Chapter 13

"It's too late to correct it..."

Lewis Carroll
Through the Looking Glass

There was a certain "type" of intuition and dream and vision that had been occurring with me since late 1993. They all said, leave California. Now I assumed all this time that I was just developing some weird fear, influenced by my constant "visions" of doom that were more like alternate reality experiences than dreams. And after the January 1994 quake, I thought, I'm just neurotic because it scared me. Yet the desperate feeling that I had to get out wouldn't leave me.

I grew up in Ventura County, California, on the mid-Southern Coast, born in Ojai. It's beautiful. The weather is great year 'round. There are few bugs, and the culture is very relaxed. Furthermore, I loved my job, my company, and I had a strong bond to my boss, who was very much a father figure with me. I made more money than I figured I'd make anywhere else, and I was personally devoted to the company and wanted to stay.

Besides, I had nowhere to go, and nowhere that I wanted to go. I had the feeling that I would end up somewhere around SouthWest or the NorthWest. I had no idea why -- objectively, neither of them seem safer to me, and if anything were less appealing. I had no intention of leaving my job, my boss, my nice home, or my comfortable life.

Then one day it all "snapped." I woke up just knowing I was leaving. It wasn't an option, no matter how inconvenient it was. I didn't know why or how. I just knew that I was, so I might as well do it. I sat on this understanding silently, not knowing how to tell anybody that I was leaving, or what reason I could give for it, and not knowing where to go, in any case.

I was falling in love with a man in Canada I'd met through the computer, so I thought perhaps I should go North. Shortly thereafter my father was told he'd be relocated to Florida by his employer in a couple of months. That was pretty much the last thing keeping me in California, was being near my father. Summoning my courage, I called the only people I knew in the Northwest, who lived in Oregon, and asked how they'd feel about my sleeping on their couch until I found a job. They were delighted, and encouraged me.

With the financial and physical help of an old friend, I packed everything I owned and within a week had moved all my belongings into storage in Oregon. The day before I had to leave for the drive, I took my boss to lunch and told him I would be back, but I was giving notice. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. We had major things going on at work that only I was really qualified for, just by knowledge and deadline pressure; so I agreed to stay until I'd finished a financial audit and some securities work, and wrapped up every project I had going, at least with detail notes. I ended up staying for over six months.

At the time, it cost about 300% more to rent a moving truck out of California than into it. I'd watched the exodus from the state for some time; most of my friends and acquaintances had already left. Most of it was financial: the cost of living was ridiculous, and most jobs were banking or tourist-retail oriented (no money in them); people were trapped, scared, and the number of homeless people had skyrocketed, and began to include people I recognized. At the first opportunity, those with a sense of survival fled.

My need to leave was oriented more toward superstitious fear that at some point in my lifetime, California would have disasters making all previous times look like nothing. Even if I was wrong, I told myself, perhaps moving would make the visions stop, and that alone would be a psychological blessing worth counting.


Around September of 1994, I came face to face with a number of moral dilemmas that all seemed to come up at once. The first was my realization that I had such an intense ambition for personal evolution -- learning of any sort, and in particular in terms of consciousness -- that I would probably be willing to do just about anything to continue that process. It was my goal at such a deep level that nothing else came close. I began to wonder if maybe the "aliens" or the "entities" really were "bad guys," and I was happily cooperating with them, in some way that would make me almost treasonous to the human species, in my absolute determination to learn.

They say everybody has a price. I think mine is learning, is "psychic" or "consciousness" evolution. Since they seemed capable of working with me on that, I figured it pretty much made me theirs to command. I was tremendously disturbed over the idea that I had a stronger bond to possible "bad guys" than I did to my own species, and where did that leave me?

The second dilemma was the realization of aspects of myself which were so intensely... dark, and ruthless to the point of mercenary, that I felt as if I had finally broken through some final barrier and really gotten to see the inside of myself -- and it was a scary sight.

Letter, September, 1994

I suddenly question if everything I am studying (on numerous levels) is "wrong" in some manner, as in, not a positive thing for humanity (or even me). Maybe I am a "bad guy!" Could it be?

It's mostly the 'doons (or the ... whatever your long dull term was for the guys I call "inter d's"). It's easy to say you don't believe in good vs. evil in astral or philosophical matters. I've been preaching that for years. It's quite another to not make a judgement on the guy next door when he's working with you. It's easy when it's "spiritual;" it's a totally different story when you realize it's physical (and/or that maybe there isn't much difference).

I'm just shocked. I have depths of... mercenaryness? Ruthlessness? Personal ambition? That reach apparently bottomless proportions, and I suspect I haven't even touched most of it yet. If I were a separate person I'd have the good sense to be afraid of myself. I feel like I obviously don't know myself half as well as I thought I did. What to do, when you're not sure you like yourself? Not being "weak" or foolish is one thing. Being a spiritual sociopath is another. Or is it?

Well what do you do when you begin meeting yourself and you're not sure you like you? I mean, does one assume, "I'm different than I thought, vastly stronger but not as nice, but it's "me" so it's OK?" Or does one say, "The "I" of "me" is a composite of energies subject to my Will, and I don't like this part of me so let's change it?" What is more likely to be "really me?" Where does it leave me if I just assume my conscious self doesn't know what's good for it, or that whatever I inherently seem to be is "wrong?"

I don't mind being an archeologist on myself. I just want to know how to classify what I find. Is it a treasure or a virus? What will make me grow? What are the consequences or potential end results of the different ways of growing? Is my personal shift from agnostic to metaphysics to occult a way of buying out of destructive altruistic mythology, or am I simply buying into a fatal "dead end?" I mean how does one know any of this stuff? I simply can't be the first person to wonder this.

I should learn astrology so I can blame being such a pinhead on it.

My dark and almost morbid suspicions, and my black humor toward the entire subject continued.


In my more cynical moments, I wonder if my development is less about "human evolution and consciousness," and more about someone saying, "Well the Jesus thing really isn't working very well anymore, we need something new."


Well there are different kinds of strength. Even in our own culture, how many times have we seen people, sometimes whole groups, manipulated by their emotion -- both love and hate -- for or with a leader, or a family member when that person doing the controlling, based on physical prowess alone, would be considered harmless?

Who is to say that we are not already in a war, which for all I know we started at some point, where our chosen weapons are technology and logic, and their chosen weapons are better technology and converting the enemy through emotional conditioning, and raising the enemies' children as their own? I'd say with that perspective, their strength is equal, if not more powerful... it's just a much longer term chess move.

OK, back to my non paranoid, "I'm very positive about all this" stance, thank you, pretend I didn't say the above.


<<But how would their values of life, property, human rights, and so forth compare to human perceptions of these values?>>

If we're extremely lucky, they'll be nothing like ours.

The problem with these doom visions, with the fear and confusion of the entities, with the premonitions of environmental destruction -- in short, with thinking your World Will Blow Up Any Moment -- is that this stuff gives me an attitude problem. I try to be cheerful, but even on a good day, pondering the destruction of life as I know it can be downright depressing.

As for the aliens, their true intentions and "whose side they're on" may be confusing, but it's a fair bet that even if our government were making good money off them, our conveniently blind media still wouldn't go so far as to call them "freedom fighters," if you know what I mean.

[Letter, September, 1994]

I'm on the wagon away from anything dark, dismal, overly confusing, emotionally trying, metaphysically hazy or, in general, anything which is not a directly positive experience for me.

Fuck. Now that I think about it, this pretty much wipes out my entire life, and I may as well go back to bed.

It's easy to get caught up in all this stuff: the seriousness of it, and its tendency to be physical and emotional and psychological all at once, and the concerns about the unknown tend to make one focus on a spot that grows ever more confusing and darkened with time and developing suspicion. I found the tendency to obsessiveness, that general and non-directed sort of trait that accompanied most all of this to some degree, increased that. I reminded myself of the influence on me of all of these effects, and managed to pull myself far enough out of this state of mind to stop the vortex-ing, spinning descent into dark, fear-based obsession.

I feel much better, I find, when I avoid taking anything very seriously.


There's a real sense of humor and fun and joy that's missing from this field. I'm the first to agree it's quite serious, but frankly, I don't take anything that seriously, not god, not death, why should I them?! I mean when I thought I was schizoid I took that with a sense of humor, too. (The world and me are both frankly hilarious the better I know them.) There's this dark, foreboding and menacing tone that things tend to take on, and I just hate it. I mean IF they are literal, autonomous entities, then they're just other people. OK not human people, but other people nonetheless. And yeah, they could be what we might call bad guys. So what? Like we've never encountered bad guys before?


Well I understand the frustration, and fear, of negatives in visions. I told you one of my many "earthquake" visions. But the long and short of it is, this never happened... I don't live where I used to (I'm not certain that's the area but I assume so), and I'm shortly moving out of state, so I rather doubt this will be taking place.

After that I just wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

I was so worried about that stuff you see, I was waiting for something to happen any minute for months. That's the problem with this stuff... it seems to be in the "non 3D" section of my life, and yet I can't help but drag it into my 'regular' life sometimes... where it basically does little except freak me out.

September, 1994

I found myself underground with a group of people. We were escaping from someone... below us is a hardened river of blackness, and I decide we're in a giant parking lot or something, escaping from someone in the world above us.

We run into a group of people, some of which I couldn't see very well... they were motley like an assorted rebel gang of some sort. There's this one creature who is the leader... he's hard for me to see, and I know I'm in denial 'cause he's not human and it scares me. They stop us. A couple of our group die rather strange and horrible deaths when they protest.

But as usual my intuition about "types" of entities and places is working, and I sense something about how to work with the leader, and forcing myself, I go up to him and blatantly rub myself against him, sexually. He's disgusting, he's got humongous eyes close together and I got slimy from rubbing up against him... but I was right: he let me plead my case. We went somewhere else, to their "place" where they all lived. I didn't know how to convince him to let me go, but finally I decided I would sing him a song. (Seemed logical at the time pertaining to "what he was," or something, and as if music was a fairly novel thing not all species had.) So I did. I didn't do very well, but he was ok with it, and they let me go.

I'm not real comfortable with this kind of thing, but I may as well spell it out. The sensual and sexual component of this development shouldn't be ignored, even though it's avoided by some, feared by others, and in my case is just confusing and embarrassing. I didn't write down most of these experiences. Although I tend to assume it's boring psychological stuff, I think I'm inclined to assume that more because I'm in denial (reacting to my cultural teachings about sex) than because it's non-connected to the subject at hand. Actually I see it as very much connected, but in a rather... abstract way. Sort of how what we might call spiritual, they might call physics, and it's as if there's this borderline, not well defined, that separates the physical from the perceptual, and sex helps one cross it.

September, 1994

Regularly now, I've found myself communicating with entities who, in effect, offer to have sex with me. Now I figure, I'm single, I'm probably sexually repressed or something right, this is just my own psychology working itself out. It's rather interesting though. Some of them aren't remotely human. I can't see them very well, but they have this deep, empathic ability to make my whole body and mind feel the most luxurious, sensuous joy imaginable. It's as if they merge with me far more completely, inside me completely like an energy that mixes with my atoms, far more merging intimacy than regular sex would ever feel.

A couple of them were shapes. It was like they were a geometrical shape and that shape actually had sentience. And when we merged, they "became inside me," and it was as if I could feel my own form both stretched by them and stretching to configure myself to the same shape. One was a number, as if numbers are each sentient or some such idea, and I can't explain it well but the effect of the merge was so incredibly "absolute," as if I became part of the fundamental structure of the universe, like becoming one of the bricks it is physically composed of.

Gender has less and less to do with my understanding of sexuality, and even form, and I find myself becoming more sensual by the day, as if I'm able to conceptualize such a merging with objects, ideas, and intangibles, not to mention any form of entity, not to mention any form of human. Suddenly sex seems far less physical than psychic, and something that provides not just pleasure but an expansion of consciousness. I'm becoming sensual about totally normal, seemingly non-sensual things in my environment; I can get sensual in the learning of new software, for example, like all the concepts are shapes and it is alive. Weird.

Along with my then-current and later attempts to assure everybody I'd had no such experiences as the Greys and the genetic-type scenario, I ignored (at the time) certain dreams that might in some way be related. I didn't even bother writing them down. This one I did made it clear there might have been more involved than I was consciously willing to deal with.

September, 1994

In some sort of doctor's office, a woman doctor (a blonde) was doing a pelvic exam on me. With some kind of tool, she reaches impossibly deeply inside me and says something like, Oh no... And I think, oh God, she's found cysts or something weird inside me. And she pulls out this "thing" and I say, What the hell is that? Part of a tampon? And she says something like, "It's whole." I wasn't sure I heard her right. And she puts it gingerly on the table, between my legs; I still couldn't tell what it was. I say, My god, I'm so embarrassed. I haven't even had a period in a really long time. (I haven't, not for many months in real life, don't know why.)

Then she reaches in again with the very odd tool and I noted that I really wasn't feeling anything inside me, as if my whole body were numb, but not heavy-numb, just completely unfelt like my brain was disconnected from it. She pulls out something else, like another one or another part of it. I think wow, how gross, I must really have been stuffed up and moldering, so to speak.

She looked at them carefully, very seriously, and with tweezers pulled them apart here and there. I decided she was looking at how the blood had aged, or grown, or whatever. I was morbidly fascinated to look -- the pieces were a bloody mass -- and yet really disgusted at the same time. Then she put them on something and took them in the next room, and she was behind a plate of glass, a long window that faced into the room where I was.

I lay on a narrow, hard, elevated table, not uncomfortable because I couldn't seem to connect to my body feelings at all. She was looking at the things from inside me with something like a microscope. Then finally she looked up and through the window at me, and I heard her say to me, I'm sorry that you lost a baby.

I looked over at her inside that other room and there were all these fetuses in different stages of development, some to outright baby, lying in little glass-type cribs, in a row on a long table behind her. She indicated that mine that I'd "lost" was linked to the thing(s) stuffed up inside me, and I realized that the physical babies lying on the long counter were not mine, they were someone else's.

Wow. Heavy duty!

I really don't like the sexual and/or genetic stuff in the "alien" field. I don't really suspect it, though objectively I see warning signs that I'm probably in enough denial of it to not make good decisions on the subject. Nowadays, I remember the many times over years that I "knew I was pregnant" -- and ignored it, because I was celibate, so I knew it was impossible, though I'd been pregnant once, and the symptoms are hardly mistakeable; at some point it always went away abruptly. I wondered if perhaps the people talking about genetics, fetuses etc. were right. But I don't like this stuff. So I ignore it.

October 1994

Thought I was relaxed lately, but I must not be too relaxed, because I woke up at 3:30am from a terrible dream. Don't know what was so terrible about it, just my emotional reaction. I was standing in this room so tiny I couldn't even turn around, like a closet (reminds me of the rooms I saw with the portholes that filled with blue stuff), and I looked at one of the whitish walls and this little section of it was sort of recessed like a large finger-hole, and looking inside the section I could see there were just tons and tons and tons of spiders, they were all white (?), and they had a hard shell, almost a crustacean, they would have clicked extremely loud if they'd fallen and hit the floor.

Anyway, for some reason they so incredibly appalled me like maybe they were going to eat me or something, I mean my god, I was just so grossed out I couldn't believe it, and I just stood there, helpless to get away or even move, my back to the other wall, bawling my head off and begging my friend L. to come and save me. I woke up totally traumatized. Ended up taking a shower and not getting back to sleep till 6:00am.

Wouldn't you think, if somebody was gonna do the bug-fear thing, they'd be black? Ah, well, symbolism seldom makes much sense to me anyway (at least my own)... for some reason this reminds me I've seen them before -- once when floating in the blue pool, hard-shelled big spiders like lobsters crawling on me (same guys, different size)... wonder what this symbolism is.

The "aspect of me" that was the blonde fellow, or the one I called "the blonde-me," was one in a group of four including myself. Maybe there's more and I just don't know it. I wondered if multiple personality syndrome would explain such a thing, but finally decided that most of the personalities people have with that syndrome are, well, from this dimension, so to speak, and not usually quite that simultaneous, let alone in a separate body. I didn't realize that he was part of the four of us at first. My encounters with him alone were quite different than the times when I encountered all three of them together. When it was just he and I, it seemed more... fascinating in a way that shamanic creatures fascinated me. When it was all four of us, it was invariably an exciting, spiritual experience that left me feeling ... "holy."

October, 1994

There is this one type of dream that I always remember, when in the dream, that I am there "all the time" or at least often, but not until today did I remember (while awake) having them. In them I am somehow four different people at the same time, and yet one. Two male, two female. And we're every possible relationship to each other and also merged. Every possible relationship. So for instance, the other female would not only be mother, sister, lover, daughter, but would also be every probability combination existence on the planet, up to and including the ex-girlfriend of a second cousin of mine, a political leader, someone I never heard of, indirect things as well. They all have the same thing with me and with each other, the four of us completely intertwine, like "the four of us compose the universe," or at least the human element of it. It's very interesting, and is promoting some changes in perspective even during waking hours. They're really fascinating.

October, 1994

A few times lately, I've awakened and my right eye has enough fluid to clean the eyes of the hordes... water literally pouring out of it or something -- I'm talking about maybe 12 or more ounces in a short time, as if someone merely poured a glass of water through it from the other side. I didn't even know it was physically possible to get that much fluid in that short a time! My nightclothes and blankets are drenched!

Then last night I (as the four we, but mainly as the two [younger?] we's) were cleaning the eye, and we (the two older we's) said, We thought you weren't going to see that. And we [the youngers] replied, Well we weren't, but we've found a way now that we can see the future without it hurting.

At least my subconscious is finally being obvious about things!


A vision-dream, so strong it made me yearn for him/me, took me this afternoon when I took a nap. Thought I'd inflict it on you, I often tell you of the ones that involve any of the "four aspects of me."

He was gaining strength. We were in some kind of "Highlander" theme I guess, where people competed, got their heads chopped off, and the energy of their deaths was [eaten] by others. The blonde me was there, in the cloak type clothing I often see him in for one reason or another. He was the man. There were other men, competitive men.

I might have shifted in time; I was watching him stalk a certain man, whereupon he deliberately let his own head get cut off, though he took the other guy's at the same time. I noted that somehow his death had cut my left hand in a couple of places. Deeply, and it bled thick and dark like molasses, but I couldn't seem to feel it physically.

I thought, "Well that's that I guess, he's certainly dead now!" but someone said urgently, "No, that's just it! You don't understand! He is come back. This was his way of [throwing all enemies off the track] for so long...." and I suddenly understood what was meant: he had "folded up inside himself," as if he had hidden within the cavity of his rib bones (?!) and seen his body (including himself) buried deeply, on purpose, where nobody would know where he was. Knowing that when the time was right, he would unbury himself; that somehow he was not permanently dead but temporarily, deliberately so which for some reason was different, and that allowed him freedom.

The guide almost gave me the impression that he was a "bad guy" and yet simultaneously, a "good guy;" something like, there was only going to be one way for [someone/him] to deal with things at a certain point considered an "end time" or some such; it required that he be believed dead, so that things could develop as they would without the threat of his influence; as if they would hunt him down (again) for his power, do something that could take his autonomy away... so this way he could come back unexpectedly and defeat some conqueror or accomplish something... or some such thing that only he had the ability to do, him this man from "times of old". (And I mean really old, not centuries but millenia, thousands of years.)

But I was ambivalent, since somehow I knew that I was a big part of waking him up, I was his "anchor" specifically for this reality, physicality, and "time," and this guide made it sound like waking him up was my duty, I'd done it -- and it was like I was personally helping to bring on the end of my world as I knew it (like armageddon) or some such thing.

October, 1994

Last night I had a total sci fi dream. There was this planet that was being set up as a work station, with buildings here and there... it was going to be like, many men would come there for 3 to 12 month contracts and live and work and then move on. It wasn't a place where people would live normally, except the workers and people who worked as support for the men, like keeping the buildings, food, management and such. I was some kind of manager and I was going to be living there.

There was a big deal about having some huge tables, one so large that 700 men could sit and work at it. (Odd.) I kept saying, You could never get a table that big, I insisted they'd have to have little ones, but the 700 number was some big deal.

Then I realized, all those men together in one place, no families with them, temporary assignments, what the place really needed was a good call girl type service. So I proposed it to the boss and became a madam, and began hiring girls for the occasion.

Then it was the end of the dream, as if it were the end of the project and the need for that planet, and I discovered that I and others who had lived and worked there for what seemed like eons had actually been wearing "skins" over our heads, like human skins of a normal face and such, and underneath our faces were similar but "real" while the outside hadn't been.

We weren't quite identical, not quite human like here, but very close. I didn't know why I'd been wearing the mask and hadn't realized I was. I had been working there and wearing the mask too long though, and I knew that I was beginning to "crumble" physically underneath the mask and it was about time for me to... I'm not sure, maybe die?

So I took off my skin mask and discovered that my real face underneath still had a deep gash along the right cheek that apparently I had received just before I put on the skin all those years ago... it had never really healed.

The dream was smooth until then. Then it ended, and I changed, and it all seemed to become more like a normal, if chaotic, dream. I have chaos dreams as "tag" ends to more linear dreams regularly, don't know why. There was a gun or guns involved... and a girl (I think it was that Courtney Love rock star, the trashy blonde one) there who said something to me quite mildly, calmly, looked at me like I ought to know, and then shot herself in the head. OK I admit that part was really weird. I'm sure there's some cosmic meaning in all this but I am terminally stupid about things that relate to me. I can counsel and have tremendous insight into total strangers and friends but damned if I can figure out what it means when I trip over my own feet.

Maybe I should mention that not long after the above dream, Courtney's husband, Kurt Cobain, shot himself in the head. Maybe this is completely unrelated, maybe not, but since I had zero interest in either one of them or their music, I think it must be. The publicity that generated was huge, so maybe I'm just picking up bits and pieces in some mass consciousness, some astral stuff, and weaving them into my dreams? I get media-related things in the "chaos tags" at the end of dreams regularly. But why can't I get good stuff, instead of tragedies?

Letter, October, 1994

Remember that four color-tone vortex story I told you, that seemed to split me in half and drag part of me elsewhere? Well the other day I'm in the shower, and I'm thinking casually about the 4 in 1 thing, these dreams about me and three who are also me, and I turned my face into the water for a moment and suddenly the water reminded me of that vortex which reminded me --

Four in one. Four colors, four beams of light which were also sound; all of which had their own resonance, and then when they perfectly merged they wrapped around each other in a vortex providing a "doorway" to "some other dimension." The 4-in-1 dreams where we all merge and whatever thing we're doing together works. The round thing with the four beams of light: the circle squared, as magick calls it. All this stuff is connected. I was so shocked by the associations I inhaled and choked on the water. (Talk about baptized by an idea.)

I think I get it. It's like a key. I don't actually know, though, if it is dependent only upon the "higher self" structure or if there are other ways of accomplishing that four beam thing with technology, and either way I don't think I know how to get to the "technology or method" of doing it.

I continued becoming more perceptive regarding unusual, nearly "psychic" things. For example, the deja vu sometimes was more of a forewarning than recognition, and provided knowledge of what would happen or be said in the immediate future, and dreams of the next day or two provided insight there.

One of the most astonishing things was that convenient "coincidence" increased to the point of near-miracles in time and space, such as wishing something and having physical circumstance radically alter within seconds, out of the blue, to the point where the odds of probability for each instance reached near-infinity. This came in cycles.

However, even normal senses seemed to increase in perceptivity, as if I were merely becoming more aware of "aspects" of my five senses that I hadn't paid much attention to before.

November, 1994

I realized that in my office at work I can "feel" people coming. I have two doors, one on each side of my office, which link two separate areas of a building, and people are often walking through my office to get elsewhere. My doors are generally kept closed for climate control, or at least one of them is. Well today I realized, consciously for the first time, that I can "feel the frequency change" when somebody is, oh, say 15 feet from the outside of one of the doors, and it continues to change until they actually reach the door and make some noise so I know they're coming in. (My office is not quiet, and the rooms on either side are often noisy, so I seldom hear footsteps, or know anybody is coming, until the door opens.)

I was wondering today if it might be because I have so many electronics in my office. I'm surely bombarded with all sorts of nasty stuff. Within 4' of my body sits my computer and monitor, two printers, misc. math machines, modem and buffalo box and some other misc. electronic equipment, plus of course the electronic phone. I was wondering if maybe my "perceiving" (hearing not being exactly the correct word here) the "higher frequencies" could be allowing this for me: in other words, as an object moves closer to me (even quietly and on the other side of the door), it might shift the "echo" of the frequencies generated, or the "resonance" that things around me have, and I might be picking it up like... sonar?

November, 1994

3,3,3,4. 9,9,9,12. These numbers came up in a dream, and I felt it crucially important that I remember them when I awoke. I haven't the vaguest clue what it means.

Now as for my opinion about all these experiences and dreams and personal effects, I think there's a quota on how much energy a person can put into any given worry. There comes a time, and around this time this was one of them, when even the most extreme concerns wear you out so much that they're just not worth the effort anymore. You accept even the worst-case scenario you've imagined, and get on with life. So it went with my sanity, or my apparent lack thereof. After awhile I started thinking, Well I'm obviously crazy, but so what? What's the worst thing that can happen? I'd look into my own eyes in the mirror thinking almost objectively, Interesting. What was the final straw in what seemed like a normal, contented life?

Once I'd sort of accepted that even if I were insane, it was alright as long as I wasn't hurting anybody, I got down to the business of dealing with it, which is really where I ought to have started in the first place. I attributed the mistake of my initial impractical attention to the subject, rather than to dealing with it, to the emotional upset it had caused, and decided if I was going to be a nut case that didn't mean I had to let it negatively affect my life. Sanity's a little like the weather you know, it's background music until it surprises you, and then if you're not prepared and don't react well to change it can turn your life into a surreal nightmare and invoke some religious beliefs you never even knew you had. But if you survive, and your optimism and ability to make the best of things kicks in, it can end up being a growing experience, albeit a rather painfully memorable one.

I separated the issue into a few components and looked at each of them in turn, trying to determine what I should address as a solution. I was trying to problem solve, but I got distracted. I found that the most interesting question wasn't so much, Was I insane, or even the more practical What should I do about it, but was rather, Why was I choosing this particular manner to manifest insanity? I mean the fact is, there are a lot of avenues for exploring one's twisted psyche, some more popular than others. Since I'd pretty much avoided the UFO subject all my life, and was personally embarrassed to find myself part of it, I started thinking it might be interesting to discover why my psyche had chosen this particular topic to explore with such, well, intensive creativity.

So why was my life so bizarre? People say it's "spiritual growth," but come on, since when does "spiritual growth" consist of my average experience? I'd think spiritual growth would be an easy, happy feeling, rainbows and the local deity sitting on a cloud or some such culturally appropriate allegory. Although in some ways much of it was positive, especially the growing level of "convenient coincidence" in my life, in other ways, my life felt dark and twisted, confusing and frustrating.

I wondered if I should be developing in some better way, if there might be more positive frameworks to use than the "alien" type of scenario. I mean, if you must be crazy, there's no rule I ever heard of that you can't choose what delusion you're going to work with, right? If thinking you're Napoleon is more fun than talking to aliens or something, well I might as well do that. I'm management at heart; I'm all for making the creative best of any situation or personality trait.

But since I didn't feel I had deliberately created the alien thing, and was still surprised about it, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to go about getting rid of it or changing it into something else. It made me wonder if the growing trend toward this kind of experience is really "evolution," or a new religious framework -- perhaps it's a sign of changing cultural archetypes. Maybe the meanings are the same as they ever were, and only the god-forms are different. Question is, what does that say about us, that our gods get weirder by the minute?

Letter, November, 1994

I was thinking recently about my work with "entities," as many call them. I suppose it's just one of an infinite number of ways to create one's lessons and teachers and that sort of thing? But gads, they sure do seem autonomous! More so than "dream characters" for sure, more like the characters from real life. And some of the 3D stuff just blows my mind. I have no explanation.

All 'doorways of evolution' are equal.

And yet, the moment we begin creating a doorway for ourselves, in other words a structure to learn from (e.g., magick, or aliens), we create limitations. I've been helped by my complete lack of proper magical education or UFO education, since I don't much know or give a rip what qabalistic significance something has or "who" aliens are, or... I'd probably get more insight if I did, but that would come with assumptions, which I could do without. I'd rather have the knowledge sometimes, being so mundanely cerebral on occasion, but I've forced myself to avoid that. I think it's a distraction, in some ways.

When I work with someone on something that seems very 4D, I come out of it feeling like "Whoa, now that was evolutionary!" When I work with symbols, I feel like, "Now that was really insightful." When I work on something that better describes "aliens," I just come out of it confused, ha!

OK, so maybe all these things, from "The Great White Brotherhood" to the "Enochian Entities" to the "Greys" are just "doorways" in that sense.

I listened to Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull tape the other day. I was really struck by the different tone that his work has. It's "major key." Funny coincidence, but it actually reminds me of the old Bach's Brandenburg Concertos, just that Springtime fresh air happy-joy sense of this life, this wondrous universe, open to active living and change.... seldom any Egyptian mythology, Alien technology, Daemons of Fire or anything of the sort. Unless it's fun for you.

And it seems so much lighter than the other stuff, not in weight but in brightness. In sheer not-worry sunniness of childhood. That's not to say it's any better than the others. Just that the simplicity of it reaches around the limitations in other frameworks nicely. And yet... it is not a framework of its own really, which is why it has so few boundaries and limitations, yet that lack of framework makes it more difficult for me to "use it as a set of instructions" for obtaining the desired end result, that somewhat intangible "evolvement." Everybody wants to just believe anything enough to make it so. But the inspiration from talking about that quality is about all there is: the moment you begin into "how-to," you lose that innocence of non-thought, of just doing it.

The so-called Aliens, Entities and other frameworks seem evolutionary to me, and regularly make tremendous changes in me, prompt great spurts of personal growth. It's unfortunate that so much of it, especially in these fields some call "aliens," is so bloody confusing, but that doesn't make it negative. And yet then when I want to talk about it with somebody, I end up feeling like I am either "limited" because I chose a framework at all (as if I'm a nerd-brain for having that one in particular), or "religious" because I work within it (as if taking it seriously means I believe it [inferring I don't believe anything else]), or like I have some "guru" because I apparently required Entity X to train me (as if self-growth only requires specific teachers if a person is childish enough to "need" someone dominant).

Either I talk with intelligent people who think I'm a moron for having these experiences, or I talk with people who believe me, but they are morons, ha!

I realize having a life that sounds like one of Bach's more way in the outfield books creates a dilemma in itself -- I could use stability and assurance of some sanity. What I'm wondering is if my imagination is causing these experiences and/or could be what is boxing me into negativity. I don't mind that I contain negatives, I'm pretty open to containing All, but I don't see why I should have to encounter that, if I don't choose. If I must have these trippy experiences, I don't see why I can't just meet somebody groovy like Donald Shimoda, rather than tall dark telepathic bug sorts, or blondes who are either "me" or who beat me up, or those occasions where I'm tested and trained, and then barely escape with my life... good grief, it's exhausting. Why is everything in such a minor, dark key?

I couldn't help but wonder. Why is spirituality and evolvement so positive for some, and so scary and bizarre for me? Children of the 60's and 70's got "Peace, brother," Siddhartha, and Jonathan Livingston Seagull as contributions to their mindset and reality change. The 80's and 90's seem quite different by comparison. Is it dark irony and lack of heros or ideals that's made my "evolution" more like some kind of surreal sci-fi drug trip of "Generation X?"

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