LOVE

LOVE
I LOVE YOU

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

Miracle # 1 " Tripping " over God...

April fourth will mark my two year anniversary as a blogger. I have taken great pleasure in sharing my thoughts, feelings and emotions with the world. As well, I feel extremely fortunate to have become privy to the copious information accumulated in the video content below. Faithful followers of my writing understand well, my focus is to afford the regular reader a path to unconditional love. I believe the greatest strength of my site is in the video content. I often maintain, the video compilation is designed to act as a puzzle. Each piece, has been carefully selected, as an integral part of the whole. The focus, is to take the uninitiated through a cleansing of mind so that illusion can be seen. Peeling the onion of deceit, we slowly open locked doors which, in turn, allow us to forge a new construct of reality and self. I have always suggested, if one is asleep, they need only assemble all these pieces of the puzzle and their life would transform. Alas, as is often the case, this great archive of information lies mostly dormant as billions of televisions flicker in darkened rooms.

In my blog writing, I try to augment the video content by offering a humble perspective on reality and unconditional love. I endeavor to tie science and spiritual truth together so that both left and right brain may become stimulated. My desire is that my work should be thought provoking, interesting and entertaining, thereby causing the reader to pause, reflect and discover. I take great pleasure in communing with my brethren, thanking each of you who choose to partake in my little blog odyssey. To commemorate this imminent anniversary, I wanted to write a special blog. For a long while, my wife has suggested I write a blog about how I discovered my GodSelf. For myself, my darling wife and you the reader this is that story. Each day from Now until the fourth I will add another miracle.

'Tripping Over God' ( four short stories of GodSelf being )

When presented with the miraculous we naturally envision divine intervention. Samuel L Jackson and John Travolta offer, for our amusement, a good example of this enigma in the movie Pulp Fiction. Shortly after their characters experience a miraculous event, they toy with concepts of divinity. I do not believe divine intervention exists as portrayed in the movie, whereas a benevolent God intercedes on behalf of self or others. In my matrix of reality I feel the miraculous can present itself as a function of only two ingredients, fate and GodSelf will. Note, there is no relationship whatsoever to a third party benevolent God. The explanation I give for this denial of God's presence is that I do not perceive God to be separate from self. God, as humanity defines God, does not exist. Only GodSelf exists, this manifestation we can define as eternal consciousness. There is only ONE God, you are that being. God did not create you, God became you. God did not create the tree, God became the tree. God did not create the universe, God became the universe. For decades, I could not see the tree for the forest, these are stories of personal enlightenment and empowerment of my GodSelf being.

Miracle 1./ Born Again: GodSelf Saying Hello

Sitting in the pew every Sunday I listened, with great interest, to the sermon of our priest. My interest was stimulated by the many foul inaccuracies spewed by this most revered man. Etched in my memory, I can see a little boy, sparkling clean, pondering why only Catholics could go to heaven. Why does God seem to be so jealous, judgmental, uncaring and brutal? Why does God answer some peoples prayers and not others? If God loves us, why is the world full of misery?

Most of all, what if I were born into Jewish or Muslim home like some of my friends? These thoughts continually preyed on my peace of mind. I remember thinking about the concept of only 144,000 souls making it to heaven. The number actually makes sense if you know your bible. Those who do not believe in the virgin Mary, Jesus and the trinity will not make it. Those who sin against the father without repent, will end up in hell or purgatory. Those who have not been baptized will not see heaven. Those who have not accepted communion, eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood of our saviour Jesus Christ, will certainly not enjoy a place at his table. The list of dis-qualifiers seems endless, total it all up in the mind of a ten year old boy, like I said, 144,000 makes sense. What most certainly did not make sense, even to a ten year old, is that billions of people should perish in hell and purgatory.

Take a calculator and divide 144,000 into six billion, I did.( of course, now there are 7 billion )The answer will tell you .000024 percent of the world will make it to heaven therefore 99.999976% of all people will end up somewhere other than heaven. With this fact in place, I looked around my little world to verify if the number made sense. What did I find, our church served a community of about 10,000 souls. We had maybe 150 people in church any give Sunday. Of the attendees, not all performed the essential and regular ritual communion, maybe 50 or so did. I asked myself, of those 50, how many would commit sin during the week and die before having the chance to repent that sin before God on Sunday communion. My guess was about 5 people in our community would have a chance at heaven. One big factor keeping the number down was the fact we sin during the week. Therefore, the way my little brain sorted this dilemma, each week we have sins to repent, so it was unlikely we could make it to Tuesday without darkening our soul with sins of the mind or acts of will against divine law. I figured about 10% of good, God fearing Catholics, would be lucky enough to die on a Sunday or Monday. By my simple reasoning, and having properly evaluated this from a global and local perspective, I had to agree the bible must be right. I divided 5 into 10,000 and came up with .0005 wow this number meant I was wrong, people sin quicker than I thought. It appeared a good Catholic would have to die sometime Sunday afternoon or soon after mass.

This meant I was probably not going to heaven nor was anyone I knew. Only about two or maybe three people in our town would get to heaven and our priest was surely one of them. How do you think a little boy would react to this self constructed empirical evidence? Not well is the answer, I could not accept a religion or a God who could be so cruel. By simple reasoning, I was left with the crushing fact my entire family would not see heaven. Also, how could adults, even our priest always say the person who just died went to heaven.

Did they not work out the math?

Fact was, if the rapture happened, there would be little room left at God's table once all the priests and nuns took their seats.

If this was the way God showed us his love, then why should I love him?

I still believed in God, but I could no longer accept the words of our priest or the ethos of Catholicism.

By the age of 19 I was finishing up my first year of college. In order to pay for school I had to work a 40 hour week. The demanding course load, coupled with a full time job left me in an emotional and physical mess. I had passed out twice from malnutrition and fatigue. I was barely able to complete a days work, let alone keep up to the necessary revisions for exams. My girlfriend represented the glue which held everything together. Finishing the school year, we went our separate ways, as a result, my world began unraveling proper.

I found myself working for a logging company as a tree planter. The camp life was nice, but the labor was exhausting. Having not yet recovered from school, I was struggling to keep my job. Early one morning, about 3am, I found myself dealing with a physical and mental breakdown. Trying my best to stifle sobs proved useless as I woke my friend sleeping in the bunk adjacent me. This friend I speak of had latched onto me soon after my arrival at the camp. My emaciated appearance, sunken cheeks with vacant eyes spoke clearly of serious problems. My friend, being a Christian, gravitated like a magnet to the role of self appointed saviour of my soul.

Although a tone of condescension lingers in these word it has no place, for it was his intervention which led to my first experience of the miraculous. It was in this vortex of despair I heard him utter
the words he was so fond of parroting.


"Chris, just ask Jesus for help, what harm could it do."

Asking Jesus for anything was not in my nature. With just cause, I had forsaken the church. I was not going down that road again, not on my life. But then again, I was in no shape to pick and choose where help came from. I couldn't sleep nor keep down food. My heart ached for my girlfriend, it felt like I was quickly racing to some, not so distant, point of no return.

With head spinning, I closed my eyes and begged God for help. The simple sentence I uttered is forever etched in my mind. " God if you are out there, please, please help me. "

Upon completion of that plea, my entire world changed. The best description I can offer is that a wave of love enveloped my entire being. For the duration of the early morning, the sensation felt like my body was lifted about two feet above the bed. No thoughts raced through my mind, nor was my environment present. I just floated in stasis, oblivious to all but the love coursing through me. The aches and pains of suffering under depleted reserves disappeared completely. The distress of my girlfriends absence passed, which was no small feat in the mind of a 19 year old boy. Without pause or consideration I can honestly say it proved to represent the second most powerful experience of my life. More importantly, it was the first miracle I had ever witnessed firsthand.

The change in me was staggering to say the least. I arose at 6am spending an hour or so in the forest. My body felt better than it ever had. I savored this fresh green world, drinking in the smells and sights with the intensity of a starving man at a buffet. I was happy as a lark, possibly the happiest I have ever been. I can never remember a time when I was more content, alive and vibrant. I made my way to the cook house for breakfast, my friend spied my entrance encouraging me to sit next to him.

"What happened to you, you're different." Commented my pal as I plopped down next to him with a grin a Cheshire cat would admire.

"I'm not altogether sure " was the only reply I could muster.

We talked about the entire experience between bites of toast and runny eggs. He deduced that I had been born again. Having no reference for such a staggering event, I was compelled to agree. Later in the day he passed on a copy of the bible, warmly signed with well wishes for my day of rebirth.

I poured over the bible in earnest, devouring every utterance of Jesus with a passion I had never known. By the end of that summer I found myself at an impasse; reason would not let me accept scripture, therefore, I determined my spiritual pursuit required more dimension. I no longer just vaguely believed in God. From that moment forward, I knew, in the depths of my heart, a benevolent God did in fact exist. When one transcends the chains of a belief structure in favour of a knowing, one is finally able to grasp, from the heart, truth which is hidden by the secular merry go around of lies.

I dove into all world religions with keen zealousness. Each page of a new text revealing a mixture of lies and truth. Searching for the same unadulterated truth and love I had felt that fateful day, yet always unable to touch its magnificence. I could see my personality erode back into the banal constructs of ego, nothing seemed to stem the gradual but steady departure from GodSelf.

In the course of a decade, I realised my thirst could not be sated by religion, more truth was needed. In time I came to realise the entire experience was not about being born again in the image of Catholicism. Rather I was born into my true GodSelf. The Saviour was not God or Jesus, rather it was my GodSelf expressing, for the first time, the great wealth of power which exists within.

In Lak' ech, my brethren, the voice in the woods spoke truth...

Wednesday, 10 December 2014

Miracle # 2: Africa, A Testament to Survival and Love


My second brush with the miraculous occurred eleven years later in the Congo. Some of you have already read this post. If you have read this you can understand why this story deserves the merit of miraculous. For those who have not read this story, get ready for a wild ride.

In the winter of 1989/1990 I had undertaken the task of riding a mountain bike from London to Capetown. Crossing Africa alone by bicycle proved to be a daunting endeavor, with each leg of the arduous journey offering significant trials and tribulations. This is going to freak me out! The reason this will prove a difficult story to recount is due to the fact, in the 20 or so years since these events occurred, I may have told this story only four or five times. As well, I have never taken pen to record the events. However, the depth of challenges which unfolded in the Zaire jungle those days long past did forever change my life.

The location of this tale was a small village about 150 north of Kisangani in the country of Zaire. Slick, undulating, mud roads which carved a path through the dense jungle (calling them roads is most generous) were horrific. Loaded with pot holes, fallen trees, deep water bogs and obstacles of all sorts meant most vehicles were lucky to accomplish 30 to 40 KM per day. Luckily, short of a motorcycle, my mountain bike proved nearly a perfect mode of transport. By example, a good day would see me manage about 75km (Yay, the only time ever I experienced a bike to out travel a truck). Two days cycling removed from the riverside city of Kisangani where I had rested for one week, I was already knackered. The jungle has a way of zapping ones energy, humidity, the constant need for vigilance, regular rains making the clay loam soil slick as an ice rink, represented just a few of the daily challenges a cyclist, minute by minute, need face. Tack on malaria, dysentery, bowel infection and an assortment of other ailments and it is easy to understand how a lone cyclist can easily be overwhelmed.

The sun, just starting to cast a red glow over the dense forest canopy, announced the end of a long day in the saddle. Fortune favoured me this lovely evening whereby as my day ended I spied a small village sitting near a river at the bottom of a long ravine. Such fortuitous village locations conveniently poised at the end of a difficult day's ride were always most welcome. So much more pleasurable it was to have the good luck to spend a night in a village, instead of just setting up a lonely tent in the midst of  the wild, dense, noisy jungle. Unfortunately, I am unable to recall the name of the tiny village. In the blur of a cross continent trip, such details needed recording in a travel log. In fact, I did at onetime have a log of this journey, however, it was appropriately stolen years later. I say appropriately, because, when crossing Africa, theft is a regular occurrence, so why not also loose the records. In any event, the names of the people, as well their quaint village respites have long since become lost in time. What remains etched in my mind are the memories of faces, smells, sounds, as well, the many lessons learned.

Coasting slowly down the wending mountain road, a mix of villagers, mostly children, started screaming out welcome. Before long, the odd shout became a small din as a throng of villagers amassed at the village square. For those who may not have traveled to similar destinations, it should be noted, in remote jungle regions like the Congo, it is unbelievable how loving and giving are the local people. Soon as it became understood I was fluent in french, the children grew rather excited. Screaming out an endless array of questions, their excitement, like a screaming teapot, began boiling over. So many questions all in one ring, made it near impossible to understand any one query. Excited as the children were, it proved only a few moments before the adults capably reigned in the cackling mass thereby enabling me to finally communicate directly with each in turn. Arriving at these remote villages, with all the attention instantly showering down, it makes you feel like a rock star or shiny new sports athlete. Additionally, you must understand this village was not unique, everywhere across the continent I was received in much the same exuberant, overzealous, star crazed, manner. The cities in many African countries are dangerous you definitely need your wits about you, but the villages are rarely short of wondrous.

Approaching the base of the hill, passing the odd thatch hut at the village outskirts, children's shouts drew the attention of the village elder who quickly made his way to the growing group. With a nod and slight wave, the elder invited me to speak. We conversed a moment, embraced, then I was invited to take a smoke before the village women prepared the evening meal. Excited, cackling children gathered around as much as were permitted. The men, amounting to a good twenty or so, sat down with the elder and myself to commune over a few pipes of ganja. In the backdrop, to our conversation, I could hear the girls and women bustling about in preparation a special feast to honour their newly arrived guest. Great debate soon swelled over the quality of our smoke. Although impressed with the ganja I had lit up, the elder, in an earnest attempt to not be outdone, shouted a few words to a boy who instantly sped off in service. Moments later, the same young boy appeared with a small bongo, a pipe, as well, about three pounds of marijuana. The elder insisted I take this gift, "so that you may remember my people, our village. Having previously found myself in similar situations, I knew enough to refuse the gesture as a gift, instead insisting, upon trading some money. "This gift is too rich I said, possibly I might gift to you some sugar, coffee beans or other market supplies". The elder agreed which was his tactful way of initiating the bartering process.

It may seem odd to be offered a gift, then find oneself bartering over the cost. However, in the spirit of Congolese trade, such a process was the expected natural progression. After a few pipes, much debate, we both felt pleased in having established a fair price for trade, which by the way, was the equivalent of nearly $12 US dollars.

Dinner was served by the fire, the elder sat next to me so that he might ensure I was amply fed and cared for. During the meal he would continually review my plate, make demands upon some of the women to ensure I sampled everything in just the right order, always piping hot. While I stayed with the tribe over the next few days, without fail, the elder continued the same process of gentle, but determined care, for every meal. We enjoyed a wonderful meal, the conversation was unique, flavourful as the food, enchanting as the village lifestyle. Having completely satisfied any sense of hunger, a freshly stoked fire proved a warm companion to hot coffee, as well as, the obligatory few pipes.

Story telling continued throughout the night, me answering, as well as asking, countless questions in a mutual effort to learn of each others lifestyles, habits, customs. Well into the evening, the forest ecosystem created a subtle din against the backdrop of stories, the effect was surreal, otherworldly in so many ways. The recanting of rich village legends provided fodder for a night of amusement one truly could not find anywhere else in the world. Clearly, I can remember the full moon as it cast a lovely glow on the flora, the sensational vista adding to a very euphoric sense of goodwill.

Late in the evening, one by one, the villagers headed off to bed. By the time the chief decided he had enough, there were maybe a half dozen of us left. Standing up, rubbing his belly with a sense of great pleasure, he urged me to follow him to the hut his wife had prepared for my evening sleep. Opening the wooden door to the small hut provided me. Probably only one of five or six village huts that actually had a door. The hut floor clearly freshly swept, a small but robust blanket lay neatly folded at the end of the crafted wooden bed. Like the door, very few of the huts actually had a bed, mostly, the villagers would sleep on a woven mat.

The huts round, crafted of straw and woven leaves of some unrecognisable sort, were sturdily held together by mud. Each village hut seemed rather small. Mine was a bit larger than the average. one inside, I made note, it was large enough for the wooden bed, next to the bed a makeshift table. Either side of the bed about two feet or so to spare, as well, three to four vacant feet at the foot. Quickly, in answer to the cool night air, I unfolded my sleeping bag, then settled in for a fitful night sleep. Prior to dozing off, the compulsory orchestra of jungle fauna lulled me into a warm reverie. The sounds of the midnight jungle is something I would so love to hear again.

Morning comes early in the jungle. About one hour before sunrise the birds wake seemingly happy to commence the AM orchestra. Not long after, the monkeys join in the chorus, Undoubtedly, the monkeys feel it is their ordained task to ensure not one soul, human or otherwise, is left dilly dallying in dreamland. Once all the critters join the morning jamboree, any person with a heart would agree, there truly is no better way to greet the day. Lounging in my bed, I hear a steady flow of little feet bounding around my hut, chirping banter with endless giggles. What a wonderful accompaniment to the forest choir of equally restless critters. Anxious, the children are, to take advantage of the early hour. Each morning of my stay, their hope is for me to show my face prior to the elders catching up to their shenanigans with a demanding refrain to leave me rest in peace. As if anyone could peacefully rest beyond the howling monkeys.

We take breakfast as one great family, everyone enjoying coffee, fruit, baked assortment of cassava treats. Rounding off breakfast is the passing ganja pipe. With the men resolved to chatter away an extra morning hour over a second cup of coffee and three or four pipes, the women chase the children to chores, as well, busy themselves with various early morning tasks. This first morning, the men were excited about the prospects for an afternoon hunt. Village scouts had reported much game on the move. I very much wished to participate in the hunt but was not offered and would never presume to ask.

I did however have the opportunity to join in the late morning village prayers and dances. Offerings to the hunting Gods were made by each of the men, with thanks, for a successful and safe hunt. Looking into their eyes as they offer up prayers, you can see the manifestation of intent. Such concentrated focus would be the envy of any, new age, intention group around the globe today. It worthy of note, the villagers did not offer prayers in hopes of success, instead choosing to offer prayers of thanks. This is a very important part of manifesting intent, any good Shaman would tell you, it is not right to beg or ask for something from the Gods. Instead, one must first know the Gods will give you what you want, which is why you give thanks for their blessings prior to actually receiving the bounty. Many years later, I remember reading the teachings of don Juan Matus, a great South American Shaman. Tears came to my eyes when I read, in the Carlos Castaneda series of books his illustration of the identical manifestation process.

In lieu of attending the hunt, I made afternoon arrangements to join eight of the young village girls on a fishing trip. The trip was quite the learning experience for me, as much as it was for the young girls, who by the way, were thrilled to be able to spend time with a foreigner. Their excitement makes more sense when you understand, that their status as girls, rarely allows themselves such privilege. Awesome and beautiful as village life is, it is very misogynistic. The men have enjoy the best of life, the boys next, thirdly the women, finally the young girls. As a result, young girls expect little more than a continual stem of chores. The time they get for pleasure, is almost completely spent among themselves. Exciting events like one on one contact with a traveling visitor is almost solely the domain of the men, when they are occupied the boys would be next in line to gain the travelers attention. The women would get the pleasure of serving the guest, in doing so gain contact. The girls, well they almost never found themselves in such a spotlight.

Knowing the lowly status of village girls, it is easy for one to imagine how extremely excited they were to have me along for the fishing trip. Making our way down the river, maybe a kilometer or so, the girls were dancing, singing, giggling and frolicking for all they were worth. Having arrived at just the bend in the river they wanted, they started their afternoon fishing with a welcome swim. I was anxious to discover what they had in mind for fishing gear, especially as they had no fishing poles nor nets, no hooks nor line. By my reckoning, all they had were half a dozen five gallon plastic buckets.

Perplexed as I was to engage in their technique, while the swam I spent a few moment gearing up with my rod and reel. I had brought my mini tackle box, enough gear I figured to catch most smaller fish. I anticipated on maybe hooking up a few worms or bugs if the fish didn't hit one the artificial lures. Having rigged my fishing line with the most likely lure for success, I started a pipe, then waded into the river for a brief dip in hopes of cutting through the early afternoon heat. The girls were, pretending to be rapt in swimming. However, for the most part, they seemed more transfixed in amazement by relishing the chance to witness my every action.

I thought to myself, maybe they expect me to catch the fish so that together we might fill those empty buckets. Well I cast and cast my lures, trying all kinds of widgets and gadgets but all to no avail. The girls found the entire scene very amusing, delighting at my expense, we all had fun. After about an hour of this, one of the girls brought me some fresh papaya. The fresh papaya is fantastic fruit for reviving the senses. I lit up a pipe relaxing by the shore watching the morning sun dance across the river.

Well don't you know it, the girls started working, they were here to fish after all. At the apex of the elbow was a small marshy area about 25 feet in diameter, they were using the buckets to dam off a small part of the river and fill the marsh area. Understand, this is no small feat, there were nine girls, seven were bringing in the buckets of mud/sand so two girls could construct the small dam. It took about two hours of steady work until they could fill and seal the marshy area. Like all the villagers, the girls refused to let me help. So I sat back reading my favorite book, smoking my pipe and enjoying the jungle fruit brought to me with regularity. They all took a lunch break with me when the work was done.

We sang songs, ate lunch, then splashed around in the river laughing and giggling. Work recommenced just as the sun was passing its apex. Phase two of the fishing trip involved the girls using the same buckets to empty the gooey swamp. Singing song of praise and thanks, they labored tirelessly for about two hours until all that was left was a quagmire of mud knee deep to all but the eldest girls. One girl was assigned to maintain the integrity of the dam while six others skittered about yelping and screaming with joy and excitement as they seized their prey. The other two girls remained steadfast in bucketing the mud onto the banks looking for anything that might flop. The day ended with the dam being broken up allowing the river to ebb into the quagmire, in time clearing the debris for the next fishing expedition.

For their rewards they caught about 150 fish, the largest maybe 4 or 5 inches. They had managed to fill about one third of a five gallon pail. Making their way back to the village you would imagine they had caught 200 pounds of fresh salmon. The joy, gratitude and thanks those girls exuded that day brought then, as it does now, tears of love to my eyes.

The men were back from a successful hunt, the girls were bouncing with excitement for the coming festivities. Ladies, who had busied themselves most the day preparing all sorts of breads and side dishes were now setting the evening feast. The entire village was abuzz with excitement.
Indescribable was the meal in it's vast assortment of tastes and textures. After a hard day watching the girls fish this was just what I needed.

We migrated back to the fire as the evening began to cool. A pipe and a few stories was to segue into the Sunday evening commune. The Chief, or elder if you like, asked I join him in offering prayers of thanks for the bounty the earth has provided his humble village. We sang and prayed under a canopy of straw, the breeze passing through the un walled building offered up an aromatic pleasure making everything seem surreal. Looking around I could see the entire village about 60 or so of us on benches before the altar, the 150 or so villagers without a seat crowded around the perimeter of the structure. Sight, sound, smell, sharing, my world became a euphoric paradise of love.

We settled back to the fire for a few stories and pipes. One of the men asked about my fishing trip inquiring of my success. I admitted I had no luck but extolled the success of the girls. Everyone around the fire found it quite amusing ( as if they didn't already know ). We talked about fishing in the area and they told me of a sacred lake. I mentioned, I wish I had the time to go there and try my luck, to this comment was more laughter. Perplexed, I asked what was funny. They said you can't fish there, it is forbidden and you would not catch fish if you tried. My reply was why? I was told that this is a very special and magical lake, if I were to cast a net or a line the water would run away. Please explain I said. He told me the water would always run away from you. If you try to approach the lake for water or food it will surely run away and give you nothing. To this I replied, I need a few more pipes. The fire almost consumed, wood has become coal leaving now ash the end to what was a perfect day.




I woke early embracing the love of the few who stirred, I felt sorrow in the knowledge I would soon leave this beautiful village family. I say village family because all the elders treat all the children just as their own. As well, all the children respect and love all the elders considering each as a parent. The result of this is confusing at first when you hear one man speaking to twenty or so children calling each one my son or my daughter. Conversely each child would refer to each elder as father or mother making it appear like one child has many fathers.

In fact this is the essence of their demeanor, they truly are a family of 200. Imagine, if all people around the world treated their neighbor as a sibling or a parent! How easy it would be to find love replacing the corporate fear paradigm.
I digress..., the morning passed in a flash with a meal and, you guessed it, a coffee and a couple of pipes. With my bicycle panniers packed I bade a sorrowful farewell to my new family, or so I thought.

Shall I continue, I hope I am not boring you...

For those who may think this cycling thing sounds like paradise, and are considering buying a Trek 900 mountain bike with the intent of crossing Africa, let me say. You have no idea how grueling it is. In Zaire alone I suffered malaria, intestinal infections, bowel infections and dysentery so bad, I would shit myself at least four or five times in a days cycling. When I saw my doctor back in Canada he told me my insides will never be the same, twenty years later he is still right.
For those brave souls who disregard my advice, you will find, a divine synchronicity between your survival needs and the graceful love with which these villagers are prepared to offer.

Back to the story....

The sun has just passed its apex as I start the climb out of the ravine, looking back I see bright faces and waving arms. The road is in good shape here, so close to the village it gets used often. I appreciate the relatively smooth surface as it appears to be a good two kilometers to the top. My muscles feel good from the re hydration of my body over the last two days. The recent abundance of good food has helped to curb the dysentery, so all is about as good as it gets for a days ride. Half way up the mountain a couple of young men, in their twenties or so, offered to help push me up the mountain. ( For those who don't know it is an extra source of income derived by the boys and young men by pushing trucks, land rovers and motorcycles out of mud holes. Cleaning of said vehicles after muddy ordeals is another service often provided. Providing of fruit and food while the pushing and cleaning is done is yet another opportunity to get, what I call, sugar money )

I was happy for the assistance, especially because my muscles were not yet warmed up. We progressed up the mountain around a couple of bends. It was in the last few hundred yards from the top I heard a metal ping sound. Something metal had dropped from my bike landing precisely on a large rock. I looked behind me to see only one man was standing on the road about twenty or so feet from the bike, where was the other?

I looked closely at him, for some reason he looked scared. As my eyes spied the panniers I noticed they were all open and emptied. In stealing my belongings he had dropped my spoke key. It is a fairly heavy solid steel tool and probably one of the only things in my bag that could have made such a distinct noise. Anything else falling and I probably would have never discovered their plot. Or even if it had fallen in the mud or dirt the alarm would have never been sounded. I looked at him, he looked at me, then he bolted running down the road disappearing around the bend. ( reader please note I had been robbed seven other times in Africa, once at knife point in a nasty little cafe in Tetuan Morocco. Three of those times in Lagos, good reason why the consulate warns you about Lagos )

Instinct kicked in and I dropped my bike running after the culprit. He had a good head start, I never expected to catch him but I had to try. As misfortune would have it he made a very poor choice. He ran down the hill, around the bend and yet another 100 yards or so to second bend. There, he was standing on the apex of the bend looking intently to see if I was to come. Why he didn't just get around the corner and hide in the jungle I will never know. Ten feet in the jungle and he would have been a ghost.

Even at that distance I could see his eyes light up in fear as he saw me barreling toward him at full speed. He made a second mistake. He stayed on the road running down the mountain, again the jungle would have still kept him free. I crested the corner where he once stood. Realising that I had made up more than half of the distance I doubled my effort. If he buckled down and ran hard he probably would have gotten away, instead he kept looking back, by doing so, slowed himself down. I was just about to grab his shirt when he finally dove head first into the jungle. I was so close I just followed. The ground fell from beneath my feet and I found myself tumbling down the mountain head over toe. I came to rest about 100 yards down the slope landing firmly on my thief. ( Please understand reader I am not a violent man, to this point in my life I had been involved in only one fight, and that was on the hockey ice. )

I am ashamed to say we fought and I beat him until I could no longer raise my hand. I took off his belt, tied his arms behind his back, and told him he was going to drag me back up this hill. We made it back to the road and up to the bicycle. I had some rope in my front pannier which I used to retie his hands. We were both fatigued and sweaty, my guard was down and he jumped on my mistake. He slipped his hand free and lunged at me biting my lip. My God, we were attached! No matter what I did, I could not get him to release him maniacal grip. I poked and pushed my fingers in his eyes, no use. I grabbed him by his pants, literally lifting him up and kneeing him in the balls, three four times, no use. I grabbed his forehead and his chin and yanked my lip out of his mouth leaving behind a large chunk of my lip. I fell back and he came at me again, a vicious attack with his teeth. I put my hand out to prevent him from clamping onto my face again but he managed to get my finger. I yanked my hand as hard as I could, breaking my finger and leaving a nasty chunk of flesh behind.

He got up leaving me on the ground soaked in blood. Again he started to run down the mountain, but now it was more like a stumble. I was defeated, I rolled over watching as he fled. I noticed the rope, which I had firmly tied to the one hand, was trailing behind him as he ran. I picked myself up and began pursuit. I was closing on the rope. My eyes were fixated on that rope bouncing in a weird pattern off the dirt road. Time seemed to slow, I bent down, picked up the rope, and drew in the slack. As soon as the slack was taken up, I did with a most malicious intent, yank on that rope for all I was worth. His arm made a loud pop as it dislocated pulling him horizontal before collapsing in agony on the ground.

I jumped on him looked him straight in the eyes and said " Tu est mort ". I wrapped the rope around his neck and pulled with all my might. Just at that moment two young boys shouted " Arretez, Arretez ". I woke, just then, to the dreadful realisation I was killing a man. I let go of the rope, rolled him over, hog tied him and told the boys to take him to the village. I walked back to my bicycle, sat down and wept. Recovering my composure, I made my way coasting down the hill. Before I had a chance to reach the village many were running up the hill. My white T-shirt was covered in blood, a good part of my lip was missing and none of us could comprehend what this event would bring to this loving village.I was led to the same hut I had used the past two days and given two squares of gauze and a mirror. I looked into the mirror and saw a horrible mess. My vanity set in, all I could see is a future with a messed up lip, then I thought.

What is all this biting about?

My lip and my finger, no punches just teeth. Does he have aids? Zaire is dealing with a national aids crisis right now. Have I been doomed to their fate? My friends, I was loosing my mind.

The elder opened the door to my hut, we talked for a long while. He was grief stricken. He told me of the great shame his sons had brought on his village. He wept as he told me quick interrogation of the captive had disclosed there were three working together. He mentioned that he had dispatched all the men and boys to search the jungle until they find the other two. As well, he had sent their quickest boy to a larger village twelve kilometers away to get the Gendarme ( police ) to take the thieves away. He had food and drink brought to me asking that I rest until the police arrive.

The afternoon passed, a poultice was made for my lip. What ever it was, it performed excellent in stemming the bleeding and promoted quick mending of tissue. As well it froze the area a bit, like at a dentist, but not quite as much. I ate what I could for dinner but my demeanor was very solemn. It broke my heart to find myself involved in such an affair. But also I was hurt and very angry at what had befallen me. I was a bundle of confused feelings, none of them good.

Where was the love and euphoria of yesterday?

After dinner I sat with some of the elders over a few pipes, the mood was very somber. The chief elder asked that I pray with him and a few others. We went to the prayer lodge asking for blessings of grace. The chief later turned to me and said, " although I have lost three sons, one is of my blood ". " His position in the village is one of great responsibility. His sin is one I cannot forgive, he is no longer my son ". Tears welled in both our eyes as the gravity of his loss set in. We returned to the fire, smoked in quiet for a while then parted for the night. Making my way back to my hut the moon was still full but the glow on the flora was not to be seen. I was trying to read and just as I was putting out my pipe the Police knocked on the door. I scurried like a child hiding my weed as I answered their call. The night was late, they were not happy (As it turned out the only vehicle in their village is the police chiefs land rover and he was away until the next day, so they had to walk all the way, 12 km to answer this call.)

They asked I join them in the elders hut for a discussion. I was asked what happened, I told them everything, including my attempted murder on the thief's life. They asked what was missing and I lied. I told them everything that I knew was missing, but I also told them five hundred dollars U.S. was taken. There was no $500, I wish I never said there was. No matter what, I wanted those three to pay for my lip and pay for the aids I might be carrying. I didn't want the police letting them go because I was just a tourist out of his depth and they were locals, so to speak. The police informed me the village men had captured the second thief and will surely get the third, as he has no where to go. They told me I would have to attend the police chief in their village to file a proper report. As well he suggested I should rest as we will leave mid morning.

I returned to my tent, tried to read or sleep but neither was possible, I laid there victim to my thoughts. In the background echoing throughout the village was the screams of the two men as the police tortured them for information and a confession. The night grew on, I drifted off to sleep in a eerie silence, it seemed the entire jungle was holding it's breath.
I woke about two hours before dawn to stomach cramps, nothing unusual if you make the toilet in time. My finger throbbed and my lip ached while my stomach was doing the two step. I placed my feet on the hut floor ( which is the ground ) and gathered my composure. I felt a couple of bites on my foot, then a few more on my leg. Damn these buggers really bite. I lifted my feet up and reached for my handy Zippo lighter. A flick of the Zippo illuminated the floor showing a steady flow of army ants, or whatever they are called. The entire floor of the hut was moving. The only way you can get them off is by picking them off. Trying to sweep them away is useless. In all the commotion I shit my pants, damn not again.



I got myself sorted, took extra underwear and pants and made my way to the toilet. For those who don't know, it is a concentric circle of thatch with a large hole in the middle and two sturdy logs across. You should have a picture of me standing on the logs with my ass sticking out dropping a load. And that is exactly what happened for the first few minutes until the log broke. Yes my dear readers, I found myself covered from head to toe in shit and piss. I vomited, like I have never vomited in my life ( even worse than when I pounded back a fifth of tequila to celebrate my 25th birthday ).

When I finished vomiting, I vomited some more. I started climbing out the hole. However the shape I was in with my broken finger and pounding head I couldn't get out. I fell back submerging myself no less than three times before finally extracting myself from the excrement. I made my way down to the river stripped off and tossed away my clothes, I guess at least I didn't have to clean the shit out of my pants, that is never fun friends.

I cleaned up,making my way back to my hut just as the birds were getting up. I smoked a few pipes and before I knew it the police were knocking on my door to go. They were able to recover about 80% of what was taken but the $500 and some odds and ends were still missing, albeit with the promise all would be recovered. The one thief admitted the third guy has my money.

The police led myself, the thieves and the chief to the village ceremonial square. In the harsh light, I could see heavy bruising on their legs, torso and arms. Since neither could stand in one place for more than a second, I assumed the soles of their feet had also been beaten. Moreover, the damages I had inflicted on the thief who I fought had not been tended. To this day, I cannot imagine how much emotional and physical pain they were in at that time. Nor, could I ever imagine then what was yet in store for us all.

A goat was led into the square and a villager took a large knife cutting it's throat in one swift motion, I nearly puked. Then and there he gutted the goat and tied it around the neck of the man I fought. Around the neck of the other thief he tied a sack with all the retrieved belongings they took. To this man's waist a live goat was tied. All of us stood back in utter silence as the ceremony was performed and accusations were announced. The chief said a few words denouncing from the tribe all three villains. All I could think of was that somehow I was the, real, third villain.

Ceremony complete, the police ushered the two thieves away with me following about 50 yards back. As we left the camp the eerie silence was broken with the sounds of great sorrow and loss. Soon the sounds faded as the jungle engulfed our group. It was a most arduous journey my friends, 12 km through a hot jungle. I was spent from the day and night before, I cannot conceive how the thieves could move, let alone walk with a load. We took breaks, but not enough. As the thieves stumbled, they were beat with sticks until they regained their footing to continue. I let them get a couple hundred yards ahead, so I wouldn't have to experience the violence up close.

How did any of us make it?

I don't know. I passed out in the infirmary as soon as I arrived, the other two didn't have that luxury. I regained consciousness jolted by the screams of the tortured men. I looked at the I.V. in my arm and slowly regained the realisation of the nightmare. In my brief absence, the two men were tortured by three different police officers. They were going up the rank comparing notes as they went. By the time they were done, neither thief could speak. I witnessed this as they were dragged to the village square semiconscious. The bright sun made it feel like a cheap spaghetti western. I watched them tie the two men back to back against a large tree. The tree was big enough they couldn't see each other. The chief of police walked out into the courtyard greeting me with great interest. He went on to rant to a growing crowd.

"How terrible these men are to the reputation of the government of Zaire. No mercy should or will be spared in retribution."

I could barely stand up. My head was spinning while my stomach was dancing the Cha Cha. The chief, noticing my unsteadiness, grabbed my arm making apologies for keeping me in the sun. He ushered me into his air conditioned office. The cool air steadied my senses allowing us to proceed with the task at hand, the deposition. I dictated to him the events as I knew them, trying in some way to reduce the damage my lie about the money would inflict. He would have nothing of it, he assured me they would find the $500 dollars. Or, he would meet me later with recompense from the government coffers. About ten or so minutes into the interview the thieves began to scream, the torture had begun anew. We took two hours to compile the whole story, typed in triplicate with the aide of carbon paper. The report was typed one letter at a time, the chief liked to type that way.

When all was done, the chief ushered me out of his office to proudly present the defeated thieves. Off and on during the interview this very large man (one of the biggest men I have ever seen) used a heavy hemp rope with knots tied in it to flail the two men. Rendering them unable to respond to the chiefs questioning, even after buckets of water were thrown on their lifeless bodies. Defeated, dripping unconscious in blood, the crowds started to disperse, the show was over.

I was ushered to a room in a small hotel, if you could call it that. I was informed that missionaries who heard of this event were prepared to take me as a passenger to the city of Bunia where I was receive proper medical help, and inform my consulate. The chief said he would meet me in two weeks when he must travel to Bunia for business. As well, he had me over for dinner. His property was lavish as was the dinner. However, his pride in brutal justice along with constant boasting about his new prison was difficult to bear. He insisted on giving me a tour of the prison, the conditions were dreadful, he could not have been prouder because of it.

Back at the " hotel " I laid my head down and slept like never before. The next morning arrives with the do good missionaries fulfilling their mandate to rescue my sorry soul. They seemed odd, by example, they had a land rover with some luggage on the seat. Instead of moving the luggage to the back and offering me a seat they asked me to sit in the luggage area. I was not about to complain, riding a land rover bouncing around in the back is still far better than walking. We arrived in the village, I collected my gear and bicycle loading it into the land rover under great protest. The missionaries thought I would leave my bicycle. It took about 10 minutes to convince them the bike was essential. After all, there was plenty of room for everything.

They relented, so with a few words to the elders and some pictures I was off. I knew the trip was about 150 km which I suspected would take about two or three days even with a land rover. The cold demeanor of the missionaries was a caution, but what could I do? I was an emotional and physical mess. I couldn't ride, not with my finger broken, my lip and a litany of other health issues. Dehydration alone could do me in. No matter if I could ride or not, it soon became apparent I was not going to be able to maintain the company of my compassionate missionaries.

It went like this... The passenger started berating me about flaunting my rich lifestyle in front of these savages. How are they supposed to refrain from the devils work when evil people like you are acting as temptation? Then the driver chirped in with his barrage. On and on this went for about and hour. I tried to argue my point (which is something I could do well) but my brain was just not working. Instead of reason, I started yelling and screaming obscenities about their probable propensity for young black boys. The land rover came to a quick stop, soon after I found myself assembling the parts to my bicycle.

The first three days on the way to Bunia was all a blur. I remember sleeping in a ditch under the stars the first night. After that, I can only remember the focus it took to make sure the next peddle is pushed down and the constant pain, even my hair hurt. Willing my legs to continue turning the crank, I fell of my bike many times. Each fall felt like a dream, I was far beyond the pain one receives when falling of a bike. Get up and turn the crank I would say over and over in my mind, just keep it going. I persevered until I passed out unconscious in the ditch.

I have no idea how long I was out for, all I knew was that it was now dark and I had passed out. I was very, very scared. I thought I was going to die here in an African jungle miles from nowhere. I began thinking about the love for my family and friends back home. I imagined what it would be like for them to get consular news of my death, never knowing what happened or how much I loved them.
I cried and cried, then I prayed like I have never prayed before, or since. I begged God to give me the strength of my brothers and sisters, of my parents and my friends. I begged that their love and energy should come to my aid so that I may find the strength needed to survive.

At that very moment, a wave of peace and love came to me. I was still a mess but somehow I knew I would make it, I knew God was with me.

(Later I came to understand it was my own Godself power which I had accessed)

I righted the bike, fixed my light on the road and recommenced turning the crank. The entire rest of the journey to Bunia was surreal. As if it were a dream that cannot be remembered. As I have no recollection of what transpired, I cannot explain or comprehend how I made it, how long it took. From the very moment I remounted the bike, my GodSelf completely took control of my reality. For all I knew, I could have flown on the wings of an angel.

I know the first few days were slow maybe 20 - 25 kilometers per day, that would have left about 75 to 100 km remaining. I guess, if the same pace were maintained it would have taken another three to four days riding as a spirit. How many more days of cycling did it really take? Did I sleep? Did I eat? Everything was and still is a complete blank slate.

I arrived in the city around dusk, immediately coming to the attention of a police officer. He had spied me across an open courtyard quickly determining I required assistance. I remember looking at him, wondering, why he looked so concerned? He asked me my nationality, I told him Canadian. At once he said I know where to take you, they will tell me what to do.

He guided me to a home about a block away where a representative of the Canadian government lived. This gentleman was establishing a new agriculture project for the city. In addition to his job, he acts as a vice consul representative. (I may have the term wrong, in essence, he acts in the capacity of the consulate, fulfilling some duties but without the title.)

Salvation:

We stood on the stoop as he rang the bell. I was in a haze, but I will never forget the look on my saviors face when he first saw me. He picked me up, took me to the living room calling his wife. He was asking the police officer all sorts of questions, but all the police officer knew was that I was Canadian. They phoned a doctor who lived near to visit. Within minutes he was there prodding, poking and asking questions. The doctor suggested they watch me closely through the night and to call if my condition deteriorated. His assessment was I would be okay, but it would take time to heal. I was to see him at his office the next day to x-ray the finger, sort out the lip and clean up my dysentery. Stitches could not be used as it had happened too many days past. The next day the doc fixed me up some more, he said I had to wait three months before I could get an aids test, then another test after six months determine my fate.

I cannot describe to you dear readers how this man, his wife and two children saved me. They own a beautiful home with servants who love their work. Their garden looked over a gorgeous vista of jungle groves. The smell of of their garden was heavenly. They had many books for me to choose from, most importantly they had all the old tunes I love. I had the house to myself. The servants were so gracious in putting up with Leonard Cohen over and over and over.

I cried and cried, my heart felt like it was ripped apart. As my health improved I felt guilty for surviving this ordeal when it was likely the other two or three men were doomed. I kept seeing the fight in my mind. I could not shake the image of his face purple with the rope tied around his neck, knowing how the anger raged through me unabated. The many images of torture; from the butchered goat to the 12 km march, ending in the final beating tied unconscious to a tree. The screams of those two men rang in my ears almost every moment. I felt like I was loosing my mind, I just wanted to die. The love of this remarkable family was the only thing which kept me from a psychiatric ward. They cared and loved me like one of their own. They fed me, cried with me, cleaned dirty bed sheets, and comforted screaming nightmares. They led me gently back to health. Before leaving, I was speaking with the father. He told me how pleased he was to see me recover. He admitted that when he first saw me he thought I was a ghost. In his words, "there was nothing there, nothing in the eyes."

I met with the police chief two weeks later as planned. He said he would be able to have some money for me in a couple of days. He winked at me, with a wry smile he said, "one of them is dead, the fighter". " He killed himself with a knife in his cell. The other one will suffer the same and the third we will find. " I got up and without a word left his presence, never to see him again.

I left the company of my saviors the next day. I had imposed on their hospitality enough, as well, Uganda was calling me. With great sorrow and joy I looked back on the town of Bunia as it faded into the jungle. There was road ahead, people to see and lessons to be learned. Down goes one leg, up goes the other, the crank starts to turn, man in motion.




The events of that time took many years to resolve. I still have difficulty keeping it all in perspective. A couple years ago my wife bought me Lenard Cohen for my birthday. We were eating dinner as the music began and I realised it was the same album that kept me sane in Bunia. I tried to hold back the emotion but ended up breaking out in sobs. We learn compassion from the strangest of places. Our heart breaks from the oddest ordeals. Souls dance with us in loving synchronicity, giving up their very existence on this plane so that we may discover our true nature. I cherish the three thieves and pay greatest love and respect to their memories, all who danced with me during those days. The miracle which occurred in the Jungles of Africa was not the surviving but rather the three day or four day trip my GodSelf spirit made on my behalf to ensure my safety. I have absolutely no recollection of how I managed to ride a mountain bike covering nearly 150 kilometers of the most difficult African terrain. In perfect health, I could not have managed such a feat of endurance. How did I do it? Impossible to say, unless you accept it was in fact a miracle.

Post script. I ended up loosing my diary which had the names of all the party members. As a result of post traumatic stress ( and maybe too much weed ) my memory for recollecting the names was hopelessly lost with the diary. I did not like referring the the elder as the elder, the thieves as the thieves or the family who save me as the family. In this omission I mean no disrespect and have for years felt terrible that I cannot honor them all by name.

Thursday, 4 December 2014

Miracle # 3: The Fall and Rise of Deegan

Miracle 3./ The Fall and Rise of Deegan: GodSelf Commanding Reality

The third miracle I encountered represented a transformation in my perception of self. The location was Vancouver and the event occurred at the 1999 Molson Indi Raceway. Each year two close friends and I would attend the great annual racing event. Captivated by the explosive cars and the exploits of our favorite racers, the Indi was one of the premier events of the summer schedule. Ideally we would sneak in, or try to scoop some free tickets. However, more often than not, we would find ourselves relegated to our usual perch, high up a Hemlock tree, adjacent to the track, only about 20 meters from the action.

If I may introduce the star of todays show Deegan. Deegan is a large svelte man 6'4", about 190 to 200 pounds with not an ounce of fat. For quite a while I thought he was fit but not solid, until we wrestled one day. Being ten years younger than me he was fast, however most notable was his mass. In short order I was overwhelmed, having to tap out. He looked down with a wry grin saying " You thought I was skinny didn't you ". His muscular body marked by the odd tattoo, short shaved hair and boyish looks proved to be a winning combination in many ways. He is a most lovable chap, always quick with a smile, which invites you in a warm sort of way. Deegan never really cared much for school. His mind was always more concerned with finding innovative ways to skip out, so he could partake in the two greatest loves of his life; drugs and skateboards.

With high school done, but not completed, Deegan set out to make an impression on the world. His was the stamp of drugs, skateboards, sex, raves and hip hop. There was simply no time for work, I know this first hand as I was his boss. When he did show for work, he was a great salesman. Cuddly as a little girls favorite teddy bear, he wooed everyone's attention. Shortly after dazzling some poor unsuspecting consumer, I would see him typing in their credit card number as he casually notched another sale for the day. He was well liked by all the staff and management. We wanted to move him into a lower management position, but his wild lifestyle, would not allow us to consider giving him responsibility. I envied Deegan in many ways, he was unique, courageous, fun, honest and trustworthy. More than anything, I had to admire how, at 28 years of age, he fulfilled the role of skateboard sex God. I mean this guy woke up with a different girl (or girls) four or five days out of a week. He was the quintessential babe magnet.

So that we may balance the picture in your mind, Todd, the other character in our drama, deserves some background. Todd or " Toddy " as we affectionately called him, was my best friend. He stood 5'9", weighing about 160 pounds, he was a handsome man with an intelligent flair. Short hair, with the casual business look so common in Vancouver. Having graduated from university, coupled with a penchant for reading, left Todd was well suited to speak with intellect on many subjects. Oddly enough, Todd was the kind of character who, much like myself, tried too hard to be liked. Deep, unresolved insecurity of being abandoned by his birth parents caused him to be overzealous in demeanor. Todd was always trying to please, thereby, attempting to gain the love he so desperately desired. Having experienced the same abandonment, and being a good few years older, I could well relate to his plight. I saw Todd as a younger self, I desired greatly to ease his burden with spiritual truth. My means of manifesting insecurity was to be a know it all braggart, you can imagine the torment I created with that little foible. The tell tale sign of Todd's mangled fingernails reminded me of my days wrapped deeply in the darkness of egoic embrace.

For years I lived the exact same mental hell of ego. I knew Todd better than he knew himself, I could see the matrix behind his every thought and action. Having been there myself, I helped him make sense of his working ego mind. It was synchronism which brought us together making us close friends. Often, we fail to recognise how we attract from the cosmos all souls which further our path, especially the ones which wreak havoc in our lives. However, when looking at the relationship of Toddy and I, anyone could see the natural bond. For those who did not know him well, Todd was a captivating and enchanting gentleman, well liked by all. Todd was one of the rare individuals you could absolutely rely upon. If I ever had to go to battle, I would want Todd at my back. Tough as nails, honest, deep integrity, compassionate, all the characteristics of a noble friend.

Back to our story, shortly after 8 am Deegan loaded up his water bottles with meth amphetamines while Toddy and I shared a good size hash joint. We had one golden rule, no hard drugs until we were all stowed away in our respective track side tree perch. The morning was crisp, fresh sea air wafted across my nostrils as we made our way across Denman bridge. With the first easy hash rush kicking in, the tranquil morning city eerily contrasted against the synaptic havoc of my buzzing mind. Rounding the corner of the domed B.C. Place stadium, our Hemlock tree stood majestic in the distance silhouetted against the morning sun. Seeing the great tree in the distance anticipation whirled, my head danced a little jig, while my belly went south for a moment. Very soon we would be way up there, cranked up senselessly on a cocktail of assorted hallucinogenics. In short order, we were relaxing under the shade of the big old girl. Puffing on a pre-rolled fatty, we took a moment to compose ourselves prior to the big climb.

The old girl yielded gracefully to our ascent. I have always loved climbing trees, the feeling of accomplishment is only slightly tarnished by the fear of falling. Limb by limb we picked our separate paths, the smell and ambiance of the climb was especially invigorating with the hallucinogens accentuating every beautiful detail. Having finally reached the top, we were welcomed by the amazing view of the tight winding race course, way down at track level were bleachers chock full of excited race patrons.

Picture the following in your mind reader; we are approximately 100 feet off the ground, or about 9 floors in condo lingo. My buddy Deegan was first up the tree, as a result he was perched at the very top. Deegan had to deal with the smallest branches for support, the upside was he enjoyed the best view. I was about four feet below casually perched upon the next largest branch which could be relied upon to sustain my weight. I had a good spot, the exact location on the tree I take every year we find ourselves sitting in her embrace. The branch was big enough to allow me to straddle it comfortably, another branch about two feet up, slightly to my right, made a most perfect backrest. Just under me by three feet was Toddy, this was his favorite spot as well. In fact, without the security of the two big branches for his seat, we would never get him this high.

Brave as a bear, yet, Toddy was too smart to be cavalier in the presence of danger. I always admired the fact Toddy could play hard as a bulldog, whilst being smart as an owl and sly as a fox. Additionally, Todd always insisted on having a safety belt which firmly secured him closer to the tree than a teenager holding his date on prom night. I doubt a hurricane could have dislodged Toddy from his little nook. The time was 9:15, in about 45 minutes the long anticipated auto race would commence.
I passed out the LSD, Todd passed about the mushrooms. We had agreed upon 2 hits of LSD and about two grams of mushrooms each. Along with the odd joint, we surely would have more than drugs in the system to ensure a memorable racing experience. I know what you are thinking reader, this is insane. Possibly so, but in our mind, we were experienced cosmonauts performing an annual tradition. Nothing could have made more perfect sense. The event preparation, as always, was exquisite, poised over the most exciting series of racing corners in all of North America, we could see a good 80% of the track. This was a very special ritual, as such, adequate preparation was mandated. I guess, in retrospect, most people don't roll quite so hard, however, in the summer of 99', that's just the way things were.

The goal of weighing ones level of impairment was always the same; get stoned enough to forget you were 100 feet in the air, but not so stoned you loose your balance. Get the mixture right and it was heavenly, get it wring and you likely die. The logic really is impeccable, that is, if you are high enough to understand! Heads spinning in a kaleidoscope of colour, nose filled with the stench of high octane exhaust fumes, ears rumbling to the tune of roaring engines, this fine morning we were convinced we had hit the proverbial ball right out of the park. This was going to be a very memorable day.

Having finished the warm up laps, cars and drivers reappeared on the track to a huge roar of fans excited by the grand entrance. Swerving side to side, the race cars lapped the track warming up their tires. Great mechanical beasts rumble at the crowd as they pass, speaking surely to the pent up power begging for release. The mid morning sun burned away the last vestiges of freshness in the air, it was going to be a hot day in Lotus land. By now, we were all getting our jags on right proper. Colors twirled in wild rainbows, sounds and smells represented personal mini events each to be admired in awe. Looking at my hand intently, I could hallucinate on the whorls of finger and palm prints. The patterns spun in little circles moving in and out in a rhythmic dance. The life lines seemed to be long deep ravines, I poured a little water in the palm of my hand and the ravines flooded across my "hand world". For those of you who may not be familiar with the universal litmus test for hallucinations, you just read a first hand experience, excuse the lame pun.

Back from la la land, I was ready for some summer fun in the sun, guess what, it was race time. Finally the cars aligned for the race start. Great anticipation always await the checkered flag initiating an Indi race. The first corner always proves to be a real test of nerves for the racer who demands the pole position into corner two. Our tree was right above corner one, Toddy, Deegan and I had made bets on who would exit corner one first. With the greatest of anticipation, we excitedly awaited the start. Gentlemen start your engines, Toddy spouts off "shit man I started my engine half and hour ago".


Beep, beep, beep, beep, bang! Off they go! Tearing down the straight, screaming engines race toward us, then, throttle down at the last possible moment, punching hard to the corner apex. Wow, screeching tires wail as drivers lock their breaks jockeying for optimal position. Smoke fills the air, tires screech. Literally one heart beat later, our favourite racers whiz around corner two, then three, before opening up the raw power of the engines. Accelerating at break neck speeds disappearing out of view down the long back stretch, the race was truly on. We look at each other, smiles all around beaming as bright as the morning sun. Burnt rubber filled our noses, engines roar in the distance as we all settle in for a fantastic event.

Pupils the size of saucers, sucking back with vigor the spectacular show of might, nothing could be better. With pounding hearts, we catch our collective breath, rapt in the moment of anticipation of yet another return lap. Around 11 am, with the race a third complete we had run out of pre-rolled fatties. As I was the fatty taskmaster, I commenced rolling a few. Not that marijuana was needed mind you, it is just a pleasure we were all accustom to enjoying. No good soldier lets down his comrades in the heat of battle. Focusing on twisting closed yet another joint, I heard Deegan make a small groan. I looked up briefly to notice he looked a little bit pale, well, maybe more than a little.

" Hey Deegan are you okay up there ".

" Yeah man, I'm fine just a little light headed.

" Why don't you buckle up to the tree like Toddy and I? "

" Nah man, I'm fine, finish the fatties, I could do with a puff. "

Obligingly I finished up the one in my hand, then rolled two more after carefully placing the filter in the first. I should have payed more heed to his pallor, Just as I was working on the fourth and final joint, Deegan collapsed.

His feet were about where my knees were, so as he slipped off the branch he slid down like a sack of potatoes landing unconscious on my shoulder. Shocked, I wrapped one arm around his torso and the other arm, dear reader, I wrapped around the tree trunk. It was completely impossible to hold Deegan with both hands and expect that somehow we should both remain in the tree. Deegan is a big man, yet I was convinced my firm grip on the tree trunk would be enough to keep us both safe. Deegan was one of my dearest of friends there was absolutely no way was I letting him go. The tree top began to bend under our collective weight. The once firm lock I had managed on the trunk couldn't be relied on for much longer. The event was unfolding as if in a dream, slow motion, but oh so real. There was little doubt in my mind, the tree would either snap or bend too far beyond vertical to offer the required support.

Deegan began slipping even further from my tenable grasp. Desperately I tried to manage both problems at once, yet no matter how I tried, the grip was being simultaneously lost on both Deegan and the tree. With one last ditch effort I used my knee to support Deegan, an act I desperately hoped would allow me time to let go of his torso long enough to re-clasp the tree trunk. I also prayed this tricky maneuver would afford me a chance to grab Deegan's belt. It worked, I regained a grip on the tree while at the same time managed to secure a good hold of his belt. Dangling precariously over 100 feet in the air, I was holding on for dear life, all the while knowing Deegan's life hung in the balance. The edge of the leather belt cut deeply into my hand as if it had a mind of it's own to seek freedom. The renewed grip on the tree trunk as well was failing equally fast. Quickly I was losing ground. Much as this emergency seemed to last forever, I believe the entire episode had probably taken no more than 20 to 30 seconds. Caught in the moment, I had failed to even realise there existed an opportunity to command Toddy's assistance. From the corner of my eye, I could see Todd rapt in the race action, completely oblivious to the disaster occurring a mere fifteen feet above him, I screamed out.

"Toddy, we lost Deegan."

"What the fuck do you mean we lost Deegan?"

"Look up Toddy we've got real trouble here!"

"Holly shit, Deegan wake up, Deegan! Deegan!"

"I can't hold him for much longer Toddy, help me."

"I'm too far down Chris. Deegan wake the fuck up!"

Realistically, there was nothing Toddy could do. With his precise, methodical, navigation of heights, Toddy was always a very slow climber, slower yet the higher up the tree we went. Additionally, he was literally belted to the tree trunk by his security rope. At times we would kid Todd about his penchant for being overly secure in the tree. However, in this horrific moment, I wish we had all exhibited the same fervor for caution.

The tree trunk was too thin for me to manage this high up. By now, the tree top had bent a good 20 degrees off vertical, I could barely hold on. Knowing we were both just about to go down, I was faced with an impossible decision. To remain steadfast, meant to hold on until we both fell. In doing so, I would be left trying to sort things out as, together, we plummeted toward our, most certain, death. The only alternative was to let go of dear Deegan, then watch helplessly as he plummeted the 10 or so stories careening off branches like a steel ball off the rubber posts of a pinball game.

I had the strength to hold on but the tree was giving out, what would you do reader ?

Deegan started falling in slow motion. Frame by frame he plummeted toward certain death. First, his head hit a branch solidly enough to emit a loud thwack similar to the sound a boxer might produce by striking a side of beef. This contact forced Deegan's head to snap back affording me a slow motion recording of his inert face. It all happened so fast but at the same time so eerily slow. Deegan careened off another branch, smacking his back, with a resounding crack which foretold of a broken limb, bone, or perhaps both. His body then tumbled forward, exposing to me the image of his back accelerating in free fall. All I could think of was that Deegan was definitely going to die. The thought of his death sickened me to the core, I refused to accept such a hideous outcome, not here, not now. Imagine the scene, a good friend plummeting over 100 feet, the chances of survival are bleak at best. I focused all my will and intent; I screamed two words.





                                                                "GOD, NO!!!"

When I say I focused my intent, I should define the emotion in my heart as empowerment. I was, in no way, making a plea to God. No begging, hoping or praying. I simply made an emphatic demand for the madness to cease.

Instantly, Deegan floated to a soft landing draped over a large branch, perched precariously 70 feet or so above safe ground. Todd later went on to describe the event with a most perfect description when he stoically stated

"Deegan was a rock, then he was a feather, it was a fucking miracle." 

Todd was transfixed, motionless, white as a ghost, with a blank stare of amazement pasted on his face. Quickly I scampered down the tree, passing Toddy as he began the tedious task of undoing his triple safety belt.

"Do you think he is alive Chris?"

"I really don't know Toddy. Deeg whacked his head real hard, he might also have broken his back. All together, it was a good thirty foot fall."

"Go get him Chris, get him before he comes to."

"Toddy, I am on it!"

Finally reaching Deegan, he was clearly unconscious. Knowing it would take both of us to get Deegan out of the tree, I was terribly afraid he might become revived before Todd could unstrap himself and come to our aid. I checked Deegan's vitals, his pulse was weak but steady, as was his breathing. Knowing he was alive, allowed me to gain a semblance of order. My body started convulsing as the the impact of adrenaline became noticeable. Leaning back against the thick trunk, I allowed myself a moment to fix my bearings with some deep breathing. Deegan looked so peaceful, as if nothing untoward had happened. Moments later, Todd had finally reached us, the scare had him carefully hugging every available limb. Without his belt set up, Todd was always a little leery climbing. The accident of course had compounded his fear to almost unmanageable levels. He ventured a tentative look down from a couple feet above, I could see his hands and arms shaking as he tried to deal with his adrenal surge.

"Is he alive Chris?" came the uncertain query.

"Yes Toddy, his pulse is stable but he is still unconscious."

"What are we going to do now?" "We can't carry him down, he's too big"

"We are going to revive him Todd, but it will be risky, that is why I have been waiting for you." I need you to come down here so we can both hold on to him while I try to wake him." "Give me one of your anchor straps, so I can tie him to this big limb in case he freaks when we wake him."

Poor Toddy was white as a ghost, he shaking uncontrollably like a leaf in a wind storm. If there any chance of  having all of us get out of this alive, I knew Todd had to be calmed,

"Tie one of your belts to that limb Todd, take a drink and relax, then drop one of your safety belts to me."

I looped the belt around Deegan securing him to the limb. Todd passed down his water bottle allowing me to freshen Deegans face. Having had the chance to see the situation did not unhinge Todd, gave me the final bit of needed tranquility to finish the task at hand. Poor Todd was visibly shaken, but remained coherent and competent in assisting me to deal with the beleaguered Deegan. Without Todd's ability to collect himself, I doubt we would have been successful in managing the beastly Deeg out of harms way.

Good as the rescue was going, I was still very concerned Deegan would freak out when he came to. Carefully, I placed my body in the most favorable position to assist if things went wonky. I cooled Deegan's forehead and cheeks. He quickly came to life, thank God, without a single stir. Opening his eyes, Deeg slowly focused in on me, almost casually inquiring "What happened, where am I?". I explained the events that transpired, he took it all in then said "What now?"

"What now, you silly bugger, is that you are alive. We will take some time for you to get your wits about you, then the three of us are going to safely get off this bloody tree and kiss the ground."

"Cool, let's do it Chris."

"Just hang on Rocky, you're going to have to pass some tests." "What day is it?" "Where are you?" "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Shit Deeg, you are so whacked on drugs, I can't tell anything from your non responsive pupils."

"You hit your head hard Deeg, I'm worried about a concussion, you might slip out of it again. How does your stomach feel?"

"I'm fine, Are we trippin?"

"Just my point Deeg, yes we are tripping, do you remember the Indi?"

"Aw shit man, I passed out didn't I?" "Man so sorry to lay that shit on you guys."

"No problem Deeg we are dealing with the shit. What concerns me is I just explained all this to you two minutes ago. Yet, only now are you seeming to get the drift of what happened. You're still in a good deal of trouble Deegan."

"Man, I can see your lips were moving, but nothing was coming out, run that last part by me again will ya."

"Fair play Deeg, have some water."

"Isn't it laced tho."

"No Deeg it's Toddy's water. Remember, you were the only one who put meth in your water jug."

"I guess not Chris, I guess not."

Dear reader, you will be happy to know, within the next half hour, we all three, made our way down the tree uneventfully and with great care. We spent the next hour or so rehashing the event, covering off each minute detail from all perspectives. Almost immediately Todd piped up,

"This was a miracle man, God saved your ass Deeg."

"I don't know about that Toddy, you know I'm lucky."

"You weren't there Deeg, you didn't hear and see what I did."

Deegan never did have the benefit of participated consciously in the event, as a result, it was understandable he was reticent to believe a miracle had occurred. However, Todd and I witnessed the physical evidence, as a result we had no doubt what we witnessed was indeed a miraculous moment. What also compelled our amazement was that when we checked Deegan out, there was not one scratch, cut, bump or bruise to be found, nor did one manifest later. Imagine Deegan fell forward face first a good eight feet, smacked his forehead hard enough to drive his body backwards. Then he plummeted another ten feet, hitting his back with enough force to make a loud crack, thereby pushing his body 180 degrees back forward again. Finally, he fell another twelve feet before landing belly first draped over a big limb.

When considering the instantaneous salvation, coupled with the complete lack of marks, I was left convinced we all witnessed a miracle that summer morning. Todd in witnessing the grace of which Deegan draped like a feather over the limb, was absolutely convinced a miracle had taken place.

"Chris man, as soon as you said GOD NO, it was like Deegan changed from a rock into a feather." "Man, he floated, I don't care what anyone says, he floated." "Even the way he draped over the limb, God placed him there. I will never forget this, not in a million years."

From my perspective, I can tell you emphatically the events that transpired were not caused by a God separate from myself. My GodSelf took over, in doing so I had demanded a new reality be present. Answering such a focused cry for action, the universe simply responded to my needs. Many would see such an event as drug inspired delusion, or tactfully put, good old fashioned dumb luck.

Todd and I know it was so much more, it was a GodSelf miracle, manifest before our eyes.

In my youthful experience of being born again, I perceived a separate God had offered salvation. Later in the Congolese jungle, I thought God had again intervened on my behalf to ride the miles I could not. This experience of a third miracle in my life was much different than the other two preceding events. This time, I knew it was not God answering a call, it was my very own GodSelf which orchestrated the miracle. To this very day, I am convinced God was within me, not without as I had been taught. This fundamental transition in ideology afforded me the needed perspective to understand the existence of the GodSelf being within all of us. The genie was out of the bottle, nothing in my world would ever be the same.

Wednesday, 3 December 2014

Miracle # 4: Klein Lake: Being the GodSelf...



Miracle 4./ Klein Lake: Being The GodSelf

Welcome back readers, thus far we have seen the miraculous act out the role of GodSelf saviour. In this, the last installment, of “Tripping" over God, we look at the miracle of GodSelf being. Although a great many blessings have been bestowed upon me in this life, nothing compares to the experience I am about to impart. There have been occasions where I have penned abridged versions of this story; however, I have never sat down to comprehensively depict this most amazing event of enlightenment. This tale, my dear readers, I write for myself, but you are most welcome to join. Let us begin to unravel the events which lead up to the story of Klein Lake.

To preface this story we can utilise all three previous miracles as benchmarks toward the one lifelong goal of discovering the path of unconditional love. I mentioned earlier, I was given up for foster care early in my life. The story reads like something out of a Shakespearean tragedy. My father, a young and unbridled teenager from a wealthy family, wooed my mother, of significantly lesser means. Both were wild youth, carefree and fun loving. I came along unexpectedly, at a most inopportune time. As I understand, they both tried to cope as best they could. My father ended up in prison for theft, leaving my mother to bear the load alone. Things went from bad to worse; some unseen force seemed to be pushing my mother toward a nervous breakdown. Thousand of miles from home, alone, in a strange city, she unlocked the door to our small flat, confident in her ability to determine a future free of pain. She had hatched a plan to free herself from the desperation she constantly felt. Her resolve had finally cemented, filling a hot bath, tranquility flooded her mind. She swaddled me in blankets neatly on the bathroom floor, and then immersed her young body into the warm water. The tiny bathroom was eerily quiet as she proceeded to deeply slice both her wrists with a razor blade. Fading out of consciousness, her last touch with reality was the siren of her now abandoned baby saving her life. I was a little more than a year old, but I guess I sensed something amiss. As the story was later described to me, I wailed relentlessly until the neighbor responded to the commotion. An ambulance was called, my mother placed in the hospital, I was whisked away by family services. Custody was revoked by the authorities who later assessed my grand parents, on my father’s side, as potential caregivers. Initial arrangements for me to be cared for by my grandparents were soon altered because “they felt too old to start again."

I became a permanent ward of the province of Ontario shortly before my second birthday. Over the next three years I was shuffled to a variety of foster homes. My last foster parents kept me for a year and a half before deciding on a move to another province, Quebec. The law would not allow me to be moved out of Ontario provincial jurisdiction. I was left behind, shuffled off to other foster arrangements. My foster mother would not accept the regulations, she continually pressed for me to be reunited with their family. Mostly due to my horribly unruly behaviour, the province relented, allowing me special order dispensation to move and be cared for, in Quebec. This little order meant I finally had a real family; nevertheless, a happy ending was not to be scripted. I always demanded more love and attention than my three other siblings. My parents did not have it in them to even come close to meeting my needs. I grew up resenting the lack of love; this caused me to distance myself from the family in many ways, none of which benefited either my personality or sense of self worth. The underpinning of my psyche established, emphatically; I was worthless, a bad boy, not deserving of love. Over the years these thoughts, feelings and emotions caused many dastardly personality traits to manifest. In effect, I created for myself a reality which mirrored the inner ugliness I felt. By the time I was 18, I truly was a self absorbed asshole. If you stood tall, I had to be taller, if you shared a fact I had to share ten. If I knew more, experienced more, owned more, was more, and then maybe you would love me. I had one close friend who understood me and actually liked me around, many who just put up with my antics and most who preferred to be anywhere I was not. It was tiring to be around me, I knew this, because I didn't like being around me either.
College was just around the corner, I looked deep in my heart deciding to forge a new future. No one would know me, I would never return home, but for brief visits. I could recreate who I was. I could make a new Christopher, someone I could be proud of, someone people would deem worthy of love and respect. No gain was made in the first year; I was too busy with work and school to enjoy a social life. The few people I met found before them a babbling braggart who didn't know shit from Shinola. It was not until I experience the first miracle of rebirth that I charted, in earnest my course. I had found a few clues to my quest for love in the bible. It appeared to me, if you only read the words of Jesus, you had a chance at grasping some of the gnosis within. I outlined my goal in the summer of 1980. I would dedicate my life to discover what love means, moreover, how to share and receive love. Having always been a stickler for planning, I found a pen and paper. I made three lists; one was a compilation of words which to me defined love. The second was a list of actions which I felt would represent me giving people love. The third and final list was a rule book, the sins I would be determined to resolve. I can't remember what the lists entailed, but I do remember the first three rules in order were; no bragging, no lying, no stealing, basically all of my most precious assets at that time.

In addition to my lists and rules, I fed on literature, first world religions, then philosophy, finally shamanic traditions, ancient spiritual texts and hard science, mostly courtesy of You Tube. Slowly my life changed, the phoenix did rise out of the ashes, but not without dedicated fortitude. Constantly, I would evaluate my personality, fettering out the nasties as they resurfaced. Each year, I would ask myself what don't I know about love, what is missing. The search for love became a thirst which could not be sated. How many times I thought I was going mad, would never find the answers, never know the feelings I had known born anew at the tender age of 19. How cruel life can be, to open a door so beautiful, then slam it shut. To taste the freedom of real love, only to have it disappear like etchings, suffering under relentless waves.

When I turned 40, I was resigned to accepting the fact I would never find unconditional love. More than two decades removed from that fateful day, each moment still as clear in my mind as a glacial lake. What mists of illusion occupy my mind, keeping me from clarity? I had learned much, I knew love must be a function of unity. Creating a singular from the illusion of separation, I knew it was the embracing of unity which would allow love to be unconditional. I understood that all moments are perfect, no good nor bad, only light dancing with light. My world was not a physical construct, rather it was a reflection of light, perceived by the retina and given form by consciousness. Myself I knew as God, experiencing being eternally in the NOW moment.

My ego was monitored by my observer, assuring my path leads to projecting love in favour of releasing fear. Most importantly, the three previous miracles of my life were in perspective. I knew, in each case, it was my GodSelf which carried the burden, not a third party God of which I am now convinced does not exist. Alas, all the knowing in the world did not give me the feeling I yearned for most. Deep in my heart, I knew I would have to accept the journey contained too many steps to travel in this life. I was content in what I had learned; peaceful in knowing how to see beyond illusion, dance with ego, live a good life and awaken my GodSelf within. Little did I know, Klein Lake would soon give me all the gifts I desired and so very much more.

I know you have endured a long preface to this story. However allow me to say, this is a very special miracle I am about to recount. The entire story hinges on two key issues. Why did finding love become a life obsession? For this we needed to reach far back to the past, referencing both my childhood and the miracle of being born anew. What led to my ability to grasp the holy grail of unconditional love? Each of the three miracles played a key role: whereas the GodSelf healed me in the first story, carried me in the second, and demanded a new reality in the third. Without the first GodSelf miracle, the hunger to find that loving feeling again, would not have existed. Without the second GodSelf miracle, I would not be alive to write this tale. Without the third, I would not have understood, with my heart, my true being to be GodSelf consciousness. In reality everything you have read thus far, though appearing as four separate events, are truly only ONE. How ironic it is that a metaphor of unity, juxtaposed to separation should play itself out in this tale. It was the discovery of unity which allowed me to become the God I Am, equal in every way, to The God You Are. Without further ado, may I present for your reading enjoyment, the unabridged version of Klein Lake.Our story begins with don Juan Matues, a Yaqui "brujo" or shaman. Don Juan takes on the challenge of teaching Carlos Castenada, a U.C.L.A. graduate student in Anthropology, the "Yaqui way of knowledge". The Yaqui warrior path, don Juan explains, allows one to comprehend all nature to be an embodiment of spirit. He teaches Carlos, that his attachment to the material world of illusion keeps him from being able to discover the many alternate planes of existence which exist. In order for Carlos to transcend this state of ignorance, he must manifest in his life, the heart of a Yaqui warrior. Don Juan teaches Carlos the warrior’s path to truth can only be found with the guidance of a spirit ally. He describes to Carlos how the spirit of the peyote plant spoke to him in a vision. Don Juan further mentions, the Mescalito spirit instructed him to accept Carlos as an apprentice, guiding him down the Yaqui warrior path of enlightenment. Carlos learns from the master shaman, how each person enjoys a synchronism with a specific mineral, plant and animal totem. These special Totems act as guides to the spiritual world of alternate realities. The Yaqui warrior learns, from repeated discovery, how to align with his Totem spirit. When this connection is forged, the doors of spiritual truth begin to open. Carlos's plant ally, don Juan suggests, is the Mescalito spirit of peyote. Carlos, if he chose the path of warrior, would need to become well acquainted with his spirit brother.

Another beautiful lesson Don Juan taught Carlos was how the Yaqui warrior manifested his reality. My most favored example is the story of how a warrior creates rain. Carlos had the impression rain makers used a special ritual to entice the gods to bring forth rain. One day Carlos inquired of don Juan how the process actually worked. Don Juan explains; the warrior does not bring the rain he becomes the rain. There is a ritual of sorts; however, it is the creation of an emotional connection to rain that causes the physical to manifest. Don Juan went on to describe that the warrior focuses his mind on the feelings of rain. Whereby, he creates in his heart the characteristics of rain; the warrior smells the fresh fragrance waft across his nostrils. The cool sensation of droplets falling on his skin is felt. The warrior hears, with his heart, the steady melody of rain orchestrate, for all life, a rhythmically satisfying beat. Deep in the meditative mind of the warrior he becomes rain. The focused purity of the warrior’s intention controls the universe. In real time, emotion becomes manifest.

In reading the lessons taught by Don Juan Mateus, I gained a clearer perspective on the GodSelf miraculous experiences of my past. When travelling down the spiritual path, the universe has a way of carrying you on its wings. Just when you think you hit a dead end, a special book falls from the ether, opening new doors. We must first incorporate one lesson, before the universe can present another. The patient warrior is always rewarded with the necessary knowledge to man up to the next level. Every step on the journey, our higher self is creating the perfect reality required to spiritually evolve. So that we may better understand the journey as it unfolds, it is incumbent upon us to decipher the lessons being taught. How apropos it was, to find myself in front of a wall so great, I could not fathom a path around. Then, to have the universe present three special books from a master Shaman, which would afford passage to a reality I had convinced myself would never materialise.The Plan:


The Plan:

Invigorated with these jewels of newly found knowledge, I began charting a course to follow the advice of master Don Juan. My darling wife, Amanda, was responsible for introducing Don Juan to me. We had talked a great deal about his teachings looking for ways we could apply his wisdom. We both agreed mushrooms would be my best chance at finding truth within. The setting we thought should include easy access to; water, minerals, soil, fire and trees. My plan was to find a beautiful campsite near water, when the feeling was right, I would try to discover my spirit Totem. Preparations would have to be made. I set aside one month so that I might assemble in my mind an emotional connection to the information I intended to draw from within. I had decided my first experiment would include the B.C. coastal mushroom Psilocybe Cubensis. Having had a long relationship with this beauty, I knew it would not be difficult to forge in my mind a concept of her as my spirit guide. The second phase of intent I would direct toward establishing, in my heart, emotions of unconditional love. Continually, I would recreate, in my heart and mind, the born anew experience I had at 19. I remained steadfast in encouraging, as often as possible, those beautiful emotions of unconditional love to course through me for thirty days. Hopefully, this wave of love energy would allow me to commune with my spirit Totem. I was very excited about this plan, especially because, if it failed to work, I could always keep up the search for my true plant Totem. I knew she existed; it was only a matter of time before we would meet. The third and final part of the plan was, in my opinion, the most important. I intended to establish in my heart complete freedom from outcome. Don Juan was extremely clear in teaching Carlos that he must never attach himself to desired outcome. If any aspect of desire was present in his heart, the universe would reflect continued desire as the manifest reality of his NOW moment. One must not desire rain; rather one must know oneself as rain. To help detach from desire, I thought of this entheogenic experiment in terms of a fishing trip. When fishing, I couldn't care less if I catch a fish. Just getting my line in the water and enjoying the gifts of nature is enough. Also, if I couldn't find my spirit Totem on this space journey, then trying again would not be an unpleasant experience. The important thing, I kept telling myself, is the path. Fresh before me was a road to my inner Akasha records. For many years I had read about this bastion of infinite knowledge. Now was the time to leave books behind, in favour of travelling to my inner GodSelf. With thanks to Don Juan, I had an opportunity to find a guide I knew would be worthy of my trust. My meditation remained focused all month on "knowing" myself as a unified being of unconditional love. The last few days prior the the Klein Lake weekend, I really hit the ball out of the park. The weeks of constant mental preparation had payed off, I felt very much immersed in love. I hadn't just created a wave; it seemed more like a tidal wave. Everywhere I looked love was present; the trees, ocean, sky, my lovely wife. I knew something special was afoot; I was more than ready for a new adventure. Amanda and I had planned to enjoy a four day long weekend on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia. The morning of our departure had finally arrived. Our old Toyota Celica, laden with camping gear, looked like a donkey suffering under a camel's load. Slipping into the bucket seat; coffee mug steaming, a few pre rolled fatties at the ready, great music, shining sun, and love in the air, what could be better. Yahoo let the journey begin!Vancouver is a beautiful city, but in my mind, its splendor can never compare to the awesome coastal environment in which it is nestled. Winding our way up the Rocky Mountains on the famous Trans Canada highway, massive conifers frame the newly revealed Pacific Ocean. Diamonds dance on her surface below, a mishmash of pleasure craft and ocean going vessels freckle the deep blue, sparkling background. Arriving at the Horseshoe Bay terminus, we are shuffled in line to await the Sunshine Coast ferry. There always seems to be an edge of anticipation when awaiting departure for holidays. A lot like waiting in the boarding area for a flight. One can't help but reflect upon the pleasures which wait. Even stronger for me, is the feeling of newness coupled with the exhilaration of stepping out of the box we call routine. Having boarded the ferry, Amanda and I made our way to the top deck. We were officially on holiday, the last vestiges of city life swept into the background, like little islands dotting a coast, present but mostly indiscernible. Shortly after two o'clock, the procession of disembarkment commenced. I have always found official order tedious, if not nauseating, it was very much a pleasure to finally be free. After careful consideration of the map at hand, we decided to drive to the north end of the Sunshine coast. Our goal was to find a nice spot for our tent, either on the ocean, or by a lake. By all reckoning, it would take about 6 hours to reach our destination. We would need a little luck to find the perfect site prior to sunset.

The Sunshine coast was every bit the jewel purported in the glossy brochures pasted on the websites we had browsed. Coastal people move about at a significantly slower pace than us city dwellers. Passing through the many quaint little hamlets speckling the countryside brought back pleasant reminders of how life can be simplified. We reached the region of our destination shortly after the sun had set. Having filled our tank at a local station, we probed the clerk about our options for free camping. "No free camping is available on the ocean" we were flatly told. However, the clerk suggested, "there is this nice quiet little lake a few clicks down the road which might just fit the bill. It has about 15 free sites, no electricity, but it does have two outhouses. Every site has water and a solid pick-nick table". The directions seemed simple, drive back south about 10K, keep an eye out for a camping sign which reads Klein lake.



Klein Lake:

Without too much trouble, we found ourselves driving up the service road to Klein Lake. Gravel, crunching under the tires, punctured the still night air. "Look there, on our right, we are finally here". The velvety dark surface of the lake intermittently peeked through gaps in the trees. Perfectly manicured camp sites began littering the service road on left and right. Traces of a few camps barren of residents could be seen. Surprisingly, not a fire burned, it seemed the lake was ours for the night. We inspected the camping area on foot, quickly discovering a beautiful spot right on the lake. Under the glare of headlights, camp was quickly established. Camping never really begins until the evening fire has boiled the first pot of tea. My eyes focused on the tiny bubbles speedily rising to the surface. Two round perforated sacs danced, the aroma of tea wafted from the pot offered a pleasant backdrop to the heavy cedar scented logs. Looking up, I took in the grandeur of Klein lake. The moon, shimmering on its glassy surface, offered just enough light, for nature to etch a mosaic of trees mirroring the still forest, stately resting above her shores. Night fauna remained silent, not a whisper could be heard, no buzzing mosquitoes nor cicadas pounding out their nightly beat. Even the crickets seemed to have preferred the night off. Hot tea steamed from the freshly poured cups, warming our hands and belly alike, tranquility at last. Enjoying a few puffs, my wife and I spent the evening chatting about the days events, reveling in our good fortune. We must have turned in late, the cool night air had already formed a misty layer of condensation on the outer tent walls.

Every seasoned camper can relate to having the damp chill of forest air for an alarm clock. This was how we too were greeted by this very special day. Rising from slumber, I unzipped the tent door to investigate the site we had selected. The lake had a light mist slowly rising from it's surface. The site appeared nestled in a little cove abutting the lake. Formidable trees encircled the site, spreading great roots to and fro. This was exciting; from first glance, it appeared we had found the perfect site. Like a child Christmas morning, I desperately wanted to wake my sleeping wife. She looked beautiful, tranquil and cozy under the blankets. I quietly dressed to greet the day, leaving Amanda to her peaceful state. Having the chance to purvey our surroundings proper, I was left in breathless awe of nature's wonder. Drawn like a moth to a candle, I found myself standing before the tiny lake, transfixed in its beauty. Dark, glassy patches peeked from beneath morning mist. Little water striders skated across the stillness, relentlessly tracking breakfast. The forest, slowly came to life, as a fresh mix of cedar dominated fragrances, invigorating the senses of all fortunate visitors. Chirps, peeps and short melodies from early risers, mingled with the intermittent light buzz of their soon to be flying breakfast entrees. The rising sun cast a soft yellowish hue, bathing warmth into this Godly ecosystem of love. Meditating at waters edge, before me this breathless gift of Gods expression, allowed me to crystalise in my heart, the feelings of unity and unconditional love I had been seeking to manifest all month.

Reluctantly, I left the tranquility of the lakeside so that I might tend to our morning fire. Amanda woke shortly before morning tea could be served. We enjoyed a light breakfast, and then went for a little walk to discover our surroundings. Every campsite was beautiful in it's own way, but none could compare with our little nest. The day passed uneventfully, we took a quick trip to the marina for supplies. I tried my hand at fishing for a bit. Mostly, we lounged around like iguanas, basking in our surroundings, not a care in the world. Before long, I could see the sun uneventfully dip behind the tree line. No big light show to say neither farewell, nor streaks of red painted on a still dark canvass. Just, a quiet dignified goodnight. The fire was just beginning to adopt its evening halo. It was nearly time to don our space suits for the journey to another world. Excited anticipation filled the night air. Plump Smokies, sizzled on the black grill, oozing juices tantalised our waiting bellies with a delicious aroma. There exists a magical quality about camp food. Smokies, barely making the grade at home, become a gastronomical delight when camping. Amanda and I had both planned on eating our shrooms stuffed between bun and dog. Anyone who has eaten magic mushrooms knows great consideration is needed to determine a methodology for stomaching the vile taste. Over the years, I had used a wide variety of different mixes; chocolate is the best by far. The dosage I usually take is about 2-3 grams, more than enough to wildly hallucinate for eight hours. Most the time, when taking mushrooms, I like to drop a hit or two LSD as well. This trip, however, was to be organic, strictly dedicated to the little lady Cubensis. Amanda carefully placed her usual amount, 2 grams or so, into her Smokey. We had used these same mushrooms many times in the past. In fact, as I write this blog many years later, there still exists, carefully tucked away in a mason jar, about 20 grams from the original quarter pound bag. I had planned on taking 5-7 grams for this adventure. I had never taken that many mushrooms at once. Nonetheless, I was dedicated to travelling deep into my mental galaxy, the added fuel for the space ship would be essential.



Amazing Amanda:

Prior to recounting this tale, I would like to better introduce my darling wife. This October 31st will mark our twelfth year together. We met at a local legion; Amanda inadvertently interrupted a snooker match, asking to join in. Our first proper date was to get smashed on extacy prior to attending a Halloween party. The house was small, cramped and poorly ventilated. Costumed attendees of all sorts, paraded around in liquor or drug induced state, ranging from perky to comatose. Music pounded out a rave beat, which only slightly overpowered the din of party revelers. It was impossible to hear one think, let alone carry a conversation. Amanda and I made our way to a friends Chevy van so that we might be alone. Extacy is probably the best drug in the world for a first date. The primary ingredient is MDMA, which acts to produce high levels of serotonin in the brain. The overall effect has the user immersed in feelings of love, compassion and unity. The drug lasts for about 6 hours, during which, a continual state of euphoria is enjoyed. Another apropos side effect is, even the most reserved individual becomes a chatterbox. When on extacy, you are continually prompted to express the beautiful emotions you are feeling. We spoke for hours on a wide variety of subjects, however, one thing stuck clearly in my mind. Amanda asked me what perception did I have of "self". Without hesitation I said, "I am God". She coyly smiled replying, "So am I". Right then and there, I was sure; Amanda would become the love of my life. Some people speak of their partner as a soul mate. I believe it is our higher conscious self which brings us partners, perfectly suited, to further our experiential discovery. This does not, in any way, mean our partners are a perfect match forever. It just defines certain people who trespass across our destiny, become essential ingredients in self discovery. In the case of Amanda and I, we followed the same journey down different roads. Amanda began her path to self enlightenment at the tender age of 15. She was captivated by the work of Aleister Crowley; this led her to the Kabbalah. From this very high ground, she went on to chart the course of her search using ancient tools of astrology, runes, magic and various forms of divination. Amanda has always had an insatiable thirst for knowledge; she is well read in psychology, the occult, science, sociology, ancient literature and all things spiritual. We have both been seeking truth for over 30 years; for me the theme is love, for my darling wife the quest is spiritual knowledge. Having Amanda in my life, is undoubtedly, the single most important ingredient for my spiritual development. The many deep seated spiritual truths she knows in her heart assist me in grounding my own personal search. I could write a book on how much of a spiritual boon my wife has been. However, let it suffice for me to use the following crude analogy. We can all understand the impact steroids have on the physique of a body builder. Having Amanda in my life, is like having an endless supply of spiritual steroids. Although we have used different maps to chart our spiritual destination, we have both arrived at the same location. The essence of spiritual living we feel is best expressed by the Tao. Our ultimate truth of existence is best represented by the Mayan greeting "In Lak' ech" which translates into English as "I am another yourself". On occasion, we hold different spiritual views, especially about Archons and the manifestation of evil. In times of discord we find opportunity to expand our minds, while at the same time, strengthening our point of view. Having to defend a spiritual argument against Amanda's wealth of knowledge is no easy feat. I find, the effort required to formulate a proper defense of a given subject, always leaves me with a deeper connection to personal truths. You don't just walk into a spiritual debate with Amanda, foggy or unclear in your stance. First, I spend a few days pondering my position, bending and molding it like steel in a forger’s tongs. Only when a clearly defined, heat treated, polished and buffed piece of art remains, do I dare present it for consideration. Don Juan spoke of the "spirit ally" to be found in plants, minerals, animals and the elements. He neglected to mention to Carlos that our greatest "spirit ally" can also be found in our partner. Without the guidance, persistence and dedication of my darling "Amazing Amanda", acting as my "spirit ally", the Klien Lake experience would never have occurred. Without further ado, and with a deep bow to my beautiful Amanda, I give you Klein Lake.


GodSelf Being:

Having dropped magic mushrooms, cosmonauts need only wait about half an hour before the effects become noticeable. Slowly my world transformed into a wonderland. Flames, licking feverishly, humbled charred logs. Peering into the ballet of colours, I began drifting off into a past camp fire and a lesson told by my father. Being a metallurgist by trade, he was well versed to voyeur his knowledge of fire. The careful observer can determine a pecking order of heat. The log is the source of fuel he would say. Look closely, notice each flame starts with a gap where there appears to be no flame. This is an optical illusion, the flame does exist. However, it is a clear flame, nearly undetectable; this is where the fire is hottest and most unstable. Just beyond the clear flame, there is found a clear yellow. The tinge of yellow is a mixture of carbon and stabilising elements. This added dimension of the flame makeup, allow it to gain intermittent stability. This increase in stability allows the flame to be detected with the human eye. Next, as the flame gathers integrity, a blue flame can often be seen to persist. At last, my father would say, as if finding a nugget of gold, comes the steak flames. The orange and light red flames are the most usable part of the fire. Remaining stable enough to maintain existence, they offer the camper greatest access to British Thermal Units of heat. I could see in my mind, a little boy, patiently waiting for his dad to reach the deep rich reds he adored. Invariably, as this special moment would arrive, all animation would fall from my fathers face. Without fanfare, he would add as an aside; lastly we find the many varieties of red flames, pretty to look at but all show and no go. Everyone has their own perspective on reality, for my dad, fire was about usable heat. Tonight, with my darling wife present, the dancing red flames spoke of love, synchronicity and unity.

Snapping out of my reverie, I looked up to notice my beautiful wife transfixed in her own thoughts. Studying the palm of my hand, I could see it breathing, expanding and contracting, as whorls of palm prints spin wildly. Space, the final frontier, at last. "Baby, you have a jag on yet." In a subdued voice, the reply eventually arrived to my ears, "Oh, yeah, the fire is amazing."


Unity Scales:

Slipping back into the fire's embrace, I began meditating on unity. Experiencing feelings of "being": a tiny cell, blade of grass, tree, bird, lion, quartz, earth, moon, sun. Each step along the chain, I would fully embrace the emotions, feelings and awareness of the being I supplanted. Unity consciousness does not just happen; the heart must be exercised, if spirit is to be invoked by the higher self. The exercise I just described is much the same as a pianist practicing scales. By constantly delving into this realm of consciousness truth, we learn to allow EgoSelf to yield its tenacious grip. The vacuum created, in the absence of mind, becomes filled by the emotional heart. Heart may now communicate directly with the higher self. Although I have practiced unity scales thousands of times in my spiritual life, I never really captured the essence of the spiritual music. Imagine, a monkey dressed in a tux, pounding out a song on the old 88. Everyone knows monkeys cannot play the piano, they just "think" they can. Thinking is the bane of the spiritual traveler, we must move beyond the limits of the brain so the heart may lead us to the Akasha. I had finally realised what Don Juan meant by
the expression, "being rain". This special night, my spiritual scales evolved into much more than practice, the scales sang out like a symphony of love. The key was in eliminating the mental picture of the creature I wished to become. You cannot "be" an eagle if you remain transfixed with its body, or the mechanics of it's reality. This is where I had always gone wrong. To be an eagle, I needed to move beyond its reality, so that I might embrace its heart. Let me explain the difference. When playing the spiritual scales, I had always selected a being, then imagined experiencing its world. In the case of the eagle; I envisioned what it would be like to soar high above a valley, feeling the wind buffet my wings. Swooping down to zero in on prey found perching on a limb of the highest tree. As beautiful as these feeling are, they represented a mental movie, no more real than the silver screen. On this special occasion, I found myself reaching into my Akasha files to express the reality of the eagle from the perspective of the eagle without my tainted perceptual intervention. Unity means that we are all one being, if an eagle soars above, you can be assured the eagle is you. Therefore, the entire life experiences of the eagle are available to you. Don Juan was intoning that, if the warrior desires, he may reach into the Akasha and ladle out a cup of the eagles reality. As he drinks of this reality, he truly becomes the eagle. I did not realise it at the time, my "spirit ally" had just taken me to the realm of higher self, and the library was now open.

"Baby, this fire is teaching me things."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure."


Raining Information:

Looking up from the fire, my wife glowed with a radiance I have never seen in anyone. She is, the most beautiful woman in the world, however, tonight she seemed angelic. I could feel the love within her, she oozed serenity from every atom of her being. Drinking in the camp surroundings, everything had a special radiance of love. My eyes finally found their way to the heavens; stars twinkled proudly in the dark night sky. Millions of tiny specks painted a universal portrait of unity and love. I could feel each star tug at my heart, as if they were trying to tell me, I love you, I am another yourself. I started to get dizzy, the stars appeared as little specks. They began swirling like snow driven by a November wind. The storm surged against the ebony canopy, then, in an instant, everything stopped moving. I watched in awe, how could this be happening? I could see a light drizzle, but it was not water, sleet or snow. Whatever it was, it descended slowly, trillions of tiny specks falling to the ground, perfectly horizontal. The rate of descent was very slow, about one foot per second. Wherever I looked, darkness prevailed as a backdrop to these minuscule specks. Extracting my gaze from the heavens, the robust fire captured my attention. I was left gob smacked by how much my environment had changed. Everything seemed to glow with life, even the soil had an essence of love as self. I don't believe in the fairy tale of heaven, but if such a place existed, this is what it would be like. The tiny specks finally alit, affording me opportunity to investigate their nature. I was dumbfounded by the geometric perfection of their arrangement. Not only were they falling exactly perpendicular, each speck seemed to be equidistant from the others. Like an army of sages marching down from the heavens in perfect linear order. I placed my open palm out to feel the specks as they landed. I could feel nothing, they were not wet or cool, and this was not rain or snow. Yet, wherever they landed they instantly disappeared. Oh my God, they are specks of light! The stars somehow let loose trillions of specks of light. No, wait, this only looks like light, its information. My God, my beautiful God, you are giving us the gift of Akasha, we are becoming the ONE.

"Darling it's raining information."
"Can you feel it?"

"What do you mean?"
"What are you experiencing?"

"Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God, thank you God."
My greatest desire in life was to rekindle the GodSelf feeling of unity and love which I experienced when being born anew. This, my dear readers was so very much more. Each speck of "light" carried a greater depth of truth to my perception of reality. I experienced a complete and utter transformation into higher self expression. Illusions of ego were forced aside. The onion of deception had been rendered bare, leaving my GodSelf being, as the soul point of consciousness. Love burst from every atom, I could feel my being unite with all manifest reality. In no uncertain terms, I knew myself as God experiencing perfect unity in the NOW moment. There seemed to exist an ocean of love. Wave upon wave washed over my being in a slow, rhythmic fashion. I completely surrendered to love; it felt like riding a wild river of contentment. Whoosh over the falls, out of control, all I could think of was thank you God. Feelings of thanks and praise rocked my essence. Emotions of gratitude poured out of me, I began weeping relentlessly. I spent the next twenty minutes, slowly rocking back and forth, staring at the fire while repeating, without pause, "Thank you God". I must have repeated this simple mantra of thanks hundreds of times. All the while, tears of bliss streamed steadily down my face. This blissful adoration of divine greatness is known in Hindu spiritual culture as Bhatki yoga.

I should take a moment to define more precisely the volume of tears. Imagine, a few tears wetting your face, a dampness forms in the corner of your eyes. Now, imagine a time when those tears flowed enough to wet your cheek. There may have been an occasion, usually a broken heart, where tears wet your cheek so readily they dripped off your chin to wet your shirt. Possibly now, you may imagine tears with the intensity and volume to be experienced as a steady stream. By the end of this experience my sweatshirt was soaked, as well, my pants had become noticeably wet at the thighs. This most beautiful trance of divine worship poured out of me until it was completely spent.

Slowly the environment crept back into view; again it had changed in a most dramatic way. The flora still glowed brilliantly with love, as did all my surroundings. However, the air had changed, in as much as it became present in my reality. I am not all together sure I can define how the change manifested, mainly because we do not have words to express what I saw and felt. Nonetheless, I will give it a go. We think of oxygen as a fundamental life giving aspect of our reality. However, we do not perceive the air we breathe to be a living being. Sitting by the fire, I could see the electricity and life force of the air. It seemed to shimmer, but not like it does in the dog days of summer. The air carried a quality of "beingness" which can only be perceived,or seen by the higher self. As I reread the visual description I have just written, I can see the mess I have made. The problem has arisen because we are not aware the heart can "see" beyond the retinas capacity to relay a definitive signal to the brain. In our natural egoic state, we can only decode a small portion of the reality which can be perceived by the higher self. The higher self, nestled in our heart, can bathe in a countless array of senses, well beyond that of the ego self. This truth is why there are no words to adequately define what one "sees" when the images are beyond the purview of the retinas range of comprehension. What I saw had no colour, light, form, nor texture, yet it could be seen and understood. To describe the feelings I experienced and interactions I had with this being is much easier. Love is the most appropriate word to use when describing the exchange of gaseous beings. Elementary science gives us the understanding the dance of life utilises three primary gases; 78% of the air we breathe is Nitrogen, while the majority balance of 21%, is oxygen. The third component is of course carbon dioxide. When night falls all beings, plant and animal alike breathe in oxygen while exhaling CO2. Carbon dioxide is of course utilised by flora, during daylight hours, as an essential ingredient in the process of photosynthesis. Nitrogen is an inert gas which facilitates the Godly exchange. Beyond the aforementioned clinical analysis, the higher self knows the breath of life as a conscious sharing of love. All beings, from the oxygen molecule to the great cedar express a conscious affinity for love. We do not perceive the oxygen molecule to represent a sentient being, actively aware in the great cosmos, but it most certainly is. It carries with it a "knowing" of love. This truth of being, then becomes, the essence of its existence. In fact, I believe all atomic matter is infused with this eternal spark of GodSelf truth. On this quiet summer eve, my heart watched as the gas creatures danced with all life. My higher GodSelf spoke to many beings that fateful night, without exception, each conveyed the same essential truth. LOVE is all there is, all else is illusion. Beyond this phenomenal discovery, another revelation appeared obvious. Our perception of space is an illusion. Due to the limits of our retina, we convince ourselves vast expanses of nothingness exist. We call this expanse, air, or empty space. When we step beyond this deception, we can define nothingness as a conscious part of the divine cosmos. With this consideration, it becomes obvious; nothing is truly separate in the universe. The atoms which make up this being I call Christopher, is not separate, in any way, from the atoms of the sun, which will gift me life in the morning. This is the truth of the Akasha; oneness of being, unity of heart, unconditional love as the keystone of experiential knowingness.


Entropy of the Divine:We live in a matrix of illusion, convinced that all living beings will eventually die. The first law of thermodynamics states; matter cannot be created nor destroyed. The second fundamental law states; no isolated body, microscopic or macroscopic may remain free of systematic entropy. Science goes on to predict the speed of entropy in terms of half life. These theorems do hold material truth; however, a fundamental error in judgment arises from physicist’s inability to consider the true nature of existence as a unified field of eternal consciousness. Using an example to define this enigma, we need look no further than our own corporeal body. We experience birth, life, death, and then return to the cosmic dust from which we were created. Quantum physicists, running down the rails of string theory, will convince you your body exists as a result of quantum probability. They would maintain, the quantum field carries infinite possibility. From this infinite, humans evolved out of the oceans of our planet. This is the science of separation, whereas, all matter remains isolated, limited and fated to expire. Staring into the microscope or telescope makes no difference to the scientist, their retinas are fated to belie the truth of reality beyond the physical.

Watching the fire consume, I began pondering the illusion of death. Quantum probability and her brother entropy are hollow explanations for our raison d'etre. I wished for a more clear understanding of the process of death, what was the hereafter really like? I thought, if I meditated upon the tunnel of white light, possibly, I could initiate the afterlife experience. I closed my eyes to begin meditating, suddenly an inspiration overtook me. I opened my eyes, placing my hand in the center of the fire; I seized an ember the size of an egg. Amanda never batted an eye, to both of us, it seemed perfectly normal that I should be holding a burning ember. I blew on the ember making it dance gracefully, tones of red, pink, grey and white swirled on its surface. It seemed like the most beautiful treasure in the world, sparkling, shimmering it began communicating with my higher self. Its message was undeniably clear in my heart; I am you, we are love. As I leave you, look, see the magnificence of my return to source. I gazed over at my darling wife who seemed transfixed with ember in my hand.

“This fire contains infinite knowledge darling."

“I am this ember, I am God."
I began to see 0's and 1's float endlessly from the red hot ember: 01010101010101011010101100101011010110011010100111101010101010101010101010101010101010101010110101011010101011110110101010100000010101010101010110101010111111111010101000001010101010101000000000000101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101100. Blowing on the ember, created a stir, the numbers began swirling. Rolling it around in my fingers slowed down the rising numbers. Holding it still, I could see them begin to rise in a steady stream to the ether.

“I see in this ember, myself, rising to the infinite."

“Nothing dies, all life gracefully ascends to unity consciousness."

“This ember is on it's journey home."

“I can see 0's and 1's rise from it as it transforms, from one perfect state, to another."

“This is so incredibly beautiful honey. God is so beautiful."

“Thank you God, thank you God."

“Be the God you are my brother ember, go home, thank you so very much."

I tossed the ember into the fire with a joyful farewell. Instantly, the entire fire started releasing streams of binary numbers. Looking up at Amanda, glowing ever so beautifully, she too had a few numbers rising from her head, neck and hands. Shocked, I looked at my hands, here and there, 0's and 1's were rising. It appeared, as the heat source increased, so did the binary display. Tears began streaming down my cheeks, I had realised, from the depths of my heart, all is God.

“I can see 0's and 1's everywhere baby, on you, me, the dirt, trees, even the lake, can you see them."

“No I can't Chris, what does it look like."

“The movie the Matrix, but not quite."

“Not as many 0's and 1's as they show in the movie. Except maybe the fire, steady streams are coming off the fire, only a few on you and me, even less on the plants, trees, soil and rocks."

“It’s amazingly beautiful; everything in our world is on a slow, steady, path to reunification of the ONE."


In Lak' ech:

I set my attention back into the depths of the fire. Flames leapt from source, speaking steadily, the language of love. For hours, I had been hearing a constant echo in my mind; I am you, we are one. Wherever I looked, the same thoughts, feelings and emotions reverberated through every atom of my being; separation is illusion, we are love. Picking up a handful of sandy dirt, I could feel love and unity, I am this sandy soil. Tilting my hand slowly, a cascade of sand fell like a waterfall to the ground. I was transfixed by the motion of each grain as it trailed to the ground in abeyance of gravity. I felt my body become light as a feather, I had become one of the grains. I could feel the slight rolling movement, like a child rolling down a great hill. Quickening of pace, gave me a sense the edge was near. My suspicions were soon confirmed by the sensation of freedom from gravities oppression. Plummeting to the ground in slow motion, I saw my brothers with me in free fall. The experiential change of being a grain of sand completely overwhelmed my senses, tears streamed down my face. I am everything, my universe is not separate from me, it is me, and we are God.

“How are you doing baby?"

“I’m really high, how are you?"

“Amazing, I feel so connected to everything. I am this fire, the sand, plants, lake, trees, stars; there is nothing I am not."

“Thank you God, thank you for showing me this beautiful unity."Alchemy:Becoming a Western Hemlock:
I stood up, took a deep breath, felt like I was going to pass out, promptly, I jellied my way back into the chair. My reality had been flopping around so much the last few hours, standing seemed to become a monumental task. A few moments later, I assembled enough composure to remain erect. What a treat this new posture was! The world seemed much different from up here. The air was cooler, lighter and fresher. The forest seemed to have awoken to my presence, beautiful leafy brothers were beaconing me to play. Grasses and large leafy plants of all types oozed a fresh aroma, replacing the fire's steady smell of burning cedar. Positioned in the center of a large patch of waist high ferns offered exhilarating whorls of life energy. A few meters away, the fire cast a yellow glow on my darling Amanda. Stars speckled the dark night sky, a light mist blanketed the lake, it was a perfect night for communing with spirit. Campfires spotted the far shore, a faint whisper of laughter and conversation further added companionship to the steady pulse of nature. Silhouetted against the dark night sky, a scraggly old Western Hemlock caught my attention. Although this old man had been around many years, he never acquired the ruler straight majestic rise to stately forest dominance as his kind most often do. Standing ten meters or so from him, offered me an appreciation of his challenging life. He had chosen his birth on a 30 degree slope about three meters from the water edge. A large unyielding boulder abutted the base of his trunk, forcing him to grow up the slope before he could point to the heavens. This odd birthplace endowed him with a bent base of strength. Nonetheless he survived, growing straight for many years until lightning severed his top, to which his answer was to create two. The pattern of his growth in the upper branches indicated he struggled greatly with lightning, not uncommon for stately giants who choose to exist at lakes edge. His many branches in asymmetrical order indicated he must have been a steady target for deer, known to love fresh hemlock shoots. I could feel the pain of the many assaults he had endured. Pondering upon his life, I began to realise we two are not so different. The start of my life was awkwardly bent like his. I had endured many trials in life, but, like him, I survived to finally grow straight. I could hear him whispering to my heart, come closer my brother, I am you.


Alchemy; Becoming a Western Hemlock:

Entranced by his majesty, I was pulled toward him. His silhouette began to take on a more personal form. The fissures in his bark could be seen, then the individual needles. Finally a wave of love entered my body as I breached the field of his magnificent aura. Tears immediately streamed down my face, I had never felt this much love in my life. This old character had been expressing pure love for more than 100 years. Panning up from the base, a dizzying assortment of branches crossed the night sky. I grabbed a small handful of his needles, rubbing them together to create the beautiful fresh aroma, a famed hemlock characteristic. In this moment, my brother represented to me the epitome of God's love. I could feel his energy pulsating through my body. I pressed my face to his trunk, wrapping my arms around his girth; I hugged him like a long lost friend. Great joy flooded my body as wave after wave of love blanketed me in his compassionate warmth. My body began melting into his. Possible the best way to describe this feeling is if I suggest you imagine the tree as water. Now, imagine, as you hug this water tree you slip into it. Lastly, imagine, as your body slips into the tree, your sense of self becomes transformed into the tree. This was, by far, the most bizarre experience I have ever enjoyed. Half way into the old boy, I could feel the presence of two beings, half human, half tree, all love. With reckless abandon, I pushed my way into the core of his being. I had released all cognitive trace of my human self, in favour of, experiencing his perfect GodSelf truth. I was now, completely, utterly, a Western Hemlock. Hindsight, allows me to reconstruct a human perspective from this non human experience. Said reconstruction derives from distillation of core gnosis, I later interpreted, from the perspective my brother taught me of his reality. Although I present this gain of gnosis in real time, it should be noted, years of fomentation is what affords us this current descriptive model of events.

The most compelling alteration in perception was the distinction of self, or should I say, lack thereof. This great being has no sense of separation from his universe; there is in fact no thinking process whatsoever. I found myself in a mindless reality of feelings and emotions. Without the computer running the show, all that remained was a "beingness" of love energy. Oh my brethren, mere words will never fully express how this beingness radiates with light and love. To offer a glimpse into what I saw, I ask you to, once again, use your imagination, and help me out. You're floating in white space. Your entire reality is bathed in the, brightest, white light you could ever conceive. The light is soft, warm, inviting, it is all that exists from the perspective of sight. Sensations of time, space, physicality are not present in this reality. You, are not present in physical form, you have become a wave of energy. There is a definitive "knowingness" of being, which can only be expressed as love reciprocity.

Feelings and emotions became the only medium of information in my new world. I could feel the energy frequency of all living beings. Sun, Earth, water and air are the primary beings which dominate my reality. However, I am also aware of the continual trespass of countless life forms, all sharing love.

Sophia, my mother, gives sustenance for life to exist. She emanates a deeply profound expression of love. All living beings within the earth’s atmosphere dance to the beat and resonance set forth by Sophia. Her selfless love represents the macro template for all her children to emulate. I could feel the beat of her heart echo through me. I am one child of trillions, however, I can sense, from my roots to the tips of each needle, a special love resides in Sophia's heart for each individual child. From the breast of Sophia, I thirstily drink a rich and varied diet of minerals, specific to my continued existence. Mother teaches; I am you, we exist as one, so that we may experience the glory of gifting love. Know me, so that you may sense, the gifts we share are eternal.
My father may not be present at this moment; nonetheless, I can sense his glory is nearing. I wake, as he rises, a warm blanket of love will soon caress my being. Father is the great rejuvenator. Capturing love from the ether, he spreads it throughout his realm. King of kings, father tirelessly gifts his children with the life giving force of love. In the brilliance of father's love, his children expand, becoming more than they were in his absence. Divine truth tells all fathers; their children may only grow when love is present. Dearest father, I feel in you an endless sea of love. It is in this feeling, I know, love is all there is. Father teaches; I am you, we exist as one love. Know me and the extent of my realm, be all that I am.
My brother water found pulsating through my being like rivulets of love. Water and I do not dance in ignorance of love. I can feel my brother give himself to me. He is the eternal carrier of love energy. Like a travelling proselytizer of ultimate truth, he navigates throughout my body, leaving emissions of love. My brother, the magician, takes on a variety of different forms. Soon he will become a gas, fill himself with love from the ether causing him to crystallise back into water form. A new journey will commence, destinations untold, where water will gift the life giving force of love. Brother teaches, I am you, we exist as one, share this love I now give you. Know me and we will magically travel through the body of all conscious life.
Sister air caresses me, the ultimate seductress, animating my expression of reality. Artful as a ballet dancer, she gracefully bestows love upon my world by offering an eternal theater of cosmic delight. Entering me with a whisper, she breathes the life force of love into every atom of my being. Beyond sustenance, she is my dance partner. Taking hold of leaves and limbs, she encourages me to step lively to the beat of loves melody. She plays with love, changing the pace of music to suit her will. Soft slow melodies are her favorite, however, if her mood is right, she can be found spinning wildly across the dance floor pulling me to and fro. Sister teaches, I am you, we exist as one, love has motion, it begs to play. Know me, so that we may experience love as an eternal dance of unity.

Beyond the primacy of my world, I sense a bevy of light signatures, of which, I share a symbiotic exchange of love. Some waves of love are barely discernible, slowly moving within my reality, affecting little influence. While others seem to flit in and out, leaving definitive traces of mobility in their wake. I have no concept or definition of love, but yet I know my self as love. I cannot define my form, nor can I define a reality separate from self, nonetheless, I have a knowing of communion with other love frequencies. This family of love teaches me, we are you, we exist as one. We each reflect different frequencies of reality, bound to each other, so that we may share love.


Human Again:

Lying on my back, I could see distant stars sparkle in the moonlit sky. The foreground held a large Western Hemlock proudly silhouetted. This initial image, captured by my retina, decoded by my brain, acted like a glass of cold water, snapping me back to reality. Memories of the experience flooded my mind, tears gushed out of me, as I slowly began to comprehend the magnitude of the gnosis learned. In an attempt to solidify the experience, I closed my eyes to replay the entire experience over and again in my mind. In the backdrop of this resolution, a chorus paid homage by honoring the divine experiential bliss of unity and unconditional love.

I thought to myself; for decades I had searched for this moment, never could I imagine such phenomenal beauty existed. Mining knowledge from great texts, I hungered for nuggets of gold. Leaving literature aside, a sacred mushroom totem guides me first to a fire which speaks untold knowledge. Next, the stars descend from the heavens, raining cosmic dust of knowledge. The fire, acting as interpreter for this cosmic dust, clearly defines the language of the stars. Now, I discover this old Hemlock tree, offering me his perspective of reality, crystal clear, perfect as a diamond. Thank you, God for showing me truth. Thank you so very much for using such an amazing display, to teach me ultimate truth. I am you. Beyond the trappings of illusion, nothing is separate, everything is love. I have been seeking love all my life, now I know myself as love. I have always desired the love of others, now I see there are no others, we are one being, one God, our eternal nature is love. Love was a gift I had dispensed from my mind, a synthetic version of the real truth I now discover in my heart. Drinking this night from the grail of truth, I bask in the glory of your light, thank you God. Although time may carry away this moment of bliss, I will never forfeit the certain truth of unity and unconditional love etched so deeply into my heart as “knowingness".

Thoughts of my darling wife, sitting alone, prompted me to return to the fire. Each step toward closer to the glow carried me a little further from the enchanted wonderland I had visited. Feeling the warmth of the fire, I ventured a greeting.

“How are you doing baby?"

“Great, where have you been?"

“I was visiting with an old Hemlock. You won't believe what I just experienced!"

“I became a tree, I wrapped my arms around him and melted into him!"

“He taught me all about his reality. He knows love honey, he really knows love!"

Amanda listened quietly and intently as I recounted the entire experience. It was a treat to relive the adventure yet again. I bubbled in excitement, describing the simplicity and inherent beauty of life. Over the next hour or so, I babbled on, illustrating to Amanda, what I had learned and how it felt to be a tree. When speaking of unity consciousness, I was convinced the entire human race had evolved to a new understanding of reality. Looking across the lake at the glow of other camp fires, I remember telling Amanda.

“They know baby, they all know, everyone on the planet is unified now!"

“What do you mean Chris?"

“It’s not just me Amanda, everyone is experiencing unity consciousness, right now!"

“Our reality is changing Amanda, we are changing."

“We are Gods in our world darling, I am like Zeus and you are my Hera."

“We have made this reality; we can forge whatever future we wish."

“We only need imagine, it will be."

This concept of change had my mind reeling with possibility. How would things change? Am I going back to work? What about the kids in school, surely they won't need school now? What about money, possessions, materialism, will all of that just go away? The scope of consideration is so mind blowing it's hard to wrap my head around it. For a while we were both quietly lost in thought, the fire dwindling down to coals had the odd determined log poking out from the ash pile. Cool night air pushed us to decide, either stoke the fire, or, retire for the evening. Amanda, relenting to the massive expenditure of energy, announced her intention to call it a night. Realising my tank was empty, I reluctantly agreed, it was time to reenter earths atmosphere and safely land our ship. In the true style of James Bond; we two cosmonauts, made passionate love prior to reentry. Driven by emotions of unity and unconditional love, I experienced a singularity with my wife I never thought possible. Forged in that moment; was a special bond, which can never yield to the weathering of time. What would tomorrow bring? Had the human race really evolved? Will our reality change? These questions, trampled across the landscape of my imagination as I quickly drifted off to a new dream reality. Waking the next morning, I remember being confused. Had the world changed? Leaving Amanda to sleep, I quickly dressed excited, to look experience my new world. I don't know what I expected to see, however I did expect a big change. Walking around the camp it appeared nothing had changed, or, everything had changed, depending on your perspective. The remnants of the fire spoke of finality. The plants and trees, although beautiful were not glowing with life speaking knowledge in my ear. The old Hemlock, wise benefactor the night before, solemnly refused to converse. I thought of his anticipation of morning. Caressing his bark, I knew he would now be basking in the bliss of father's glorious love.

Humanity had not evolved, our world was not changing. Tuesday morning, I would find myself at work, smiling and dialing. The disappointment of knowing humanity would continue in darkness, was buffered, by the gift I had been given. I had changed. My GodSelf, allowed me to release ego long enough to instill in my heart unconditional love. On occasion, ego preys upon my sense of self, however, the experience of Klien Lake; forever returns me to the truth of unity and the power of unconditional love. Godself, so beautifully magnificent, he whispers softly once, my perception of reality changes forever.

To quote the famous Martin Luther King, " I have a dream." I see a day soon, where all humanity, will embrace the truth of GodSelf reality. To me, Klien Lake represents a peek into our future. Many speak of 2012 as the nexis of a shift in our perception of reality. December 21st may, or, may not, be the last day of this reality, however, I am convinced, unity consciousness quickly nears. If, my suspicions prove correct, be prepared to experience bliss.

In conclusion, I ask you to take from this tale the truth of GodSelf being. Even though you may not follow in my steps, know that your true essence is love. Seek to discover a life of unity. Know that you're not separate, in any way, from the life forms you encounter. If literature has limited your spiritual perspective, possibly, the lessons of master Don Juan may promote you to seek a spirit guide. Even though you may not hear the whisper of your GodSelf, the tradition of In' Lak' ech can still be your mantra. You may choose to remain separate, or, you may choose to unite. Listen to your heart, can you hear the whisper?