey), an honorable discharge and the nurturing Mother aspect of Divine Providence sends a couple toward/through the ‘60‘s and ‘70‘s without the threat of being drafted into foreign war zones, although the one at home has its own agony as we see our Dream of America actually get eaten by the Military Industrial Complex, --  a hard landing that ... finding just how powerless, to act effectively, one can be.  Although ... we did believe we were going to change the world, for which the baby boomers get a lot of the blame.  Old wounds still unhealed, have degenerated into slogans: White Privilege, Black Lives Matter, ... the politics of bumper-snickers: I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore protest signage.

Law School in Missoula was endured, but what actually beckons? ... ? ... although a Christmas gift from the older brother with a PhD in microbiology has instructions [in two pages for those friends who will trip-sit joey while he partakes a very new eucharist]: A capsule of LSD.  The Trip was not as joey expected, for his anticipation was that an hallucination would be outside the control of his own mind.  That was not the case, which raised some interesting questions in the young lawyer mind - which had gotten the High A in Evidence - the law’s rules of proof, and the only course in Law School taught by a practicing attorney, who later becomes a Federal Judge.  These rules were logical and strict and pure-in-ideal, although - in practice - full of holes if the lawyer's client has enough money with which to play.

For a dreamer, joey had an acute mind, he just didn't display it.  In the Spring of his junior year in high school, his class placed in the 99th % on a national examination, and in his class there were 30+ students that were individually (not collectively) in the 99th %.  Of those, five underperformed, as it were.  joey was getting mostly C's and an occasional B.  The day these scores were announced, every teacher and every class he went to gave him shit for not ... whatever they thought he should be.  Thing was standardized tests were a game to joey.  If he didn't know he'd, guess, and if he had to guess he'd eliminate answers that didn't seem to fit.  Good scores, plus other this's&that's, and joey gets picked to go the the AF Academy.  Later, when it was time to think maybe lawschool was a next thing to do, with one son and a wife, and all the usual dreams of young families, he scored 698 out of 800 on the LSAT, the law school admission test, which tested only what is anyone's guess.  He got through, with only one A, and no law review.  At graduation he was recruited by All State Insurance Company to become an auto accidentl investigator in Denver.  On Tina's wishes they left behind being a big fish in a small pond (Montana with all his dad's connections) to go to Colorado and be a tiny fish in a very big pond.

So I inherit lawyer mind, & science mind, while discovering myself in a real/living/Hogwarts/School where the first course I seriously take is Hermetic Science, otherwise known as Magic.   I’m a natural.  Yet, She? leads me toward the grounded.  Bread crumbs - a booklet found in a friends car, that was about the Hopi, which I stole, eventually lost, but when the time came there were many sources for learning about: “From the Beginning of Life to the Day of Purification”.  On the Easter Weekend of 1985, I travel back and forth from Sacramento to the Hopi Mesas, to seek out and visit with Grandfather David Monogye, and watch our conversation on who might be the True White Brother of the Hopi Prophecy, forcibly interrupted by the granddaughter of this 106 year old blind gentle, she demanding I leave, and stop bothering this old man's dreams.


                                                                            this retired American elder's office window ....

Today I would have said: I'm sorry.  He is an Elder and I am an Elder.  We have important dreams to share.  Would you like to hear a remarkable tale about just how right the Hopi World View is?  I have traveled far, and have little time.  What do you say, keeper of this home?  May a couple of old men share the dreaming?

Whenever I look back, in memory, I can/often create a new story, noticing the ordered beauty of events, since it is a given how much I like what and where I am Now.  I never had any plans and / or dreams that foresaw such possibilities.  Too many branchings in the matrix of life.  She, who is the Mother of All, is the One-who-is-Many that folk wisdom calls: never gives you more than you can handle, or its variations: such as virtue is its own reward/work hard/play by the rules/mind your own business/take no prisoners/share the good, and the hope,/and laugh your ass off at every opportunity.  Thanks Mom, for the trust in us/me/we's, evidenced with every Sunrise & Sunset.

From the Sufi stories, I actually practice “The Increasing of Necessity”.  What happens in the stream of life, when I give myself totally over to Surprise ... absent daily worry/&/works.  Which involves a kind of daily practical surrender to what lives in the 23rd Psalm.  Each waking day a series of lessons, gifts and treasures all.  It is a question of attitude.  Can the new be present to experience, or is it all sameness?  For about four years I had the privilege of taking care of young girl child Jennifer/Jenna, while she was delightfully teaching me how to be a child again.  She’s the middle of five altogether, who are each my favorite teachers in their own right/spot, although time and distance make for yearnings in the tune of: anxious, butnotforgotten.  I'd buy a cell phone, but I like it that I'm hard (relatively) to get a hold of.

In the first months of riding the made just for us avatar, while having access to all memories, including from the Gospels, my lawyer trained and science trained mind += tarot/magic/mind looks inside and finds that I am the beam.  Steiner described America souls as: wooden, but on the Way to overcoming that native materialism.  Mote and Beam never go away, although Their meaning can grow upon us.  I was awake to the relationship of thoughts, conscience and experience - as mystery, from the beginning of riding the new/old avatar ... Trees&Forests - Endless source of Wisdom, ... "wooden", I like being from Tree, and Groot, and Teller of Harsh Tales.   Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, dance with Pecos Bill, and the True White Brother ... among the sands of Time ...

view from Hopi-Land prophecy rock, of the nearby Painted Desert ... when I visited the sun was near setting, the gardens on the mesas were blooming
(it was Spring after all), and the view was extraordinary ... good place to do/keepup the Ceremonial Works Maintaining the Balance.

from Pintereset Search
creator not identified, ignored advice to check for copyright, still ... I am a thief, I use words as well as pictures ... I did not personally author .... so sue me, be a lot of fun

A good friend spends a lot of time with Choygam Trungpa - erstwhile enlightened Tibetan Lama.  This friend describes to me the importance of practice - sitting meditation - in order to find the enlightened state of mind.  The joeyecho reminds me that for a Christian, doing/being moral is the core of being spiritual.  Somehow that is not the same as “enlightenment”.  I easily understand Buddhism, intellectually it seems, but am not drawn to that Way of Practice.  Having a guru, sitting still a lot (not doing), becoming part of a separate community?

I asked myself this though: If the ground of  the world is spiritual, what does that mean for mankind’s social and political existence?  It is after all, 1978, ... Nixon had blown up the White House, and a bunch of crazy Arabs just took over an Embassy in Iran.  Plus, joeyecho was shy, while I was not, so I took to thinking about, and practicing arts of seduction = sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll.  In the ‘70‘s, the first ten life-years I was the learning-to-be-a-jockey of this avatar body (31 to 40), which/where/then the wild oats joey had been too shy to sow were sown.  Such as they were ... a ganja aided doodle&poem from those years ...

Lazy Bear's Spirit Song

"martian* meditation"

*as in Heinlein's: Stranger in a Strange Land

Three weeks later - it was 1978, after formulating my (Joel’s) life’s riddle (
If the ground of  the world is spiritual, what does that mean for mankind’s social and political existence?), Lady Providence introduced me to Rudolf Steiner, and I then (after first getting a shocking visit from Burning Bush) dedicated the next four decades to thinking about social and political life, in the disciplined way of Steiner’s modeling of organic and pure thinking, with lawyer mind and science mind still having a say, to a base beat of magic mind.  In a certain sense I was acquiring a Mistress, yet one who was Invisible, and too often thought of as male, but still real whatever gender category is helpful: Anthroposophia?  All the same, a name is a trap for experience, birthing far too many questions, although Aristotle seemed to prefer the Names to the Beings (with whom Plato may have had a more intimate acquaintance).

Yes, ... underneath the surface intellectual puzzles, there was the earth, the urban earth, with its buses and concrete and masses of folks.  Inspired by Seven Arrows, I changed how I dressed.  How I lived, as in the decorous - or not - nature of where I lived.  For most of the ‘70‘s I had no car, and walked (or bused) all over the San Francisco Bay Area.  I started wearing a day pack before there were day packs.

The weather is: changeable, even coy.  I went to an Army Surplus store and bought a large army-green sack, nylon/canvas material, the size of a tall grocery bag, yet designed for the long haul.  It has multiple straps with buckles everywhere.  You could fill it up, close it tightly, and then hang a poncho against the rain, or a thick wool shirt against the cold, from different straps - use and mix as necessary.  Books, paper, pens, a change of cloths, a little tin box with paper clips, pins etc - tiny sharps.  A knife or two.  A copy of the Tarot.

Shoes were/looked like soft leather moccasins, although the sole was imitation-rubber for the rough concrete and asphalt, while the inside had some kind of fluffy lambsy warmth-home - didn't always need socks or underpants.  I wore corduroy for its softness as pants and had for awhile a corduroy jacket.   The jacket was decorated with my own designs using seed beads, that were woven on a simple loom I found described in a old boyscout camping book.

The coat was too powerful - ... on its back was this borrowed from the internet figure, done in seed beads, white for the solid surfaces, and brown for the lines.  It is M.C. Escher's version of the Star of David.

I was dancing to the luciferic, and my costumes came and then disappeared and/or reconstructed, as I more and more faced the truth that for all my spiritual studies, and gifts, I had a long way to go just figuring out: how to be a human being - if there was anything I was learning from Aboriginal folks, ... "how to be a human being" was the only real question one need ask. 

Fell a lot ... made selfish choices, ... that harmed others.  The sea of experience/chance seemed to point this out, but I was still me, and often not paying enough attention to the subtle.  Actually thought I was enlightened for several months, but family&friends were giving me "you're being a serious asshole" comments and looks.  Saved my ass.  Is such biographical Art orchestrated, in advance, or does the "field" of providential activity work entirely in the Now, with i 'n I's present input in mind?  I suspect variations are infinite, as are the stars, and all the sands on all the seas of all the planets.

If I could - safely - sleep outside, I did.  I observed the weather - could tell what was coming 2 or three days in advance, just reading the Sky.  Plus/and I saw a sign once - on rising and looking out a window, house-perched on a working poor - most everybody is renting - hillside in Oakland, ... I looked toward San Francisco, saw there an inversion of the colors of the morning sky.  Where everyday was night's fading blue shading to pink, this day the pink was lower then the night's blue, after which above, instead of the day's blue emerging from the pink, the day's blue emerged from the night's fading blue.  In Goethean-speak, a building inversion in the levity/gravity balance, produced an amazingly beautiful artistic effect in the atmospheric colors.  Earthquake happened that evening, where earlier in the day a old friend had presented me with her collection of Moody Blues records (a band also startled by encounter with the Burning Bush - the man with clear eyes): She of the Records=Jamie & with chess-friend Paul - temporarily paired -  were leaving the next day for Boston.

I was reading the Illuminatus Trilogy, finding Nightmares and Dreams, as Features of the Collective Unconscious/Imagination, otherwise known among the oldest memories as: The Dreamtime (which is always Now) :and then later reading Orson Scott Card’s series of books re-imagining American History in terms of various psychic gifts, including those gifts held by the Aboriginal peoples here.  Often while toasted.  Small magics and grander dreams hung about my desires.  Immature, but understandable.  joey's imaginations of almost no ambition but endless heroics were lingering, except for the fact itself of the very high quality imaginative life.  He dreamed all the time - all through school and all through life.  In the imagination he had the power to change the wrongs.  We don't of course, the wrongs being a perception, induced by Culture.  Beam and Mote stuff.  The teaching mirror of life, a book to be read - all of it open secrets.

Used many kinds of drugs.  LSD when I could get it, and one time I had three hits of window-pane (small clear squares) over five days.  Peyote? Once, puked.  Psilocybin? Once, stood for a couple of hours looking in a mirror watching my face paisley-dancing, loosing form and color/form, unside down inside out, asking me who was I?.  Cocaine?  Once, worked for a guy, he needed me to amp up at work (in restaurant), from hangover from drinking with him the night before, ... ended up slicing my thumb on the meat-slicer, going to the ER and coming back with a cast to keep me from moving it.  When decay set in re the Summer of Love, street drugs became lies, and four of us took some supposed LSD together, and got sick.  Checked the daily Height-Ashbury drug report on KSAN, to find out that we been given speed, cut with strychnine.

Stuck to weed after that ...

     in the mad-woman's garage, 2008, ... she Wise of the Ways of Trouble for all White Idiots, needing further education

While my hair thinned, ... once no longer working in an office it was never cut although there were women (and a couple of daughters) that liked to trim the ears a bit, and braid it once in a while.  joey had had many odd ways he walked and talked - habits of speech and posture.  Some were ways of being tense and shy and inoffensive, but not obsequious.  Protective covering of a sort - wounds embedded in muscle and sinew.  Tina said, about three years after the change of jockey’s, that I was a completely different person.  I walked differently, stood differently, sat differently, and talked differently.

Neither of us objected, nor at the time did I know more than the wanting/needing to be more the me that I was seeking to be.   Seeing is a curse, ... isn’t it.   Seeing encompasses Doing.  Can’t separate them.  “Blessed are they who do not see, and yet believe”

I gave away objects, once reducing over two hundred books to seven on a whim/experiment - which seven would I keep and why.  Thought the people (group house folk) would give the books a home at their workplace, and make the books available for use to others.  They had a sale to raise some money, and sold the whole lot.  I never saw them again, and they included such works as R.D. Laing's "Knots".

Traded a bunch of stuff  to a lady upstairs for seven small - each different - wicker baskets for the little stuff Jennifer and I needed.  A rope-tied bundle of sleeping bags, pillows, and extra blankets.  That lady had a son, and he and Jennifer went missing one day (they were four), and as we (lady and I) panicked into the rain outdoors, there they came skipping down a sidewalk toward us, hand in hand, wearing not a stitch of the clothing we/they dressed in that morning

Along with the magic chest, which follows me everywhere, from all the way back when I found it moss covered in a wet shed in the back of the yard at Everett street, where the change of jockeys itself appeared.  Daughter Doren remembers that house, in part because of a great wind roaring past her bedroom door one night, followed by a dark shadow - she was five or six, going on 47, and was just beginning to lucid dream.

For over 46 years that piece of wood, and metal, cleaned up, polished and repainted has traveled with me.  Every white/shaman/wizard has to have a ceremonial tool box.  A cornucopia of books&gear that has spread its riches all over everything in my current study, and other parts of the house, all the way to the blending of the edges between illusions of a human dominated space, and the Forest just outside, where Mother Rules the Wild.  If I am a jockey in an avatar body, then all embodiments in matter are of the same nature, for the fire of consciousness has no limits whatsoever.

I camped out in the City, which was my Forest then, and traveled by bus and foot to the wonder of all manner of sacred places and folks. I also had a lot of questions, which are like/kin to those nested Russian dolls.  Open one up, there is another one inside.  For example: If anything is sacred, shouldn't everything be sacred? 

Bookstores: From way back when, early 20th century: The Metaphysical Town Hall in SF, where I got the third Bardon book.   Newer: Shambhala Books, Telegraph Ave in Berkeley, where I got my first three Steiner lecture cycles.  Serious: Fields on Polk Street in SF, where I got Lehrs and Hauschka and Thomas Taylor's The Theoretic Arithmetic of the Pythagoreans.  Mercurial&Magical: Sunrise Books, in North Oakland’s bit of Telegraph Ave.  A book seller whose touch was so light, that he knew your tastes, and made sure the enticing and the rare in your dreams was on display when next you came to visit.  Owen Barfield, George Adams, and Olive Whicher's remarkable Projective Geometry. were met there, along with Steiner's Spiritual Science and Medicine - 22 lectures, as well as Victor Bott's Anthroposophical Medicine.

While the Steiner students I was beginning to meet, were all reading Steiner lectures, I was reading his students, particularly the scientists.

There’s the eucalyptus grove
on the campus of UC Berkeley, with Strawberry Creek running through it, that I suspect lives on in Le Guin’s Earthsea stories as the Imminent Grove = where the master patterner sees the whole in the song of a well-studied part.  Upper Telegraph Avenue, where it butts up against UCB, lined with street vendors of crafts&such, weather and holidays creating a huge festival for a couple of decades, although through civic neglect it eventually becomes a heroin users hangout. 

Hippie, weekend and otherwise, were much in the local news in Bezerkly, as we affectionately called the town the was home to huge cultural/change explosions - including death and violence - at the drop of a hatehat.  When Reagan was governor of CA, he ordered the campus gassed from the air.  Not on his watch these drugged (just say no) out hippie anarchists taking over.  Then there were Sundays, at UCB, a lower level plaza, open on many sides, where the drummers and dancers and wonderful echos would hang out. 


The University of California at Berkeley, where my elder brother Lou did his post-doc studies, was a place where I walked, hung out, engaged in all manner magical arts leading to/of learning-there, from what I have come to call: the telephone pole school.  You walk the streets, Berkeley and other places, but Berkeley the most - every single wooden pole, usually telephone, had posters advertising someone's thing stapled, on top of other posters, stapled on top of more posters.  Folk made money going around putting up posters. 

I walked those streets, and/or that campus nearly everyday possible, in whatever weather.  In the Jennifer/Jenna era, she rode on my shoulders a lot, and she taught me about the magic invisible string, that loops back and forth from child to parent, where each holding the other in their attention, knows that the other is also aware of us.  Slowly she (ages 3 -4), stretches out that string, until she and her upstairs buddy, named: Mann-john, disappeared on a rainy day in glorious four-year-old rebellion.

and then there is Sproul Plaza:

...!!!...: birth place of the Free Speech Movement, which was not unlike a very large chaotic School of Athens attended by the serious and the playful. [I like the sound: Sproul ... it seems to echo The Sprawl, from William Gibson's Neuromancer - ... - acute visionary thinker be Mr. Gibson ... birthed the word/idea "Cyberspace".  Very in tune with the Collective Imagination.  A natural anthroposopher for sure.].

Walking down upper Telegraph, in tan corduroy shorts, and an open light wool red shirt, both beaded with beads from a trip to New Orleans, to teach Reparenting, during the season of mardi gras   ... I carried on my shoulder a battery run tape deck (with radio), playing Jimmy Cliff's "You can get it if you really want it", from the movie: "The Harder They Come", when I got pan-handled for my last quarter. 

When possible, I found ways to live without needing to pay rent.  Finding unused spaces with indoor facilities, and asking to be allowed to put them to use.  One house had a basement, and I went to a party there - three friends lived there, one a mom with a child.  I saw the basement’s potential, mostly dirt floor, some concrete, spiders and dust.  Ask and you shall be answered.  Had to clean it up.  Brought in a mattress, my chest of course, made a table from a door borrowed from the house's old used-for-storage garage.  Found a chair somewhere, people leave stuff out with a sign: "take/free", ... it was padded, although no arms.  Practiced Bardon exercises daily, up to the level of whole-body breathing in and out of the Fire Element, when Lady P dropped Steiner in my lap - I had gone to Shambhala looking for some books on plants&stuff, needing to improve in that field in order to be a magician, picked up Steiner's Agriculture and was then off to the races.

It was a time when Jennifer needed to start regular school and so the three treasures lived with Tina/mom/superlegal secretary, and best friend of many years, both joey’s and mine.  Married, we were out of whack.  Friends, we enjoyed sharing the raising of three originals.  That sharing - we did well, although all have gone through the mood of I wish we had more money DAD!, and did you really get that hot dog package out of the dumpster by the Supermarket? 

Then other adventures, crab lice, strange older man dropping by - speaking in rhyme and giving away food saved from the grocery store's outside thrown away good useable food bins.  He took out a small tin of tiger balm, rubbed some on his forefinger, then on my forehead, mentioning - in the 23rd Psalm, what it means to be anointed with oil.  Grandfather John I called him.  He left me five loaves of bread, five heads of lettuce, and five lbs of yellow cheese.  He had shopping cart full of rescued food.  Showed me how to clean any mold/penicillin off the cheese should the taste bother me.  It was a morning I had only 35cents, some raman and peanut butter for me and Jenna, when on going out the door to spend the 35cents to get a loaf of bread I spy the shopping cart.  A nearby public telephone booth door slams open, and a voice becomes louder.  That's his I divine, and go back inside.  Five minutes later he knocks on my door asking if I want some food.  I invite him in, and offer some hot tea&company.

Roaches Ubiqutatus often invade homes of less middle class integrity, but fortune of that sort also smiles - even had a conversation with an outdoor mouse one stoned night.  While Jenna was with me, she had a pet white mouse, which got loose, and we were feeding he/her by leaving cheese and lettuce about the base of the stove, in the space between that and the wall.  Linoleum, flaking paint.

One stoned night, Jenna in bed, I hear this loud thumping running back and forth across the floor.  I light a candle, sit back, wait.  After a while more thumping - an outdoor mouse of shiny vivid brown coat, was chasing cute white lady around the house, banging his tail up and down on the linoleum.  He stopped and visited.  My mattress, on boards and mason bricks, had a same-way built side-shelf, where outside dude jumps up, and down from, then across the sleeping bag near my feet, to the floor and circles around again, sometimes just pausing on the shelf near my feet, vibrating.  Nervous creatures mice.  Known be capable of being scared to death, but this mouse man was wild, and took risks.  Good example for little children, in the right culture where the wild gets to be a lot closer.  In my Mt. Shasta days met a jumping mouse in a similar modus operadus - ganja-mind.

   Frank Herbert in Dune, describes such creatures in the deserts of Arakis, as the teachers of children.  Herbert another of those natural anthroposophers, in his case a goethean-ecologist and planetary social engineer.

In Seven Arrows (and elsewhere), there is an Aboriginal teaching story about "Jumping Mouse" and his curious journey after he accidentally sees a Mountain.

I was washing dishes in a restaurant in Oakland, a job found for me by Tina, when she walks in during lunch and tells me she is moving out, and I am moving in with the need to provide for our teen-aging brood.  The not peace but a sword Dude separating mother and eldest daughter, as each of the bonded pair expressed their individual passions and demands at the table provided by Life.  Families everywhere exploding from within.  Not a problem, I was stoned most of the time, almost daily for two years.  Different views on the con-sequences for the kids' adolescence.  Made amends much later, but ... they survived me being a lot in the dreaming, which is no mean feat - their's that is.

Marc, Brie, Jenna, Dad, Adam, Doren
 (Jenna's wedding to Curtis Day)

California Dreamers All

individualized context when possible

My back yard today is a Forest/Forest, and we are becoming fast friends, although ticks and stones, and plants that bite, along with an uneven ground and an uneven gait, make studies of Marjorie Spock’s: “Fairy Worlds and Workers: A Natural History of Fairyland” a delightful bridge of thought to the Middle Kingdom.  Here too a fourfold tale of levels: the spirits of the elements.

From the beginning of seeing out of joey’s trained eyes - the eyes of a natural empath and innocent, I instinctively started shredding, joey’s acceptance of the dominant materialistic world view.   There was an advantage to his having become an agnostic after taking a course at Denver University on the writers of the gospels, according to modern scholarship.  His always child-like heart in a man’s body was weighted by family deeds needed doing, however clumsy and pointless working in an office with papers on a desk seems.  All the same, joey came to the San Francisco Bay Area Mystery School curious as hell.  Had done college, done law school, done a wife and a couple of babies.  Nervous  a lot.  But still ... LSD, a bit of grass, great new music, ... California Dreaming pushes him to hungering to drink as deeply as possible. 

New&Unknown Culture - Continuous Creation

Two years after arriving in California, all joey’s hungers became mine, to the extent they had left their etchings on our shared astral/desire body.  Main problem for me was/is/having been being created a natural spiritual nerd.  Some folks dance easily, however, having a mind that dances lively by nature can make some conversations difficult.  After three years of me in the early '70's, one girl friend dumped me because I was changing too fast.  Takes a long time to learn how to listen ... how to take dancing mind and calm it with an open heart.

Later, more and more on purpose - the changing continues, but mostly in the invisible.  Outwardly, again chronically poor, working on the arts needed to survive the accepted biographical surprises.  I learned of joey, and to notice the differences between him and me.  His three deepest wounds from his management of our life, I eventually recognized as his greatest gifts, and sought thereafter to find understanding for us both.  Words cannot contain the pains acquired in his innocent passage: Why is there evil?  Why has Christianity Lost its Magic?  And, what is happening in America, a place of such promise and so much yet to be known spiritual future-history? 

joey was everyone’s friend, because as an empath he felt what they felt, and heard and saw their soul in their speech and gestures.  He never intellectually understood why.  Still, his first encounter with cruelty - in the School Yard - left him almost senseless, for how was it possible to treat the your-other-self with such stones.  He learned to live with these wounds of not-understanding, a sensitive landscape of memories and thoughts into which I am drawn as moth to flame.  He also lacked a certain killer instinct in the business world.  Too honest and self-effacing for the corporate ladder.

MagicPowers tempted me.  I lacked a certain knack, though.  Reached too far, got slapped back.  Lessons, always lessons - if you are open to having them.  All biographies the same in that, just a lot of folks not so philosophical and/or introspective.  Lots of variations in the weavings from the Four Directions. 

Thoughts and words on the other hand - there I discovered gifts. Mostly, I was troubled as to the dreaming, and needed drugs, until I didn’t.  In the meantime, I gave up magic, to seek knowledge, as modeled by Rudolf Steiner .  A spiritual nerd, living in many a strange community - becoming More&more over time, powerless in fact.  A friend who saw, and had invented categories, said I was a seventh level priest, learning acceptance, and would achieve enlightenment in this life.

Spent two years at the base of Mt. Shasta.  Can a Mountain ever be a he, while clearly the Sun and Stars Are Hymns?  Read there, for the first time, Tomberg’s Meditations on the Tarot, and in the midst of that journey I was visited by the Son - that ‘tag-your-it’ was clear.  I was going to join the Catholic Church, in large part so as to be able to directly experience Christ’s Presence in the Mass, whatever was the soul-state of the Church or its priests and nuns.  Although it was five years before the "joining" transpired, one primary effect of this "tag-your-it" was that I no longer carried the antipathy toward Catholics and Catholicism that had infested joey's consciousness growing up in a religiously divided culture in Great Falls, Montana.

More than a couple of decades later I re-imagined the Third Fatima Prophecy (Saving the Catholic Religion from the Roman Church).  She was pleased, and sent to me dancing squirrels - 50 to 60, running/jumping/dancing/singing back and forth across my path, when I went walking to the mail box at the end of the driveway, at River House ...


... just after loading that essay (and another: Barack Obama and the reality of the anti-Christ spirit - what might happen if you begin to insert reason into Christian discourse, on questions of public life) up to my website.

The night before we drove away from Mt. Shasta's sphere of influence, I was driving down a dark dirt road, along side a river, and there appeared, illuminated by the car lights, in the middle of the roadway, his/her back to me, yet looking over the left shoulder, a single, standing, Blue Crane.  We (Dawn,Adam,&I)’d seen the pair of them flying the river in daylight - being neighbors and all, but this one seemed to be saying goodbye, and that more will be clear later.  I’m, in that-then, still not appreciating the respect I need to give to my feelings as they sing within.  Too much life of mind sometimes.

I had wanted to flee the City at one time, to go to the woods and there find a missing wholeness with trees and stars - more latent gifts.  With some friends visited a campground in Northern California, next to an obscure Indian Reservation/Nation.  There were some folk living in the public campground - car'd-homeless etc - a couple of functioning motor vehicles, for five or six or seven including kids.  Seemed not eating well, so I gave them a bunch of my food stamps, and they went out, bought some stuff, and cooked us all up some marvelous chilli. 

Next-day: Encountered/shocked by backside-toward-front Hawk-flyover my head, so low it made a breeze in my hair - in my thoughts, what purpose/meaning to the growing skills?  Over the next couple of days I had the following conversation with a snake.

I was walking from the campsite down a trail to the creek that divided the public campground from Indian Country.  A snake was there, heard/felt air movements, and slithered off the warm trail, and into the brush.  The next day, wanting to go down to the creek, and maybe see if snake-dude was sunning that day too.  Careful in turning a corner, I see him, and slowly crouch down on my heels, feet flat beneath me.  We watch each other.

I see him looking at me from one eye, so turn my face away to be just looking out a side eye too.  His tongue flicks in and out fluttering. I imitate.  He cocks head to the side, I copy.  A noise below by the creek, someone coming up the trail.  Snake dude slithers right at me, I nearly shit my pants, say a prayer - kill me if you have to but hoping not, and he/she gracefully glides right over the toes of my moccasins.  

Yet, my faith was in Providence, so Providence taught, pushed, made impossible, guided, and blessed - trusting is part of acceptance.  Providence, the inescapable territory of change over time, and like Dorothy riding in the Tornado in the Wizard of Oz, a surprise is a gift from “others”. 

Back to the road at the Foot of Mt. Shasta, and my stationary Blue Crane visitor ... I opened the car door, and just got out - no hurry or slow, just did it - not thinking mostly.  She/he pause for that, and then a leap, the unfolding spread of great wings, and she/he jumps/dives up and over the shrubs between road and river, and then silently onward into the dark away.

As we drove over Donner Pass, on Hwy 80, heading out of California&Mt.Shasta, and on our way to Concord, MA, Adam - age 4 - sitting between me and his pregnant with sister-Brie’s mother, Dawn, on the front seat of the huge Ryder Trunk pulling our crazy car full of pets - three cats and a dog - Adam turns to me and asks: “Why are we leaving America’s Heart, and going to America’s Head?”

This next formulation I had by then worked out in the magical environs of Mt Shasta, seeking ceremony in thinking, as inspired by Steiner and too too many diverse cultural resources, of place and time.  I gave this inner "ceremonial" doing-thingy the name: Sacramental Thinking:

a) Preparation: these are exercises, such as those practices in control of thoughts, developing inner quiet (meditation practice plays a role here) and so forth. Its like the stretching one must do before beginning serious physical exercise.
b) Sacrifice of thoughts: letting go preconceptions; overcoming habitual patterns. Nothing will prevent new thoughts from arising, as easily as already believing one knows the answer.
c) Refining the question: the moral atmosphere, why do we want to know; fact gathering and picture forming. It is an artistic activity. What moral color do I paint my soul, what factual materials do I gather as I prepare to form an image - i.e. think in all that that act can imply.
d) Offering the question: acknowledging Presence, and not needing an answer. Tomberg urges us to learn to think on our knees.
e) Thinking as a spiritual Eucharist: receiving and grace. We do not think alone. It thinks in and with me (Steiner).
f) Attitude: sobriety and play.”

Donner Pass was 1987 - three decades ago.  The beginning of thirty years without the Ganja Goddess, who I had left behind in Sacramento, California, needing often to be wasted when near the anti-dreaming cultural morass: Rudolf Steiner College in Fair Oaks, CA.  A place where American Souls were assaulted by well-meaning ignorant European folks.  These semi-conscious anthroposophy-know-it-alls, were believers in Steinerism as the one true answer to everything.  I was stuck there like a bug on karmic-flypaper, until fire in my own belly made me more obviously a necessarily discontented source.  For example, I said things at a special 35th anniversary meeting of the Faust Branch to which, out of 150 present, only two people applauded - the rest, eye's trained on Rene Q, who was not applauding, - what did the two/three of us model?  There's additional details&stuff here: Manure for the Garden of Anthroposophy

In that short speaking, I asked questions, as a kind of Socratic/irritant/short set of observations, built out of what local members had taught me about the history of the Faust Branch in Sacramento, California.   I told the story question-wise suggesting a future and how to heal an obvious breach (Carl Stegmann's America research impulse, drowned by the dominance of a karmic pair of wannabe teachers of the Spirit (every euro-lecturer, warped in imitation of the Good Dr - via endless quotes - missing the point of: They are not being/living in Europe anymore!).  Who the F' in their right mind names the  branch of a school seeking the spiritual, in America: Faust? - but a bunch of lame-brained eurocentric Europeans, carrying Mephistopheles - in the form of Steinerism, in a not-hip pocket in their minds. 

I've purged my antipathies over and over again, -  from closely reasoned endless quoting of Steiner, to fiery polemics on Facebook, ... all to little avail.  Freely Thought Anthroposophy.

While I was there in Fair Oaks, where resides: Rudolf Steiner College, accredited no less ....


.... for the first time (1983), just after leaving the San Francisco magic school of Juggler/card nodes of consciousness, - generally having a party on any excuse ... where the Summer of Love, births the Grateful Dead, drunk on LSD via Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters.  But in Fair Oaks, this Party didn't happen, or in a way ... didn't show up. 

A retired Dutch anthroposophical physician who I met there, told me that he didn't understand why the Americans he knew socially were not the Americans that walked into the presence of "anthroposophical work".  "They left their souls at the door" he said. 

No backyard barbecues, or cocktail parties, among anthroposophists there.  No holding hands either.  Certainly no mind altering drugs.  So Fair Oaks' own Faustian Bargain misses the chance to name itself - a central magical act - in accord to the Festivals.  Us stupid Americans didn't do two of them St. John's Tide and Michaelmas, and then when we gathered for Christmas, we were given German Xmas Carols to learn.  Germans have two words for "you" - it involves a declared change of level of social intimacy.  Americans wear their hearts on their sleeves, having stopped bowing to their betters sooner, until a small few get Steinerized/Sanitized/Formalized, and start seeking status in an split-brained club.  Society Branches are full of members of the Christian Community Folk & Vice-Versa. Nobody paying attention to what Steiner said about "that" [Lecture Six: Awakening to Community].

Back to this When, then ... seems like just yesterday, a fall from flying too High.  No medicine since July 23rd 2017.  It is now October, and on the 12th just passed I gave up on grumpy old man, having no fun, and we decided I had learned my lesson, and since having retired from everything possible, except breathing, me and the medicine are back to writing up a storm.  Emerson: “In self trust all virtues are comprehended”.  Or: " Keep on Truckin' " sez Robert Crumb, America's Picasso of the Comic Book.

Me, white Christian shaman, - self made. First “indian” name certain me’s-in-I gave ourself: Lazy Bear.  Second, White Eagle.

"When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn lye in the gutter dead
Remember then the summer birds with wings of fire flame
Come to witness springs new hope, born of leaves decaying
And as new life will come from death
Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn for promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we'll stand
On the threshold of a dream"

Songwriters: Graeme Edge / Janis Ian
The Dream lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

if desks are - or: to/be altars, what then is worshiped there?

A shaman serves his folk/tribe.  Where he was born tells him who his tribe is.  Travels&Trials are often necessary.  Love of the Land is essential.  An old friend, now crossed over, Sue G., on seeing me girding my mental loins for battle against the insanity  - she who had fled to the Sierra Nevada’s to raise sled dogs and avoid helter-skelter - Sue asked me: “Please save the Green.  Save the Green.”

Serving the Ancestors, the Sky People.  For a white man this can be a bit of crazy - WTF are those.  I follow the blood line back first - remembering family and guides like the Mason “Dad” joey had as a Demolay, or the grandfather who played with joey and his cousin bobby, at family events, by slapping their faces, and talking about their needing to toughen up.  It was done kindly yet the slaps stung, and gracefully were very few.

Wrote in poem: Lazy Bear’s Spirit Song.  A line: “please family touch”, having observed many years of social existence, while becoming acutely aware of nurturing touch at Group House - the power of physical intimacy - hugely over-sexualised, lost to most "privileged ? whites”, all of whom older conservative folk have had the bejesus scared out of their social intimacies by generations of anti-drugs, sex, and rock ‘n roll preaching. 

November Winds rearrange what Life has given, yet wishes to rework - a living art the Seasons - Decay is Divine resurrection of matter, not essence which is immaterial.  Kicked out of the garden, and not remembering when we-of-many-previous earth-lives wore more primeval avatars.   Evolutionary thought without a poem, does not recognize what conscious Will inhabited all past forms of Her material body.  I once upon a time, wrote: "The Quiet Suffering of Nature", urging environmentalists to engage in an encounter with Steiner students, magicians, and fools.


Trump, seeming harbinger of ruin, a fly in changing seasons.  Trapped inside a house made by white old men (although recently ... what a vain fuss by all those believing they could be President - a job never meant to be easy.  Although, ... there is evidence that George Washington kept both male and female seeds of the Goddess Ganja's flowering material form.  That still quiet man, graceful and something-a-bit more real?, sitting calmly in the fury of angry men trying to reinvent, from the ground up, a government of, by, and for the People ... {GW] at home and office he, having been taught some alchemy by the Burning Bush, brewed a calming infusion regularly, among other self-medicating pleasures.

Meanwhile, for all our versions of religion, whether Christian or not, hypocrisy rules - everybody is human after all.  Why are we surprised that preachers, presidents, and titans of industry are all assholes?  Aren’t we assholes too?  And: bitches as well.  For reasons only Gods&Goddesses would care to admit, everybody has to figure out how to be human, and we are given 70x7 incarnations, in matter, to figure out Why, How, Who ... good grief Charlie Brown.  And those sometimes too rocky travels are coming to an End.  Anyone really not seeing what is going on?  In the 50's women stayed home and dressed in skirts.   Today, they enlist and go off to fight wars.

There we are, people, on this planet thingy so scary we run from its germs, and wild dangerous creatures that might eat us, - survival of the fittest a nightmare's version of a past that never was.  I want to touch the wild.  When they visit me, for whatever mysterious reasons, there is that pause, that moment, and thank Mom-Nature for helping us have cats, and dogs, and mice, and rats, and rabbits, and food-for-us animals, ... Don't we just - ever-the-child - just want to be a monkey in trees, or dolphins in seas, or hawks in the skyhigh?  What about a Dragon?  And, by the Way, what is that Night Sky about?

When shamaning - we -- "all people", do this the same, with only cultural variations: - a question: Who are the ancestors of what has come to live in my mind’s experience? The Worcester Hills Gazette.

editor's ganja bar

Culture ... >

Clarke 2017 writes:
... the traditional kabbalistic worlds of Emanation, Creation, Formation & Existence as depicted in shorthand in Genesis) can be seen as having their parallel “tree-rings” in the building up of successive inner-earth layers corresponding to Saturn, Sun, Moon, and, finally, the surface world of Nature, all inhabited at their core and in every particle by divinity in its immanent maternal aspect.”

For years, going back to the change in 1971, I have seen and then articulated that there are two essential books, which are both non-material.  Everything “needed” is there.  The Book of Life, or the story that our bibliographies tell, and the Book of the Own Soul, the stories that our inner life tells.  In both cases it is not so much our individual version, but rather the universal elements that should be observed. 

I hope I never fear to see - the unknown infinity from where I flee; til' caught again in nature's spell, while coming home to Forest's dwell.  Hobbits Past, star seekers next?  Whatever our human future, we will not need for Company.

We are right to wonder why...?... the books of life and the book of the own soul...besides the obvious fact that the Divine Mystery does not need books to teach us anything - we are already the best books self-becoming ... we are art ...

As above so below.  To seeking to learn of the universals in ourselves - the microcosm, we gain the possibility of learning of the Universals Within the Cosmos, having been created in the like and the image of the Divine.  If, as Steiner tried to point out, what my liver does is something analogous to the Cosmos’s own activity, how do I go into the Arts of the liver function, in such a way that I don’t miss the whole for the part.  Steiner left behind clues in his “Anthroposophy - a fragment”. 

Is/are the Gods and the Goddesses just us in another masque?  Do we have to know all that there is to know, in any single lifetime? 

Clarke (2017) contemplates Easter Week.  If the deep-truth of the weight of Saturday's and Sunday's Events were borne in the true West - the Americans, and lost thereby to Western - European - Civilization, what story is told by the Events that transpired on Monday through Good Friday - out in the historical-open, yet not in the West? 

Steiner thought that Christianity was becoming - not yet what it could/might/would become.  How is it that we have lost the Mother?  Why did She's import wane like a changing moon.  Oh, yea, we wanted to be kicked out of the Nest, so as to dance on our own.  Everyone has to leave home, in order to learn to want to return.  The Culmination, out-of-time, a creshendo marking the end/beginning of a great 1000 year age, but not the end of either life or dangerous fun.  Delphinic moondancing monkey's look skyward for new planets to conquer. 

In 1980, after a ten hour shift sort of managing a small restaurant ... (cooked, cleaned the grill and mopped the floor at the end of the day - all for $5 an hour cash under the table that enabled my dreaming habit) ... ganja and clouds danced and in the heavens I saw in Vista: right to left:  A large cloud from which the Father is upward surging, while from the same cloud, a left pointing arrow-like star tipped staff pierces the sky.  His visage is wild, and He points a finger as captured by Michaelangelo in the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  My mind makes a connection between the forces of the imagination, and the lower reproductive.  What is pointed toward by both hand and star tipped staff, are two words, written in single small circles of cloud, one for each letter.  On the far left: Matthew, and next to that. in/near the mid-center-right, the word Washington.

A scourging of my psyche with temptations to hold highly my own nature, were these to be truly lives I had previously led.  An eye blink, a re-look and the line of dark small round clouds has lost its letter nature (supplied from within my own soul), and of the Father/star-shaft only memories remain.  Just one more riddle/task/weight/barrier to carry.  One of dozens of dozens, which makes for a pattern: We are shamans - we are books, becoming miracles, day by day, hopefully mostly getting to laugh at our own magic juggling of the never seeming to end ebbs and tides of living.  At the end of the day, I say to my Lady - as we get ready for rest: "well, I've survived being me another day.  How did your's fare?"

Christian-Rosicrucian tradition speaks of the Seven Stages of the Passion of Christ: Washing the Feet; the Scourging; the Crowning with Thorns; the Carrying the Cross; the Crucifixion; the Entombment; and, the Resurrection.  Some details of this in a recent essay: "Cowboy Bebop: and the physics of thought as moral art"

Aftermath Atlantis: three cultures born, wisdom divided. 

One post-Atlantean Culture will be new to most of those reading this.  For those fresh to this Mystery, the traveler Patrict Dixon sang this: America: the Central Motif.

The Younger Brother people, as remembered in the Hopi Oral History, went to the West, to go as far North, South, East and West in the new land, leaving behind rock writings and ruins so as to remember that we had once all been One.  The Elder Brother People went to the East, and only Steiner has so far told us of those folks in his descriptions of all the post-atlantean civilizations that eventually tried to run over all the far older aboriginal civilizations ... Western Civilization failing, according to Clarke 2017, to expunge the true West’s actual role in the Magic of the Incarnation and AfterArts.

The Hopi expect that now is the time for the Elder Brother people “to come to aid” the Younger Brother people.  This “true” “white” “brother”, inter-connected via the Red Symbol (the Rose-Cross - Steiner, and the Sacred Heart - Tomberg) “will take command of the four forces of nature (the Mehe) for the benefit of the Sun”.  The Shepherds and the Kings join forces within the white/aryan Christian folk, “for they are Sun Clan, they are the Children of the Sun” (the Cosmic Christ).

The Christ Events, from Monday through the Gate of Death on Good Friday, involve price/karma/mystery/song.  Christ did not die to save us, but to imitate us.  The God of Love could not be Love, unless He too surrendered to earthly life so as to become fully human and then die.  Why?

The Star-Home of the Father God, - the Starry Firmament - is the Father yet unfinished in the sense of all thoughts not yet done manifesting themselves.  The individual stars, that’s us (Fermi Paradox Resolved).  We, now humans, are star people tasked with finishing the Art of the Creation.  All the same, this does require some careful thinking.  Next time you look in the mirror, part of what you are is E.T.

Why do we take the name of god in vain?  Why do we curse and swear?  Whatever we are, even if just “billion year-old carbon”, we are aware that we were made, because if anything should be clear to anyone, we didn’t make this mess all on our own.  We’ve had a lot of help.  I can move a middle finger, but I can’t make one.  Humanity has barely touched what truths always lie before/outside/and after Horatio's  philosophy.  We experience.  We didn’t create experience, or experiencing.  Or did we?  Yet, all the same, here we are right in the fucking-damn-shame of being around everyone else’s shit, for god’s sake!

Some of that shit is Modern Physics and Biology, filled with the anti-Christ Spirit (which denies the Father and the Son)

Saturday and Sunday (of Holy Week) there is first the experience of a near absolute paralysis of the will - the limbs having been nailed to the Cross.  The only Way through that That is complete Surrender, which is why She catches Him in the Pieta.  At that moment of Resurrection the ghost of the human in the god has one last deed: we must forgive ourselves, for only we know ourselves truly.  True forgiveness of another must be won through facing, and then forgiving, the own dark.

Dying is Becoming

still art photography, using found objects

Had a personal Saturday and Sunday, centered on Epiphany, 2008.  A large choir, weaving echo's both before and after in the biography.  In surrendering to earth and being willing to die, I found myself in heaven, where each single word of each single prayer stopped by to warmly sing/say hi!, and lets talk for a bit ... Our (all that exists) Father (our author) Who (what is not this "who"?) Art (damn, what a beautiful Idea, joining art and are in a single expression) etc.  Caught and Reborn.

Each human being today, in his/her biographical life - during this Time of the Day of Purification during which Christ baptizes all with Fire and Holy Breath - each of us is met with precisely the Love and Justice which we need.

Now for the juicy stuff ...

Atlantis also had a seafaring aspect.  Islands many, huge and small.  Some Atlanteans lived all their lives at sea.  So there were not just migrations West into the Americas, and then East all the way across Europe arriving in the Gobi desert.  There was also a dispersion - as the seafaring folk first ruled, and then intermarried, with the folk of the Coastal lands everywhere. 

Known as very powerful, the seafarers were the first teachers of what later became Hermetic Science (Magic) in Egypt.  Yet, something culturally different, which is why in some depictions of what today we call the Tarot (their most ancient and only book of symbols) the Master of Magic is a Juggler.  A showman.  A singer of tales, and maker a music.  Travelers.  Gypsies.  Wise men from the East.  Fools of God (the word: silly, used to mean: possessed by the sacred).

A world of billions of people, most of whom would be satisfied with fewer things, and saner human relationships.  The ones not satisfied ... well actions have consequences, and as the current vanity falls to pieces, a good way to survive is creating and/or joining a troupe of fools, singers, actors, and story tellers (see Clint Eastwood’s “Bronco Billy”).   Misery loves Company, and a show is often worth a meal and sometimes even a warm dry bed.  Contemplate David Brin’s wonderful work of sentimental American patriotic art, in the hands of Kevin Costner (he of Field of Dreams - a good face for hope and wonder): “The Postman”.  The social weaving mysteries of true enlightening/enlivening entertainment, via the gifts of skilled playing and dancing (note carefully the First and Last Cards of the Major Arcana = Play&Dance)

concentration without effort

We need such seafarers on all our seas of troubles, moving/sharing integrating/saving all the cultures of the whole world.  I still dream the impossible, don’t you?

When the change from joey to Joel happened, I was/seemed to awake from sleep, into a maelstrom of plans, dreams, needs of the next day of my oddly virginal mind/soul/astral/ethereal/physical existence, the content of which in terms of habits of the desire body, and memories of the day before in the mind/astral matrix, as well as the collection of thoughts and mental pictures that hovered nearby, ... these invisible elements were all on their Way to becoming the debris of joey’s lessening of his hold on the totality.  Except for momentum and inertia.  We move mountains and build forests one day at a time.  I'm still learning how-to' s that revise/warm&pleasure (keep healthy - 76 and counting) these three bodies I inherited: physical, ethereal, astral.

Basic Practice (some nursery/rhyme, no doubt created by a traveler in England/Ireland/Wales et al.):

The best six doctors anywhere,
and no one can deny it.
Are sunshine, water, rest, and air,
exercise and diet.
These six will gladly you attend
if you are only willing.
Your mind they'll ease,
your will they'll mend,
and charge you not a shilling.

My first birth experience was of the lessening of the cohesion of what appeared to be my ideas/concepts of who I was.  Without joey, there was from day to day less of a mirror-order of the actors that were my “me’s”, not his.  All the same, it never occurred to that me that I was something not-joey.  The change, which could be labeled a kind of in-cooperation, where the original final-source of order faded, while the new final-source was more awake within, he/she = the surround was also full of the gravitas, culturally induced inertia, and biological momentum, bathed in a biography surrounded by others, from which there emanated tendrils of wonders, and pains in the ass.  Juggler's Dancing all.

Yet, where joey had adapted, I was discontent.  Feelings - the most acute matters of the heart - were immediately in the foreground.  I saw how I-me-joey had compromised in our relationship with Tina, mostly not having a forceful point of view about a lot, for there was a fiery will next to him in bed, that had captured joey’s eros-magic, when he was a virgin Cadet in the AF Academy.

Where joey was passive, I would be active - a primeval instinct of the will, aided and abetted by whatever invisible community hovered over this mystery.  Outwardly, on purpose, my restless Fool of the heart, wore the costume of the Hermit.   During a later LSD trip I experienced them - invisible communities of interest often bothersome.  They were considerably attentive when I tried my hands/mind at writing a more modern Declaration of Independence.  When it thinks in me, it also is looking over my shoulder - are we an us?

The Burning Bush clear eyed man, and names in the sky in clouds while intoxicated, awake and asleep at the same time, I hear them ... “interested folk” taking advantage of a particular moment of high&vulnerable - fighting amongst themselves over the next choices in life I was about to make.  What was real and what was drug remained a riddle, for the powers of the winds in the dreaming are great, ... although the earthly arts of the telling of tales are even greater.

An example of story telling:  Missed my Jennifer's adolescence, then had an opportunity to live with her and her husband, for about three months, broke of course, before finding a job as a live-in aid to Paul Longmore (lasted 18 months).  Got to watch their collection/tapes of all the episodes of the TV series: Star Trek: the Next Generation.  A main feature from first to last, "Q", = Mephistopheles as played by John de Lancie.  Archetypes from the Collective Imagination.  Favorite episode: "The Measure of a Man", where we discover that at whatever level of sentience, as gained by our machines, that our turning them into slaves really tells the story of who we are, not who they are.

When I first stepped away from the marriage, I was brought to a particular School of which I/joey had had no previous contact, but through - all the same - led there through the offices of a woman concerned for my future.  Men need help.  What do women need?  Someone to help.  Works out fine then, doesn't it.

Twenty years later, during an unanticipated fast-induced dreaming (45 days at age 63, sez me bragging), I saw, in the zone between sleeping and waking, all of the women in my life as if  they were living tarot cards, each teaching me aspects of Her, ... a story too great to be contained thereby, but worth attending to within as part of the writing of my first book: “the Way of the Fool”  I took notes during the fast, which was begun to loose weight, but turned into an adventrue ... afterwords then, spent more than a year writing the book.

... a step and a twirl back to 20yrs-erlyer - University Ave. in Bezerkley, ... as opposed to 2003-4: Prescott/fasting, and rising in the morning to go outside and pray in the company of the "lion lying down" ... : In this free-psychological school: Group House (for three years, 1972 to 1974), I was taken through my/joey’s past, to review and see in what way any present dis-satisfactions might be resolved by finding the wounds of childhood, and healing them, through: Re-parenting.

It was a powerful version of nurturing, among adults almost all of them lost in the Fallen Eros of the Age. We mostly gave and received nurturing touch: being held in a variety of ways, amidst a sea of feelings.  We used language to model an alternative inner landscape, which we were exploring in the context of that social-political moment, ... when as outer life flew apart over the Vietnam War, all the guru-streams (the invisible communities of mystery schools ancient and new) sent to the San Francisco Bay Area some of their Best and their Worst.  Sure, New Agey-speak is easily mocked, but all the same people are on purpose changing themselves, and the Times.

Looking back at one point I created this Cross of Love, which has a vertical and horizontal Cartesian coordinated shape.  Vertically - heaven above, and earth below.  Horizontally - in the social/moral as Catherine MacCoun puts it.

selfless human love [agape to the Greeks]
nurturing love [storge] + comradeship&brother/sisterhood love [phileo]
erotic (of the mind) & sensual (of the senses) love [eros]

Meanwhile, Rock ‘n Roll went East, on an train of LSD, dragging back something fresh and alive, so much the opposite of Masons/Knights of Columbus Ways of raising the young - the true means by which social life lives. 

Raising the Young is everything.  It is the single wise heart of any civilization.  We humans, as a group, are still young, and being raised by Gods&Goddesses ... so ... can we learn to raise our own with the same level of knowledge, concern, and care?  Has Western - European - Civilization lost the ability to touch-family?  Is this one of the sacred/secrets of the Younger Brother?  My seer/shamaness of NH, Candace of the Wheel Chair and rape victim of the US Government, a little girl who refused to talk (very stubborn&brilliant) taken as a child of Indian Blood, to be experimented upon - being more treated as a savage "thing", then living person, ... she told me "anglos" didn't know anything about sex.  Very sick we were.  Sent me on the path of learning to make-okay my own male nature.  Accept it.  Be it.  Wonder it.  My/joey's birth culture had given birth to Fallen Eros, all spilled over with that ancient elitist Victorian gunk - that's the one: St. Paul, and preachers of sin and guilt, without redemption,  ... in such a context, where would I find a Way to unFallen Eros? 

Man Desires, Woman Responds.  Arts involved, however.  Native Cultures mean to teach these Arts - arts of being human.  Western - European - Civilization, within its Christian/church's flavors, very hypocritical about sex.  Aboriginals know this as one of the Seven Mysteries, & Holy. 

Today we see the wreckage everywhere.  Why?  Evolution/humanstory Mother&Father teaching.  Long story.  Wisdom had to separate after Atlantis, and then come back together - each seed new&changed, so their social intercourse could then make even more new-not-yet-wonder.  The Collective Imagination is speaking everywhere - all over whole World.  Same lessons.  Come together, right now, over me  [Beatles/Marley et. al. natural born travelers/jugglers/righteous-magic-tricksters, weaving cultures together.]

disorder is a necessary precondition for new order

As the world entered the ‘70‘s through the ‘60‘s, artistic genius descended from their individual stars (each unlike any-other persons own/have sown their own whole star, ..-..> where willed wavinglights reach out and Touch < all the other stars as needed - is that not cool, or what? Don't you ever sort of want to always look in a particular direction in the Skyhome?  I'm drawn to Orion myself.  The Ancient Egyptians had a thing about Sirus, which was all over the world way-back-when, taught by travelers.  Then there are the rumors about what can be seen from the Southern Hemisphere: Southern Cross Review, as well as Crosby Stills Nash.

...  the new age remembered it in the idea of Cosmic Consciousness) - but some moments in Time are glories for their Parties&Celebrations, and here we are at the Turn of the Second to the Third Millennium, where Steiner had written, out of the spirit of the new (projective) geometry: 

Think on it: how the point becomes a sphere and yet remains itself.  Hast thou understood how the infinite sphere may be only a point, and then come again, for then the Infinite will shine forth for thee in the finite.

Rick “Who are you really and what were you before? What did you do and what did you think?"
Ilsa:   “We said no questions."
Rick:   “Here's looking at you, kid."


the meditation room in River House, and my collection of movies on VHS, circa 2010

All the constellations send their collective consciousnesses toward the Mother, spread over seas of time as each nascent spark made peace with themselves, having rested in between incarnations, in the Grace of the Father-One.  So many millions, becoming billions - so many avatar bodies created over eons of human non-terrestrial intelligences - Us me’s, defining the nature of the each next incarnation.   Are we having fun yet?  Do you dare remember those times in the Neanderthal bodies, constantly spreading avatar seed, while singing trees and rocks?  It took a long time to breed a body in which the failing/falling human spark/spirit could finally begin to land its own private/individual/personal divine nature - an individualized version of the Word, we named in English: Self-Consciousness.

Ganja dancing one late morning, I thought about the image of the Great Turtle on whose back rests the Earth.  I began to think-turtle having caught more than a few over the years, both for my own and my children’s adventures in touching the wild.  What meaning was there to be found, for this was a serious/playful? symbolic speech of ancient quite literal minds - the Earth Resting on the Back of a Turtle.  The Sphere of our experience, stands on something that Itself Moves.

I picked the following concept from my quiver of turtle observations, and asked - not expecting an answer: “Why are you so slow?”  At bit cheeky was my attitude but still I was taged right back with this question: “Human, ... why do live you so fast?”  Once upon a time, back in the wonder of days of the Goddess Religions, we were "in communion with" and then the Hebrew patriarchs, fearful of their women's intelligence, changed Genesis to saying about us&nature, that we would have: "dominion over", instead of be "in communion with" Nature and all Her Creatures.  Will we reclaim that gift, or leave it behind, not wanting to share existence with anything lesser than ...

Gravity.  Gravitas.  Grandiose.  GranDamme - Gradually getting Grander, ... although Her Avatar Body is being mal-treated, we remain held-dear to our seats and beds, even when "rockstone was my pillow".  Earthfarts and weather grandstanding aside, mostly we be well taken care of, in spite .... the godparticle is really allgoddessparticles.  All well ordered by the way. 
" ... the Infinite will shine forth for thee in the finite."

Clarke 2017 quotes Rudolf Steiner (in italics) this way, about the “interior” of the Earth, onto which scheme I insert some personal observations [in brackets], well aware that dreaming is much singing these days:


The occult science of all epochs says the following about the interior of the earth…

[Clarke found this an unworthy and necessarily exaggerated assertion: "of all epochs".  Odd that Steiner says this at all, given that it is an easily disputable claim, and one that is very self-serving at that.  Just tell the story, Rudi.  We already know you are a brilliant clairvoyant artist, speaker, and writer.  Just be you.  The rest will sort itself out.  But that's where the Steiner-said confusion begins: With Steiner's routine assertions of scientific certainty, and an antipathy toward mystical, even "pagan" Ways.

In my research, central human experience/layer above/around/inside-outside/beside this Interior: The Thrice Bordered Sphere of the Prison of the Now - one border Above - airless matterless heaven-space, the other Below - hellfires/burning/fluid/space, and the third border-inside - the Inner Soul-Threshold between the visible material and the invisible non-material, where only I stand with my collection of invisible&visible friends. 

Steiner lived there, yet within his hothouse occult/esoteric middle-European sub-culture, a central figure for some even today - a hundred years later - still known to only a small portion of the billions dancing.  That which Is must be given credence just for existing, and amongst that which Is the dominant culture Now - regular folk having a cautious not yet much use for Dr. Steiner&friends.  Always any claim to be an answer to all questions must be suspect, unless an Irony has been otherwise clearly implied.  In my case, I write this from a state of cultivated ganja intoxication, claiming drunk poet's privilege, but certainly no final or ultimate truths.]

    The topmost layer, the mineral mass, is related to the interior as an eggshell is to the egg. This topmost layer is called the Mineral Earth.

[inside me-avatar got dem’ bones, and the brothers and sisters of bones - like iron and zinc  = the solidity of Stuff - what is their interior like?  Does zinc have an interior?]
        Under it is a second layer, called the Fluid Earth; it consists of a substance to which there is nothing comparable on Earth. It is not really like any of the fluids we know, for all these have a mineral quality. This layer has specific characteristics: its substance begins to display certain spiritual qualities, which consist in the fact that as soon as it is brought into contact with something living, it strives to expel and destroy this life. The occultist is able to investigate this layer by pure concentration.
    [so, there’s this dude, a really seriously smart dude, who calls himself an “occultist”.  How cool is that?  He modeled: That to do spiritual research you had to shed your personality.  Pure concentration is the opposite of personal surrender.  It was Surrender Herself that resisted Steiner’s too forceful/not-a-caress, and was then misunderstood.  Light is surrendered Life.  Plains Indians speak of the “give away”, a great teaching the world sings to us every day.

    The “Air Earth”. This is a substance, which annuls feelings: for instance, if it is brought into contact with any pain, the pain is converted into pleasure, and vice versa. The original form of feeling is, so to speak extinguished, rather as the second layer extinguishes life.

    [bull-taurus in a china shop - “will” again, because the "choice" Behind that "will" is being constantly reflected, and if the will was to seek to know (ask seek and knock in ignorance and love) that region he encountered, which boilingly reacts to pain, ... If seen in the right mood (not-an-occultist) maybe you might just see/notice the threshold fire from which the Mother and the Son convert our darkest deeds into Love.  Now that’s occultism!  One morning on my retreat hill in Prescott Arizona, in self-guilt agony-filled prayer I ask what do They do with all our dark deeds, that They must intimately know from both the victim feelings and the feelings of the oppressor, and She warms me with this quiet Song: We turn it into love.
    The “Water Earth”, or “Form Earth”. It produces in the material realm the effects that occur spiritually in Devachan.

Jugglers first song .... The Emerald Tablet ....

0) Here is that which the priest Sagijus of Nabulus has dictated concerning the entrance of Balinas into the hidden chamber... After my entrance into the chamber, where the talisman was set up, I came up to an old man sitting on a golden throne, who was holding an emerald table in one hand. And behold the following - in Syriac, the primordial language- was written thereon:
1) Here (is) a true explanation, concerning which there can be no doubt.
2) It attests: The above from the below, and the below from the above -the work of the miracle of the One.
3) And things have been from this primal substance through a single act. How wonderful is this work! It is the main (principle) of the world and is its maintainer.
4) Its father is the sun and its mother the moon; the
5) wind has borne it in its body, and the earth has nourished it.
6) the father of talismen and the protector of miracles
6a) whose powers are perfect, and whose lights are confirmed (?),
7) a fire that becomes earth.
7a) Separate the earth from the fire, so you will attain the subtle as more inherent than the gross, with care and sagacity.
8) It rises from earth to heaven, so as to draw the lights of the heights to itself, and descends to the earth; thus within it are the forces of the above and the below;
9) because the light of lights within it, thus does the darkness flee before it.
10) The force of forces, which overcomes every subtle thing and penetrates into everything gross.
11) The structure of the microcosm is in accordance with the structure of the macrocosm.
12) And accordingly proceed the knowledgeable.
13) And to this aspired Hermes, who was threefold graced with wisdom.
14) And this is his last book, which he concealed in the chamber.
[Anon 1985: 24-5]

        There, we have the negative pictures of physical things. In the “Form Earth” a cube of salt, for example, would be destroyed, but its negative would arise. The form is as it were changed into its opposite; all its qualities would pass out into its surroundings. The actual space occupied by the object is left empty.
    [The thoughts of Gnomes are ... gnomish - a disdain for uttering words that are not poetry, with a salting of obscurity for flavor.  More exact than even Steiner can do.  More awake.  They are more skilled at seeing stuff.  Truth so obvious, such that they wonder if we are entirely sane.]
    The “Fruit Earth.” This substance is full of exuberant energy. Every little part of it grows out at once like a sponge; it gets larger and larger and is held in place only by the upper layers. It is the underlying life which serves the forms of the layers above it.
[Undines and Sylphs - the borderland of water and air in the Underworld.  Talk about Playing&Dancing with fruitful abandon.  If you have been raised to be highly intolerant of the mystical arts, and the pagan-magiks, which are just products of normal spiritual desires, this region of Dance/play requires more than the ability to waltz, or fornicate in private.  Are Goddesses Ever Ashamed?]
    The “Fire Earth.” Its substance is essentially feeling and will. It is sensitive to pain and would cry out if it were trodden on. It consists, as it were, entirely of passions.
    [Salamanders~!~dancingthedancing-dreaming~!~~!!~Leibniz’s own logical mind on ~@!~ fire insisted: Were the world consistent, the very smallest of entities would have consciousness and will - he called them monads.]   

        The “Earth-mirror” or “Earth-reflector”. This layer gets its name from the fact that its substance, if one concentrates on it, changes all the characteristics of the earth into their opposites. If the seer disregards everything lying above it and gazes down directly into this layer, and if then, for example, he places something green before him, the green appears as red; every color appears as its complementary opposite. A polaric reflection arises, a reversal of the original. Sorrow would be changed by this substance into joy.

    [Steiner, “the seer”, had sadness - his visage in film cannot hide this, nor his words.  He was unfulfilled in many ways, and through that, when he met the aspect of Her that likes to play/tease with showing you what you brought to the encounter ... more and more Steiner is forgetting what he knows, which is that language is the prison of experience, and a page is a tomb for thought]
    The “Divisive” layer. If with developed power one concentrates on it, something very remarkable appears. For example, a plant held in the midst of this layer appears to be multiplied, and so with everything else. But the essential thing is that this layer disrupts the moral qualities also. Through the power it radiates to the Earth’s surface, it is responsible for the fact that strife and disharmony exist there. In order to overcome this disruptive force, men must work together in harmony.

[“developed power” - maximum will.  Knowledge only comes from Love, for if as a lover we wish to know the beloved, only love opens both doors.  If, under the influence of Pauline fear/hate of the corpus (the holy avatar body blessed by uncountable genius), we harbor antipathies not managed, coming not as a lover but rather as an occultist seeking secret lore ... this being the core of Tomberg’s argument with Steiner.   The mystery is not just science, but pagan magic and mysticism as well.]
    That is precisely why this layer was laid down in the Earth – so that men should be enabled to develop harmony for themselves. The substance of everything evil is prepared and organized there. Quarrelsome people are so constituted that this layer has a particular influence on them. This has been known to everyone who has written out of a true knowledge of occultism. Dante in his Divine Comedy calls this layer the Cain-layer. It was here that the strife between the brothers Cain and Abel had its source. The substance of this layer is responsible for evil having come into the world.

[Steiner, the seer, was imprisoned in how he describes his own skills and hopes and dreams.  He named - he, the archetypal Aristotelian, - Everything his mind touched, including at his own cost/pain/sorrow, With the label of being a “teacher”.   The wayfarer folk spirit was not in his cultural blood.  He’d met a herbalist, but not a gypsy.  He read of mystics, and so wanted to be scientific that he shamed that part of his soul, except for a Calender and some Drama’s.  Oh, and a seriously big bit of sculpture.  Sadly, in the sexually uptight social life of his time, Steiner’s pan-like avatar memories [Enkidu] had no place for expression.  Eros restrained, except for a lot of talking all the time, in a Sun-Moon social pattern ... a lecture is not a conversation, nor is an essay or a book?!?. 

Ah, but as to Art, fine ... but poets - at their best - do not make Sunsets, although on occasion they might make a few new words&such ...

collage by me, mask by Alicia LaTores,
ancient images from the Smithsonian Magazine,
and pieces of old tech from failed machines,
being resurrected as art

Until the Ark, at the time of The Culmination, when once/when was Steiner came back, As Not Himself - oh god that would have been awful. Yet all the same - gloriously other - Harvey we never knew ya.]
    The “earth-core.” This is the substance through whose influence black magic arises in the world. The power of spiritual evil comes from this source.”   

[My first lessons in the Bardon Magic - old Egyptian and before - is that magic is neither white or black, in the same fashion a knife can be used to create art, or kill a mind.  Magic is just stories of the oldest no longer secrets connected to the four elements, written in a delightful style, beneath the surface of which is a great deal of needed irony.  What folks do with those secrets, from which Steiner believed he needed to keep separate, that’s on them.  For Steiner, it was actually his culture that was all goofy over powers.  Best to makeup some bogeymen wherever possible, a bit of magic art that might well have been Steiner's purposeful foggier notions in the face of the Ships of Fools, who kept placing their tiller in his hands, even after he died.]

Clarke comments: “Good grief; only the deviant or mentally disturbed would want to muck around in this; why bother?

Harvey, the former Steiner, saved/compelled at the Culmination to sit in an electronic Circle/Ark among the Platonists (touchers/dreamers/singing-dancers, along with Aristotelians (knowers/namers/categorizering-thinkers), wrote this, which is the first bit in the book were i'nI saved his/Hymming:

"that was then, this is now (and tomorrow) - was: Sex and the City of God
"In behalf of we who cannot author light, love and awe within the focus and intent to birth and share beauty, thank you indeed for plaguing the cyber-air waves with such rabidly ecstatic cosmic salivations, brawl disguised as revelation. Perfuming us with this gonadically-enhanced ripoff is just the devout archetypal food we who have no interior lives have searched the wide world over since Atlantis has sunk, hoping against hope to perk up and inspire unmalicious wonder and abiding trust.

"Please do not steal the Carpenter's Drills to bore holes in the Ark. Misuse of genius is a crime against your own Manas. There is a difference between rapture and rupture, between a throne and a highchair. Become part of the solution, not the Occult National Enquirer."

Who is Rudolf Steiner is an excellent question.  Most today have little sense of who "he" was, in that incarnation, but all the same the future aristotelian-thougth will remark of him this Way:  Rudolf Steiner is the John the Baptist figure of the Second Coming of Christ in the Etheral - the voice crying in the wilderness of scientific materialism.  Anthroposophy and the Anthropoopsophistical Society will both be in the dust heap of history, but Steiner's role in humanity's amazing future, which is yet to come in connection with the Christ "Events", that deserves to be remarked upon even now. In fact, the A. Society would do well to understand that, as quickly as possible, if they wish to stop serving darkness/past-art -//- words on pages in their minds/memories from an aversion to work and through their weak and lame clinging to Steiner-thought, rather than developing their own.

Steiner gives 9 distinct-seeming “layers”.  Clarke/scholar/wanderer-in-person that-there:  counters with four processes, that can have different names: again - as Clarke writes/wrote

... the traditional kabbalistic worlds of Emanation, Creation, Formation & Existence as depicted in shorthand in Genesis) can be seen as having their parallel “tree-rings” in the building up of successive inner-earth layers corresponding to Saturn, Sun, Moon, and, finally, the surface world of Nature, all inhabited at their core and in every particle by divinity in its immanent maternal aspect.”

It is possible to look at echos-everywhere, such as the twelve steps of alcoholics anonymous and see that it reflects three processes - each seen from four directions.  The processes: Surrender / Confession and Contrition / Practice leading to Service).  If we put in front of those three, our condition before seeking recovery, - let’s call it  “lost in the world of self created wounds”  We get four again, which is the number of the elements: Fire (will), Water (feeling), Air (mindasintellect), Earth (consciousness/experienced).

The reality of falling down, as process-natural in many biographies, means, in terms of Christ’s not peace but a sword, that His Baptism of the Folk of the Earth is with Fire and Holy Breath (the Second Eucharist in the Ethereal), or as the Hopi recall: The Day of Purification.

9 Layers 8 notes 7 intervals/stages of the Passion of Christ, Who is following us, for we contain the seeds of the Father.  Washing the Feet, the Scourging, the Crowning with Thorns, the Carrying the Cross, the Crucifixion, the Entombment, the Resurrection. Yes, this happened to Him - birthing the Story, He followed us ... this is the path we/All generated in the Fall-together.

Trungpa-ne-Tibet, he of the name of the Moon is not moon, said: (I was there): be like a rock in a waterful ... he was a traveler, born in Tibet, fled there as the head of a large clan, thousands of priests and folk, children and young (some of whom died) from the Chinese thence into India, taking a rest in England, surving a car accident there caused by driving while enlightened (like an 11 year old), ends up wandering the Americas, where I cross the path of his students at: Group House.

Oddly, we fall down into The Current that rises up.  We surrender to what we are, falling into Her Surrender to Who She Is, and as/since our biographies, which are a chrysalis for the spirit (personal gospels: -- time-burning in the Fires of existence/experience, each earth-life is a metamorphosis -- when we return to rest at our StarHome, we are not who/what we were when we left it the last time.   Yet, even falling is to have His Company.  He never leaves our side, ever, however alone we may sometimes feel.  We are right to ask ourselves however, why we so easily become a stranger to Him? To pray in secret outloud, is to hear him in your own thoughts, answering back. But first note this: Falling//failing means Risiing.

image stolen from the Internet, so sue me

He Falls with Us.  Dying into Lending His Life Spirit as Holy Breath, by which we are forgiven, for the trials of life that we must author ourselves.  The tiniest embers in the Soul, of couraged-to-birth moral deeds out of: To thine own self be true - ... to these so very personal embers, He is oxygen, and we then burn even brighter.  Our will becomes His Will, by His Choice to follow us.  “I and the Father are one/You can’t get to the Father, except by me”.  A Eucharist of Holy Breath.

Our Planetary Condition is Evolving through Involution.  In all the fires we see, floating in all the oceans of troubles everywhere, ... everyone’s biography burns with the light of self-evolving seeds, pouring will into the World in which they find themselves at birth - the World Which is Him, the sword not peace dude, who threw the money changers out of the Temple, just as a warning about the need to be careful concerning that which you choose to worship.

There is also Her, the Force of Forces declares the Emerald Tablet.  She does penetrate everything.   A stitch in time, saves nine, has-to-have a secret meaning when drunk poets insist.  When the truth of the 9 Spheres, 8 notes, seven intervals of the Passion&Resurrection has been forgotten (Hopi prophecy fate of younger brother) and when the elder brother wanders by, needing to meet and rejoin the two different aspects of the broken tablets of wisdom, of Heaven and Earth, flute and drum, breath and blood, ... that When is now.

... When this truth is remembered, a break in time, needing to be stitched back together also needs stitchers, saves everyone from having to seek the knowing of the so-called 9 Spheres as 4 deeds.  The stitching however much needs celebration, the flute and drum in rhythmic harmony - the true heart needs no name.  Deeds are always enough.  Travelers dancing&singing.

A stitch in time, saves nine.  The double of Anthroposophy (Steinerism) having not been understood at all, clings to the not-true meaning of good and evil, in spite of all the herculean efforts of Rudolf Steiner hinting.   Much can not be maintained against the errant flood of the duality of good and evil, flowing from St. Paul, and approved by the Churches, and most everyone's individual beam.

Human beings falling into a new becoming.  The eye of the real spiritual/shit-storm of our time is/was the Ceremony at Standing Rock, where warrior/children of the Land, met face to face warrior/children of Western Civilization, each form of soul owning its particular aspects of the book of the Mystery of Christ&HolyMother.  A Story not yet finished in its Telling.

When will the Shamans of the Land (Younger Brother), and the Shamans of Western Civilization (Elder Brother) speak together?  Is there already the needed marriage broker?  The Dreaming has its own answers to all our questions of the heart, yet when do the tales of the different dreamings get properly together.  Who can do that?  Who would participate? 

"the spirit of the four directions*"

I originally gave this to my Mother.  She later gave it to my eldest Son,
who returned it to me, after which I gave it to the Lady described below.

What is the role in This-Our meeting of a triad of different/separated stages in the Evolution of Consciousness (the Younger Brother and the Elder), And what is the role of the third - forgotten travelers [ voice by Jeff Buckley} by Tim] and words by gypsy {Leonard Cohen} folk?  The weavers of cultures-together.  A tale, with hints ...

the village at the foot of the mountain

Part of Raven’s nature was to be a whisperer of spirit, from the hermit living in a cave near the top of the mountain, to the people living in the village below.

Raven saw in two Ways, ... one Way out of her left eye, and another Way out of her right eye.  This was her Gift from the Wind - the double seeing.

The hermit did not live alone.  While he was naturally aging, his companion was clearly younger.  Mature, but younger.  This the Raven Saw out of her right eye: two people living together in a cave high up near the top of the mountain.

With her left eye Raven Saw something entirely different.  The hermit had a double animal-like nature - he was two people at the same time.  The animal-like quality was a kind of visible to the Wind metaphor - a Way of expressing a Gift.   He remained fully human, and his heart was akin to that of a great bear, sitting quietly.  This aspect of the hermit's Gift might on occasion roar, but basically this lazy bear style was harmless.  On the bear’s head, however, was the Gift of an eagle nature, his feathers all white - a bit like the snowy owl.  The eagle nature Saw Far.

When the bear quality spoke from out of the eagle-nature his speech was fearsome.  It was so full of the truth’s of the Wind, that its brightness blinded people in the village.  This was why the people in the village mostly stayed away from the cave.    

When Raven looked at the woman with her left-eye-seeing, what Raven Saw was even more fearsome.  The woman, always quiet and gentle, was in fact very ancient ... more ancient than earth and sky.  Raven saw a picture once that was like this ancient being ... in a book in a library in the village when Raven was perched outside looking through a window.  The book called this Being, a Sphinx.

Where the hermit had a double nature, the woman was three.  In the Raven's left-eye Sight, she had the body of a great lion, the wings of a great bird, and the face of a human-like angel.

Sometimes the woman would go to the village, because her kinder nature made her less threatening.  The hermit seldom went.  Many people did not like to be around someone whose speech was full of the fierce light of truth.

The villagers lived in a state of confusion.  Something was happening.  Their world was changing too fast, and even though they clung with great force to their traditions, the Wind swept through the village, over and over again, tearing the traditions away, as if these traditions were vanities written carelessly on rice paper.  Some days the Wind was so fierce, stones were torn from buildings, roofs collapsed, and lives disrupted. 

The hermit was old.  He was born old.  He was dying.  He was born dying.  His bear-nature - his physical being - was older, and slowly fading.  His eagle-nature - his spirit being - was a bit younger, and as the bear aged, his spirit became more and more free.

In the quiet of the cave the hermit sang spirit songs.  Raven heard them, as best as she could, and then carried them to the village to share with the other birds there.  Most of the people didn’t listen to the conversations of birds, although a lot of the children did, until they became to old to dance and play.  To hear the speech of birds one had to be like a bird - moving on the Wind, with feet disconnected from the Earth.  A few of the older people still heard the songs of the birds, but often were thought mad when they spoke of them.

In the village then all was confused, although if the hermit’s stories and poems were listened to, the confusion would be far less.  The Wind helped Raven carry the songs from the cave near the mountain top, to the village far below.  But not all the people any more even believed in the Wind.  You had to be like a child, and to believe as children do in magic, if you wanted to hear the wisdom of the birds as carried on the Wind.

trials flower/ganja dancing excess

Seventy-six years old avatar body, hasn't done too bad ....
We recently lost 70 lbs.

my Lady, in the November Light, on the deck - on her way  to Church ...
her meditation room is just behind the camera, so this is part of her every day view ...
daughter, mother, not-yet grandmother, former-but-now-prozacinated OCD artist, divorced,

... I saw her walk through a door into the Trustees Room  at the Concord MA Public Library,
clothed in a golden halo.  Lightening/thunder/struck - i 'n I, we shortly dined Chinese, talked for about five hours,
until the happy noises of staff eating and waiting to close up shop ... early in courtship we occupied near space on
a couch, in her home - others about, five inches separated, we'd never really touched physically,
then we together lean in, resting shoulder to shoulder, and all need for anything other than
days and nights of being close - fled - all hunger gone, we were home ...
she's my personal goddess of kindness ... I've run out of words ...

The adopted dog, sort of tea-cup poodle, whose color is like a wild bunch of dust bunnies risen-up from underneath the bed,
which of course has truth, for pets are also primeval, fires ~!~ in their own write -- Schotzie needs his own video - serious ants in his pants

Bill Watterston, wise wise triple wise, car -- tune up your heart-artist
... willed water and stone, that Watterston dude ...
ink&pen still far mightier than knife,
for touching the heart/hurts
nine-inch nails via J. Cash

Mad Word - Gary Jules
Stairway to Heaven
Led Zeppelin

culture cannot be stopped
the music and the dance cannot be stopped
its core is candle/flame/light
and veryvery

better to do, and appologize later,
then get hung up on asking all the
time.  who is responsiblie
in this cultura with a
language of

the goddesses have to stop this:
the gods are  
male-mess fucked up
and still puking all over the place,
and they - They!  The Ladies&Mothers ...
wanted be like men?

men need help ... to be human,
women need to help men, to be human

the aliens are here, and we are them

For those who have lasted this far - the cherry on the top: an imaginative/magical/heretical/pagan explanation of flying saucers and crop circles.  Time for a ganja intoxicated poet to stick my nose in the profitable/face of ancient alien theorists, who having all the answers before hand, never got around to any of the Right Questions. 

My Lady likes TV shows about hauntings, big feet folk, reincarnation, and aliens.  She also once learned Sanskrit.  She got me to watch a documentary on the general history of flying saucers, and atom bombs, and such - all more or less contemporary phenomena of each other. 

Take as a given that the physicists who brought this atomic-feat to us, did not know what they were really doing, spending a lot of time counting things, and not paying too much attention to whether or not "things" might have their own kind of consciousness.  Not a simple question there, to which I wrote an essay in the Journal of Borderline Sciences: "There is no free energy".

I also have a copy of Clarke 2017's earlier unpublished work: "Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind", about how he learned to love alien-presences, only to find out they were more authentically shamamystically perceived (on his part) as residents of the lands of Fairy and the Underworld.  Suppose (let us theorize) the hidden alchemy of an atomic bomb is to momentarily open a gate between the material world and the upside down (see Stranger Things).  From Lovecraft and Giger, somewhat co-joined artists of some gates to the seeming nether regions of the Collective Imagination, previously occupied by Hieronymus Bosch   =  the Creature in Aliens is birthed.

Beginning around 1945, when human beings broke a hole in the threshold between the material and the non-material worlds, something fell through.  The Collective Imagination has a darker-side of the forces of Nature, if viewed abstractly as "things".  The Earth is lined with Forests&Caves, and the stories of the Little People should be trusted.  Farmers, Miners, Foresters, Healers - all up to their elbows in the invisible arts.  City dwellers on the other hand, attract the Folk of Forges and Technical Arts.  These invisibles have a different character.

someones'great picture curtesy Google Images
focused/becomingt00fastt00passionedbl00dlettingeverythingpresent, even space and time

Nothing can be in the material world that is not embodied :=: there always will be a ghost in the machine, even if it just a puppet for its designer.  Entities leaked into the material world from "the other side", upside down, underworld land of faerie.  A kind of mini-big bang in the absence of a deity-community willing to sacrifice themselves to certain rules of form.  Some core of the hidden wild now loose on Earth, latent with strangeness. 

This may help with understanding our folly: matter comes from a cosmic derived condensation process - born in: (Clarke 2017 again)

... the traditional kabbalistic worlds of Emanation, Creation, Formation & Existence as depicted in shorthand in Genesis) can be seen as having their parallel “tree-rings” in the building up of successive inner-earth layers corresponding to Saturn, Sun, Moon, and, finally, the surface world of Nature, all inhabited at their core and in every particle by divinity in its immanent maternal aspect.

One reason ancients could construct their giant temples was that matter was previously less dense, and a well tuned flute could score it into as needed.  We have so many sad assumptions about the ancient times.  This densification process came to an end, when radioactivity appears - the process of densification into Existence reaches a limit.  Matter, a kind of sacrifice of Lebnizian Monads, could no longer adhere to itself.  Its' "center" did not hold.  Our time measures based upon carbon-dating are all wrong, but not to worry, it will all work out and/or end anyway. 

So, ... protons/neutron/photons have Being&Consciousness.  However, having discovered the "type"/kind of the tinyest folk,their primeval labors done, now letting-go their labors as leaves do every Fall, their original cohesion/membership/sisterlyness/dancingfree, we started to collect mass quantities of these folks we abstractly named (uranium ore - yellow cake etc).  Why ... well because we could, and we needed to cross certain thresholds in knowledge.  We, as a species, grow new capacities all the time.  "It matters to me, for Matter to be, and that I, to Matter, do matter."

Along this road, having been induced into forgetting that consciousness is everywhere, by the Gods&Goddesses Themselves, boys with toys and girls with causes tend to disagreeable behaviors - from bar fights to civilization ending wars.  So in ignorance we start to test and use nuclear weapons, around which time of testing and experimentation flying saucers are suddenly everywherewhen.  Maybe there's lessons here, but there is also no evidence that should lead us to panic.  Try as we might, we cannot unmake the creation.

Having dis-encouled the WorldStar, the Word before the Word, She ... according to remarks by traveler Clark 2017, waits for us to come visit.  A bit like most of the time we only really appreciation Mother is when she leave us alone.  Still, look around at all the priestess the world be growing.  I have it on good authority, from my travelling grandson, that:

Faerie Land leaking some of its older, and more immature in some cases, citizens into having a million year picnic among the embodied of Planet Earth.  Some few of which have beenapparently meeting with various official government folk, as well as playing/toying with the ordinary ones.  Steven Spielberg, a master of reading his cultural time, and revealing its themes in images, produced a 20 hour movie for TV, called: "Taken", which tried to imagine what this all means.

picture by someone - thanks for that, analysis symbology and word notes ??? thanks for that as well

thoughts that fell into this head, follow

Crop Circles are more simple, and even the human imitations have some artistic merit.  Plants swoon - soften/faint/give over to gravity, collectively, should it be wished too happen by the wider community in the Surround.  Those who have paid attention are aware of the place where the "bend" occures and that the stalk of the grain is not broken, just goes/leans-over horizontal, instead of reaching for the Sun&Light&Warmth - reaching verticle - clearly a "swoon" to lay their seeds/sense againt the earth, the ground, and thus commesterate with the Mother in these Lost Days.  This is their only way their song/speech to the thoughtless embodied idiots trying to wreck the Mother's Life Sphere - i.e. crucify Christ again.  There being just one The Plant, while the grain/family, serving gladly as food for us, still have feelings (fairy's carry them), and wish we could remember once more to celebrate and honor the Gifts of Harvest.  A good source for that last casp of the Goddess Religions in England, was in the tale: The Mists of Avalon, from traveler Marion-Zimmer-Bradley, a long lovely book, as well as a reasonably good television program, which focuses not on the men&Arthur, but on the last remaining echo of the Old Ways of priestess&priests of the Mother, and what the arrival of Christianity mean to them.

After reading this to my Lady, she reminded me of her studies of many books of Crop Cirlces, and the oddity of the not only no breaking of stem, but the presence of tiny crystals.   In the Dreaming I saw that the gnomes had taken the carbon-people out of their home, helped them remember themselves out of community, yet be nature their continued avatar body would need new form, via undines and slyphs, with fire~!~adding passion to the calculus-adoration of the form as it would appear to the human eye.

The last time we human-beings-evolving went to our current level of ingratious excess, the breath-of-life sphere cried salty tears for 40 days, or as the traveler Patrick Dixon Tales it: "this fall of the sea out of the sky", and the once upon great Civilization of Atlantis was sweep clean, until little was left except for those who find memories of ancient-amazing-knowledge in the Dreaming.

Seven Altars Travelling
seven sisters/dancing

Six Paths to the Spirit

The Grandmother Tree                                                                                                                                                                        The America's Magical Roots
grammar                                                                                                                                                 logic

the Songs of a True White Brother


Sacramental Thinking                                                                                                                                                                                                           Fundamentals of Anthroposophy
geometry                                                                                                                                               arithmetic

The Mystery of Lust