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BEWILDERNESS by Palyne Gaenir
DojoPsi Mirror: dojopsi.com/bewilderness/
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Contact Author (PJ)
Copyright © 1993-2005. All rights reserved.

CHAPTER VIII.

"When I use a word... it means just what I choose it to mean neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master -- that's all."

Lewis Carroll           
Through the Looking Glass    
      


{April, 1994}

I may as well give up on thinking at all. It's so ridiculous. Suddenly everything seems like a lie. And like deep truth. And not either of them, and sometimes both. Nothing, no word, no concept, has any fixed meaning at all. Some of the spontaneous thoughts I have are so morbidly dark, I mean quite hideous, and it's as if nothing means anything it says. Somebody can say something innocent and my mind comes up with a hundred things it means or doesn't mean, many of which are the complete opposite.

Reading books is worse: every concept seems to rest on a concept below the surface, which is the opposite, and that actually rests on something that is the opposite of that, and... I'm getting to where nothing makes sense -- yet everything makes sense, and I can't even have a conversation without all but wandering into the twilight zone.

It's as if I'm losing any ability to define things. I can't say anything is true or not true, real or not real, good or bad, right or wrong... everything seems like... everything from every perspective, all at once. How can I believe anything or hold any opinions when my perspective won't stay still?

In a way this is sort of an outward, projected version of that Nothingness experience, here things lose their definition... and from another perspective, it's almost a holographic kind of thing. Like if I traced a word or thought and what it meant, what it rested on, far enough back, I would eventually cover every word and thought there ever was.

Everything seemed to have meaning, and yet, everything seemed to have many meanings, and as many of the valid meanings were the opposite polarity of the thing, as were the thing itself. I began to wonder how aware the average person is of how many things he may actually mean when he says any given thing. As if there are "layers of intent" within every person that can be traced inward to an overall consciousness of the individual, and traced outward to the mass grouping of energy we exist within.

In hypnosis, subjects after leaving trance may do things suggested to them during trance, and when asked why, will provide what seem to them to be reasonable excuses. Perhaps the words we choose are not as arbitrary as we think.... perhaps we have motivations for each word and phrase that go beyond our conscious awareness of 'why.'

{Letter re: April, 1994}

Climbing into bed I decided that since I wasn't tired, I'd read for awhile. I had a metal four poster canopy bed, which I'd just moved to my living room, hoping that might inspire me to sleep in it more often. I put the pillows behind me and sat against the headboard with the light just high enough to read. I think at that time I was attempting to wade through Sitchin, who has the unfortunate effect of putting me to sleep after two paragraphs, which is why I still haven't finished it. (It's not his fault: every time I read something, I all but pass out, and then have very intense "4D" dreams explaining the subject, whatever it may be.)

Suddenly a wave of "thick fuzzy" took me, which wasn't unusual. I put the book in my lap and closed my eyes and relaxed. Two entities showed up in my mind and told me that somebody was coming to talk to me. I didn't know why, but they indicated that I should show some respect and pay attention, because wherever the guy was from, he was very powerful and respected there. Like boy was I honored. But I was casual and flippant because, well you know, I didn't ask to talk to the guy.

So this male identity shows up without further fanfare and begins talking with me. I remember being impressed and thinking wow, they weren't kidding, this guy's a big deal... but I seemed to be thinking on more than one level, and I couldn't "hear" what he and I were talking about on some "deeper level." This went on for some time.

Then he paused and it seemed to be a chance for me to ask questions. This wasn't too long after the Northridge earthquake, and a weird experience following that, so I was reasonably concerned about quakes. So I asked him about quakes and earth changes and did I really have a say in my reality, how long till such a thing would occur, what did all this "impending doom" stuff really mean?

And into my head, probably more clearly than just about any experience I've ever had, came three numbers. They were so clear it was like they were spoken aloud, but it would have had to have been all around my head, outside as well as inside, it didn't come from any one direction. At the time, I knew that the numbers were given me simultaneously, that they had no order assigned them but my brain had to put them in a certain order to process them. The numbers: 617.

We talked for a bit more. I was, unfortunately, in a stage of conscious lucidity, which has always been more harm than help to me when I force it, because I get this sort of "dream logic" and often screw up constructive experiences by freaking out about things I don't understand. I wasn't sure what he meant, if the numbers were his way of communicating or what; I didn't know which question he was answering or how. Thinking of "when," I thought maybe he meant "days." It sunk in that this was less than two years. This upset me. I had plans for my life.

So I said WAIT! What, is this a prophecy?! I don't believe in prophecies. The future is fluid. My timeline could change, my reality or probability could change. Why would you make such a prediction? How dare you make me such a prediction and scare the crap out of me?! I don't want to be stuck in the middle of that disaster. And he responded, with a kind of weary and vaguely annoyed tone, such as when you like somebody but you're sure tired of them whining all the time, What are you worried about? You'll be gone anyway. It was like we'd already discussed it at length, and I of all people ought to know already.

The problem was, since most of this communication is "conceptual," it's much "fuller" than my word translation makes it. So when he said "gone," I felt it wasn't just "not in town that day." It was a "gone" so complete that I've never encountered a concept that "gone." The only thing I could compare it with (though this didn't feel right either), was maybe he meant I was going to die. So I thought, Well god, maybe it happens and it kills me. But then I thought, No, wait, this is BS -- I will not be dictated to by some astral entity. I refuse divination of ANY sort (so THERE, I thought!).

So then I was angry and decided that I wouldn't talk to the guy anymore. The numbers given me rang in my head as clearly as if they were somehow being consistently said, still. It wasn't the first time some entity had given me a number, or group of them, as an answer, and as always, it made me furious, because I didn't understand what they meant.

I thought, I've been meditating too much, I sound like an idiot. I refused to have anything more to do with any of it, so I refused to write the numbers down, planning to forget about the entire incident in defiance, and I turned off the light and went to sleep. Next morning I woke up and the numbers were still as clear in my head as when they were said. There's no possible way I could forget them.

That's an example of how a person can thoroughly screw up a perfectly good experience. I did this sort of thing regularly. Someone would be communicating with me, and because I was lucid, I would simply interpret things differently. Usually wrong, some kind of ridiculous dream logic. As a result I would frustrate the entity and misinterpret the experience as well.

If they gave me information that was linear, meaning I could put it into words, I would interpret it in one way, consciously, which is generally not the way it was communicated and not the way it was meant; I would assign the most ridiculous interpretations to it, and my reaction would either bring my state of mind nearer to regular consciousness, which made them unable to explain it to me further, or I would force myself to leave their presence.

But if they gave me deeper kinds of communication, their more complete kind, I would complain because I wanted to be able to consciously hear it, and understand it linearly. I wanted to be able to write it down, to test some of this for validity, to get an objective view on it, and when someone is communicating in geometries for example, no matter how precise the communication is, if it doesn't translate to English then it doesn't do me much good.

Unfortunately, it just didn't work. They were "there" with a certain conceptual framework and I was "here" with my own, and I was asking for something they weren't capable of because they weren't my type of entity. The problem seemed to be in my lap, as if I needed to learn to translate better. It annoyed me. Needless to say, I had the impression from time to time that some of them thought I was a real pain in the neck.

I put the number into my spreadsheet, and the resultant future date was November 21 of the next year -- my father's birthday, coincidentally. But nothing happened on that date, so...?

{April, 1994}

I'm getting so "absolute!" That "knowing" goes on. When someone writes a post on the computer message board, I just know. Not like "I've learned this so I know better" but like "this IS" [like some Zennish realization].

This cross between insight and arrogance does have a drawback: I'm stumped for words 99% of the time. Not because I don't know the answer to their question internally, the one I know they mean to ask on an inner level, the bottom line effect on their lives. But because their worded question externally is not... correct. Their question contains 99 assumptions that are incorrect, such incredible paradigms, belief systems about reality that are merely their own creation and not a factor objectively, and there's no way to answer it and be correct; you need to answer a question they didn't ask, but is actually at the root of what they meant. So I can't answer them, because what I would really need is months educating them to a certain point of understanding, where then they could re-ask the real question.

{April, 1994}

I went to this bookstore in L.A. to buy some books by this guy Aleister Crowley, it turns out that a lot of magick stuff is based on his writings. (Remember the "knowing" thing where I wrote the email about him? I can't get over the coincidence of that.) They were kept in a locked case, and I had to get on my hands and knees to peer over at them on the bottom shelves. The lady with the key actually stood there and watched me the entire time I was looking at them, as if one blink and I was going to dematerialize them or something, ha! It was really funny. I bought a few books and a tarot deck. Not sure why the deck, since I'm not at all into tarot, but I only have time for so many more books on the pile anyway, and the rest seemed kind of dull.

I was concerned, initially, about my integration with the whole subject of the occult and the Order in particular; mostly, I was confused. My conservative Baptist childhood made the entire subject seem distant, dark and scary to me. I read the "holy book," Liber Al vel Legis, or The Book of the Law, and it infuriated me. I was appalled by much of what it said, even though I felt certain that there was reasoning behind the words that I agreed with, and this of course was increased by my tendency to see everything in "polarities and opposites" at that point; part of me felt I understood completely, while the conscious part meant something else. I believed the commentary after it and was convinced that just by reading it I had initiated something, and by continuing with it gained momentum. I wondered if there might be such thing as Demons -- I mean, if there are Angels, or so I thought, then why not? -- who had led me to this, like it was my doom.

That is, until I opened my first book by Crowley, which was Magick Without Tears. I don't know how, but I knew what was going to be said chapters and paragraphs before it was said. It was as if I had written it, or at the very least, had read it a thousand times. I bonded to him at the soul level; I understood him. I felt such a strong and absolute link to Crowley personally that I believed it was no accident that I had been so abruptly dropped into the subject. I took it like he had personally made sure I found it. Now it's not like the guy is a guru; he had plenty of personal problems that are pretty obvious when reading his work. But he was also brilliant, that's a given, and the more I read of him, the more I related to him, regardless of any intellectual considerations.

In a feeling truly new to me, I would hold his books against my chest, almost aching with a physical need to touch him, to merge and integrate with him, like he was alive and I loved him. It was baffling, but it was comforting. It relaxed me a great deal about things. While I still didn't have an answer or explanation, I felt nothing in my evolution was coincidence, and I felt absolutely safe and right in becoming part of a group he designed. In many ways he's so much like me -- though our means of expressing it is different -- that it was shocking and unsettling. He's both my reflection and my inner polarity.

His book "Confessions" is a hilarious personal insight to his childhood, in particular his attempts to be Bad with a capital B. If anything, I think Crowley suffered from his optimism as much as anything else. He really wanted the rest of the world to be intelligent and spiritual and aggressively evolving, and their weakness, apathy and general stupidity frustrated him. (Just my impression of course, I don't speak for the guy.) I felt as if he were there, alive around me, and if I mention him even today, I still have a hard time putting him in the past tense, even though he was dead before I was born. At times I loved him so much it actually hurt.

{April, 1994}

Slept like hell last night. Went to sleep about 2:00 a.m., woke up early, was so exhausted I was leaning against walls when I finally got up. When I dozed off in my chair in the morning, about an hour before I had to get up for work, I had this dream I've had before, I remembered having it a few times while I was in it.

It's about a lion. It's a really beautiful, and really powerful, lion/Being. I love him, and love being near him, and crave merge with him. The eyes are the most striking part of it. The suggestion of merging, in the form of sexuality, comes into the dream. I was drawn to the idea, and was beginning to participate tentatively, sliding my arms around him, burying my face in his soft fur, but I was so wary of the lion's power: one good swipe and he could slice me up permanently and very dead. I was almost trembling with the combination of desire for becoming part of him, and yet fear at what he could do to me so easily. I pulled away.

He didn't seem to care one way or the other. That was part of why I was nervous: I had not the slightest assurance either way that he would, or would not, hurt me; he was absolutely neutral in a manner that people in this realm just aren't capable of being. After I pulled away he just sat awhile and watched me with these knowing golden eyes. Finally I thought, becoming more conscious, Gee, that reminds me a bit of Aslan. (Aslan was a character in C.S. Lewis' charming series of fantasy novels about a place called Narnia. He represented Christ.)

Even though I assumed that most of my experiences were simply dreams or "metaphysics," I've discovered that even with archetypal symbols, there is obviously some degree of personal psychology and prejudice one must get over.

{Letter re: April, 1994}

I was once nabbed (you know, that suddenly unconscious thing that goes on all the time), and later found myself having a long and intelligent conversation with this guy. We were sitting on a (white) bench which was built into a wall of this large (white) room, and we were intensely involved. As usual, I "wasn't paying attention" to what he looked like.

As we talked, some part of me noted that there was this odd kind of skinny thing, and we went on talking, and then my brain finally sorted it out and put up the minor observance that by the way, that was a leg, and then as we continued talking my brain added, it's an insect leg, a huge one, and then as we continued talking my consciousness shifted to focusing on the info and I went

You're a bug!! Aaaaaaauuuuugggghhh!!

Well. Nothing like diplomacy, eh. He was a decent chap despite the minor fact of his being buglike (though bipedal and taller than me), far more intelligent than I, and as I literally "yanked myself back here" I noticed that he was at first shocked, and then frustrated, and then annoyed (this impression spanned maybe 1 second of reaction) and seemed to try to grab me, like to "hold me there," but I was already going and gone.

This doesn't seem to bear any relation to aliens, and sounds more like dreaming or fanciful spirituality. And yet, that night I was snagged in the same manner I often am when I've encountered things that seem "alien." I mean, one says "shamanic" and one says "alien" and yet I seem to have gotten there through the same door. What's the connection?

It's fortunate that I wasn't very educated about any of this while it was happening. While it might have made me feel better, I probably would have fit it into some pre-molded scenario that I'd heard of, or that fit in with other assumptions. As it was, meeting a bug or a blonde guy was merely meeting a bug or a blonde guy. I didn't assign any cosmic relationship to any of them, or anything good or bad. It didn't seem all that unusual to me, I mean it's not like I expect all other entities in the "astral" or dream realms, which is where I assumed all this was taking place, to be human. Sometimes they surprised me, is all.

{Letter re: April, 1994}

A side effect were these little superstitions that carried into my daily life... nothing seemed impossible or too bizarre to be true, after awhile.

...I got a bit paranoid, not to mention superstitious.

One time after talking with an entity who turned out to be sort of... insectoid, let's just say, I freaked out a bit. And immediately after that, my ultra-bug-free house suddenly had a bug hanging out in it. It was bizarre looking. I finally determined, from describing it to friends, that it was a large roach, but it was bright gold. It didn't act like I'd heard they were supposed to. I thought they were supposed to live in dark, damp places, and scurry away from light.

But every day I would come home from work, and on this long vanity counter I had with a mirror, there would be this bright gold bug just sitting there. I swear I had the feeling it was waiting for me. And it didn't run from me; I could put my hand up to it and it would just sit there. I would stop and stare at it, and it would stare back. I developed this superstition that somehow it was NOT a bug and I'd be mashing something intelligent if I killed it, and worse yet, I might tick somebody off. I had long, one sided conversations with it, just in case it wasn't a bug. Now talk about ridiculous!

{Letter re: April, 1994}

<<Are you conducting a two way exchange? Do you feel you are learning anything unique or important?>>

Well, it's hard to say. I mean I'm trying to be objective here and not just assume I am. The main thing that really irks me about this whole subject is that I don't remember consciously all this stuff. Sometimes I remember what I did, but not really what I learned. Even when I do remember, often English simply does not have words to begin to describe it.

I remember one unique thing from earlier this year. I don't remember how I "got there," but I pretty much was "knocked unconscious," nightly, regularly, so I assume this wasn't any different.

I'm shown something that seems like a book. Then I realize it's not a book but is actually part of a screen, like a computer screen, I just had the mental "impression" of book, as if someone were communicating that to me. I looked at the surface, which was some medium-dark color, and there were these rows of vertical long ovals... hard to describe... they each seemed about the size and width of my little finger. The ovals themselves are dark, like black, and they're filled with all these little white dots.

Well I'm looking at these things and I have no clue what they are. Then I realize, Oh, it's like a language or something! I could tell I was supposed to "read" it, that was why I had the book concept. I studied them closely and went in various directions of looking at them, but frankly, all the ovals looked the same to me, just a bunch of white dots. I tried to count the dots, but there were too many, too small, too indefinite. I tried reading each one, like to see if there was some pattern from the top of the oval to the bottom or whatever, some slight difference in shape between them. Nothing. Then I looked real closely at them, and suddenly fell inward -- and I was inside one of them -- I was rushing toward the "center of everything" -- then I "was" at the center of everything -- and I realized that all those white dots, now surrounding me and part of me, were stars.

I just "existed" there, and realized that it told a story: the relationship between the stars, between the space, between everything; everything was a geometry; the geometry was a language. And I thought to myself, Whoa... this must be what astrology is supposed to explain. Then I realized that it told more than just a "story" or explanation. It was an entire conceptual universe. It was as if I knew all about everything, the concepts behind every creature, planet, everything, based on the relationship of the stars and space to each other. I don't mean I knew the life story of every entity; just that I understood the "structure" of that universe. Every universe, I realized, was literally an idea incarnate.

The geometry was just like the language someone had been teaching me. I realized that I had a "grokking" of it, so to speak; I could find my way around the universe I'd been shown with my eyes closed. I "knew" internally where everything was, the stars, the space, even the things that technically should have been "behind" me and out of my view, I could "feel" them like I was all of the geometry of the relationship between us, like the entire geometric form of all of it was inside me physically.

OK, so it doesn't pay my rent. It's not good for not much of anything. I don't know that it's fascinating to anybody but me. It certainly doesn't qualify as "useful" in any occupation I know of. It was interesting, though.

{April, 1994}

Had a long detailed dream. In it, I was getting married. I was planning this in detail, my parents and friends were helping, it was a big thing. A lot of effort, running around, meeting new people, working out details. The day of the wedding came and I got everything taken care of and got to the church, which is when the groom showed up, except he didn't know he was the groom! -- because as it turns out, he was somebody I knew from a distance (like a computer person, a "non-physical" acquaintance) -- and I had never asked him to marry me!

He was nice enough, but reluctant to do this on the spot when he'd just met me. I was trying to find a way to diplomatically smooth things over; to convince him to say yes without everyone realizing that I'd never even asked him, and here they'd put all this work into me, and there were presents everywhere, and I really didn't even have a date let alone a husband.

I had been single for years, and in fact fully expected to probably be single for life -- my choice; I have always preferred solitude, refused to have children, and would be happy alone. I'd been "online" since '93, but in late '94 when I finally began participating in the UFO subject via computer, I got to know a fellow who lived in Canada, through our common interests. By year end we were crazy about each other. OK, it sounds strange, but telephone calls and letters can indeed introduce you to somebody -- it's not the first time pen pals have fallen in love. Considering I did nothing but work and computers, if I hadn't met somebody through that route I'd never have met anybody at all. In January of '95 he came to visit me, and in April of '95 we were married.

I had completely forgotten about this dream until I began writing this letter-book (May 1995) and was gathering materials from journals and letters. Searching on my computer with the keyword "dream" to find files with notes on my dreams, this one ended up being included, and boy was I surprised to see that exactly a year prior to it happening, I'd dreamed it! -- though the scenario of the event, I should mention, was very different.

I was 29 and he was 41; I was an American from California and he was a Canadian originally from Czech, so we had vastly different backgrounds, and yet, an amazing amount in common, on personal levels.

o0o

The dreams on occasion had some humorous side effects. Some dreams tended to "merge" things, not just me with other objects, concepts or entities, but often concepts with each other. After them I'd have a terrible time keeping things straight, as I could see one thing and my brain would think of the other. Other times there were other odd little difficulties, as well.

{April, 1994}

Now this is funny! It seems that the "shapes" and geometries I've worked with off and on and the verbal part of my brain are getting mixed up.

It's almost as if all communication, all intent, has an inherent "shape," something specific, something angular usually and geometric, something that takes up space even though we can't acknowledge that very well from this perception. When I'm talking or typing, I have this need for hard consonants, like "corners." As if English simply doesn't create, via sound, the proper "shape" of the energy of that which I'm trying to communicate. (As if what I mean to say, and what I really say if I'm using English, are not necessarily the same thing.) I need hard edges and there simply aren't enough in our language. Like the "L" shape except not that sound.

I can be having a conversation, like at work, and I find that I use six sentences to say what I could have said in one, merely because I'm searching for some way to drag the proper sounds and consonants into the conversation. I do it even when I'm typing, when there's no sound involved. I'm using words that aren't what I would naturally use, not because their meaning is correct, but because their sound is closer to the correct "shape" than the word that better describes it, logically.

This tends to be much stronger when I'm using any kind of "insight." Sometimes it's extreme, and I find myself saying, "Kuh! Kuh! K-K-K-K-K-K!" It's like I just can't get the proper shape, the proper angle. No letter-sound seems to come close except K, and even that isn't really right.

None of this makes the slightest sense objectively, and the scary part is that it's beginning to make perfect sense subjectively, which goes to show I'm losing track of what used to be my mind.

That's not as uncommon as I thought. Much later I found that this tendency to need certain letters, especially hard clear consonants, is recognized by quite a few people I've talked to since then, in particular "channelers." It seemed too obscure to be anything but a personal weirdness until I first mentioned it to someone, who said, "Oh yeah, I do that all the time. Yeah, "K's" and hard consonants especially." I have no idea what that means.

o0o

Once in awhile I had a brief break from "experiences" or intensive dreams, during which I would find myself philosophizing at length.

{Letter, April, 1994}

OK, so I've been looking at existence as "I am here" (X marks the spot). But what if "I" am not here? Say there was a complex net grid of probability from time's beginning to ending, and it was all stored inside a computer, and you could see the whole thing on the screen, looking like the most complicated 3D spirograph drawing you ever saw. Like Star Trek you could tell the computer, "Enhance sector G1945.2" and that little section of the screen would be immediately focused upon until all the screen showed was that detail. What if I am not here and "changing realities" or whatever to "move me" to a different "branch" of probability... what if instead, I've simply got my consciousness "plugged in" to "all aspects of reality" which already exist, and I'm shifting my attention?

So when I shift realities, it's not that I (the thing inside the reality) moved to another dimension. It's not that I take one path so some other "me" pops up in every other decision and a "me" continues on the first path. (I've always felt Seth was being simplistic so we could work on understanding and this wasn't quite the way it sounded.) It's that there is already every possible identity. The reason my reality is whatever I want is because every identity, in every probability already exists: I jump "hosts" -- not "geographies" (different places or times) but "identities" (as different perspectives).

We think we are the identity we jump to, and technically we are. But we could change that identity to what we'll call a drastically different person -- a long armed creature in a swamp, like your dream, for instance -- and it's still us. It's our identity no matter what the character looks like; the moment we jump into it, it feels like us.

It's not that I moved from the Railroad to Tennessee Avenue and then to Free Parking. It's that there was a little Monopoly character piece on every one of those squares already, and I changed which piece I was. I didn't actually say, "I'm going to move {X} spaces this way." I said, "I'm going to not pay attention to being this car and instead become the top hat which is {X} distance away." And when I became the top hat, that was my identity. As far as I knew, I was always the top hat.

So how do you really know that you, whoever 'you' are, were the same last week? How do you know you weren't actually an elderly housewife in Kansas, or a street urchin in India?

What if when you change perspectives, at any given time, you become them -- in other words, you inherit all the history of that identity -- you become an identity at a certain time/space X/Y and when you do, it is YOU.

Say you could flash to alternate lives that are extremely "unrelated." When you had the dream about the car you didn't think about (or even know about consciously) the Being in the swamp. But when you were the Being in the swamp, you were that identity, including all the history that went to make you that identity. Regardless of the fact that you just switched into attention on it 10 seconds ago, you were that identity the moment you did. Fully.

If something bizarre had happened and you'd gotten trapped in that swamp dream instead of being able to "jump identities" like trains back into this one, you would still be that Being. You would know your own history, you would not doubt that this identity was who you always were. It wouldn't matter that you had just changed to that identity the moment you began the dream. It would still be YOU.

Whatever I call "me" may be "sitting in on" this identity, but I may have just got here Tuesday. I remember being me for all time and writing you before because when I chose this identity, I got all the history (and forgot all the other identities' history). But this identity could be a... character anybody could choose, and then direct while inside it, like a character in a video game.

I don't have all the details yet but I feel that's a novel way to look at things. You know where I got the identity ideas? From that "walk in" terror I went through. The most disconcerting thing was realizing that I (whoever that is) had "walked into an identity" and taken that history so that I assumed -- and still felt emotionally if not conceptually -- that identity was mine. And I felt such incredible grief as I have never known, because I had come to love this identity and the things I've attached to it (like my mother) and suddenly knew it wasn't really mine, or didn't begin so. Like it's all some big damned joke, like in that movie Blade Runner, where the scientist's daughter discovers she's really just a machine and her sweet memories of childhood are just a genetic implant.

I think to some degree, we define ourselves by what and who we are not. In any identity, we feel we are not any identity other (by inference), so we feel secure: we have a safe little box that's made just for us. Those box parameters are defined as much by what is safely outside the box. When I realized that this identity was not "always" mine, or perhaps even mine any more than anybody else's who might have chosen it like some kind of library book, I suddenly felt like I had no anchor identity. It wasn't simply that I lost my comfort with the "one" identity because I was another, like some walk ins say... it was that I lost my comfort with the boundaries of all identities.

Some part of me thinks that if this identity wasn't me, then no other identity would be any more "real" or "me" than this one is. But other people who go through this upheaval (it was the most shocking realization I'll likely ever have) need a specific identity so badly that they grab onto this "Mother Ship cosmic alien" stuff so fast my head spins. (Well, not literally. I know you're expecting that exorcist stuff from me any moment.)

Or, they could be right. I still can't figure out whether or not that "Nothingness" 3-stage experience is related to it or not.

It occurs to me that this is why most people evolve more 'slowly'. The shock to the system of realizing certain things suddenly is almost more than one can bear. I'm courageous and I want to learn and grow, but I don't know that I ever want to learn anything that fast again.

Anyway, the identity thoughts are fun, I might go with them for awhile.

{April, 1994}

Can't sleep lately. Although I'm tired, even exhausted, I have such physical and emotional energy, I'm just wired, I pace. I maintain the lack of being very hungry. I ended up passing out in my chair again last night... if I go near it, I'm in for it, and I have to go to bed (now in the living room) at a decently early hour or I "feel them coming" and I'm growling, "Ok, ok, give me a minute, sheesh!" and running for the bed to get comfortable. If I try to stay up, I'm history, I just come to in the chair in the morning. (I'm being well trained, I think.)

Once I moved my bed into the living room, I was able to sleep in it again. This was helpful. Instead of becoming unconscious, I would simply be abruptly sleepy.

{April, 1994}

Last night I went out in my chair -- I'd thought I was wide awake, just got out of the shower, but I guess I must've gone out rather suddenly (as usual!). I woke up at about 4:30am (why always that time?) and then went to sleep, normally. My (regular) dreams were filled with strange symbols, large long catholic rosaries (like the clergy wear), cockroaches (?), Catholic mass, schoolbuses filled with children, groups of monks/priests, and flashes at seemingly random intervals through all of those eyes, like I was them too. Strange symbolism in my head! I mean criminy -- I'm not even Catholic. Reminds me of that Mary dream. The religious stuff really boggles me.

The confusion over what was physical and what wasn't applied not only to my state of density "there," but to anything's state of density "here." And from time to time, there was no doubt that an experience was "all in my head," and I had nothing but delusion to account for it.

{April, 1994}

I was driving home last night, the moon in front of me: it was huge and low and full and white, with a few tiny clouds shadowing it here and there. It was really beautiful, I was admiring it as I was driving. Then some trees started blocking it now and then, so I was catching glimpses between the trees.

I came out from a solid block of trees and glanced at it again and -- I kid you not -- the moon was this PERFECT picture, there were the exact shape of those big "eyes" that the aliens supposedly have on it, you know what I mean, the famous picture on that book. No wisps, solid darkness, crystal clear edges. My mouth dropped open, my eyes got huge, and because it really seemed suddenly like a large FACE looking down at the world I gasped and shouted at the top of my lungs, What the fuck is that??!! Totally ignoring the road, I stared mouth open in shock until I went behind the next range of trees.

When I came out from behind the trees, it was all gone, and not even enough clouds near the moon to have begun to create that image. Well I knew of course on some level that it was an "overlay" vision or something the whole time -- and I totally dislike and have no interest in alien stories especially the infamous 'abduction' ones like that book is said to cover -- but this just cracked me up! I mean I actually laughed out loud at myself. Outright hallucinating! Sheesh!

Links you might like: Firedocs RV (Remote Viewing Info) - TKR MBC (Remote Viewing Discussion) - TKR Galleries (Hands-On Remote Viewing practice for all levels) - Joseph McMoneagle's RV Page - CSL for RV Science - Charles Tart's Virtual Library - Exceptional Human Experience Network - Joseph Felser - Alan Elms - Russell Targ - Palyne Gaenir


BEWILDERNESS by Palyne Gaenir
DojoPsi Mirror: dojopsi.com/bewilderness/
Firedocs Mirror: firedocs.com/bewilderness/
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