Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com Publisher of North Atlantic Books & Author Wed, 17 Apr 2013 18:01:43 +0000 en-US hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.4.2 Contents of iPod Februrary 2013 http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2013/03/contents-of-ipod-februrary-2013/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2013/03/contents-of-ipod-februrary-2013/#comments Fri, 01 Mar 2013 23:10:21 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1241

You You You You You The 6ths
As You Turn To Go The 6ths
Bach: Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring Zoltan Rozsnyai: Columbia Chamber Symphony
Colors Zamfir
John.I.Am YouTube
Tan Dun: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon – The Eternal Vow Yo-Yo Ma; Shanghai Symphony Orchestra: Shanghai National Orchestra
Saint-Saëns: Carnival Of The Animals – 13. The Swan Yo-Yo Ma; Eugene Ormandy: Philadelphia Orchestra
Morricone: The Mission – Gabriel’s Oboe Yo-Yo Ma; Ennio Morricone: Roma Sinfonietta
Bach: Wachet Auf, Ruft Uns Die Stimme, BWV 645 Yo-Yo Ma, Ton Koopman; Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra
Franck: Sonata In A For Violin & Piano – 4. Allegretto Poco Mosso Yo-Yo Ma, Kathryn Stott
O’Connor: Appalachia Waltz Yo-Yo Ma
Bach: Cello Suite #1 In G, BWV 1007 – Prelude Yo-Yo Ma
Bach: Cello Suite #3 In C, BWV 1009 – Bourrée 1 & 2 Yo-Yo Ma
Nobody Move (Yellow Man) Yellowman
Dutilleux: Timbres, Espace, Mouvement, “La Nuit Etoilée” – 3. Noire = 56 Environ Yan Pascal Tortelier: BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Dutilleux: Timbres, Espace, Mouvement, “La Nuit Etoilée” – 2. Interlude Yan Pascal Tortelier: BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Dutilleux: Timbres, Espace, Mouvement, “La Nuit Etoilée” – 1. Noire = 72 Environ Yan Pascal Tortelier: BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Wu Ching Zhang 鉄道員 Wu Ching Zhang
Stand By Me World Mix 2
Apathy And Ignorance World Entertainment War
Relax World Entertainment War
I Ain’t Got No Home Woody Guthrie
Do Re Mi Woody Guthrie
Tom Joad – Part II Woody Guthrie
Dusty Old Dust (So Long, It’s Been Good To Know You) Woody Guthrie
The Great Dust Storm (Dust Storm Disaster) Woody Guthrie
Flute Quartet No 1 In D Major, K.285 – 1st Mov Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart: Horn Concerto #1 In D, K 412 – 1. Allegro Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart: Clarinet Concerto In A, K 622 – 2. Adagio Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Clarinet Quintet In A Major, K.581 – 1st Mov Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart: Piano Concerto #21 In C, K 467, “Elvira Madigan” – 2. Andante Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart, Symphony No 41, C-Major KV 551 “Jupiter” IV Finale Molto Allegro Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart, Symphony No 41, C-Major KV 551 “Jupiter” III Menuetto: Allegretto Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart, Overture to “Titus” Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart, The Magic Flute Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Mozart, Turkish March (Rondo Alla Turca) Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Somewhere Over the Rainbow Willie Nelson
Red Headed Stranger Willie Nelson
Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain Willie Nelson
Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground Willie Nelson
City Of New Orleans Willie Nelson
Poncho And Lefty (With Merle Haggard) Willie Nelson
On The Road Again Willie Nelson
Scarlet Ribbons Willie Nelson
Someone To Watch Over Me Willie Nelson
Unchained Melody Willie Nelson
Blue Skies Willie Nelson
Sad Songs And Waltzes Willie Nelson
Yours Love Willie Nelson
We Don’t Run Willie Nelson
Back To Earth Willie Nelson
Living In The Promiseland Willie Nelson
Healing Hands of Time Willie Nelson
Save Your Tears Willie Nelson
I’m Still Here Willie Nelson
Something To Think About Willie Nelson
I Gotta Get Drunk Willie Nelson
The Local Memory Willie Nelson
Crazy Willie Nelson
A Moment Isn’t Very Long Willie Nelson
Things To Remember Willie Nelson
Darkness On The Face Of The Earth Willie Nelson
Are You Sure Willie Nelson
I’ve Just Destroyed The World Willie Nelson
What Do You Think Of Her Now Willie Nelson
Undo The Right Willie Nelson
Old Man River William Warfield
Symphony No. 4 in E minor Op 98 – (2) Andante Moderato William Steinberg: Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra
Symphony No. 2 in D major Op 73 – (4) Allegro con spirito William Steinberg: Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra
Symphony No. 2 in D major Op 73 – (3) Allegretto grazioso William Steinberg: Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra
Symphony No. 2 in D major Op 73 – (2) Adagio non troppo William Steinberg: Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra
Bonnie Kellswater Will Millar
The Lark In the Clear Aire (reprise) Will Millar
Slieve Gallon Braes / Sally Gardens Will Millar
The Lark In the Clear Aire / My Singing Bird Will Millar
Druids Winter Will Millar
Samhain The Celtic Year Begins Will Millar
Fairy Queen Awakening Will Millar
Maghmell The Pleasant Plain Will Millar
Atlantic Crossings: The Parting Glass / Holy Ground / Farewell Shamrock Shore / Women O Will Millar
Summer In the Glens: Summer Has Come / Hills of Donegal / She Moved Thru the Fair / Bua Will Millar
Seascapes & Safe Harbours: Cliffs of Duneen / Carnlough Bay / Mingulay Boat Song / Tyre Will Millar
A Terrible Beauty: Boolavogue / The Foggy Dew / Valley of Knockanure Will Millar
Bird of Peace: Where the Moorcock Crows / Ar Eirinn Will Millar
The Women of Ireland: Rosheen Dubh / The Women of Ireland / Star of the Country Down Will Millar
Kansas City Wilbert Harrison
Keep On The Sunny Side The Whites
Somewhere West Side Story
Bach: Two Part 1nvention In B-Flat Wendy Carlos
Mädchenlied, Op. 85, No. 3 Wayne Horvitz
You Can’t Stop a Tattler Pt. One Washington Phillips
Mother’s Last Word to Her Son Washington Phillips
Lift Him Up That’s All Washington Phillips
Bach (JS): Minuet In D Minor, BWV Anhang 132 Walter Heinz Bernstein, Karl-Heinz Passin
Bach (JS): Minuet In G, BWV Anhang 116 Walter Heinz Bernstein
Standing Outside Wade Mainer
You’re the One The Vogues
Turn Around and Look At Me The Vogues
My Special Angel The Vogues
Five O’Clock World The Vogues
Prelude No. 5 in G Major, Op. 32 Vladimir Viardo
Prelude No. 1 in F Sharp Minor, Op. 23 Vladimir Viardo
Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 30 Vladimir Viardo
Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 30 Vladimir Viardo
Schuman KInderszenen 10 Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen 9 Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen 8 Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen 7 Vladimir Horowitz
Sonata in A-Major, Opus 50 Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen 6 Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen 5 Vladimir Horowitz
Adagio sostenuto in F-Major Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen 3 Vladimir Horowitz
Etude in C-Sharp Minor, Opus 2 Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman KInderszenen Vladimir Horowitz
Prelude V, Book II, Bruyeres Vladimir Horowitz
Schuman Arabeske in C Major Vladimir Horowitz
Impromptu in G Flat Vladimir Horowitz
Sonata No. 8 in C Minor 2 Vladimir Horowitz
Sonata No. 8 in C Minor Vladimir Horowitz
Rachmaninov Etude Tableau Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Piano Sonata N. 2 Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Andante Spianato Et Grand Polonaise Brillante In E Flat, Op. 22 Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Waltz In A Flat, Op.69/1 Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Ballade #4 In F Minor, Op. 52, CT 5 Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Etude #7 In C Sharp, Op. 25/7, CT 32 Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Barcarolle In F Sharp, Op. 60, B 158 Vladimir Horowitz
Chopin: Polonaise #7 In A Flat, Op. 61, “Polonaise Fantasie” Vladimir Horowitz
Beethoven: Piano Sonata in C, Op. 53, “Waldstein” – 2. Introduzione: Adagio molto Vladimir Horowitz
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #2 In C Sharp Minor, Op. 27, “Moonlight” – 2. Allegretto Vladimir Horowitz
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Fugue #11 In F, BWV 856 Vladimir Feltsman
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Prelude #9 In E, BWV 854 Vladimir Feltsman
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Fugue #8 In D Sharp Minor, BWV 853 Vladimir Feltsman
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Prelude #8 In E Flat Minor, BWV 853 Vladimir Feltsman
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Fugue #4 In C Sharp Minor, BWV 849 Vladimir Feltsman
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Fugue #1 In C, BWV 846 Vladimir Feltsman
Bach: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 – Prelude #1 In C, BWV 846 Vladimir Feltsman
The Hills Of Bounty Vishten
Walk, Don’t Run The Ventures
I’m Sticking With You The Velvet Underground
Albinoni: Adagio In G Minor For Strings & Organ Various Artists
Chopin: Piano Sonata #2 In B Flat Minor, B 128/Op. 35, “Funeral March” – Mvt. 1 Various Artists
Schubert: Ellens Gesang #3, Op. 52/6, D 839, “Ave Maria” Various Artists
Sukiyaki Various Artists
Love Is A Many Splendored Thing Various Artists
Jimmy Grove and Barbara Ellen Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 21 In E Minor – Vivace Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 20 In E Minor – Poco Allegretto – Vivace Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 19 In B Minor – Allegretto Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 18 In D Major – Molto Vivace Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 16 In F Major – Con Moto Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 10 In F Major – Presto Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 5 In G Minor – Allegro – Vivace Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 3 In F Major – Allegretto Various Artists
Hungarian Dance No. 1 In G Minor – Allegro Molto Various Artists
V. Finale (Furiant) Presto Various Artists
IV. Romance-Romanza-Andante Con Moto Various Artists
III. Sousedská (Minuetto) Allegro Giusto Various Artists
II. Polka – Allegretto Grazioso Various Artists
I. Preludium (Pastorale) Allegro Moderato Various Artists
Theme & Variations 1-27 Various Artists
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #23 In F Minor, Op. 57, “Appassionata” – 2. Andante Con Moto Van Cliburn
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #26 In E Flat, Op. 81A, “Les Adieux” – 2. Andante Espressivo Van Cliburn
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #26 In E Flat, Op. 81A, “Les Adieux” – 1. Adagio, Allegro Van Cliburn
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #8 In C Minor, Op. 13, “Pathétique” – 3. Rondo: Allegro Van Cliburn
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #8 In C Minor, Op. 13, “Pathétique” – 2. Adagio Cantabile Van Cliburn
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #14 In C Sharp Minor, Op. 27/2, “Moonlight” – 2. Allegretto Van Cliburn
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #14 In C Sharp Minor, Op. 27/2, “Moonlight” – 1. Adagio Sostenuto Van Cliburn
When The Boys Talk About Valerie Carr
Padre Valerie Carr
No More Reds (1996) Utah Phillips & Rosalie Sorrels
Nevada Jane (1996) Utah Phillips & Rosalie Sorrels
Harry Orchard (1996) Utah Phillips & Rosalie Sorrels
Aragon Mill (1996) Utah Phillips & Rosalie Sorrels
Going Away Utah Phillips
Casey Jones (The Union Scab) Utah Phillips
We Have Fed You All a Thousand Years Utah Phillips
Going Away Utah Phillips
Stand to Your Glasses Steady Utah Phillips
Rice and Beans Utah Phillips
Enola Gay Utah Phillips
Lord, Ain’t It Sad? Utah Phillips
The Soldier’s Return Utah Phillips
Mountain Valley Home Utah Phillips
Trooperr’s Lament Utah Phillips
Yellow Ribbon Utah Phillips
I’ve Got to Know Utah Phillips
Daddy, What’s a Train? Utah Phillips
Coldweather The Upsetters
Ironside The Upsetters
U Roy & The Upsetter/Stick Together The Upsetters
David Isaacs & The Upsetter/Just Enough To Keep Me Hanging On The Upsetters
U Roy & The Upsetter/Double Six The Upsetters
Rumpelsteelskin The Upsetters
Soulful I The Upsetters
Dark Moon (Blue Moon) The Upsetters
Live Injection The Upsetters
Long Sentence The Upsetters
Dreamland The Upsetters
Move Me The Upsetter
The Hurricanes & The Upsetters/Isn’t It Wrong The Upsetter
Winston Prince (Aka Doctor Alimantado) & The Upsetters/Place Called Africa (Version 3) The Upsetter
My Girl The Upsetter
Ragga Girl Upper Hutt Posse
To Each His Own The Tymes
So Much In Love The Tymes
Happy Together The Turtles
Love Is All Around The Troggs
End of the Line The Traveling Wilburys
Handle With Care (Extended Version) The Traveling Wilburys
Lover’s Concerto The Toys
Ira Hayes Townes Van Zandt
Wreck On The Highway Townes Van Zandt
My Proud Mountains Townes Van Zandt
Darcy Farrow Townes Van Zandt
No Deal Townes Van Zandt
(I Heard That) Lonesome Whistle Townes Van Zandt
A Song For Townes Van Zandt
Dublin Blues Townes Van Zandt
Still Lookin’ For You Townes Van Zandt
Sixteen Summers, Fifteen Falls Townes Van Zandt
All Your Young Servants Townes Van Zandt
Talkin’ Karate Blues Townes Van Zandt
Velvet Voices Townes Van Zandt
Sad Cinderella Townes Van Zandt
I’ll Be Here In The Morning Townes Van Zandt
Many A Fine Lady Townes Van Zandt
For The Sake Of The Song Townes Van Zandt
Tower Song Townes Van Zandt
Many A Fine Lady Townes Van Zandt
Waitin’ ‘Round To Die Townes Van Zandt
For The Sake Of The Song Townes Van Zandt
Pancho And Lefty Townes Van Zandt
Greensboro Woman Townes Van Zandt
Ain’t Leavin’ Your Love Townes Van Zandt
Rex’s Blues Townes Van Zandt
To Live’s To Fly Townes Van Zandt
Dollar Bill Blues Townes Van Zandt
If I Needed You Townes Van Zandt
I’ll Be Seeing You Tommy Dorsey & His Orchestra Feat. Frank Sinatra
Looks Like I’m Up Shit’s Creek Again Tom Waits
Had Me a Girl Tom Waits
I’m Your Late Night Evening Prostitute Tom Waits
Goin’ Down Slow Tom Waits
Hold On Tom Waits
Barcarolle Tom Waits
Fish & Bird Tom Waits
I’m Still Here Tom Waits
Table Top Joe Tom Waits
No One Knows I’m Gone Tom Waits
Flower’s Grave Tom Waits
Old Dogs, Children and Watermelon Wine Tom T. Hall
After The Goldrush Tom Rapp
Angel Dream (No. 2) Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Walls (No. 3) Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Walls (Circus) Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
I Won’t Back Down Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Breakdown Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
License To Kill Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Free Fallin’ Tom Petty
The Last Thing On My Mind Tom Paxton
Green, Green Grass of Home Tom Jones
It’s Not Unusual (Single) Tom Jones
Green Green Grass of Home Tom Jones
The Lion Sleeps Tonight (Wimoweh) The Tokens
Sunrise (From the Original Motion Picture “Vendredi Soir”) Tindersticks
Street Fight (From the Original Motion Picture “Vendredi Soir”) Tindersticks
Closing (From the Original Motion Picture “35 Rhums”) Tindersticks
Lanterns (From the Original Motion Picture “35 Rhums”) Tindersticks
Lubec (From the Original Motion Picture “35 Rhums”) Tindersticks
Lionel Home Drunk (From the Original Motion Picture “35 Rhums”) Tindersticks
Night Train (From the Original Motion Picture “35 Rhums”) Tindersticks
Night Time Apartments (From the Original Motion Picture “35 Rhums”) Tindersticks
Children’s Theme 1 (From the Original Motion Picture “White Material”) Tindersticks
White Material (From the Original Motion Picture “White Material”) Tindersticks
The Boxer (From the Original Motion Picture “White Material”) Tindersticks
Theme From In Search Of Angels Tim Story
Simple Song Of Freedom Tim Hardin
Reason To Believe Tim Hardin
Joy to the World Three Dog Night
Sibelius: 4 Lemminkainen Legends, Op. 22: No. 4. Lemminkainen’s Return Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Sibelius: In Memoriam – Funeral March Op. 59 Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Sibelius: Scenes Historiques Op. 25, No. 3 Festivo Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Sibelius: 2nd Tempest Suite : No, 4 Prospero, No. 6 Miranda Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
No. 7 Berceuse Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
1st Tempest Suite: The Oak Tree, 2. Humoresque, 3. Caliban’s Song – Intrada Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
No. 8 The Death Of Melisande Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
No. 7 Entracte Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
No. 3 A Spring In The Park Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Chorus:Where freedom hath triumphed Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Turkish March Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Chorus:Daughters of high-throned Zeus Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Overture (Andante con moto-Allegro,ma non troppo) Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Allegretto Thomas Beecham: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
If You See My Savior Thomas A. Dorsey
How About You Thomas A. Dorsey
Road Movie to Berlin They Might Be Giants
Women And Men They Might Be Giants
They Might Be Giants They Might Be Giants
Whistling In The Dark They Might Be Giants
Minimum Wage They Might Be Giants
Letterbox They Might Be Giants
Particle Man They Might Be Giants
Dead They Might Be Giants
Istanbul (Not Constantinople) They Might Be Giants
Lucky Ball And Chain They Might Be Giants
Birdhouse In Your Soul They Might Be Giants
Theme From Flood They Might Be Giants
The Boll Weevil Tex Ritter
High Noon (a/k/a Do Not Forsake Me) Tex Ritter
There’s A New Moon Over My Shoulder Tex Ritter
San Antonio Rose Tex Ritter
My Brown Eyed Texas Rose Tex Ritter
Suspicion Terry Stafford
Seasons in the Sun Terry Jacks
Marianne Terry Gilkyson
Mutual Admiration Society Teresa Brewer
A Tear Fell Teresa Brewer
Joy Bells Tennessee Music And Printing Company Quartet
Sixteen Tons Tennessee Ernie Ford
Old Man River A Capella The Temptations
Old Man River The Temptations
My Girl The Temptations
To Know Him Is To Love Him Teddy Bears
Sorry You’re Sick Ted Hawkins
Nukukehe Te Vaka
Haloa Olohega Te Vaka
Sei Ma Le Losa Te Vaka
D-I-V-O-R-C-E Tammy Wynette
I Don’t Wanna Play House Tammy Wynette
Theme From Once Were Warriors Tama Renata
My Sleepy Fall Take It Easy Hospital
2. Symphony No.10 In F Sharp Major: Adagio Svetlanov Russian State Symphony Orchestra
Stumblin’ In original Suzy Quatro
Rua Kenana Surviv’all
Desperado Sung Si-Kyung
Makovienka (Poppy Girl) Sui Vesan
Stand by Me Street Musicians
Incense and Peppermints Strawberry Alarm Clock
Walking My Lord Up Calvary Hill Stoney Cooper & Wilma Lee
Different Drum Stone Poneys Featuring Linda Rondstadt
Mo Ghile Mear(Our Hero) Sting & The Chieftains
Love Is the Seventh Wave Sting
Mom Song (Live) Stew, Ensemble & Eisa Davis
Merci beaucoup, M. Godard (Live) Stew, de’Adre Aziza & Rebecca Naomi Jones
The Black One (Live) Stew & Daniel Breaker
A Place In the Sun Stevie Wonder
Blowin’ In The Wind Stevie Wonder
Chicken Hawks Steve Scotti
Is I Involved? I Is Steve Scotti
Structures from Silence Steve Roach
Quiet Friend Steve Roach
Reflections In Suspension Steve Roach
Tehillim, Part III: Slow Steve Reich/Schönberg Ensemble with percussion group The Hague
Where Or When Steve Lawrence & Eydie Gormé
Prelude In C Minor From The Well Tempered-Clavier Steve Erquiga
Crying, Waiting, Hoping Steve Earle & Marty Stuart
Rutter: A Clare Benediction Stephen Layton: Polyphony
Rutter: Thy Perfect Love Stephen Layton: Britten Sinfonia, Polyphony
Rutter: The Lord Is My Light & My Salvation Stephen Layton: Britten Sinfonia, Polyphony
Rutter: As The Bridegroom To His Chosen Stephen Layton: Britten Sinfonia, Polyphony
Rutter: I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Stephen Layton: Britten Sinfonia, Polyphony
Rutter: Lord, Make Me An Instrument Of Thy Peace Stephen Layton: Britten Sinfonia, Polyphony
When The Roll is Called Up Yonder Statler Brothers
This Ole House Statler Brothers
There Is Power in the Blood Statler Brothers
Sweet Bye and Bye Statler Brothers
Precious Memories Statler Brothers
Love Lifted Me Statler Brothers
Amazing Grace Statler Brothers
Rock of Ages Statler Brothers
How Great Thou Art Statler Brothers
The Lord’s Prayer Statler Brothers
Her Is Stanley Prager, Carol Haney
Silver Threads And Golden Needles The Springfields
Danza de los Caporales Spirit Of Peru
Spirit of the Amazon Spirit Of Peru
Chinito Loco Spirit of Peru
Fiesta Spirit Of Peru
Flor de Potosi Spirit Of Peru
Chi Mai Spirit Of Peru
Danza Aymara Spirit of Peru
Song of the Andes Spirit Of Peru
Sikuri de Diablada Spirit Of Peru
La Cadena Spirit Of Peru
Danza de los Pepinos Spirit Of Peru
Sketches of the Andes Spirit Of Peru
Estrelita del Sur Spirit Of Peru
El Condor Pasa Spirit Of Peru
Carnaval Arequipeno Spirit Of Peru
Cacharpaya Spirit Of Peru
Tomorrow’s Child Spencer Brewer
The First Noel Spencer Brewer
What’s The Time Mr. Wolf Southside Of Bombay
Christ Is All The Soul Stirrers
Don’t Fence Me In Sons of the Pioneeers
This Time Of Year Sonny Terry – Alan Gilbert – Lyn Murrary Singers
Young Love Sonny James
Liloa’s Mele Sonny Chillingworth
Baby Don’t Go Sonny & Cher
In the Jailhouse Now The Soggy Bottom Boys
Ong Sohung (I Am Thou, I Am Peace) Snatam Kaur
Guru Ram Das (Healing) Snatam Kaur
Suni-Ai (Listening Celebration) Snatam Kaur
Suni-ai (fast) Snatam Kaur
Suni-ai (slow) Snatam Kaur
Suni-Ai (Listening Meditation) Snatam Kaur
Hariaa (Strength) Snatam Kaur
Aakhan Jor (Acceptance) Snatam Kaur
Aakhan Jor Snatam Kaur
Dayndaa Day (Infinity) Snatam Kaur
Dayndaa Day Snatam Kaur
Dayndaa Day Snatam Kaur
Ek Ong Kaar (Destiny) Snatam Kaur
Aad Guray Nameh Snatam Kaur
Waheguru Wahe Jio Snatam Kaur
Gobinday Mukunday Snatam Kaur
Aadays Tisai Aadays Snatam Kaur
Jin Prem Kio Tin Hee Prabh Paayo Snatam Kaur
Gobinda Gobinda Hari Hari Snatam Kaur
Aad Guray Nameh Snatam Kaur
Shivoham Snatam Kaur
Gobinda Hari Snatam Kaur
Ong Sohung Snatam Kaur
Ong Namo Snatam Kaur
Breath of Life, I Bow to You Snatam Kaur
May The Long-Time Light Surround You Snatam Kaur
Long Time Sun Snatam Kaur
I Second That Emotion Smokie Robinson & The Miracles
My Girl Is Gone Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
My Girl Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
More Love Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
Got A Job Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
Come ‘Round Here Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
Choosey Beggar Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
If You Can Want Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
Would I Love You Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
Shop Around Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
Itchycoo Park Small Faces
Tribute to Don Walser Slaid Cleaves
New Year’s Day Slaid Cleaves
Borderline Slaid Cleaves
Horses Slaid Cleaves
Quick As Dreams Slaid Cleaves
Below Slaid Cleaves
Wishbones Slaid Cleaves
Race Car Joe Slaid Cleaves
Oh Roberta Slaid Cleaves
Another Kind Of Blue Slaid Cleaves
Devil’s Lullaby Slaid Cleaves
29 Slaid Cleaves
Last of the V-8s Slaid Cleaves
You Don’t Have to Tell Me Slaid Cleaves
You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch Slaid Cleaves
November Skies Slaid Cleaves
Desert Dreams Slaid Cleaves
Another Man’s Wealth Slaid Cleaves
The Ballad Of Nick And Betty Slaid Cleaves
Careful Slaid Cleaves
For The Brave Slaid Cleaves
Brother’s Keepers Slaid Cleaves
Ramblers Slaid Cleaves
Temporary Slaid Cleaves
Beautiful Thing Slaid Cleaves
Twistin’ Slaid Cleaves
Tumbleweed Stew Slaid Cleaves
Dreams Slaid Cleaves
Green Mountains and Me Slaid Cleaves
Hard to Believe Slaid Cleaves
Cry Slaid Cleaves
One Good Year Slaid Cleaves
Broke Down Slaid Cleaves
Since I Don’t Have You The Skyliners
The End Of The World Skeeter Davis
I Can’t Stay Mad At You Skeeter Davis
Medley: the Rivers of Babylon, Wings of a Dove, A Little More Oil, Hey Man The Skatalites
Guns of Navarone The Skatalites
Good News The Skatalites
Golden Love The Skatalites
Trip To Mars The Skatalites
From Russia With Love The Skatalites
Garden Of Love The Skatalites
Eastern Standard Time The Skatalites
Sibelius: Pelleas And Melisande Incidental Music Op.46, No. 2. Melisande Sir Thomas Beecham, New York Philharmonic
Vivace – Presto – Adagio Sir Thomas Beecham, New York Philharmonic
Allegro Molto Moderato - Sir Thomas Beecham, New York Philharmonic
Un Pochettino Meno Adagio – Vivacissimo – Adagio - Sir Thomas Beecham, New York Philharmonic
Sibelius Symphony No. 7 Adagio - Sir Thomas Beecham, New York Philharmonic
Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina Sinnead O’Connor
Winkin’, Blinkin’ And Nod The Simon Sisters
Mahler: Symphony #10 In F Sharp Minor (Unfinished) – 1. Adagio Simon Rattle: City Of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #10 In F Sharp Minor (Unfinished) – 5. Finale Simon Rattle: Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #10 In F Sharp Minor (Unfinished) – 4. Scherzo Simon Rattle: Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #10 In F Sharp Minor (Unfinished) – 3. Purgatorio (Allegro Moderato) Simon Rattle: Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #10 In F Sharp Minor (Unfinished) – 2. Scherzo Simon Rattle: Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra
Roving Gambler (Demo) [Bonus Track] Simon & Garfunkel
Rose Of Aberdeen (Demo) [Bonus Track] Simon & Garfunkel
Barbriallen (Demo) [Bonus Track] Simon & Garfunkel
The Sound Of Silence Simon & Garfunkel
The Sounds of Silence Simon & Garfunkel
El Condor Pasa (If I Could) Simon & Garfunkel
Scarborough Fair/Canticle Simon & Garfunkel
I Am A Rock Simon & Garfunkel
Mrs. Robinson Simon & Garfunkel
That Silver Haired Daddy Of Mine Simon & Garfunkel
Cecilia Simon & Garfunkel
Song For The Asking Simon & Garfunkel
Comfort And Joy Simon & Garfunkel
Red Rubber Ball Simon & Garfunkel
A Hazy Shade Of Winter Simon & Garfunkel
The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy) Simon & Garfunkel
Homeward Bound Simon & Garfunkel
The Sound Of Silence Simon & Garfunkel
Bleecker Street Simon & Garfunkel
Daniel Saw The Stone Silver Leaf Quartette Of Norfolk
Salve Mater Misericordiae Silos
Durga Shruti Sadolikar Katkar
Goodnight My Someone Shirley Jones & Robert Preston
Till There Was You Shirley Jones
Goodnight My Someone Shirley Jones
Soldier Boy The Shirelles
Song of Creation Shimshai
Jah is Always Here Shimshai
I Sense Your Presence Shimshai
Over the Rainbow Sherrry Goffin Kondor
Never Never Land Sherrry Goffin Kondor
Johnny Angel Shelley Fabares
Lo, How A Rose E’er Blooming Sheldon Mirowitz
The Purple People Eater Sheb Wooley
Sri Sukta (Contnued) Shanti Shanti
Song of Compassion Shanti Shanti
Ganesha Prayer Shanti Shanti
Leader Of The Pack The Shangri-Las
Tears On My Pillow Sha-Na-Na
Blue Moon Sha-Na-Na
Young Love Sha Na Na
Tell Laura I Love Her Sha Na Na
Tears on My Pillow Sha Na Na
Remember When Sha Na Na
Little Darlin’ Sha Na Na
Come and Go With Me Sha Na Na
Chantilly Lace Sha Na Na
Book of Love Sha Na Na
Monster Mash Sha Na Na
Beans In My Ears Serendipity Singers
Oye Mi Coro Septeto Matamoros (Cuba)
Jovano, Jovanke Selimova
I’ll Never Find Another You The Seekers
A World Of Our Own – Seekers 1965 The Seekers
If You’re Irish / Mcnamara’s Band / With a Shillelagh Under My Aarms / Hannigan’s Hooley Sean Dunphy
Farewell to Glasgow Séamus Egan
Ancient Voices Scout Cloud Lee
One Tiny Candle Scout Cloud Lee
Spirit’s Cry Scout Cloud Lee
My Virginia Rose Scott Boatwright
I’m Through With Love Sarah Vaughan
Broken Hearted Melody Sarah Vaughan
For All We Know Sarah Vaughan
First Of May/Moon River Sarah Brightman
Sleep Walk Santo & Johnny
Help Me Make It Through The Night Sammi Smith
Free Samantha Rainbow
Breathe Samantha Rainbow
Little Red Riding Hood Sam the Sham
Reflecting Light Sam Phillips
Over in Glory Land Sam Morgan’s Jazz Band
Kohola (Whales) Sam David & Amber Leiv
They Call The Wind Mariah Sam Cooke
The Riddle Song Sam Cooke
Old Man River Sam Cooke
Long Long Ago Sam Cooke
Jamaica Farewell Sam Cooke
It’s All Right For Sentimental Reasons & Twistin’ Sam Cooke
Hold On Sam Cooke
Faraway Places Sam Cooke
Chain Gang & Cupid Sam Cooke
Bring it on Home to Me Sam Cooke
Bali Hai Sam Cooke
A Change Is Gonna Come Sam Cooke
Another Saturday Night Sam Cooke
Mean Old World Sam Cooke
Touch The Hem Of His Garment Sam Cooke
Nearer To Thee Sam Cooke
Peace In The Valley Sam Cooke
This Little Light of Mine Sam Cooke
Nobody Knows The Trouble I’ve Seen Sam Cooke
Frankie And Johnnie Sam Cooke
Another Saturday Night (Prev. Unreleased Take) Sam Cooke
Nothing Can Change This Love Sam Cooke
Chain Gang Sam Cooke
Wonderful World Sam Cooke
You Send Me Sam Cooke
My Foolish Heart Sam Cooke
When I Fall In Love Sam Cooke
Peberpelikan Safari
Feelin’ Bad Blues Ry Cooder
I Think It’s Going To Work Out Fine Ry Cooder
Oh What A Dream Ruth Brown
Bija mantras Russill Paul
Spirit Five Russill Paul
Spirit Two Russill Paul
We’ve Got To Get You A Woman Runt
Maine Stein Song (AKA the Stein Song) Rudy Vallée
J.S. Bach: Suite #3 In D, BWV 1068, “Air On The G String” Rudolf Baumgartner; Lucerne Festival Strings
J.S. Bach: Brandenberg Concerto #3 In G, BWV 1028 – Allegro Rudolf Baumgartner; Lucerne Festival Strings
Gabriella’s Sång / Gabriella’s Song The Royal Norwegian Navy Band
Yesterday, When I Was Young Roy Clark
Buffalo Gals Rosemary Clooney & Bing Crosby
Hey, There Rosemary Clooney
For All We Know Rosemary Clooney
Don’t Fence Me In Rosemary Clooney
This Ole House Rosemary Clooney
In the Land Where We’ll Never Grow Old Rose & The Maddox Brothers
Woke Up This Morning (With My Mind On Jesus) Roosevelt Graves & Brother
Be My Baby Ronettes
They Call The Wind Maria Ron Raines And Men
Dragostea Din Tei Romanian Funk
You Better Move On The Rolling Stones
As Tears Go By The Rolling Stones
In Another Land The Rolling Stones
In Another Land The Rolling Stones
Ruby Tuesday The Rolling Stones
Let’s Spend The Night Together The Rolling Stones
Paint It Black The Rolling Stones
The Singer Not The Song The Rolling Stones
Ruby Tuesday (Live) The Rolling Stones
I Am Waiting The Rolling Stones
King Of The Road Roger Miller
Maggie May Rod Stewart
Molly Malone (Cockles And Mussels) Robert White
Danny Boy Robert White
Gary, Indiana Robert Preston
La Chambre Blanche Robert Normandeau
If Ever I Would Leave You Robert Goulet
C’est Moi Robert Goulet
Mr. Mudd & Mr. Gold Robert Earl Keen
Live Forever Robert Duvall
Jonah, Come Out The Wilderness Roaring Lion With Cyril Monrose String Orchestra
California Sun The Rivieras
Come on, Let’s Go Ritchie Valens
Travelin’ Man Ricky Nelson
Hello Marylou Ricky Nelson
Garden Party Ricky Nelson
Fools Rush In Ricky Nelson
Lonesome Town Ricky Nelson
Poor Little Fool Ricky Nelson
Finale Ultimo (Camelot Reprise) Richard Burton and Ensemble
Cup Of Tea Rex Allen/Margot Smith
Persimmon Song Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band
Amazing Grace Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band
I Shall Not Be Moved Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band
Blow That Horn Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band
Piccolissima Serenata Renato Carosone
Welcome to the Aftermath Remo Conscious
Loose Change Remo Conscious
Silent Night Reggae Reggae Christmas
Feliz Navidad Reggae Christmas
Come All Yet Faithful Reggae Reggae Christmas
Chattanoogie Shoe Shine Boy Red Foley
Hatikvah RebbeSoul
Who Put the Bomp The Re-Bops
Tell Laura I Love Her Ray Peterson
The Girl That I Marry Ray Middleton
Celestial Soda Pop Ray Lynch
It Was A Good Year Ray Charles & Willie Nelson
You Don’t Know Me Ray Charles & Diana Krall
If I Needed You Ray Benson
Tierno Amor Rama Nueve
Paucartambo Rama Nueve
The Mission Rama Nueve
Illapu Rama Nueve
Concierto de Aranjuez Rama Nueve
Franck: Symphonic Variations for Piano & Orchestra Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Rhapsody: Var. #18 Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Rhapsody: Var. #17 Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Rhapsody: Var. #16 Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Rhapsody: Var. #12 Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Rhapsody: Var. #11 Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Rhapsody: Var. #7 Rachmaninoff; Franck; &c.
Toora Loora (that’s an Irish Lullaby) Rachel Sumner
Bach: Concerto In C Minor For 2 Harpsichords, BWV 1060 – 2. Adagio Rachel Podger; Andrew Manze: Academy Of Ancient Music
Bach: Concerto In D Minor For 2 Violins, BWV 1043, “Double” – 2. Largo Ma Non Tanto Rachel Podger; Andrew Manze: Academy Of Ancient Music
Beethoven: String Quartet #16 In F, Op. 135 – 3. Lento Assai, Cantante E Tranquillo Quartetto Italiano
Jeremija Predrag Zivkovic Tozovac
Time Pozo-Seco Singers
Sweethaven Popeye
Born Too Late The Poni-Tails
And the Band Played Waltzing Mathilda The Pogues
Don’t Go Home Playmates
To Each His Own The Platters
Harbor Lights The Platters
One in a Million The Platters
Unchained Melody The Platters
My Prayer The Platters
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes The Platters
The Great Pretender The Platters
Twilight Time The Platters
Only You (And You Alone) The Platters
Vivaldi: Violin Concerto In F Minor, Op. 8/4, RV 297, “The Four Seasons (Winter)” – 2. Largo Pinchas Zukerman: St. Paul Chamber Orchestra
Vivaldi: Violin Concerto In F, Op. 8/3, RV 293, “The Four Seasons (Autumn)” – 3. Allegro Pinchas Zukerman: St. Paul Chamber Orchestra
Vivaldi: Violin Concerto In F, Op. 8/3, RV 293, “The Four Seasons (Autumn)” – 2. Adagio Molto Pinchas Zukerman: St. Paul Chamber Orchestra
Vivaldi: Violin Concerto In F, Op. 8/3, RV 293, “The Four Seasons (Autumn)” – 1. Allegro Pinchas Zukerman: St. Paul Chamber Orchestra
Master Jack Pilot Scott Tracy
Brahms: Waltz In A Flat, Op. 39/15 Philippe Entremont
Theme from Adam Philip Glass
Second Perception of Light, Moon, Mist, and Rainbow Philip Glass
Good Girl Philip Glass
Sheba & Steven Philip Glass
The History Philip Glass
First Day Of School Philip Glass
Reting’s Eyes Philip Glass
Escape To India Philip Glass
Thirteenth Dalai Lama Philip Glass
Sand Mandala Philip Glass
The Hours Philip Glass
Escape! Philip Glass
The Kiss Philip Glass
Dead Things Philip Glass
An Unwelcome Friend Philip Glass
‘I’m Going To Make A Cake’ Philip Glass
Vanessa And The Changelings Philip Glass
‘For Your Own Benefit’ Philip Glass
Morning Passages Philip Glass
Orion – Greece Philip Glass
Orion – India Philip Glass
Orion – Interlude: Brazil & India Philip Glass
Orion – Brazil Philip Glass
Orion – The Gambia Philip Glass
Orion – Canada Philip Glass
Orion – China Philip Glass
Orion – Interlude: Australia & China Philip Glass
Orion – Australia Philip Glass
Glass: Glasspiece #2 (Facades) Philip Glass
Glass: Glasspiece #1 (Rubric) Philip Glass
Glass: In The Upper Room – Dance 9 Philip Glass
Glass: In The Upper Room – Dance 8 Philip Glass
Glass: In The Upper Room – Dance 5 Philip Glass
Glass: In The Upper Room – Dance 2 Philip Glass
Glass: In The Upper Room – Dance 1 Philip Glass
Evening’s Bewilderment Philip and Pam Boulding
No More Songs Phil Ochs
The Confession (Demo Version) Phil Ochs
A Toast to Those Who Are Gone Phil Ochs
When I’m Gone Phil Ochs
I Ain’t Marching Anymore [Live '68] Phil Ochs
Talking Vietnam Blues Phil Ochs
Miranda Phil Ochs
There But for Fortune Phil Ochs
One Way Ticket Home Phil Ochs
Morning [Demo-Version] Phil Ochs
The AMA Song [Demo-Version] Phil Ochs
Draft Dodger Rag Phil Ochs
Buddy Holly Medley Phil Ochs
Okie from Muskogee Phil Ochs
Talking Cuban Crisis Phil Ochs
Celia Phil Ochs
Power and the Glory Phil Ochs
Matt Hyland Phil Cooper, Margaret Nelson & Kate Early
Spinning Wheel Phil Cooper, Margaret Nelson & Kate Early
Seamus O’Brien Phil Cooper, Margaret Nelson & Kate Early
Bruton Town Phil Cooper, Margaret Nelson & Kate Early
‘Twas On One April Morning Phil Cooper, Margaret Nelson & Kate Early
‘s Truagh Nach Eil Bodaich An Domhain (Pity Not The Seals Of The World) Phil Cooper, Margaret Nelson & Kate Early
Downtown Petula Clark
Puff the Magic Dragon Peter, Paul & Mary
Blowing in the Wind Peter, Paul & Mary
Wedding Song (There Is Love) Peter, Paul & Mary
This Land Is Your Land Peter, Paul & Mary
Day Is Done Peter, Paul & Mary
We Shall Overcome (Live) Peter, Paul & Mary
500 Miles Peter, Paul & Mary
It’s Raining Peter, Paul & Mary
Garden Song Peter, Paul & Mary
This Land Is Your Land Peter, Paul & Mary
Mystery Babylon Peter Tosh
Dance Of Innocents Peter Kater & Nawang Khechog
Ocean Of Long Life Peter Kater & Nawang Khechog
Prayer For The Millennium Peter Kater & Nawang Khechog
With This Love (Choir) Peter Gabriel
With This Love Peter Gabriel
Lady Godiva Peter and Gordon -
Sunday for Tea Peter & Gordon
Woman Peter & Gordon
A World Without Love Peter & Gordon
You Are My Sunshine Pete Seeger
In the Good Old Summertime The Pete Moore  Chorus
Witite Peruvian Artists
Guantanamera Peruvian Artists
Senderos Peruvian Artists
Flor de un dia Peruvian Artists
Greensleeves Peruvian Artists
Hot Diggity Perry Como
Round And Round Perry Como
Theme from ‘A Summer Place’ The Percy Faith Orchestra
The Song From Moulin Rouge Percy Faith
Snake Song People Of The St. Croix River
Silent Night People Of The St. Croix River
Heyheye People Of The St. Croix River
Earth Angel The Penguins
Southern Jukebox Music Penguin Cafe Orchestra
In The Highways The Peasall Sisters
After The Gold Rush Pearl Jam & Neil Young
Killing Frost Paul Sullivan
Moonlight On Snow Paul Sullivan
March Of The Animals Paul Sullivan
Fog In The Goldenrod Paul Sullivan
Spring Peepers Paul Sullivan
A Breeze From The South Paul Sullivan
Leon Paul Sullivan
Penobscot Bay Paul Sullivan
Hark The Herald Angels Sing Paul Sullivan
Cradle Song Paul Sullivan
The First Noël Paul Sullivan
Moonlight On Snow Paul Sullivan
In Dulci Jublio Paul Sullivan
Silent Night Paul Sullivan
Love Paul Simon
Senorita With A Necklace Of Tears Paul Simon
Old Paul Simon
American Tune Paul Simon
Was A Sunny Day Paul Simon
Killer Wants To Go To College 2 Paul Simon
Killer Wants To Go To College Paul Simon
Adios Hermanos Paul Simon
Graceland Paul Simon
Born At The Right Time Paul Simon
Slip Slidin’ Away Paul Simon
You Can Call Me Al Paul Simon
Kodachrome Paul Simon
Mother and Child Reunion Paul Simon
All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints Paul Simon
That Was Your Mother Paul Simon
Crazy Love, Vol. II Paul Simon
Homeless Paul Simon
Under African Skies Paul Simon
Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes Paul Simon
Gumboots Paul Simon
I Know What I Know Paul Simon
The Boy In The Bubble Paul Simon
Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard Paul Simon
Old Man River Paul Robeson
My Old Kentucky Home Paul Robeson
Contrapunctus XI Paul Jordan
Prelude In G Minor Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus X Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XVIII E.B./P.J. Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus IX Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XVIII Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus VII Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XVIIb Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus VII Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XVIIa Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus VI Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XVIb Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus V Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XVIa Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus IV Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XV Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus III Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XIV Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus II Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus Xiii Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus I Paul Jordan
Präludium In D, BWV 140 Paul Jordan
Contrapunctus XII Paul Jordan
Stein Song – Big Bertha Limonaire Band Organ Paul Eakins
Puppy Love Paul Anka
Diana Paul Anka
The Tennessee Waltz Patti Page
Allegheny Moon Patti Page
Winter Wonderland Patti La Belle
Your Cheatin’ Heart Patsy Cline
South Of The Border Patsy Cline
San Antonio Rose Patsy Cline
I Fall To Pieces Patsy Cline
When You Were Sweet Sixteen Patrick Mulligan
Jamie Pat Humphries
Buy This American Car Pat Humphries
Common Thread Pat Humphries
Let Her Go Pat Humphries
People Love Pat Humphries
No Sweat Pat Humphries
Indian Prayer (Indanee) Pat Humphries
Hands Pat Humphries
April Love Pat Boone
Love Letters In The Sand Pat Boone
TWV 42:E1 Scherzo 2 E-dur : 2. Largo Parnassi Musici
TWV 42:D2 Trietto 2 D-dur : 2. Andante Parnassi Musici
TWV 43:d3 Quartet d-moll [Fl, Vl, Fg, Bc] : 3. Largo Parnassi Musici
TWV 43:d3 Quartet d-moll [Fl, Vl, Fg, Bc] : 1. Adagio Parnassi Musici
TWV 42:A1 Scherzo 1 A-dur : 2. Moderato Parnassi Musici
TWV 42:G2 Trietto 1 G-dur : 2. Grave Parnassi Musici
TWV 43:a1 Quartet a-moll [2 Vl, Fg, Bc] : Andante Parnassi Musici
TWV 42:D3 Scherzo 3 D-dur : 2. Largo Parnassi Musici
TWV 42:d1 Trietto 3 d-moll : 2. Largo Parnassi Musici
I Love How You Love Me The Paris Sisters
Liszt: Consolation #3 In D Paquita Madriguera Segivoa
Here Is My Heart Papa publishing – Jake & Beth (live)
Overture Pajama Game
Bach: Air On The G String Pablo Casals: Marlboro Festival Orchestra
Bach: Sheep May Safely Graze Pablo Casals: Columbia Symphony & Chorus
Rio Amazonas Oystein Sevag & Lakki Patey
We Gotta Get Outta Dis Place The OUTpsiDER and Resonator featuring Eric Burdon & The Animals
Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood The OUTpsiDER & Resonator featuring Eric Burdon & The Animals
Bach: O Mensch, Bewein’ Dein’ Sünde Gross, BWV 622 Otto Winter
Bach: O Lamm Gottes, BWV 618 Otto Winter
Bach: Das Alte Jahre Vergangen Ist, BWV 614 Otto Winter
Bach: Jesu, Meine Freude, BWV 610 Otto Winter
Bach: Puer Natus In Bethlehem, BWV 603 Otto Winter
Bach: Der Tag, Der Ist So Freudenreich, BWV 605 Otto Winter
Tchaikovsky: Serenade For Strings In C, Op. 48 – 3. Elegia Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Tchaikovsky: Serenade For Strings In C, Op. 48 – 2. Valse Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: Elegiac Melodies, Op. 34 – Last Spring Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: Elegiac Melodies, Op. 34 – The Wounded Heart Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: From Holberg’s Time, Op. 40 – 5. Rigaudon Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: From Holberg’s Time, Op. 40 – 4. Andante Religioso Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: From Holberg’s Time, Op. 40 – 3.Gavotte Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: From Holberg’s Time, Op. 40 – 2. Sarabande Orpheus Chamber Orchestra
Overture Orchestra
Dutilleux: L’Arbre Des Songs – 6. Interlude Olivier Charlier: BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Dutilleux: L’Arbre Des Songs – 5. Lent Olivier Charlier: BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Poulenc: Promenades – 3. A Cheval (Modéré Bien Chante) Olivier Cazal
Poulenc: 8 Nocturnes – 8., “Pour Servir De Coda Au Cycle” – Très Modéré Olivier Cazal
Poulenc: 8 Nocturnes – 6. In F, Très Calme Mais Sans Trainer Olivier Cazal
Summer Nights Olivia Newton-John & John Travolta
Look At Me, I’m Sandra Dee (Reprise) Olivia Newton-John
Tales from the Heart of Chuang Tzu Oliver Shanti
Huanqiutan Garden Oliver Shanti
Tang Xingqing Park Oliver Shanti
An Ti Dog Ma Ti Sim Oliver Shanti
Liu Garden of Suzhou Oliver Shanti
Rhythm of Tao Te Ching Oliver Shanti
Chenresie, Flame of Peace & Compassion Oliver Shanti
The Great Mercy Incantation Oliver Shanti
Autumn Colors Of The Que And Hua Mountains Oliver Shanti
Dancing Song Of The Yao Tribe Oliver Shanti
Starry Sky Oliver Shanti
Bi-luo-chun Tea Ceremony Oliver Shanti
Fairy by the Moonlight Oliver Shanti
Queen of the Blossoms Oliver Shanti
Good Morning Starshine Oliver
Will the Circle Be Unbroken Old Village Choir
Silent Night The Oak Ridge Boys
In the Good Old Summertime The O’Neill Brothers
Friend, Lover, Woman, Wife O.C. Smith
1991 Humpback Whale Song North Quest Players
You Are My Sunshine Norman Blake
The Wedding Song (There Is Love) Noel Paul Stookey and Michael Kelly Blanchard
Will the Circle Be Unbroken The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Sailin’ To Hawaii The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
The End Of The World The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
American Dream The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Maybe Baby The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
L’Arcobaleno Per Giulietta Nino Rota
La Porticina Segreta Nino Rota
II Giordano Delle Fate Nino Rota
La Gardisca E II Principe Nino Rota
Black Books Nils Lofgren
A Different Shore Nightnoise
Cosmic Gate Nick Good
Rameau: Suite De La Passacaille Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Le Temple De La Gloire – Gigue Vive Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Le Temple De La Gloire – Air De Triomphe Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Le Temple De La Gloire – Air Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Le Temple De La Gloire – Musette En Rondeau Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Suite From Le Temple De La Gloire – Air Tendre Pour Le Muses Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Naïs – Gavottes Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Naïs – Sarabande Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Naïs – Menuets Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Naïs – Sarbande Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
Rameau: Naïs – Ouverture Nicholas McGegan: Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra
SUNPOP 45 Elijah NG
Wol auff, gesell Newberry Consort
Minnesanger Newberry Consort
You Know My Name The New Christy Minstrels
Denver The New Christy Minstrels
Today – New Christy Minstrels 1964 The New Christy Minstrels
Mother Earth (Natural Anthem) [Live] Neil Young & Crazy Horse
Powderfinger Neil Young
Sail Away Neil Young
Pocahontas Neil Young
Thrasher Neil Young
When God Made Me Neil Young
He Was The King Neil Young
Here For You Neil Young
It’s A Dream Neil Young
No Wonder Neil Young
The Painter Neil Young
Let’s Impeach The President Neil Young
Flags Of Freedom Neil Young
One Of These Days Neil Young
Harvest Moon Neil Young
Heart Of Gold Neil Young
Harvest Neil Young
Love Is A Rose Neil Young
Deep Forbidden Lake Neil Young
Old Man Neil Young
After The Gold Rush Neil Young
Sugar Mountain Neil Young
All Along The Watchtower Neil Young
Breaking Up is Hard to Do Neil Sedaka
Lonely Boy Neil Sedaka
Calendar Girl Neil Sedaka
Stairway to Heaven Neil Sedaka
Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen Neil Sedaka
Sunday Sun Neil Diamond
Soolaimon Neil Diamond
Shilo Neil Diamond
Red Red Wine Neil Diamond
I Am The Lion Neil Diamond
Childsong Neil Diamond
Brother Love’s Travelling Salvation Show Neil Diamond
You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Neil Diamond
I Am…I Said Neil Diamond
Holly Holy Neil Diamond
Sweet Caroline Neil Diamond
And the Grass Won’t Pay No Mind Neil Diamond
Brooklyn Roads Neil Diamond
The House I Live In Neil Diamond
Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon Neil Diamond
Solitary Man Neil Diamond
Kentucky Woman Neil Diamond
Unity Dance Native American Flute
On The Open Water Native American Flute
Fire Before The Doorway Native American Flute
Dream Flight Native American Flute
Blessed Islands Native American Flute
Still Water Native American Flute
Ramblin’ Rose Nat King Cole
Non Dimenticar Nat King Cole
Almost Like Being In Love Nat King Cole
Too Young Nat King Cole
It’s Only A Paper Moon Nat King Cole
For All We Know Nat King Cole
Mona Lisa Nat King Cole
Summer Wine Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood
The Happiest Girl In the Whole USA Nancy Sinatra
Hushabye The Mystics
Beethoven: Piano Concerto #5 In E Flat, Op. 73, “Emperor” – 3. Rondo: Allegro Murray Perahia; Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Piano Concerto #5 In E Flat, Op. 73, “Emperor” – 2. Adagio Un Poco Mosso Murray Perahia; Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Piano Concerto #5 In E Flat, Op. 73, “Emperor” – 1. Allegro Murray Perahia; Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Popsicles And Icicles The Murmaids
Guru Gita Muktananda
Serenade in D KV320 4.Rondeau : Allegro Ma Non Troppo Mozart Wolfgang Amadeus
Bella: String Quartet In C Minor, Op. 25 – Andante Moyzes Quartet
Sunrise Flutes (Koauau) Mouth/Modx/Control
Grace In The Alley Mouth/Modx
All the Young Dudes Mott the Hoople
Bach: Art Thou With Me Mormon Tabernacle Choir
Secret Love Moonglows
Dolma Yul Tud Monks Of Gaden Shartse Monastery
Daydream Believer The Monkees
Anyone Else But You The Moldy Peaches
Mozart: Piano Sonata #12 In F, K 332 – 2. Adagio Mitsuko Uchida
The Vikings Mitchell Powell
On The Beach Mitchell Powell
The Horse Soldiers Mitchell Powell
The Big Country Mitchell Powell
Independent Crime Crime Crime Crime Miranda July
Tempo I Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Sehr maessig und zurueckhaltend Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Mit durchaus ernstem und feierlichem Ausdruck Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Bach (JS): Violin Concerto #2 In E, BWV 1042 – Adagio Miklos Szenthelyi; Hungarian Chamber Orchestra
(I Gotta) Keep on Moving Mighty Quinn
Temple Caves Mickey Hart
Love Is Strange Mickey & Sylvia
Belfast Town Mick Moloney
Danse Macabre, Op. 40 Michel Plasson & Orchestre National du Capitole de Toulouse
Runaway Horses – Mishima Michael Riesman & Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra
Joanne Michael Nesmith
Il Est Né (He Is Born) Michael Gettel
Anyone Else But You Michael Cera & Ellen Page
Heaven In Five Michael Andrews
Boy Moves The Sun Michael Andrews
Socks On Ears Michael Andrews
What’s That Sound? Michael Andrews
When I Call A Name Michael Andrews
He Walks With Me Merle Haggard
I Can’t Stop Loving You Merle Haggard
Love (Can Make You Happy) Mercy
Wind Quintet In A, Op. 43 – I. Allegro Ben Moderato Melos Ensemble
The Christmas Song Mel Tormé
That’s All Mel Torme
The Best Things In Life Are Free (From “Good News”) Mel Torme
On the Street Where You Live Mel Tormé
Hello, Young Lovers Mel Tormé
Lucky In Love Mel Tormé
Anywhere I Wander Mel Tormé
Bewitched Mel Tormé
The Old Master Painter Mel Tormé
Blue Moon Mel Tormé
Backfield in Motion Mel and Tim
Greensleeves Méav Ní Mhaolchatha
Teach Me Tonight The McGuire Sisters
One Step Forward Max Romeo & Tribus Acus Tica
In This Time (Extended Mix) Max Romeo & Tribus Acus Tica
Mama Look A Boo-Boo Max Romeo & Tribus Acus Tica
Rastafari Calling Max Romeo & Tribus Acus Tica
Smokey Room Max Romeo & The Upsetters
Tan And See Max Romeo & The Upsetters
Stealing In The Name Of Jah Max Romeo & The Upsetters
I Chase The Devil Max Romeo & The Upsetters
Uptown Babies Don’t Cry Max Romeo & The Upsetters
Hotel California Max Romeo
Jamaica Ska Max Romeo
My Secret Love Max Romeo
What Am I Living For Max Romeo
Lost Love Max Romeo
Nothing Takes The Place Of You Max Romeo
Michael Row the Boat Ashore Max Romeo
Blowin’ In the Wind Max Romeo
One Step Forward Max Romeo
Bach (JS): Brandenburg Concerto #2 In F, BWV 1047 – Andante Max Pommer: Neues Bachishes Collegium Musicum
Bach (JS): Cantata #174, BWV 174, “Ich Liebe Den Höchsten Von Ganzem Gemüte” – Sinfonia Max Pommer: Neues Bachishes Collegium Musicum
Bach (JS): Suite For Orchestra #1 In C, BWV 1066 – Passepied Max Pommer: Neues Bachishes Collegium Musicum
Bach (JS): Suite For Orchestra #4 In D, BWV 1069 – Air Max Pommer: Neues Bachishes Collegium Musicum
True Love Ways The Mavericks
Blue Moon The Mavericks
My Kind of Girl Matt Monro
My Guy Mary Wells
The Wedding Song Mary McGregor
Please Mr. Postman The Marvelettes
They’re Hanging Me Tonight Marty Robbins
Streets of Laredo Marty Robbins
Running Gun Marty Robbins
Red River Valley Marty Robbins
Old Red Marty Robbins
Mr. Shorty Marty Robbins
Meet Me Tonight in Laredo Marty Robbins
The Cowboy in the Continental Suit Marty Robbins
All-Around Cowboy Marty Robbins
Ballad of the Alamo Marty Robbins
El Paso Marty Robbins
A White Sport Coat Marty Robbins
The Hawaiian Wedding Song Marty Robbins
Cool Water Marty Robbins
The Hanging Tree Marty Robbins
El Paso City (Album Version) Marty Robbins
My Woman, My Woman, My Wife (Single Version) Marty Robbins
Devil Woman Marty Robbins
(Love Is Like A) Heat Wave Martha Reeves & The Vandellas
Bohemian Daddy medley The Marquis
And The Grass Won’t Pay No Mind Mark Lindsay
Missouri Waltz Marideth Sisco
Don’t Cry For Me Argentina Maria Friedman
Bobby’s Girl Marcie Blaine
Blue Moon The Marcels
Heartaches (LP Version) The Marcels
Dark Territory Marc Copland
Emily (Take 3) Marc Copland
Emily (Take 2) Marc Copland
Night Whispers Marc Copland
Emily (Take 1) Marc Copland
Odavano Mano Cherga Band
High Flying, Adored Mandy Patinkin, Patti LuPone, and Bob Gunton
African Unity Majek Fashek
Maine Stein Song Maine Steiners
Mbube Mahotella Queens
Satz Attacca – Langsam ppp. “Wieder aufzublüh’n wirst du gesät” Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Attacca – Langsam, Misterioso – “Aufersteh’n, ja aufersteh’n wirst du” Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Attacca – Sehr langsam und gedehnt Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Attacca – Wieder sehr breit Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Attacca – Im Anfang sehr zurückgehalten Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Attacca – Langsam Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Attacca – Im Tempo des Scherzo, wild herausfahrend Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Scherzo – Sehr getragen und gesangvoll Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Andante moderato – Wieder ins Tempo 1 zurückgehen Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Satz Andante moderato – In Tempo 1 zurückkehren Mahler- Milan Horvat; Slovenische Philharmonie
Do You Love Me Like You Kiss Me Maguire Sisters
Taps/Battle Hymn Of The Republic Magnificent Seventh’s Brass Band
Zebra The Magnetic Fields
For We Are The King Of The Boudoir The Magnetic Fields
Queen Of The Savages The Magnetic Fields
Meaningless The Magnetic Fields
Wi’ Nae Wee Bairn Ye’ll Me Beget The Magnetic Fields
Bitter Tears The Magnetic Fields
Acoustic Guitar The Magnetic Fields
Busby Berkeley Dreams The Magnetic Fields
It’s A Crime The Magnetic Fields
The Luckiest Guy On The Lower East Side The Magnetic Fields
Reno Dakota The Magnetic Fields
Absolutely Cuckoo The Magnetic Fields
Rock And Roll I Gave You All Mac Davis
Temple Of The Inscriptions Luis Perez
Sonata 28 in A-Major Ludwig Van Beethoven
Adagio Ludwig Van Beethoven
Symphony N°9 “Choral”, 4. “Presto” Ludwig Van Beethoven
Beethoven: Symphony #6 In F, Op. 68, “Pastoral” – 5. Allegretto Ludwig Van Beethoven
Beethoven: Symphony #6 In F, Op. 68, “Pastoral” – 2. Andante Molto Mosso Ludwig Van Beethoven
Beethoven: Consecration Of The House, Op. 124 – Overture Ludwig Van Beethoven
Brahms: String Quintet #2 In G, Op. 111 – 2. Adagio Ludwig Quartet & Bruno Pasquier
Brahms: String Quintet #1 In F, Op. 88 – 2. Grave Ed Appassionato, Allegretto Vivace Ludwig Quartet & Bruno Pasquier
Brahms: String Quintet #1 In F, Op. 88 – 1. Allegro Non Troppo Ma Con Brio Ludwig Quartet & Bruno Pasquier
Bach (JS): Easter Oratorio, BWV 249 – Sinfonia #1 In D Ludwig Güttler, Max Pommer; Neues Bachishes Collegium Musicum
Bach (JS): Chorale Prelude, BWV 650, “Kommst Du Nun, Jesu, Vom Himmel Herunter” Ludwig Guttler, Friedrich Kircheis
Glass: Einstein On The Beach – Knee 1 Lucinda Childs, Philip Glass, Sheryl Sutton
Glass: Einstein On The Beach – Knee 5 Lucinda Childs, Philip Glass, Paul Zukofsky, Sheryl Sutton
Darlin’ Be Home Soon The Lovin’ Spoonful
Younger Girl The Lovin’ Spoonful
Daydream The Lovin’ Spoonful
Butchie’s Tune The Lovin’ Spoonful
Do You Believe In Magic The Lovin’ Spoonful
Summer in the City The Lovin’ Spoonful
My Baby’s Gone The Louvin Brothers
Two Faces Have I Lou Christie
Tell Her Lou Christie
Tears on My Pillow Lou Christie
Summer Nights Lou Christie
Shuffle on Down to Pittsburgh Lou Christie
Rhapsody in the Rain Lou Christie
Outside the Gates of Heaven Lou Christie
O Holy Night Lou Christie
Mr. Tenor Man Lou Christie
Lighthouse Lou Christie
Hey, May Lou Christie
Genesis and the Third Verse Lou Christie
The Boys Lazed on the Verandah Lou Christie
Lightnin’ Strikes Lou Christie
Beyond the Blue Horizon Lou Christie
The Gypsy Cried Lou Christie
It’s Only Make Believe Lou Christie
I’m Gonna Make You Mine Lou Christie
We Belong Together Los Lobos
La Bamba Los Lobos
Donna Los Lobos
Ya Es La Hora Los Incas
Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) Looking Glass
Me and You and a Dog Named Boo Lobo
Personality Lloyd Price
I Will Follow Him Little Peggy March
Those Oldies But Goodies Little Caeser And The Romans
Tears on My Pillow Little Anthony Grown Up
Medley Little Anthony and The Imperials
Over the Rainbow Little Anthony and The Imperials
So Near and Yet So Far Little Anthony and The Imperials
The Diary Little Anthony and The Imperials
River Path Little Anthony and The Imperials
Tears On My Pillow Little Anthony and The Imperials
Two People in the World Little Anthony and The Imperials
Better Use Your Head Little Anthony and The Imperials
Goin’ Out of My Head Little Anthony and The Imperials
Hurt So Bad Little Anthony & The Imperials
Isla Del Luna Lisa Lynne
Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered Linda Ronstadt (Feat. Nelson Riddle and his Orchestra)
Rivers of Babylon Linda Ronstadt
Many Rivers To Cross Linda Ronstadt
Long Long Time Linda Ronstadt
Desperado Linda Ronstadt
You’re No Good Linda Ronstadt
Old Paint Linda Ronstadt
Blue Bayou Linda Ronstadt
I Never Will Marry Linda Ronstadt
I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still In Love With You) Linda Ronstadt
I Love You For Sentimental Reasons Linda Ronstadt
Forever Ambrose Linda Laurie
Circle The Limeliters
(Last Night I Had) The Strangest Dream The Limeliters
The Power and the Glory The Limeliters
A Place in the Choir The Limeliters
A Better World The Limeliters
Until We Get It Right The Limeliters
The 40 Year Old Waltz The Limeliters
White Squall The Limeliters
Zen Gospel Singing The Limeliters
God’s Gift to Women The Limeliters
Harmony The Limeliters
Global Carnival The Limeliters
Generic Up-Tempo Folk Song The Limeliters
Morningtown Ride The Limeliters
Irish Medley The Limeliters
When I First Came to This Land The Limeliters
When I Fall In Love The Lettermen
There’s A Place For Us Leslie Uggams & Tom Jones
Milk and Honey (from Milk and Honey) Leslie Uggams
Shalom (from Milk and Honey) Leslie Uggams
Someone To Watch Over Me Leslie Uggams
You Don’t Own Me Leslie Gore
Vaya Con Dios Les Paul & Mary Ford
Walk on By Leroy Van Dyke
Suicide Blues Leroy Carr
Bread Baker Leroy Carr
Bobo Stomp Leroy Carr
Papa’s On The House Top Leroy Carr
Danza (Martelo) Leopold Stokowski,Anna Moffo
Aria (Cantilena) Leopold Stokowski,Anna Moffo
Coming Back to You Leonard Cohen
The Land Of Plenty Leonard Cohen
Alexandra Leaving Leonard Cohen
Sisters of Mercy Leonard Cohen
First We Take Manhattan Leonard Cohen
Recitation Leonard Cohen
Democracy Leonard Cohen
Suzanne (live) Leonard Cohen
The Gypsy’s Wife Leonard Cohen
Tower of Song Leonard Cohen
Come Healing Leonard Cohen
Crazy to Love You Leonard Cohen
Anthem Leonard Cohen
Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye Leonard Cohen
In My Secret Life Leonard Cohen
Whither Thou Goest Leonard Cohen
Ain’t No Cure for Love Leonard Cohen
The Future Leonard Cohen
If It Be Your Will Leonard Cohen
Going Home Leonard Cohen
Show Me The Place Leonard Cohen
Dance Me To The End Of Love Leonard Cohen
Closing Time Leonard Cohen
Anthem Leonard Cohen
Take This Waltz Leonard Cohen
If It Be Your Will Leonard Cohen
I’m Your Man Leonard Cohen
Hallelujah Leonard Cohen
Everybody Knows Leonard Cohen
Chelsea Hotel #2 Leonard Cohen
Everybody Knows Leonard Cohen
Who By Fire Leonard Cohen
Lady Midnight Leonard Cohen
Bird On The Wire Leonard Cohen
So Long, Marianne Leonard Cohen
Suzanne Leonard Cohen
Fanfare For The Common Man Leonard Bernstein: New York Philharmonic Orchestra
Brahms: Symphony #3 In F, Op. 90 – 3. Poco Allegretto Leonard Bernstein: New York Philharmonic Orchestra
Brahms: Symphony #1 In C Minor, Op. 68 – 4. Adagio, Piu Andante, Allegro Non Troppo, Ma Con Brio Leonard Bernstein: New York Philharmonic Orchestra
Somewhere (Adagio) Leonard Bernstein; New York Philharmonic Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #5 In C Sharp Minor – 4. Adiagietto Leonard Bernstein; New York Philharmonic Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #5 In C Sharp Minor – 1. Trauermarsch Leonard Bernstein; New York Philharmonic Orchestra
Moonlight Bay Leon Redbone
In The Shade Of The Old Apple Tree Leon Redbone
Sittin’ On Top Of The World Leon Redbone
Louisiana Fairytale Leon Redbone
All I Do Is Dream Of You Leon Redbone
Slavonic Mass Leon Janacek
1/2/03 Len Barry
Boys And Flowers/Raise The Red Lantern Lei Qiang
Farewell Red Army Lei Qiang
Liu Yang River Lei Qiang
Pick Up The Betel/The Purple Bamboo Song Lei Qiang
Jasmine Flower Lei Qiang
The Flickering Of The Candle Flame Lei Qiang
Picking Red Chestnuts Lei Qiang
Spin The Cotton Lei Qiang
Tea Harvest Lei Qiang
Night Song Lei Qiang
Walk Away Renee The Left Banke
The Battle Hymn of the Republic Lee Greenwood
You Are Adorable Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
The Result Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
She Is Gone Again Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
I Want To Thank You Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
Soul Walk Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
Out Of Space Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
Bad Tooth Lee “Scratch” Perry & The Upsetters
Stranger On The Shore Lee “Scratch” Perry
Django Shoots First Lee “Scratch” Perry
Dreamland Lee “Scratch” Perry
Radio Hula Ledward Kaapana
Tweedlee Dee LaVern Baker
Hiawatha Laurie Anderson
The Dream Before Laurie Anderson
Baby Doll Laurie Anderson
Sam Stone Laura Cantrell
Offering Chant (Unplugged) Lama Gyurme
Rain Of Blessings Lama Gyurme
I Am The Great Sun Lama Foundation
Sri Ram Lama Foundation
Praise God for the Light Within Me Lama Foundation
Hari Krishna Lama Foundation
Abantwana Basethempeleni Ladysmith Black Mambazo
Unnecessary Town L’il Abner
Jubilation T. Cornpone L’il Abner
I’m Past My Prime L’il Abner
Namely You L’il Abner
Sukiyaki Kyu Sakamoto
Tears on My Pillow Kylie Minogue
Beethoven: Leonore Overture #3, Op. 72A Kurt Masur: Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra
Bad to Me Kramer, Billy J. And The Dakotas
Lullaby For Clarinet, Piano And Strings Kol Simcha
Haydn: String Quartet #26 In G Minor, Op. 20/3, H 3/33 – Poco Adagio Kodály Quartet
Haydn: String Quartet #25 In C, Op. 20/2, H 3/32 – Minuet: Allegretto Kodály Quartet
Haydn: String Quartet #25 In C, Op. 20/2, H 3/32 – Moderato Kodály Quartet
Haydn: String Quartet #28 In E Flat, Op. 20/1, H 3/31 – Affetuoso E Sostenuto Kodály Quartet
Haydn: String Quartet #28 In E Flat, Op. 20/1, H 3/31 – Allegro Moderato Kodály Quartet
Searching (For Someone Like You) Kitty Wells
If I Give My Heart to You Kitty Kallen
How Are Things in Glocca Morra? Kitty Kallen
My Coloring Book Kitty Kallen
Misty Kitty Kallen
Little Things Mean A Lot Kitty Kallen
Sednala E Malka Krai More (Bulgarian) Kitka
Oi Jano, Jano (Macedonian) Kitka
Megruli Nana (Georgian) Kitka
Lale Li Si Zjumbjul Li Si (Bulgarian) Kitka
Kenge Diepi (Albanian) Kitka
Kakhuri Nana (Georgian) Kitka
Haidi Nani (Romanian) Kitka
Es Ak’vani (Georgian) Kitka
Cradle Song (Russian Jewish) Kitka
Aylye, Lyulye, Lyulye Kitka
Koi Kitaro
I Feel Pretty (West Side Story) Kiri Te Kanawa
Always Kiri Te Kanawa
Ramblin’ Wreck / Hinky Dinky Parlez Vous Kirby Stone Four & The Sing-A-Long Gang
Unreal Reality The Kinks
Supersonic Rocket Ship The Kinks
Apeman The Kinks
A Well Respected Man The Kinks
This Land Is Your Land Kingston Trio
Greenback Dollar Kingston Trio
Blowin’ In The Wind Kingston Trio
Seasons In The Sun Kingston Trio
The Patriot Game Kingston Trio
Ally Ally Oxen Free Kingston Trio
One More Town Kingston Trio
Jane, Jane, Jane Kingston Trio
Everglades Kingston Trio
A Worried Man Kingston Trio
Scarlet Ribbons (For Her Hair) Kingston Trio
Where Have All The Flowers Gone Kingston Trio
Tree Hugger Kimya Dawson & Antsy Pants
So Nice So Smart Kimya Dawson
Sleep (Instrumental) Kimya Dawson
Loose Lips Kimya Dawson
Tire Swing Kimya Dawson
Tula Kevin Misevis
Akhu Kevin Misevis
In the Myths of Time Kevin Misevis
Samadhi Kevin Misevis
The Show Kerris Dorsey
‘Imi Au Ia ‘Oe Keola Beamer
Just Two Kinds of People in the World Kenny Vance with the Imperials
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #1 In A, HWV 426 – Courante Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #2 In F, HWV 427 – Fuga Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #2 In F, HWV 427 – Allegro Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #8 In F Minor, HWV 433 – Courante Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #7 In B Flat, HWV 440 – Gigue Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #7 In B Flat, HWV 440 – Sarabande Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #7 In B Flat, HWV 440 – Courante Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite #7 In B Flat, HWV 440 – Allemande Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite In D Minor, HWV 447 – Courante Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite In G Minor, HWV 452 – Sarabande Keith Jarrett
Handel: Harpsichord Suite In G Minor, HWV 452 – Courante Keith Jarrett
Rock And Roll Waltz Kay Starr
Cheminant La Villa Kate McGarrigle
Sleep, Sleep, and Dream Kate Grana
It’s Off to Sleep I Go Kate Grana
One Of Two Karma Moffet
When Kalin Twins
Moody Kalin Twins
Forget Me Not Kalin Twins
Maha Mantra 2 Kainchi Kirtan Wallahs
Fatima K’naan
Wavin’ Flag K’naan
Dreamer K’naan
The African Way (feat. Mwafrika) K’naan
In the Beginning K’naan
Is Anybody Out There? (feat. Nelly Furtado) K’naan
Bulletproof Pride (feat. Bono) K’naan
The Sound of My Breaking Heart K’naan
I Understand June Valli
Crying in the Chapel June Valli
Apple Green June Valli
IV. Allegro moderato Julliard String Quartet
III. Menutetto: Allegro Julliard String Quartet
II. Andante Julliard String Quartet
II. (fragment) Andante Julliard String Quartet
Schubert: String Quartet #14 In D Minor, D 810, “Death & The Maiden” – 2. Andante Con Moto Julliard Quartet
Then You May Take Me to the Fair Julie Andrews, Bruce Yarnell, James Gannon, John Cullum
The Lusty Month Of May Julie Andrews & Ensemble
I Loved You Once In Silence Julie Andrews
Before I Gaze At You Again Julie Andrews
Rodrigo: Fantasía Para Un Gentilhombre – Fanfare De La Caballería De Nápoles Julian Bream; Leo Brouwer: RCA Victor Chamber Orchestra
Rodrigo: Fantasía Para Un Gentilhombre – Españoleta Julian Bream; Leo Brouwer: RCA Victor Chamber Orchestra
Rodrigo: Fantasía Para Un Gentilhombre – Ricercare Julian Bream; Leo Brouwer: RCA Victor Chamber Orchestra
Rodrigo: Concierto De Aranjuez – 3. Allegro Gentile Julian Bream; John Eliot Gardiner: Monteverdi Orchestra
Rodrigo: Concierto De Aranjuez – 2. Adagio Julian Bream; John Eliot Gardiner: Monteverdi Orchestra
Rodrigo: Concierto De Aranjuez – 1. Allegro Con Spirito Julian Bream; John Eliot Gardiner: Monteverdi Orchestra
Villa-Lobos: Prelude #5 Julian Bream
Prelude No. 1 in E Minor Julian Bream
Rodrigo: Fantasía Para Un Gentilhombre – Canario Julian Bream
Rodrigo: Fantasia Para Un Gentilhombre – Danza De La Hachas Julian Bream
Rodrigo: Fantasia Para Un Gentilhombre – Villano Julian Bream
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Alternate Take) Judy Garland
Over The Rainbow Judy Garland
Amazing Grace long version Judy Collins
Someday Soon Judy Collins
Both Sides Now Judy Collins
Amazing Grace Judy Collins
Send In The Clowns Judy Collins
Suzanne Judy Collins
Desperado Judy Collins
Morning Has Broken Judy Collins
Day Is Done Judy Collins
All Through the Night Judy Collins
Lullaby & Good Night Judy Collins
Good Night Judy Collins
Rock a Bye Baby Judy Collins
I See the Moon Judy Collins
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star Judy Collins
Hush, Little Baby Judy Collins
My Bed Is a Boat Judy Collins
Night Judy Collins
Tree Shadows Judy Collins
Stars Judy Collins
Five Hundred Miles Journey Men
Strauss, Jr (J): Annen Polka, Op. 117, RV 117 Joseph Francek: Vienna Strauss Orchestra
Mozart: Piano Concerto #21 In C, K 467, “Elvira Madigan” – Andante Jose-Luis Garcia, Arthur Fiedler; Boston Pops Orchestra
The First Noël José Feliciano
Feliz Navidad José Feliciano
Case of You Joni Mitchell
Man Walks Among Us Jonathan Richman
Where The Sun Has Never Shone Jonathan King
Everyone’s Gone to the Moon Jonathan King
Charm (Over ‘Burundi Cloud’) Jon Hassell
Rising Thermal 14 16′ N; 32 28′ E Jon Hassell
Chemistry Jon Hassell
Cling To Me Johnny Tillotson
Heartaches By The Number Johnny Tillotson
She Understands Me Johnny Tillotson
I Rise, I Fall Johnny Tillotson
Out Of My Mind Johnny Tillotson
I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still In Love With You) Johnny Tillotson
It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin’ Johnny Tillotson
Without You Johnny Tillotson
Poetry In Motion Johnny Tillotson
Pledging My Love Johnny Tillotson
Earth Angel Johnny Tillotson
Why Do I Love You So Johnny Tillotson
True True Happiness Johnny Tillotson
Dreamy Eyes Johnny Tillotson
Tragedy Johnny Tillotson
Talk Back Trembling Lips Johnny Tillotson
Running Bear Johnny Preston
Feel So Fine Johnny Preston
Cradle of Love Johnny Preston
Charming Billy Johnny Preston
Before I Grow Too Old Johnny Nicholas
I’m a Fool to Care Johnny Nicholas
Summer Wind Johnny Mercer
It’s Not For Me To Say Johnny Mathis With Ray Conniff & His Orchestra
Wonderful! Wonderful! Johnny Mathis
What Will My Mary Say Johnny Mathis
The Way You Look Tonight Johnny Mathis
Misty Johnny Mathis
Small World Johnny Mathis
The Twelfth of Never Johnny Mathis
Chances Are Johnny Mathis
Smile Johnny Mathis
Let It Be Me Johnny Maestro & Kenny Vance
I Thank the Moon Johnny Maestro
Sixteen Candles Johnny Maestro
Whispering Pines Johnny Horton
North To Alaska Johnny Horton
Johnny Reb Johnny Horton
Comanche Johnny Horton
Battle of New Orleans Johnny Horton
All for the Love of a Girl Johnny Horton
Flesh and Blood Johnny Cash & Willie Nelson
Goodbye Little Darlin’ Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
Thanks A Lot Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
You’re The Nearest Thing To Heaven Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
The Ways Of A Woman In Love Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
Come In Stranger Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
Guess Things Happen That Way Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
I Walk The Line Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
Cry! Cry! Cry! Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two
Will The Circle Be Unbroken Johnny Cash & Carter Family
Will The Circle Be Unbroken Johnny Cash
Train of Love Johnny Cash
Highwayman Johnny Cash
Ballad Of A Teenage Queen Johnny Cash
Home Of The Blues Johnny Cash
There You Go Johnny Cash
Flesh And Blood Johnny Cash
Ballad Of Ira Hayes Johnny Cash
Guess Things Happen That Way Johnny Cash
Sunday Morning Coming Down Johnny Cash
I Still Miss Someone Johnny Cash
Thing Called Love Johnny Cash
Tennessee Flat Top Box Johnny Cash
We’ll Meet Again Johnny Cash
Give My Love To Rose Johnny Cash
You’re Undecided Johnny Burnette
You’re Sixteen Johnny Burnette
Girls Johnny Burnette
The Girl of My Best Friend Johnny Burnette
Fool of the Year Johnny Burnette
Dream Lover Johnny Burnette
Dreamin’ Johnny Burnette
Concerto For Oboe & Orchestra (C Minor) III-Allegro John Williams, guitar; Kenneth Sillito, Academy of St. Martin-In-The-Fields
Bach: Gavotte John Williams
Tonight You Belong to Me John Ritter & Blake Hazzard
One-a-Year Day! John Raitt, Janis Paige, Company
There Once Was a Man John Raitt And Janis Paige
Hey There John Raitt
He Forgot That It Was Sunday John Prine
Leave The Lights On John Prine
This Love Is Real John Prine
Day’s Done John Prine
New Train John Prine
Yester Me, Yester You, Yesterday John Holt
Doctor Love John Holt
Just The Way You Are John Holt
Which Way You Going Baby John Holt
Touch Me In The Morning John Holt
I Will John Holt
Morning Of My Life John Holt
(I’m Just A) Country Boy John Holt
Up Park Camp John Holt
Help Me Make It Through The Night John Holt
(Land Of) Ecstasy John Holt
Stagger Lee John Holt
Stick By Me (And I’ll Stick By You) John Holt
Sister Big Stuff John Holt
Let’s Linger A While John Holt
Sometimes John Holt
A Love I Can Feel John Holt
My Satisfaction John Holt
Wear You To The Ball John Holt
The Tide Is High John Holt
On The Beach John Holt
Happy Go Lucky John Holt
Forever I’ll Stay John Holt
Born To Lose John Holt
Lost Love John Holt
Looking Back John Holt
Blue Christmas John Holt
Happy Xmas (War Is Over) John Holt
Can’t Use Me John Holt
Sugar & Spice John Holt
Fat She Fat John Holt
Reality John Holt
Last Train John Holt
Police In Helicopter John Holt
I’ve Been Admiring You John Holt
A Tree In The Meadow John Holt
Sea Cruse John Holt
Memories By The Score John Holt
Soolaiman John Holt
Holly Holy John Holt
My Sweet Lord John Holt
Ok Fred John Holt
Green Green Grass John Holt
Cupid John Holt
Red Red Wine John Holt
Winter World Of Love John Holt
Goodnight My Love John Holt
Why Do You Hurt Me So – John Holt John Holt
Big Rock Candy Mountain John Hartford
Wild Montana Skies John Denver
Night Chorus John Adams
Canon Johann Pachelbel
Ives: 3 Quarter Tone Pieces – Allegro Joel Sachs, Cheryl Seltzer, Continuum
Ives: 3 Quarter Tone Pieces – Largo Joel Sachs, Cheryl Seltzer, Continuum
One Boy Joanie Sommers
Johnny Get Angry Joanie Sommers
Let Me Go Lover Joan Weber
Colours Joan Baez & Donovan
What Have They Done to the Rain Joan Baez
Kumbaya Joan Baez
And the Band Played Waltzing Mathilda Joan Baez
There But For Fortune Joan Baez
Love Minus Zero/No Limit Joan Baez
The Last Thing On My Mind (Extended version) Joan Baez
Poor Wayfaring Stranger Joan Baez
Will The Circle Be Unbroken Joan Baez
Green, Green Grass Of Home Joan Baez
Tennessee Waltz Jo Stafford
You Belong to Me Jo Stafford
Walkin’ My Baby Back Home Jo Stafford
Auld Lang Syne Jo Stafford
Fools Rush In Jo Stafford
The Best Things in Life Are Free Jo Stafford
Shrimp Boats Jo Stafford
Some Enchanted Evening Jo Stafford
The Nightingale Jo Stafford
Cripple Creek Jo Stafford
Red Rosey Bush Jo Stafford
Single Girl Jo Stafford
Barbara Allen Jo Stafford
Poor Wayfaring Stranger Jo Stafford
Shenandoh Jo Stafford
Who Put the Bomp (In the Bomp, Bomp, Bomp) Jive Bunny & The Mastermixers
Handyman Jimmy Jones
Good Timin’ Jimmy Jones
You Can Get It If You Really Want Jimmy Cliff
The Lion Sleeps Tonight Jimmy Cliff
Sitting in Limbo Jimmy Cliff
The Harder They Come Jimmy Cliff
Venus in Blue Jeans Jimmy Clanton
If Jimmy Clanton
Come Back Jimmy Clanton
Child of Clay Jimmy Clanton
Curly Jimmy Clanton
What Am I Living For Jimmy Clanton
Jimmie Rogers Medley – Part 2 Jimmie Rodgers 2
Jimmie Rogers Medley – Part 1 Jimmie Rodgers 2
In The Jailhouse Now No. 2 Jimmie Rodgers & The Rainbow Ranch Boys
Danny Boy Jimmie Rodgers & Johnny Cash
The World I Used To Know 1 Jimmie Rodgers
The Wizard Jimmie Rodgers
Shenandoah Jimmie Rodgers
Puff The Magic Dragon Jimmie Rodgers
Jamaica Farewell Jimmie Rodgers
Child of Clay Jimmie Rodgers
Bimbombey Jimmie Rodgers
Are You Really Mine Jimmie Rodgers
Secretly Jimmie Rodgers
Waltzing Matilda Jimmie Rodgers
Honeycomb Jimmie Rodgers
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine Jimmie Rodgers
All Along the Watchtower Jimi Hendrix
He’ll Have To Go Jim Reeves
Overseas Stomp Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band
I’m Satisfied With My Gal Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band
Hawaii Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band
Borneo Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band
Washington At Valley Forge Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band
Papa’s On the Housetop Jim Kweskin & The Jug Band
Sophie’s Back in Town Jim Kweskin
Mary Jim Kweskin
Old Rugged Cross Jim Kweskin
99 Year Blues Jim Kweskin
Wild About My Loving Jim Kweskin
I Ain’t Gonna Marry Jim Kweskin
I’ll Have to Say I Love You in a Song Jim Croce
Bad, Bad Leroy Brown Jim Croce
Symphony No. 2 (C Minor) (“Resurrection”) / IV-”Urlicht” Jessye Norman, soprano; Lorin Maazel, Wiener Philharmoniker
Silent Night Soul Jerry Butler
Moon River Jerry Butler
He Will Break Your Heart Jerry Butler
For Your Precious Love Jerry Butler
Wooden Airplane Jefferson Airplane
Hallelujah Jeff Buckley
Baby Talk Jean & Dean
Wild Thing Baby Jay Mankita
Rain Rain Jay Mankita
Bread Alone Jay Mankita
Sliwa The Cat Jay Mankita
Sun, Wind, Soil, and Rain Jay Mankita
Everybody Likes Fruits and Vegetables Jay Mankita
My Food is Made from Sunshine Jay Mankita
Back At The Beginning Jay Mankita
They Lied Jay Mankita
When Death Comes Calling Jay Mankita
Illegal Aliens From Outer Space Jay Mankita
Come a Little Bit Closer Jay Black
What Will My Mary Say Jay & The Americans
Some Enchanted Evening Jay & The Americans
Come A Little Bit Closer Jay & The Americans
This Magic Moment Jay & The Americans
Seven-and-a-Half Cents Janis Paige, Stan Prager, Girls & Boys
I’m Not at All in Love Janis Paige, Girls
Sleep Tite Janis Paige, Boys & Girls
Me and Bobby McGee Janis Joplin
Society’s Child Janis Ian
Surf City Jan & Dean
Gran Torino (feat. Clint Eastwood As Walt Kowalski) Jamie Cullum & Clint Eastwood
Winter Wonderland James Taylor Feat. Chris Botti
Northern Boy James Taylor & Randy Newman
Sunny Skies James Taylor
Sweet Baby James James Taylor
Fire And Rain James Taylor
Oh Susanna James Taylor
Auld Lang Syne James Taylor
Santa Claus Is Coming To Town James Taylor
Go Tell It On The Mountain James Taylor
The Wedding Song James Last
I’ll Fly Away James And Martha Carson
What’s The Time Mr. Wolf Jake and Kids Singalong
My True Love Jack Scott
Satisfied J.E. Mainer’s Mountaineers
Rudeboy Shufflin’ Israel Vibration
Somewhere Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World Israel Kamakawiwo’ole
Kaulana Kawaihae Israel Kamakawiwo’ole
Ka Pua U’i Israel Kamakawiwo’ole
Take Me Home Country Road Israel Kamakawiwo’ole
Ka Huila Wai Israel Kamakawiwo’ole
Concerto For 3 Violins, F.1, No. 34 (F Major) / III-Allegro Isaac Stern, Pinchas Zukerman and Itzhak Perlman, violins, New York Philharmonic, Zubin Mehta
Danny Boy (Reprise) The Irish Tenors
Danny Boy The Irish Tenors
Mountains Of Mourne The Irish Tenors
Whiskey On A Sunday (The Puppet Song) The Irish Rovers
Notre Devoir Intik
One Day More (encore) International Valjeans and Full COmpany
Brotherhood of Men The Innocence Mission
What a Wonderful World The Innocence Mission
Follow Me The Innocence Mission
The Sweetheart of Sigma Chi Ian Whitcomb
Four Strong Winds Ian and Sylvia
Oh Babe What Hurricane Smith
Gheyrate Sabba Hossein Farjami
It’s Only Make Believe The Hollies
He Ain’t Heavy; He’s My Brother The Hollies
Carrie-Anne The Hollies
Man Walks Among Us HiJinks
Michael The Highwaymen
Ekhtelaf Hichkas
I’m Into Something Good Hermans Hermits
Wonderful World Herman’s Hermits
Mozart: Symphony #39 In E Flat, K 543 – 1. Adagio, Allegro Herbert Von Karajan: Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Mozart: Symphony #29 In A, K 201 – 2. Andante Herbert Von Karajan: Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Mozart: Symphony #29 In A, K 201 – 1. Allegro Moderato Herbert Von Karajan: Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony #6 In F, Op. 68, “Pastoral” – 5. Allegretto Herbert Blomstedt: Staatskapelle Dresden
Beethoven: Symphony #6 In F, Op. 68, “Pastoral” – 3. Allegro Herbert Blomstedt: Staatskapelle Dresden
Beethoven: Symphony #6 In F, Op. 68, “Pastoral” – 2. Andante Molto Mosso Herbert Blomstedt: Staatskapelle Dresden
Beethoven: Symphony #6 In F, Op. 68, “Pastoral” – 1. Allegro Ma Non Troppo Herbert Blomstedt: Staatskapelle Dresden
Moon River Henry Mancini & His Orchestra
Tunnelmouth Blues Henry Davis
Kommst Du Nun, Jesu, Vom Himmel Herunter BWV 650 Helmut Walcha
Ach Bleib’ Bei Uns, Herr Jesu Christ BWV 649 Helmut Walcha
Meine Seele Erhebet Den Herrn BWV 648 Helmut Walcha
Wer Nur Den Lieben Gott Lasst Walten BWV 647 Helmut Walcha
Wo Soll Ich Fliehen Hin BWV 646 Helmut Walcha
Wachet Auf, Ruft Uns Die Stimme BWV 645 Helmut Walcha
Fuge in Es-dur BWV 552 Helmut Walcha
Praeludium in Es-dur BWV 552 Helmut Walcha
Choralpartita Sei Gegrusset, Jesu Gutig Bwv 768 Helmut Walcha
Triosonate 1 in Es-dur BWV 525 3. Allegro Helmut Walcha
Triosonate 1 in Es-dur BWV 525 2. Adagio Helmut Walcha
Triosonate 1 in Es-dur BWV 525 1. Allegro Helmut Walcha
02 Fuge BWV 565 Helmut Walcha
Toccata BWV 565 Helmut Walcha
Gabriella’s Song Helen Sjoholm
Delta Dawn Helen Reddy
Variationen Für Klarinette Und Streichquartett: 2. Thema Con Variazioni Heidelberger Kammerorchester
Klarinettenquintett: 2. Larghetto Heidelberger Kammerorchester
Klarinettenquintett: 1. Allegro Heidelberger Kammerorchester
It’s Good News Week Hedgehoppers Anonymous
The Muffin Man Hayes Greenfield
Animal Fair Hayes Greenfield
Hawai’i, Land of Aloha Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement
Everybody’s Talkin’ Harry Nilsson
Big Rock Candy Mountain Harry McClintock
It’s Been A Long, Long Time Harry James & Orchestra With Kitty Kallen
Taxi Harry Chapin
Turn Around Harry Belafonte
Danny Boy Harry Belafonte
Banana Boat Song (Day-O) Harry Belafonte
Jamaica Farewell Harry Belafonte
Pilu Hariprasad Chaurasia
Jogiya Hariprasad Chaurasia
Bhupali Hariprasad Chaurasia
Abhogi Hariprasad Chaurasia
Tchaikovsky: The Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a – Sc. #10 Hans Vonk: Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra
Bach (JS): Chorale Prelude, BWV 645, “Wachet Auf, Ruft Uns Die Stimme” Hannes Kästner
I’ll Have a New Body Hank Williams’ Drifting Cowboys
Atlantic City Hank Williams III
Take These Chains From My Heart Hank Williams
Your Cheatin’ Heart Hank Williams
Window Shopping Hank Williams
Baby, We’re Really In Love Hank Williams
(I Heard That) Lonesome Whistle Hank Williams
Crazy Heart Hank Williams
Hey, Good Lookin’ Hank Williams
I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still In Love With You) Hank Williams
Why Don’t You Love Me Hank Williams
Wedding Bells Hank Williams
Jambalaya (On The Bayou) Hank Williams
Your Cheatin’ Heart Hank Williams
Half As Much Hank Williams
Lost Highway Hank Williams
Good Morning Starshine Hair
Aquarius Hair
Heartaches By The Number Guy Mitchell
To Live Is To Fly Guy Clark
Rondo-Finale (Allegro) Gustav Mahler
Adagietto (Sehr langsam) Gustav Mahler
Scherzo (Kraftig, nicht zu schnell) Gustav Mahler
Sturmisch bewegt. Mit grobter Vehemenz Gustav Mahler
Trauermarsch In gemessenem Schritt, streng, wie Kondukt Gustav Mahler
Tempo Di Menuetto. Sehr MAssig Gustav Mahler
Planets Mars – Jupiter Gustav Holst
The Planets Jupiter – Neptune Gustav Holst
Prière cis-moll op.20 Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Cantabile H-dur Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Prélude, Fugue et Variation h-moll op.18 Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Fantasie C-dur op.16 Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Choral No.3 a-moll Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Choral No.2 h-moll Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Choral No.1 E-dur Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Fantasie A-dur Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Pastorale E-dur op.19 Guillou, Jean (orgel)
Pièce Héroïque In B Minor Guillou, Jean (orgel)
No Time The Guess Who
Bits And Pieces Gregory Isaacs
Private Beach Party Gregory Isaacs
Don’t Let Me Suffer – Gregory Isaacs Gregory Isaacs
Let’s Live for Today The Grass Roots
She Sees Me Just The Same Graham Weber
I’ll Take Texas Graham Weber
Ball and Chain Graham Weber
Oh Roberta Graham Weber
Candle’s So Close Graham Weber
Avenue A Graham Weber
Go Away Little Girl Graham Blvd
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald Gordon Lightfoot
Sundown Gordon Lightfoot
If You Could Read My Mind Gordon Lightfoot
Rainy Day People Gordon Lightfoot
Farewell to Nova Scotia Gordon Bok & Cindy Kallet
Cape Ann Gordon Bok
Mrs. MacDonald’s Lament Gordon Bok
Homeward Bound Gordon Bok
Trochus Boats Gordon Bok
Cannery Shed Gordon Bok
Round Our Skiff Gordon Bok
Hush Song Gordon Bok
El Pescador Gordon Bok
The Boats of Peter’s River Gordon Bok
Astoria Bar Gordon Bok
Little River Gordon Bok
Herring Croon Gordon Bok
Connemara Cradle Song Gordon Bok
The Hills of Isle Au Haut Gordon Bok
The Wayward Wind Gogi Grant
Voodoo (beginning) Godsmack
I Will Survive Gloria Gaynor
Baby The Rain Must Fall Glenn Yarbrough
It’s Only Make Believe Glen Campbell
Galveston Glen Campbell
Universal Soldier Glen Campbell
Ferry Across the Mersey Gerry & The Pacemakers
Andante moderato George Szell: Cleveland Orchestra
Aloha ‘Oe George Kahumoku Jr.
Ulu Niu Ke’eke’e George Kahumoku & Kekuhi Kanahele
Tender Years George Jones
Color Of The Blues George Jones
My Sweet Lord George Harrison
Here Comes The Sun George Harrison
Marwa Blues George Harrison
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea George Harrison
Abilene George Hamilton IV
The Fox George Gaines Swanson
Git Along Little Dogie George Gaines Swanson
Mahler: Symphony #8 In E Flat, “Symphony Of A Thousand” – 16. Alles Vergängliche Georg Solti: Chicago Symphony Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #8 In E Flat, “Symphony Of A Thousand” – 1. Veni, Creator Spiritus! Georg Solti: Chicago Symphony Orchestra
Just a Little While to Stay Here Geoff Muldaur
Mistreated Mama Geoff Muldaur
I Believe I’ll Go Back Home Geoff Muldaur
The World Is Not My Home Geoff Muldaur
Prairie Lullaby Geoff Muldaur
Mary of the Wild Moors Geoff Muldaur
Some of These Days (I’ll Be Gone) Geoff Muldaur
Wait ’til I Put on My Robe Geoff Muldaur
At the Christmas Ball Geoff Muldaur
Kitchen Door Blues Geoff Muldaur
Dance Of The Coloured Elves Geoff Muldaur
So Tired Gene Pitney & The Embers
Runaway Lover Gene Pitney & The Embers
Darkness Gene Pitney & The Embers
Mission Bell Gene Pitney
A Groovy Kind of Love Gene Pitney
Count Me In Gene Pitney
Cara Mia Gene Pitney
Bus Stop Gene Pitney
She’s A Rebel Gene Pitney
Hello Mary Lou Gene Pitney
Quiero Amor Gene Pitney
Tower Of Strength Gene McDaniels
Hundred Pounds Gene McDaniels
Duke of Earl Gene Chandler
Red River Valley Gene Autry
Home on the Range Gene Autry
Have I Told You Lately (That I Love You) Gene Autry
You Are My Sunshine Gene Autry
Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Gavin Bryars
Titanic Hymn (Autumn) All Strings II Gavin Bryars
This Diamond Ring Gary Lewis And The Playboys
Shri Krishna Chaitanya Ganeshpuri Company
Rama Krishna Hari Ganeshpuri Company
We’ll Sing In The Sunshine Gale Garnett
In The Court Of The Mermaid Friedemann
Rondo (Vivace) Frédéric Chopin
Romanze (Larghetto) Frédéric Chopin
Allegro Maestoso Frédéric Chopin
Easter Parade (From “Easter Parade”) (Version With Fred Astaire) Fred Astaire & Judy Garland
A Couple of Swells (From “Easter Parade”) Fred Astaire & Judy Garland
Die Vorstellung des Chaos (Largo) Franz Joseph Haydn
Benedictus Franz Joseph Haydn
Kyrie Franz Joseph Haydn
East Meets West (with The Beach Boys) Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons with The Beach Boys
Working My Way Back to You Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Silence Is Golden Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Save It For Me Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Peanuts Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Marlena Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Girl Come Running Home Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Dawn Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Connie-O Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Alone Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
December, 1963 (Oh What a Night!) Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Opus 17 (Don’t You Worry ‘Bout Me) Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Rag Doll Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Walk Like a Man Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Big Girls Don’t Cry Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
The First Christmas Night Medley: Deck The Halls/Silent Night/O Holy Night/The First Noel Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Will You Love Me Tomorrow Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Tell It To The Rain (LP Version) Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Don’t Think Twice Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Let’s Hang On Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Girl Come Running Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Bye, Bye, Baby (Baby Goodbye) Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Big Man In Town Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Stay Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Candy Girl Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Sherry Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Way Down Yonder In New Orleans Frankie Laine And Friends
Unchained Melody Frankie Laine
That Lucky Old Sun Frankie Laine
Moonlight Gambler Frankie Laine
I Believe Frankie Laine
High Noon Frankie Laine
Cruising Down the River (On a Sunday Afternoon) Frankie Carle & His Orchestra; Vocal by Marjorie Hughes & The Sunrise Serenaders
Venus Frankie Avalon
Blue Skies Frank Sinatra, Tommy Dorsey & Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra
New York, New York Frank Sinatra & Tony Bennett
Summer Wind Frank Sinatra & Julio Iglesias
Hello, Dolly! Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
More [Theme from Mondo Cane] Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
I Believe in You Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
I Wish You Love Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words) Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
Learnin’ the Blues Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
My Kind of Girl Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
[Love Is] The Tender Trap Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
Pennies from Heaven Frank Sinatra & Count Basie
The Way You Look Tonight Frank Sinatra
The Lady Is a Tramp Frank Sinatra
It Was A Very Good Year Frank Sinatra
They Can’t Take That Away from Me Frank Sinatra
How About You Frank Sinatra
It’s Only a Paper Moon Frank Sinatra
My Kind Of Girl [The Frank Sinatra Collection] Frank Sinatra
Ain’t She Sweet Frank Sinatra
Where Or When Frank Sinatra
Someone to Watch Over Me Frank Sinatra
My Way Frank Sinatra
That’s Life Frank Sinatra
Strangers In The Night Frank Sinatra
Bewitched Frank Sinatra
The House I Live in (That’s America to Me) [Alternate Take] Frank Sinatra
Fly Me to the Moon Frank Sinatra
In The Cool, Cool, Cool Of The Evening Frank Sinatra
Moon River Frank Sinatra
You’ll Never Walk Alone Frank Sinatra
Over The Rainbow Frank Sinatra
Winter Wonderland Frank Sinatra
High Hopes Frank Sinatra
All the Way Frank Sinatra
Hello, Young Lovers Frank Sinatra
The Birth Of The Blues Frank Sinatra
The Girl That I Marry Frank & Annie
Walk Though “Resonant Landscape” N°2 Frances White
26 Miles The Four Preps
Moments To Remember The Four Lads
The Gang That Sang “Heart Of My Heart” The Four Aces Feat. Al Alberts
Stranger In Paradise The Four Aces Feat. Al Alberts
There Is A Tavern In The Town The Four Aces
Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing Four Aces
Three Coins In The Fountain The Four Aces
Mr. Blue The Fleetwoods
Tragedy The Fleetwoods
Come Softly To Me The Fleetwods
That Home Above Flatt And Scruggs With Foggy Mountain Boys
Blue Wind Blew The Flatlanders
In The Still of the Night Medley The Five Satins
Closer to the Aisle The Five Satins
Overture Finian’s Rainbow
I Want to Walk You Home Fats Domino
Blueberry Hill Fats Domino
Try to Remember 1 Fantasticks
They Were You 1 Fantasticks
They Were You Fantasticks
Try to Remember Fantasticks
Tell Him The Exciters
When Will I Be Loved The Everly Brothers
Wake Up, Little Susie The Everly Brothers
Devoted To You The Everly Brothers
Bye Bye Love The Everly Brothers
Bird Dog original The Everly Brothers
All I Have to Do is Dream original The Everly Brothers
Bird Dog The Everly Brothers
All I Have to Do Is Dream The Everly Brothers
Let It Be Me The Everly Brothers
Chopin: Nocturne In C Sharp Minor, Op Posth. Evelyne Dubourg
Saint-Saëns: Suite Algérienne, Op. 60 – Marche Millitaire Française Eugene Ormandy: Philadelphia Orchestra
Bach: Arioso Eugene Ormandy: Philadelphia Orchestra
Bach: Fugue In G Minor, BWV 578, “Little G Minor” Eugene Ormandy: Philadelphia Orchestra
Bach: “Little” Suite Eugene Ormandy: Philadelphia Orchestra
Bach: Sleepers Awake Eugene Ormandy: Philadelphia Orchestra
Grieg: Piano Concerto In A Minor, Op. 16 – 2. Adagio Eugene List; Matthias Küntzsch: Stuttgart Philharmonic Orchestra
Rachmaninov: Piano Concerto #2 In C Minor, Op. 18 – 3. Allegro Scherzando Eugene List; Matthias Küntzsch: Stuttgart Philharmonic Orchestra
Anything You Can Do Ethel Merman & Ray Middleton
You Can’t Get A Man With A Gun Ethel Merman
Doin’ What Comes Natur’lly Ethel Merman
Song One Ethan Rose
Cinderella Rockefella Esther & Abi Ofarim
Easier Said Than Done The Essex
There’s A Light Lit Up In Galilee Ernest V. Stoneman And The Dixie Mountaineers
Shenandoah Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel
Talk Of Angels Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel
Drayton Hall Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel
Clear Moon, Quiet Wind Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel
Acoustic Garden Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel
Deep In My Soul Eric Tingstad & Nancy Rumbel
Promises Eric Clapton
San Francisco Nights Eric Burden and the Animals
Adiemus/Adiemus Enya
One by One Enya
Pilgrim Enya
Smaointe… Enya
Evacuee Enya
Book Of Days Enya
Angeles Enya
How Can I Keep From Singing? Enya
Shepherd Moons Enya
Only Time (Original Version) Enya
To Go Beyond (II) Enya
Dan Y Dwr Enya
To Go Beyond (I) Enya
Deireadh An Tuath Enya
Suite For String: Finale English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Suite For String: Nocturne English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Suite For String: Intermezzo English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Suite For String: Prelude English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Lady Radnor’s Suite: Gigue English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Lady Radnor’s Suite: Slow Minuet English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Lady Radnor’s Suite: Bourrée English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Lady Radnor’s Suite: Sarabande English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Lady Radnor’s Suite: Allemande English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Lady Radnor’s Suite: Prelude English String Orchestra & William Boughton
The Banks of Green Willow English String Orchestra & William Boughton
English Idylls No. 2 English String Orchestra & William Boughton
English Idylls No. 1 English String Orchestra & William Boughton
A Shropshire Lad English String Orchestra & William Boughton
Flesh and Blood Emmylou Harris, Mary Chapin Carpenter & Sheryl Crow
Didn’t Leave Nobody But The Baby Emmylou Harris, Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch
Star Of Bethlehem Emmylou Harris & Neil Young
All Fall Down Emmylou Harris & George Jones
We Believe In Happy Endings Emmylou Harris & Earl Thomas Conley
If I Needed You Emmylou Harris & Don Williams
IV. Psyche Et Eros Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
III. Le Jardin d’Eros Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
II. Psyche Enlevee Par Les Zephyrs Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
Psyche, Excerpts: I. Sommeil De Psyche Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
III. Allegro Non Troppo Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
II. Allegretto Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
Symphony In D: I. Lento – Allegro Non Troppo Emmanuel Krivine dirige l’Orchestre National de Lyon
I Ain’t Afraid Emma’s Revolution
Hammer Emma’s Revolution
I Will Stand Emma’s Revolution
Swimming To The Other Side Emma’s Revolution
Silence & Lies Emma’s Revolution
Who Lies Emma’s Revolution
Living Planet Emma’s Revolution
We Are One Emma’s Revolution
codePink Emma’s Revolution
Peace, Salaam, Shalom Emma’s Revolution
One By One Emma’s Revolution
Bound For Freedom Emma’s Revolution
Beethoven: Piano Sonata #31 In A Flat, Op. 110 – 3. Adagio Ma Non Troppo; 4. Fuga Emil Gilels
An American Trilogy Elvis Presley
The Wonder Of You Elvis Presley
Crying In The Chapel Elvis Presley
(You’re The) Devil In Disguise Elvis Presley
Return To Sender Elvis Presley
Good Luck Charm Elvis Presley
Surrender Elvis Presley
Wooden Heart Elvis Presley
It’s Now Or Never Elvis Presley
A Fool Such As I Elvis Presley
Can’t Help Falling In Love Elvis Presley
(Now And Then There’s) A Fool Such As I Elvis Presley
If I Can Dream Elvis Presley
Don’t Be Cruel Elvis Presley
(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear Elvis Presley
Love Me Tender Elvis Presley
I Want You, I Need You, I Love You Elvis Presley
Heartbreak Hotel Elvis Presley
How Great Thou Art Elvis Presley
There Is No God But God Elvis Presley
Lead Me, Guide Me Elvis Presley
Amazing Grace Elvis Presley
Where No One Stands Alone Elvis Presley
Crying In The Chapel Elvis Presley
Mansion Over The Hilltop Elvis Presley
The Magnificent Seven Elmer Bernstein
Old Devil Moon Ella Logan & Donald Richards
That Great Come And Get It Day Ella Logan – Donald Richards – Lyn Murrary Singers
Look To The Rainbow Ella Logan – Donald Richards – Lyn Murrary Singers
How Are Things In Glocca Morra? Ella Logan
Peace Call Eliza Gilkyson
Ballad Of Yvonne Johnson Eliza Gilkyson
Dark Side Of Town Eliza Gilkyson
Little Star The Elegants
Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 in D major, BWV 1050 – III. Allegro Edwin Fischer: Philharmonia Orchestra
Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 in D major, BWV 1050 – II. Affettuoso Edwin Fischer: Philharmonia Orchestra
Bach: Brandenburg Concerto #5 In D, BWV 1050 – 1. Allegro Edwin Fischer: Philharmonia Orchestra
Bach: Keyboard Concerto In F Minor, BWV 1056 – 3. Presto Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Keyboard Concerto In F Minor, BWV 1056 – 2. Largo Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Keyboard Concerto In F Minor, BWV 1056 – 1. Allegro Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Piano Concerto In A, BWV 1055 – 3. Allegro Ma Non Troppo Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Piano Concerto In A, BWV 1055 – 2. Larghetto Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Keyboard Concerto In D Minor, BWV 1052 – 3. Allegro Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Keyboard Concerto In D Minor, BWV 1052 – 2. Adagio Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Bach: Keyboard Concerto In D Minor, BWV 1052 – 1. Allegro Edwin Fischer: Edwin Fischer Chamber Orchestra
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #2, Op. 55 – 4. Solveig’s Song Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #2, Op. 55 – 3. Peer Gynt’s Homecoming Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #2, Op. 55 – 2. Arabian Dance Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #2, Op. 55 – 1. The Abduction Of The Bride Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op. 46 – 4. In The Hall Of The Mountain King Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op. 46 – 3. Anitra’s Dance Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op. 46 – 2. Åse’s Death Edvard Grieg
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op. 46 – 1. Morning Mood Edvard Grieg
Great Dream From Heaven Edith Pinder, Geneva Pinder, Raymond Pinder, Joseph Spence
Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes Edison Lighthouse
Cindy, Oh Cindy Eddie Fisher
Oh! My Pa-Pa Eddie Fisher
I’m Walking Behind You Eddie Fisher
I Need You Now Eddie Fisher
This Nearly Was Mine Eddie Fisher
A Chorus From The Birds Ed Sanders
The Wrath Of Achilles Ed Sanders
Danae In A Box Upon The Sea Ed Sanders
The Song Of The Sirens Ed Sanders
Sappho Ed Sanders
Tropei, Tropei, Tropei Ed Sanders
I Believe The Earls
Desperado The Eagles
Hotel California The Eagles
Lyin’ Eyes The Eagles
Ol’ 55 The Eagles
Tequila Sunrise The Eagles
Desperado The Eagles
Hole In The World The Eagles
In The City The Eagles
I Can’t Tell You Why The Eagles
Heartache Tonight The Eagles
Please Come Home For Christmas The Eagles
New Kid In Town The Eagles
The Last Resort The Eagles
Bach: In Dulci Jubilo, BWV 368 E. Power Biggs
Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood Dwight Adams
NOCTURNE DUTILLEUX RAPPAZ LIGETI
Wishin’ and Hopin’ Dusty Springfield
Home Boys Home The Dubliners
Because They’re Young Duane Eddy & The Rebels
The Christmas Song The Drifters
Under The Boardwalk The Drifters
This Magic Moment The Drifters
Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree (Re-Recorded) The Drifters
Save The Best For Last The Drifters
There Goes My Baby The Drifters
Honey Love The Drifters
A Little Bit More Dr. Hook
Only Sixteen Dr. Hook
Bristol Stomp The Dovells
Glass: Satyagraha – Evening Song Douglas Perry
Glass: Satyagraha – Protest Douglas Perry
Hey Little One Dorsey Burnette
Big Rock Candy Mountain Dorsey Burnette
Que Sera, Sera Doris Day
Secret Love Doris Day
Love Her Madly The Doors
Widow With Shawl Donovan
Universal Soldier Donovan
The Little Tin Soldier Donovan
Legend of a Girl Child Linda Donovan
Josie Donovan
Catch The Wind Donovan
Universe Am I Donovan
Deep Peace Donovan
High Your Love Donovan
Give It All Up Donovan
Colours Donovan
Belated Forgiveness Plea Donovan
To Try for the Sun Donovan
Jennifer Juniper (Single Version) Donovan
Sunshine Superman Donovan
Atlantis Donovan
Java Jones Donna Lynn
The Happiest Girl In the Whole U.S.A. Donna Fargo
You Have Lived Don McLean
Tapestry Don McLean
Mountains O’ Mourne 1 Don McLean
Homeless Brother Don McLean
Circus Song Don McLean
Mountains o’ Mourne Don McLean
Crying in the Chapel Don McLean
Wonderful Baby Don McLean
Vincent Don McLean
American Pie Don Maclean
Lament of the Cherokee Indian Reservation Don Fardon
Indian Reservation Don Fardon
Sage and Cedar/Shenandoah Don Edwards and Waddie Mitchell
At The End Of A Long, Lonely Day Don Edwards
Jim, I Wore A Tie Don Edwards
Run Along, Little Dogies Don Edwards
Bad Half Hour/Annie Laurie Don Edwards
The Dying Cowboy Of Rimrock Ranch Don Edwards
Coyotes Don Edwards
Boots And Saddle Don Edwards
Land Of My Boyhood Dreams Don Edwards
My Blue Heaven Don Edwards
Cowboy’s Meditation Don Edwards
The Best Part of Living Don Edwards
I’ll Go On Alone Don Edwards
Man Walks Among Us Don Edwards
Old Red Don Edwards
Saddle Tramp Don Edwards
Will James de-1 Don Edwards
Coyotes v-2 Don Edwards
The Freedom Song Don Edwards
The Cowboy’s Song Don Edwards
The Habit Don Edwards
Home on the Range Don Edwards
Rivers Of Babylon – Don Carlos Don Carlos
Mel Blu Dipinto Di Blu Domenico Modugno
Feels Like Home Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt & Emmylou Harris
After The Gold Rush Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt & Emmylou Harris
Tan Shoes and Pink Shoelaces Dodie Stevens
Bathe in that Beautiful Pool Dock Walsh
People Say The Dixie Cups
Chapel Of Love The Dixie Cups
Where or When Dion & The Belmonts
Runaround Sue Dion & The Belmonts
I Wonder Why Dion & The Belmonts
A Teenager In Love Dion & The Belmonts
Save The Last Dance For Me Dion
Come and Go With Me Dion
The Wanderer Dion
Abraham, Martin and John Dion
Freight Train Blues Dick Curless
I’ll Hold You in My Heart (Til’ I Can Hold You in My Arms) Dick Curless
No One Will Ever Know Dick Curless
King of the Blues Dick Curless
Crazy Heart Dick Curless
The Last Blues Song Dick Curless
Chick Inspector (That’s Where My Money Goes) Dick Curless
Stonin’ Around Dick Curless
Loser’s Cocktail Dick Curless
Drag ‘Em Off The Interstate, Sock It To ‘Em J. P. Blues Dick Curless
Hard, Hard Travelin’ Man Dick Curless
Big Wheel Cannonball Dick Curless
Bury The Bottle With Me Dick Curless
All Of Me Belongs To You Dick Curless
The Baron Dick Curless
‘Tater Raisin’ Man Dick Curless
Six Times A Day (The Trains Came Down) Dick Curless
A Tombstone Every Mile Dick Curless
I Aint Got Nobody Dick Curless
Travelin’ Man Dick Curless
Stop In The Name Of Love Diana Ross & The Supremes
Where Did Our Love Go Diana Ross & The Supremes
They Can’t Take That Away From Me Diana Krall
Little Darlin’ The Diamonds
Gate Gate (The Rishi Earthmother Remix) Deva Premal
Gaia dreaming Deuter
Marfa Lights II Deuter
Blessing Deuter
Illumination Deuter
Buddha Nature Deuter
Encore: Will You Go Lassie, Go (The Wild Mountain Thyme) — Traditional Derek Bell
God’s Call Ot The Soul — J. Donald Walters Derek Bell
Irish Lullaby — J. Donald Walters (B. 1926) Derek Bell
Wahine ‘Ilikea Dennis Kamakahi
When Irish Eyes Are Smiling Dennis Day
The Voodoo Man Dell Vikings
Pancho & Lefty Delbert McClinton
Come Go With Me The Del Vikings
Runaway Del Shannon
You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive Del Mccoury Band And Friends
When I’m 64 Del Mccoury Band And Friends
Farmer’s Blues Del Mccoury Band And Friends
Raindrops Dee Clark
Tammy Debbie Reynolds
I Will Follow You Into the Dark Death Cab for Cutie
Rock n Roll I Gave You All the Best Years of My Live Dean Reed
Kansas City Dean Reed
We Shall Overcome Dean Reed
Vinceremos Dean Reed
Hey Little One Dean Reed
That’s Amore Dean Martin
Memories Are Made of This Dean Martin
Keys De’adre Aziza, Daniel Breaker
Adams: El Niño – In The Day Of The Great Slaughter Dawn Upshaw, Willard White, Etc.; Kent Nagano: Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, Theatre of Voices, London Voices
Adams: El Niño – For With God No Thing Shall Be Impossible Dawn Upshaw, Willard White, Etc.; Kent Nagano: Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, Theatre of Voices, London Voices
Adams: El Niño – I Sing Of A Maiden Dawn Upshaw, Willard White, Etc.; Kent Nagano: Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, Theatre of Voices, London Voices
Something Sort Of Grandish David Wayne and Ella Logan
Witch Doctor David Seville
Sarangi Saron David Parsons
Jalan Jalan David Parsons
Urartu To Ubud David Parsons
Ferry Across The Mersey David Lanz
Sacred Road David Lanz
Dreamer’s Waltz David Lanz
Cristofori’s Dream David Lanz
A Shenandoah Lullaby David Grisman & Jerry Garcia
You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma David Frizzell
Darkwood III David Darling
In November David Darling
The Bell David Darling
Choral David Darling
Psalm David Darling
Totem David Darling
Indiana Indian David Darling
Two or Three Things David Darling
Lament David Darling
Darkwood II David Darling
Fables David Darling
No Place Nowhere David Darling
Darkwood I David Darling
Little Miss Blue Eyes (Album Version) David Darling
Ain’t Got So Far To Go David Byrne
Quicksand David Bowie
Memory of a Free Festival (part) David Bowie
Lady Stardust David Bowie
Cygnet Committee David Bowie
Bewlay Brothers David Bowie
After All David Bowie
Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide David Bowie
Five Years David Bowie
Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide David Bowie
The Prettiest Star David Bowie
Changes David Bowie
Starman David Bowie
Space Oddity David Bowie
Old Folks At Home (Swanee River) David Ball
Explorers David Arkenstone
You’ve Been A Good Old Wagon Dave Van Ronk
Stealin’ Dave Van Ronk
Sister Kate Dave Van Ronk
Mack the Knife Dave Van Ronk
K. C. Moan Dave Van Ronk
Hang Me, Oh Hang Me Dave Van Ronk
Georgia Camp Meeting Dave Van Ronk
Cocaine Blues Dave Van Ronk
You’ve Been a Good Ole Wagon Dave Van Ronk
Cocaine Dave Van Ronk
Sister Kate Dave Van Ronk
Would You Like To Swing On A Star? Dave Van Ronk
In the Pines Dave Van Ronk
Exit 93 Dave Insley
Everything’s Broken Dave Insley
Drinking For Two Dave Insley
What’s Left Of Your Man Dave Insley
West Texas Wine Dave Insley
The World’s Been Beating You Down Dave Insley
Other Trails To Ride Dave Insley
White Cross Dave Insley
South Of The Border Dave Insley
You’re The One I Prefer Dave Insley
Open Road Dave Insley
Cowboy Lullaby Dave Insley
Roy Boy Dave Insley
Maricopa Mountains Dave Insley
Wonderful Copenhagen Danny Kaye
The Stone Cutter’s Dream Daniel Deardorff
Burning Windows Daniel Deardorff
Earth Father Daniel Deardorff
Mirrors Daniel Deardorff
Only the Heart May Know Dan Fogelberg & Emmylou Harris
Leader of the Band Dan Fogelberg
Run for the Roses Dan Fogelberg
Chant for Healing Dalai Lama
Are You Washed In The Blood Of The Lamb Dacosta Woltz’s Southern Broadcasters
Red Rubber Ball The Cyrkle
The Mock Turtle’s Song Cyril Ritchard
Hilo E/E Lili’u E Cyril Pahinui & Bob Brozman
Why Am I A Rastaman Culture
Medley-Everyday / Think It Over / Maybe Baby (Re-Recorded) The Crickets
True Love Ways (Re-Recorded) The Crickets
Oh Boy! The Crickets
That’ll Be The Day The Crickets
Sh-Boom The Crew Cuts
What A Surprise The Crests
Trouble in Paradise The Crests
Step by Step The Crests
Let True Love Begin The Crests
I Do, I Do The Crests
Flower of Love The Crests
The Angels Listened In The Crests
Six Nights a Week The Crests
I.O.U. The Crests
Model Girl The Crests
Paper Crown The Crests
Always You The Crests
I Thank the Moon The Crests
Party Doll The Crests
Devi Prayer Craig Pruess
Highway Kind Cowboy Junkies
We Gather Together Countdown Kids
Smokey Places The Corsairs
It’s Only Make Believe Conway Twitty
Patere Control
Stupid Cupid Connie Francis
Brahms: 5 Songs, Op. 49 – Lullaby Columbia Symphony; André Kostelanetz
Gone, Gone, Gone Colin Farrell
Poison Ivy The Coasters
Yakety Yak The Coasters
Heart And Soul The Cleftones
Party Lights Claudine Clark
Till Then The Classics
The Parting Glass The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem
The Rising of the Moon The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem
When The Ship Comes In The Clancy Brothers
On Top of Old Smoky Cisco Houston
As The Life Of A Flower The Chuck Wagon Gang
Memphis Chuck Berry
Johnny B. Goode Chuck Berry
O Little Town of Bethlehem Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe, Truro Cathedral Choir & William Douglas
I Saw Three Ships Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe, Tim Carleston & Truro Cathedral Choir
Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Little Jesus, Sweetly Sleep Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Here Is the Little Door Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Bethlehem Down Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
O Magnum Mysterium Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Silent Night Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Noel Nouvelet Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Away In a Manger Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Quem Vidistis Pastores Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
The Lamb Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
A New Year Carol Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Benedicamus Domino Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Sussex Carol Christopher Gray, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Ave Maria Christopher Gray, Peter Hulme, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Once In Royal David’s City Christopher Gray, Joshua Brooksbank, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
In the Bleak Mid-Winter Christopher Gray, Joshua Brooksbank, Peter Hulme, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Imagine Chris Norman
Stumblin’ In Chris Norman
Mr. Sandman The Chordettes
Lollipop The Chordettes
Concerto For Violin & Orchestra, Op. 64 / III-Allegro molto vivace Cho-Liang Lin, violin; Michael Tilson Thomas, Philharmonia Orchestra
One Fine Day The Chiffons
Sweet Talkin’ Guy The Chiffons
Goodnight Irene The Chieftains & Willie Nelson
Tennessee Waltz / Tennessee Mazurka The Chieftains & Tom Jones
I Can’t Stop Loving You The Chieftains & Don Williams
When You and I Were Young, Maggie The Chieftains
Roche’s Favourite The Chieftains
Down By the Sally Gardens The Chieftains
Danny Boy The Chieftains
Morning Has Broken (w/Diana Krall And Art Garfunkel) The Chieftains
Shenandoah (W/ Van Morrison) The Chieftains
An Gaoth Aneas (The Wind From The South) The Chieftains
An Buinnean Bui/The County Tyrone/Newry Hornpipe The Chieftains
The May Morning Dew The Chieftains
Planxty George Brabazon The Chieftains
O Come All Ye Faithful The Chieftains
Once In Royal David’s City The Chieftains
Skyline Jig The Chieftains
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen The Chieftains
A Breton Carol The Chieftains
All I Really Want To Do Cher
Dhun CHAURASIA Hariprasad
When Jesus Our Lord Charles Murray, Christopher Gray, Colin Ward, Peter Brathwaite, Peter Hulme, Robert Sharpe & Truro Cathedral Choir
Symphony No. 4 – IV Largo maestoso Charles Ives
Symphony No. 4 – III Fugue: Andante moderato Charles Ives
Symphony No. 4 – II Allegretto Charles Ives
Symphony No. 4 – I Prelude: Maestoso Charles Ives
Symphony No. 3 – III Largo Charles Ives
Symphony No. 3 – II Allegro Charles Ives
Symphony No. 3 – I Andante maestoso Charles Ives
The Circus Band March – IV In the Night Charles Ives
The Circus Band March – III In the Inn Charles Ives
The CIrcus Band March – II In the Cage Charles Ives
The Circus Band March - Charles Ives
Bach: Ave Maria Charles Gounod
Murillo’s Lesson Charles Butts Sacred Harp Singers
Pipeline The Chantays
A Summer Sun Chad and Jeremy
Prelude, Fugue, and Variation Cesar Franck
Desperado Celtic Thunder
Sweet Guava Jelly Cedella Marley Booker
First Anniversary Cathy Carr
Ivory Tower Cathy Carr
Father and Son Cat Stevens
Morning Has Broken Cat Stevens
Moonshadow Cat Stevens
Sea of Love (Remastered) Cat Power
Outlaw Cast King
Sunrise, Sunset Cast and Company of Fiddler on the Roof
Hope, Faith and Humbleness (Nyabinghi) Casper And The House Of David
Hope, Faith and Humbleness Casper And The House Of David
How Can It Be? Casper And The House Of David
Don´t Make Them Mark You Casper And The House Of David
Pirate Casper And The House Of David
Relationship Casper And The House Of David
Personal Struggle Casper And The House Of David
Weep in the Night Casper And The House Of David
David Music Casper And The House Of David
Keep On The Sunny Side The Carter Family
Desperado Carrie Underwood
For All We Know The Carpenters
Close to You The Carpenters
Cornbread and Butterbeans Carolina Chocolate Drops
Medley: Take Good Care of My Baby – It Might As Well Rain Until September – Go Away Little Girl – I’m Into Something Good – Hey Girl – One Fine Day – Will You Love Me Tomorrow Carole King
I Feel Pretty Carol Lawrence, Marilyn Cooper, Reri Grist, Carmen Gutierrez, & Elizabeth Taylor
Tonight Carol Lawrence / Larry Kert
One Fine Day Carol King
Jesus My All Carlisle Brothers
The Blood That Stained The Old Rugged Cross Carl Smith With The Carter Sisters And Mother Maybelle
The Roasted Cygnet Sings Carl Orff
Fortune-Empress of the World Carl Orff
Gabriellas Song – Wie im Himmel Carin Filipcic
Christ Is Made The Sure Foundation Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Eternal God Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Glory To Thee, My God This Night Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
We Plough The Fields And Scatter Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Amazing Grace Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Morning Has Broken Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
All Things Bright And Beautiful Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Be Thou My Vision Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Christ The Lord Hath Risen Today Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
When I Survey The Wondrous Cross Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Drop, Drop, Slow Tears Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Vexilla Regis Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Pange Lingua Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Love Divine, All Loves Excelling Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Lo! He Comes With Clouds Descending Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Veni, Creator Spiritus Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
A Mighty Fortress Is Our God Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
The King Of Love My Shepherd Is Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
O God, Our Help In Ages Past Cambridge Singers & John Rutter
Lay A Garland (Pearsall) The Cambridge Singers
Remember not Lord Our Offences (Purcell) The Cambridge Singers
Te Deum In C (Stanford) The Cambridge Singers
Laudi Alla Vergine Maria (Verdi) The Cambridge Singers
Ave Maria (Bruckner) The Cambridge Singers
Debussy / Trois Chansons De Charles D’Orleans: 1. Dieu! Qu’il La Fait Bon Regarder The Cambridge Singers
Across The Wire Calexico
Sunken Waltz Calexico
My Back Pages The Byrds
The Little White Duck Burl Ives
A Little Bitty Tear Burl Ives
Funny Way Of Laughing Burl Ives
Bach (JS): Oboe Concerto In D Minor, BWV 1059r – Adagio Burkhard Glaetzner; Max Pommer: Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum
Johnny’s Song Burgess Meredith
Starwalker Buffy St. Marie
Qu’Appelle Valley Saskatchewan Buffy St. Marie
True Love Ways Buddy Holly & The Crickets
It Doesn’t Matter Anymore Buddy Holly & The Crickets
Think It Over Buddy Holly & The Crickets
Words Of Love Buddy Holly & The Crickets
It’s So Easy Buddy Holly & The Crickets
Tell Me How Buddy Holly & The Crickets
Oh Boy! Buddy Holly & The Crickets
That’ll Be The Day Buddy Holly & The Crickets
Well Alright Buddy Holly
Um Oh Yeah (Dearest) Buddy Holly
Love Is Strange Buddy Holly
Dearest Buddy Holly
Peggy Sue Buddy Holly
Everyday Buddy Holly
Crying, Waiting, Hoping Buddy Holly
Fool’s Paradise Buddy Holly
Maybe Baby Buddy Holly
Look At Me Buddy Holly
My Kind of Girl Buddy Greco
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered Buddy Greco
How Are Things In Glocca Morra Buddy Clark
An Apple Blossom Wedding Buddy Clark
You’re Too Dangerous, Cherie Buddy Clark
Linda Buddy Clark
It’s A Big Wide Wonderful World Buddy Clark
Shuddh Kalyan Buddhadev Das Gupta
Jog Buddhadev Das Gupta
Jhinjhoti Buddhadev Das Gupta
Chayanat Buddhadev Das Gupta
Adana Buddhadev Das Gupta
Hello Trouble Buck Owens
I’ll Be Satisfied Bryant’s Jubilee Quartet
Mahler: Symphony #9 In D – 4. Adagio, Sehr Langsam Und Noch Zuruekhaltend. Bruno Walter: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Mahler: Symphony #9 In D – 2. Im Tempo Eines Gemaechlichen Laendlers Bruno Walter: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
The Wrestler Bruce Springsteen
When The Leaves Turn Red Bruce Green, Tweedie Gibson, Clifton Green
Up In The Heaven Shouting Bruce Green, Tweedie Gibson, Clifton Green
The Three Bells The Browns
Keep On The Firing Line Brown’s Ferry Four
Yellow Bird The Brothers Four
The Green Leaves of Summer The Brothers Four
Greenfields The Brothers Four
It’s Just A Matter of Time Brook Benton
Sealed With a Kiss Brian Hyland
Air on the G-String Boyds For Praise Company
Silent Night Boyds For Praise Company
Ave Maria Boyds For Praise Company
O Holy Night Boyds For Praise Company
Je Crois Entendre Encore Boyds For Praise Company
The Christmas Song Boyds For Praise Company
What a Wonderful World Boyds For Praise Company
The First Noel Boyds For Praise Company
Melodies Boyds For Praise Company
Little Drummer Boy Boyds For Praise Company
O Mio Babbino Caro Boyds For Praise Company
Joy to the World Boyds For Praise Company
Somewhere Over the Rainbow Boyds For Praise Company
Joy Bells Ringing in My Soul Boyds For Praise Company
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen Boyds For Praise Company
Walking in Your Eternal Love Boyds For Praise Company
Hark the Herald Angels Sing Boyds For Praise Company
Ombra Mai-Fu Boyds For Praise Company
O Come All Ye Faithful Boyds For Praise Company
You Raise Me Up Boyds For Praise Company
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas Boyds For Praise Company
You Raise Me Up Boyds For Praise Company
I’ll Be There Boyds For Praise Company
Holy Night Boyds For Praise Company
Blessed Quietness Boyds For Praise Company
What A Friend We Have In Jesus Boyds For Praise Company
Blessed Assurance Boyds For Praise Company
Leaning On The Everlasting Arms Boyds For Praise Company
Amazing Grace Boyds For Praise Company
The Letter The Box Tops
I Am Africa The Book Of Mormon Cast
Hello! The Book Of Mormon Cast
It’s A Heartache Bonnie Tyler
Feels Like Home Bonnie Raitt
Blue on Blue Bobby Vinton
Blue Velvet Bobby Vinton
Honey Bobby Goldsboro
Strange Rain Bobby Darin
Splish Splash Bobby Darin
Somebody To Love Bobby Darin
Lazy River Bobby Darin
La Bamba Bobby Darin
Dream Lover original Bobby Darin
Beyond the Sea original Bobby Darin
Artificial Flowers Bobby Darin
Daydream Bobby Darin
More Bobby Darin
That’s All Bobby Darin
Dream Lover Bobby Darin
Mack The Knife Bobby Darin
The Girl Who Stood Beside Me (Live) Bobby Darin
Dream Lover Bobby Darin
Simple Song of Freedom Bobby Darin
Beyond the Sea Bobby Darin
This Could Be the Start of Something Big Bobby Darin
This Train Is Bound for Glory Bob Marley & The Wailers
Teenager in Love Bob Marley & The Wailers
Stop That Train Bob Marley & The Wailers
Redemption Song Bob Marley & The Wailers
Every Little Thing Gonna Be All Right Bob Marley & The Wailers
Concrete Jungle Bob Marley & The Wailers
Keep on Moving Bob Marley & The Wailers
Acoustic Medley Bob Marley & The Wailers
One Love/People Get Ready Bob Marley & The Wailers
One Cup Of Coffee Bob Marley & The Wailers
Judge Not Bob Marley & The Wailers
One love / People get ready) Bob Marley & The Wailers
I’m Hurting Inside Bob Marley & The Wailers
Buffalo Soldier Bob Marley & The Wailers
Simmer Down Bob Marley & The Wailers
Corner Stone Bob Marley & The Wailers
Elusive Butterfly Bob Lind
The Cheater Bob Kuban
All The Tired Horses Bob Dylan
Trying To Get To Heaven Bob Dylan
When The Ship Comes In Bob Dylan
Desolation Row [Alternate] Bob Dylan
This Land Is Your Land [Live] Bob Dylan
Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right Bob Dylan
A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall Bob Dylan
Girl From The North Country Bob Dylan
Blowin’ In The Wind Bob Dylan
Boots Of Spanish Leather Bob Dylan
If Not for You Bob Dylan
Ring Them Bells Bob Dylan
Jokerman Bob Dylan
Positively 4th Street Bob Dylan
It Ain’t Me, Babe Bob Dylan
Shelter From The Storm Bob Dylan
If You See Her, Say Hello Bob Dylan
You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go Bob Dylan
Just Like a Woman Bob Dylan
Forever Young Bob Dylan
All Along The Watchtower Bob Dylan
On A Night Like This Bob Dylan
I Want You Bob Dylan
To Ramona Bob Dylan
Mr. Tambourine Man Bob Dylan
Subterranean Homesick Blues Bob Dylan
Like A Rolling Stone Bob Dylan
Masters Of War Bob Dylan
The Times They Are A-Changin’ Bob Dylan
Baby, Let Me Follow You Down Bob Dylan
My Back Pages Bob Dylan
Chimes Of Freedom Bob Dylan
All I Really Want To Do Bob Dylan
Come To The Savior Blue Sky Boys
The Tide Is High Blondie
Silent Night Bing Crosby
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Bing Crosby
White Christmas (1947 Single) Bing Crosby
Danny Boy (Single) Bing Crosby
Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral (That’s An Irish Lullaby) Bing Crosby
Dear Old Donegal Bing Crosby
McNamara’s Band Bing Crosby
Whiffenpoof Song (Single) Bing Crosby
You Are My Sunshine Bing Crosby
I Can Help Billy Swan
Gotta Travel On Billy Grammer
Chantilly Lace Big Bopper
One Boy Betty Buckley
Polly Wolly Doodle Bess Lomax, Pete Seeger & Tom Glazer
Beethoven: Symphony No. 8 In F, Op. 93 – 4. Allegro Vivace Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 8 In F, Op. 93 – 3. Tempo Di Menuetto Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 8 In F, Op. 93 – 2. Allegretto Scherzando Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 8 In F, Op. 93 – 1. Allegro Vivace E Con Brio Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 In B Flat, Op. 60 – 4. Allegro Ma Non Troppo Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 In B Flat, Op. 60 – 3. Allegro Vivace Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 In B Flat, Op. 60 – 2. Adagio Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 In B Flat, Op. 60 – 1. Adagio; Allegro Vivace Bernard Haitink: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
Bruckner: Symphony #8 In C Minor, WAB 108 – 4. Finale: Feierlich, Nicht Schnell Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Bruckner: Symphony #8 In C Minor, WAB 108 – 3. Adagio, Feierlich Langsam, Doch Nicht Schleppend Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Bruckner: Symphony #8 In C Minor, WAB 108 – 2. Scherzo, Trio Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Beethoven: Septet In E Flat, Op. 20 – 5. Scherzo Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar Ben Kaili
Stand by Me Ben E. King
I (Who Have Nothing) Ben E. King
Come On Little Angel Belmonts
Stay Awhile The Bells
舒伯特小夜曲 Beijing Angelic Choir
Nelly Bly Beijing Angelic Choir
Die Lorelei Beijing Angelic Choir
風流寡婦圓舞曲 Beijing Angelic Choir
哎呀媽媽 Beijing Angelic Choir
鴿子 Beijing Angelic Choir
夢中佳人 Beautiful Dreamer Beijing Angelic Choir
依然在我心深處 Beijing Angelic Choir
Oh ! Susana Beijing Angelic Choir
白髮吟 Beijing Angelic Choir
往事難忘 Long Long Ago Beijing Angelic Choir
伏爾塔瓦河 River Moldau Beijing Angelic Choir
夢 Old Folks at Home Beijing Angelic Choir
念故鄉 Nostalgia Beijing Angelic Choir
科羅拉多之夜 Colorado Night Beijing Angelic Choir
我的家庭 Home Sweet Home Beijing Angelic Choir
老黑爵 Old Black Joe Beijing Angelic Choir
愛的真諦 Love Beijing Angelic Choir
祈禱 Praying Beijing Angelic Choir
I Started a Joke Bee Gees
Just a Little The Beau Brummels
Yes It Is The Beatles
We Can Work It Out The Beatles
Rocky Raccoon The Beatles
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da The Beatles
Mister Moonlight The Beatles
Ask Me Why The Beatles
Across The Universe The Beatles
Let It Be The Beatles
Come Together The Beatles
In My Life The Beatles
Girl The Beatles
Michelle The Beatles
Nowhere Man The Beatles
Eleanor Rigby The Beatles
Anna (Go To Him) The Beatles
Penny Lane The Beatles
Strawberry Fields Forever The Beatles
The Fool On The Hill The Beatles
Act Naturally The Beatles
Words of Love The Beatles
Why Do Fools Fall in Love The Beach Boys
In My Room The Beach Boys
God Only Knows Beach Boys
Sloop John B The Beach Boys
Surfin’ U.S.A. The Beach Boys
Melody: Old Folks at Home/Ol’ Man River The Beach Boys
Help Me, Rhonda The Beach Boys
California Girls The Beach Boys
Girls On The Beach The Beach Boys
Good Vibrations The Beach Boys
When I Grow Up (To Be a Man) The Beach Boys
Fun, Fun, Fun The Beach Boys
I Get Around The Beach Boys
Eve Of Destrution Barry McGuire
All I Want Is You Barry Louis Polisar
I Believe / You’ll Never Walk Alone Barbra Streisand
Mek Uh Move Azeem
Naturally Stoned The Avant Gardes
Gallie Barinda Australian Aborigine
Attunga Australian Aborigine
Ourimbah Australian Aborigine
When All Is Forgiven Ashana
Ave Maria Ashana
Pari Intervallo Arvo Pärt/Christoph Maria Moosmann (organ)
Moth Artisan
Walk My Path Artisan
What’s The Use Of Wings Artisan
The Tolaeth Artisan
Lest We Forget Artisan
A Posy Made Of Dreams Artisan
Do You Remember? Artisan
The Coal And Albert Berry Artisan
Shift And Spin Artisan
The Burning Times Artisan
Mary Ellen Carter Artisan
Unicorns Artisan
Working Men Of England Artisan
Though I Live Not Where I Love Artisan
Going Nowhere Artisan
Farewell Song Artisan
Ripples In The Air Artisan
You Are There Artisan
Pattern Maker Artisan
White Horses Artisan
I Saw Another You Artisan
The Boar’s Head Carol Artisan
Silent Night Artisan
Left Right Right Left Artisan
I’ll Sail No More Artisan
The Rainbow Never Came Artisan
Power Cut Artisan
Breathing Space Artisan
Beethoven: Romance #2 In F, Op. 50 Arthur Grumiaux; Edo De Waart: New Philharmonia Orchestra
Ukelele Lady Arlo Guthrie
The City of New Orleans Arlo Guthrie
He Is My Story Arizona Dranes And Choir
Crucifixion Arizona Dranes
String Quartet No. 1 (II: Allegro scorrevole) Arditti Quartet
Carter: Elegy Arditti Quartet
Calling Out to Jah Apache Indian & Luciano
Israelites (API & Subs ‘The Block’ Mix Radio Edit) Apache Indian & Desmond Dekker
Om Numah Shivaya Apache Indian
Chakra Journey Anugama
Satz / 3nd movement Anton Nanut: Ljubljana Radio Symphony Orchestra
Satz / 2nd movement Anton Nanut: Ljubljana Radio Symphony Orchestra
Satz / 1st movement Anton Nanut: Ljubljana Radio Symphony Orchestra
Anon: Cives Celestis Patrie Anonymous 4
Anon: Apocalypse 21:1-5 Anonymous 4
Anon: Alleluia “Ascendens Christus” Anonymous 4
Anon: Kyrie “Celestis Terrestrisque” Anonymous 4
Anon: Quem Creditis Super Astra/Viri Galilei Anonymous 4
Anything You Can Do Annie & Frank
You Can’t Get A Man With A Gun Annie
My Boyfriend’s Back The Angels
Village of St. Bernadette Andy Williams
Suddenly There’s A Valley Andy Williams
I Believe Andy Williams
He Andy Williams
The Impossible Dream Andy Williams
Can’t Get Used To Losing You Andy Williams
Butterfly Andy Williams
What We Wanted To Be Andy Wilkinson
Tommy’s Old Guitar Andy Wilkinson
Old Paint Medley: I Ride An Old Paint/The Horse With A Union Label/Goodbye Old Paint Andy Wilkinson
The Freedom Song Andy Wilkinson
The Tumbleweed Christmas Tree Andy Wilkinson
Palo Duro Farewell Andy Wilkinson
Standing Deer’s Lament Andy Wilkinson
I Believe Andrew Rannells
Bach: Violin Concerto #2 In E, BWV 1042 – 2. Adagio Andrew Manze: Academy Of Ancient Music
Bach: Violin Concerto #1 In A Minor, BWV 1041 – 2. Andante Andrew Manze: Academy Of Ancient Music
Bach: Violin Concerto #1 In A Minor, BWV 1041 – 1. Allegro Andrew Manze: Academy Of Ancient Music
Down Once More/Track Down This Murderer Andrew Lloyd Webber
Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again Andrew Lloyd Webber
All I Ask Of You (Reprise) Andrew Lloyd Webber
All I Ask Of You Andrew Lloyd Webber
Notes/Prima Donna Andrew Lloyd Webber
The Music of the Night Andrew Lloyd Webber
The Phantom of the Opera Andrew Lloyd Webber
Angel of Music Andrew Lloyd Webber
Overture Andrew Lloyd Webber
Part Invention #13 in Am :Bach Bwv799 András Schiff
Part Invention #11 in Gm :Bach Bwv797 András Schiff
Part Invention #10 in G :Bach Bwv796 András Schiff
Part Invention #9 in Fm :Bach Bwv795 András Schiff
Part Invention #7 in Em :Bach Bwv793 András Schiff
Part Invention #6 in E :Bach Bwv792 András Schiff
Part Invention #4 in Dm :Bach Bwv790 András Schiff
Part Invention #2 in Cm :Bach Bwv788 András Schiff
Part Invention #1 in C :Bach Bwv787 András Schiff
Part Invention #15 in Bm :Bach Bwv786 András Schiff
Part Invention #13 in Am :Bach Bwv784 András Schiff
Part Invention #9 in Fm :Bach Bwv780 András Schiff
Part Invention #7 in Em :Bach Bwv778 András Schiff
Part Invention #1 in C :Bach Bwv772 András Schiff
Bach (JS): Goldberg Variations, BWV 988 – Variations 21-25 András Schiff
Bach (JS): Goldberg Variations, BWV 988 – Aria & Variations 1-5 András Schiff
Bach (JS): English Suite #2 In A Minor, BWV 807 – Allemande András Schiff
Bach (JS): English Suite #5 In E Minor, BWV 810 – Sarabande András Schiff
Bach (JS): English Suite #1 In A, BWV 806 – Sarabande András Schiff
Isa Lei Andi Thakambau (Fiji)
El Minero Andean Music
Andean Music 6 Andean Music
Andean Music 5 Andean Music
Andean Music 4 Andean Music
Andean Music 3 Andean Music
Andean Music 2 Andean Music
Rag Mop The Ames Brothers
You You You The Ames Brothers
The Naughty Lady Of Shady Lane The Ames Brothers
Melodie d’Amour The Ames Brothers
I’ll Fly Away Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch
Down To The River To Pray Alison Krauss
Airport Mesa Alexander
Dancing Clouds Over Oak Creek Canyon Alexander
Satie: Gnossiennes – 6. Avec Conviction Et Avec Une Tristesse Rigoureuse Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: Gnossiennes – 5. Modéré Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: Gnossiennes – 4. Lent Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: Gnossiennes – 3. Lent Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: Gnossiennes – 2. Avec Étonnement Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: Gnossiennes – 1. Lent Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: 3 Gymnopédies – 3. Lent Et Grave Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: 3 Gymnopédies – 2. Lent Et Triste Aldo Ciccolini
Satie: 3 Gymnopédies – 1. Lent Et Douloureux Aldo Ciccolini
It Never Rains in Southern California Albert Hammond
Exile Symphony, 2nd mvt., Grazioso Alan Hovhaness/Seattle Symphony, Gerard Schwarz (cond)
Tennessee Babe Alamo Chorus
The Green Leaves of Summer Alamo Chorus
Present Joys Alabama Sacred Harp Singers
Take Me Down Alabama
The Closer You Get Alabama
The Snake Al Wilson
For All We Know Al Martino
Mary In the Morning Al Martino
When You Were Sweet Sixteen Al Jolson
When The Red Red Robin Comes…. Al Jolson
Rockabye Your Baby…. Al Jolson
Old Man River Al Jolson
Ma (She’s Making Eyes At Me) Al Jolson
Easter Parade Al Jolson
April Showers Al Jolson
Anniversary Song Al Jolson
About a Quarter to Nine Al Jolson
Some Enchanted Evening Al Jolson
Unchained Melody Al Hibbler
Lizard Walk Totem Adam Plack, Johnny Soames, William Brady & Luke Cummins
Blow Fly Totem Adam Plack, Johnny Soames, William Brady & Luke Cummins
Kookaburra Adam Plack, Johnny Soames, William Brady & Luke Cummins
Stranger on the Shore Acker Bilk
]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2013/03/contents-of-ipod-februrary-2013/feed/ 0 News Notes, Updated February 23, 2013 http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/news-notes-updated-december-29-2012/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/news-notes-updated-december-29-2012/#comments Sat, 29 Dec 2012 20:21:54 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1223

News Notes

Up to now, this website has been a blog in the sense that my most recent post has made up the home page and stayed there until the next most recent post.  These cumulative posts are still all present on the site (to the right, see the vertical column).  Instead, I will now regularly update the home page with news, features, and outreach.


Most Recent Book (see posts of chapters on this website under Features)

In his three-volume work Dark Pool of Light, Richard Grossinger weaves neuroscience and the phenomenology of being and reality together with psychospiritual views of “that single thing which is most difficult to understand or vindicate: our own existence.” Dark Pool of Light Volume One addresses the mystery of how subjective consciousness gets into a material universe to witness itself objectively in egoic systems. In particular, it gauges the various degrees and qualities of gap between mindedness as an experiential state and the brain as a physical object, calling out the schizophrenia of scientists who assert that consciousness is a mirage while living as if they themselves are real. Volumes Two and Three explore the remote ranges and exquisite meanings of consciousness, whether it is real or not. Volume Two leads the reader from a consideration of the psychic aspects of everyday life to engagement with energies outside the human range. Volume Three addresses mortality and the nature of evil while presenting a unified theory of the universe that includes consciousness.

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness:

The Convergence of Physical, Philosophical, Psychological, Psychospiritual, and Psychic Views

Table of Contents

 

Volume One

The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: What the Fuck is This?

Chapter Two: The Scientific View of Reality and Consciousness

Chapter Three: Consciousness: Everything and Nothing

Chapter Four: Degrees of Consciousness: Protoconsciousness, Preconsciousness, and the Freudian Unconscious

Chapter Five: Systemic Consciousness: Nonconsciousness and the Loss of Consciousness

Chapter Six: Qualia or Zombies?

Chapter Seven: Consciousness as an Emergent Phenomenon: The Psycholinguistics and Phylogenesis of Meaning

Chapter Eight: The Quantum Brain

Chapter Nine: The Ontology and Cosmology of Consciousness

Chapter Ten: The Subtexts of Science

Deleted Scenes

 

Volume Two

Introduction

Chapter One: Theosophy and the Hermetic Tradition

Chapter Two: Psychic Tools

Chapter Three: We Are Already Psychic

Chapter Four: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Human Home Energy

Chapter Five: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Frequencies Above the Range of Ordinary Experience

Chapter Six: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Tuning Outside the Axis of Human Home Energy

Chapter Seven: Surfing the Operation of the Real

Chapter Eight: Focusing on What Is Happening

Chapter Nine: Buddhism and Theosophy: A Comparison

Hyperlinks

 

Volume Three

The Crisis and Future of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: Demonic Entities and Their Symbols of Transformation

Chapter Two: Fear Has an Intelligence

Chapter Three: How Did Evil Get into the Universe?

Chapter Four: One Encounter, One Chance

Chapter Five: Converting Thoughtforms and Riding Synchronicity: Roses, Tarot Cards, and Scapula Bones

Chapter Six: Family Constellations

Chapter Seven: The Cosmic Eternity System

Chapter Eight: We Are In Existence

Hyperlinks

 

I am presently revising and updating The Night Sky, using a fresh OCR scan of the 1988 J. P. Tarcher edition. I am updating the astronomy and cosmology and bringing the book into line with Dark Pool of Light (see below), so that it might almost be considered Volume Four: The Universe. The text will be republished in both print and e-book at the start of 2014. The new title and subtitle will be The Night Sky: Soul and Cosmos–The Physics and Metaphysics of the Stars and Planets.

Table of  Contents

Preface: The Night Sky in the Human Universe

Introduction to the 1981 Edition

Introduction to the 1988 Edition

Introduction to the 2014 Edition

I. Histories and Philosophies

1.       The Night Sky

2.       Scientific and Occult Astronomy

3.       Ancient Astronomy

4.       The History of Western Astronomy i. The Sun in the Center

5.       The History of Western Astronomy ii. The Planets

6.       The History of Western Astronomy iii. The Gravitational Field

7.       The History of Western Astronomy iv. The Stars

8.       The History of Western Astronomy v. The Elements

9.       The History of Western Astronomy vi. The Space-Time Continuum

10.     The History of Western Astronomy vii. The Atom

11.     The History of Western Astronomy viii. The Big Bang

12.     The History of Western Astronomy ix. Pulsars, Quasars, and Black Holes

13.     The History of Western Astronomy x. Creation

14.     Language, Mind, and Astrophysics

 

II. Planets

15.     The Solar System

16.     Molten Worlds: Mercury and Venus

17.     Rocky Habitation Zone: The Moon, the Earth, and Mars

18.     Gas and Ice Giants: Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune

19.     The Moons and Rings of Jupiter and Saturn

20.     The Moons of Uranus and Neptune, Pluto and Other Kuiper Belt Objects

21.     Astrology

 

III. Mythologies and Legends

22.     Star Myth

23.     Science Fiction I. The Origin of Celestial Worlds

24.     Science Fiction II. Self and Cosmos

25.     Science Fiction III. Jesus of Nazareth

26.     Flying Saucers and Extraterrestrial Life

Endnotes

Index

 

 

Maine Psychic Group

My psychic group  meets at 7 PM on Tuesday nights in Manset when I am in Maine (next meeting later in 2013).  Inquire if interested. Everyone welcome. Please call 207-244-0471 for directions.

Here is a great group I have gone to see many times in Central Park: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x243eDl-M78

New,  Current, and Forthcoming Publications

Migraine Auras: When the Visual World Fails; On the Integration of Nature: Post-9/11 Biopolitical Notes; Embryos, Galaxies, and Sentient Beings: How the Universe Makes Life; Homeopathy: The Great Riddle; Planet Medicine: Origins; and Planet Medicine: Modalities have all been prepared for e-books and will be coming out between December, 2012, and March, 2013. On the Integration of Nature, Homeopathy, and Planet Medicine  have new prefaces that I am also posting on this website. All the books have been corrected with minor changes throughout. The two volumes of Planet Medicine have several hundred changes combined.

The Bardo of Waking Life, 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, and New Moon are  in e-book format and available.  For The Bardo of Waking Life, I corrected typos and added a note indicating where a gap in the book takes place during our trip to Europe (http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/03/trip-journal/).

For 2013, I corrected typos and wrote a different conclusion to my Introduction on the 2012 cosmic shift.

For New Moon, I removed the entire last section (“The Alchemical Wedding”), restoring the book to its original form.  I also returned the names of many of the people to what they actually were, fixed a confusion of narrative version early in the book, and added a note to cover sections omitted in the “Teen Tour” chapter (in the print version too, as part of the transition from Salty and Sandy, my high-school novel, to New Moon).  I also added an Afterword explaining all these changes and related issues; it is available on this website: http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2011/04/afterword-to-e-book-version-of-new-moon/.

Family

My Wife: Lindy Hough had a new collection of selected poems come out in the spring of 2011.  It is her first book since 1976 and is called Wild Horses, Wild Dreams. Check it out:

http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Horses-Dreams-Selected-1971-2010/dp/1556439628/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1309394777&sr=8-3

She also has a new anthology on granparenting entitled Wondrous Child: http://www.amazon.com/Wondrous-Child-Joys-Challenges-Grandparenting/dp/1583943625/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357225476&sr=8-1&keywords=wondrous+child

It also has a video trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PG3FF3Mysw

My Daughter: Miranda July’s new movie is The Future: http://thefuturethefuture.com/.

Her new book, It Chooses You, is a series of portraits of Los Angeles PennySaver advertisers:

http://www.amazon.com/Chooses-You-Miranda-July/dp/1938073010/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1357225562&sr=1-3&keywords=miranda+july

My Son: Robin Grossinger is writing a book on Napa County for University of California Press publication in spring 2012: Napa Valley Historical Ecology Atlas.

My Son-in-Law: Mike Mills’ new movie is Beginners: http://www.focusfeatures.com/profile/mike_mills

 

 

 

 

 

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/news-notes-updated-december-29-2012/feed/ 0 Piece on Guns in America from The Bardo of Waking Life http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/piece-on-guns-in-america-from-the-bardo-of-waking-life/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/piece-on-guns-in-america-from-the-bardo-of-waking-life/#comments Sat, 29 Dec 2012 19:53:22 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1219

Thoughts on the Virginia Tech Shootings

1.  No clarity or usefulness comes from concluding that Cho Seung-Hui was demonic or deranged.  Empathy is the sole possibility for insight here.  It is not a matter of condoning his acts, but of feeling the agony and ardor that drove them.  To begin to understand what happened is the first step toward healing the wound as well as preventing the next such paroxysm.

The pop psychotherapy conducted throughout the media in the aftermath of the shootings—uniformly dreadful—was likely at the level of the bureaucratic psychotherapy enacted in local facilities to which Cho was “committed” for treatment: no thoughtful analysis, no transference, just grad-school taxonomy leading to protocols of behaviorism and requisite drugs.  He was juiced with anti-depressants and other factory potions that the medical sector routinely dispenses to people as if they were the pill equivalent of “ideas.”  Such chemicals are not remedies; they have manifold and unique consequences in each psyche, few of which doctors and pharmacists gauge or comprehend.

Everyone’s depression is unique; even the chemistry of everyone’s depression is unique.  Mix a cocktail of ideas, molecules, and paranoid fantasies and you get the voodoo you deserve.

Therapy succeeds only when there is transference, when the therapist experiences the mad person as himself, not some fucked-up alien.  Then they recognize each other, have a minor epiphany, and each evolves.  But to name a condition is to dismiss it.  To apply one academic vector or another, after the fact, to a mass killer is to deny the bond between his passion and the passion of all of us, to break communion and forfeit the human connection that alone gives our suffering meaning.

Cho’s Centreville neighbor, Abdul Shash, was actually a better shrink than all the talking heads.  Noting the gunman-to-be’s legendary lack of response to greetings, he observed simply, “He was like he had a broken heart.”  If Cho had been treated with even a morsel of acknowledgment for his broken heart, there would not have been a massacre.  As he himself told people posthumously, “You had your chances, more than enough of them.”

Looking scrawny and talking funny is invitation for bullies to peck and pummel away until you become a basket case.  Being mocked and reviled is no incidental matter.  It dominates your imagination.  You become tunnel-visioned and pissed off; you mull exotic revenges.  Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris set the rules of engagement for the “school daze” of the future in this indulgent, gun-worshipping land.

The Columbine-High Goths wrote the liturgy, and later practitioners of ritual massacre used their precedent and rulebook: “I want to kill and injure as many of you fuckers as I can”; “I’m gonna be famous”; “I’m going out in style”; and “I just want to take a few pieces of shit with me.”  Forget the contradictions.  It’s long past logic.  If you are taunted and hazed long enough and brutally enough, you are going to make someone pay, whatever the cost to yourself.

The same rules apply on the mean streets of West Oakland or any ’hood:  Diss someone, even accidentally, and you get blown away.

 

2. The ready availability of guns is a part of the problem, yet the crisis is so deep-seated by now that it cannot be fixed by even the most stringent gun-control measures.  Weapons, large and small, are imbedded in the American psyche too profoundly to extricate in any simple manner.  A self-righteous “gun attitude” has implanted itself in our national character.

The real danger is not even guns’ availability; it is their independent role in American consciousness and the fantasies they generate.  Guns breed their own imagination: people begin thinking bullets.  Revenge fantasies morph into gun fantasies, as these are conducive objects for metastasizing discontent.  Shoot, and your problem is gone.

The coronation of guns as transcendent signs above the law generates its own motivations and diacritic events.  Weapons become organs and acts rather than responses to acts.

I haven’t fired a rifle since around age eleven at the Camp Chipinaw range, but gun imagery floods my mind.  When I feel fury at public figures, I picture assassinations of them by long-range snipers or invisible horsemen with pistolas galloping into Washington—my thoughts eroding into proxy attacks by bang! bang!: swift, hard shots.  But it is a sterile, headachey compulsion.

When simple linear machines become vehicles for ideation of rage—as well as a chimerical safeguard againsts class warfare and a figuration for general alienation simmering beneath the surface of society—then wholesome acts of confrontation and transformation are supplanted by automated instrumentalities and displaced operations.

Guns have been elevated into not only icons but wands, fetishes, and oaths.  To loyalists, they are extensions of their own flesh, their alter egos and best friends, the basis of their identity and self-worth—the entire Bill of Rights, to boot.  No wonder we have the foreign policy we do—“violent and murderous…bringing death and displacement to millions,” in bin Laden’s own words, justification for 9/11.  “As American as apple pie,” Stokely Carmichael called it way back in the Vietnam era: it is our way of life.  “Shock and awe” is NRA propaganda writ large.

In somewhat the same spirit that India is the cradle of Buddhism, France the birthplace of existentialism, the Soviet Union the laboratory of Marxism, America deeds the world “gunnism,” a living philosophy whereby people arm themselves, fear strangers, suspect their own neighbors, imagine every possible home invasion, carjacking, and crazed street attack, and never, despite two oceans and thousands of nuclear weapons, feel safe.

Gunnology is our Maoism: not philosophy from the barrel of a gun but the gun itself as philosophy.  That is what is taught with their mother’s milk to kids in the projects and ’hoods.  When you carry a gun, you carry ontology, meaning; you get respect.  You are in the discussion.  While your first seminar may be running drugs and muling cash, the gun is thesis and antithesis, the only argument worth having, even in the schoolyard.

I agree, it would be better for all if the youth at risk didn’t pack heat (or put on baggy pants and other convict stylings), but that is what they are taught in Gunnology 1.  It is not particularly sophisticated, but it doesn’t have to be.  All it has to do is make a definitive statement about politics, reality, and power—and unfortunately, it does.

What more do you need to know about the American philosophy of gunnism than a guy in Ohio stepping out of his home and shooting dead a teenage neighbor because he is trespassing on his lawn?  People dole out “being and nothingness” from their private slot machines like tinhorn Sartres or Ben Franklins.

If guns could have somehow been outlawed here in the European fashion before they were cathected into sacred emblems, the entire NRA culture with its overkill shootings and pointless domestic mishaps might have been averted before it got going.  Now far too many people own too many guns for there to be any practical method to start taking them away.  The symbolic “gun” is too widespread and familial to eliminate.  We have a better chance of resolution at the other end—a national shootout—rather than Congressional prohibition.

Anyway, the present law, or lack thereof, is the worst possible compromise.  We might as well enact the logical consequences of the NRA’s interpretation of the Second Amendment:  Require everyone to pack guns.  Make it a law that no one goes out the door unarmed, no one keeps a gunless home.  All airline passengers shall be checked to make sure they have their weapons with them.  That will deter crimes, hikjackings, and mass shootings and rid us of the false piety of gun ownership.  Compel us all to arm ourselves and then we will be safe from our own fantasies.  If the point is to signify anxiety in weaponry, let’s do it.

 

3. The gun lobby probably makes the wrong point when it declares its primo reason for allowing law-abiding citizens their sidearms: e.g. if they were deprived, then only criminals and wackos will have guns (since these kinds disobey the law anyway).  I don’t think that the Cho Seung-Huis of the world arm their apocalyptic fantasies unless we make it super-easy for them.  Put a few curves in the way and Cho probably continues to brood darkly, at least for a lot longer, until something distracts him: he harasses the wrong student; he gets kudos from a gracious teacher, is fascinated by programming his iPod, stumbles into an unlikely romance.

Conversely, advertise guns on billboards, flood the culture with placards of violence and gun art, and you write the textbook for acting out.  You encourage loners to brood covetously and then blast away.  You valorize malice and reprisal and racism rather than getting into the barnyard with all the other turkeys and bumbling through the problems, ruffled feathers, fat asses, squawking, and all.  In the old days, in normal times, people threw themselves into the mix, bumptious as it was, and came away with a life, even with honor.  Now there’s TV, the Internet, video games, and gunnist isolation.

Citizens are additionally assaulted by informal coolness competitions, sexual provocations, as well as the random violence and permission-to-violence of Bush’s international foreign policy.  Maudlin death dramas amp up rap music, cinema, television, video games, and nightly news.  There is constant enticement to make symbolic acts real.  Easily available guns in stores and on the street are the icing on the cake, the explicit permission to turn revenge fantasies into your own reality show.

This culture is goading its marginal people into deeds that vent their frustration while catapulting them onto center stage—higher ratings for a day or two (the O. J. Simpson factor) with any casualties merely incidental under free-market capitalism.

When Cho Seung-Hui used the word “debauchery” to exemplify the mindset he was rebelling against, he was precisely on target.  The jihadists refer to us similarly when their suicide bombers outfit themselves.  Each party, however exclusive, is making the same point: if America wants to indulge its faux moralism in capitalist prerogative and all-terrain armed adventure, let it expect blowback of the same.

 

4. Cho Seung-Hui was sleepwalking for most of his twenty-three years.  He needed to wake himself somehow, and he knew it.  Inside the bubble of his trance, a bizarre fantasia was getting larger and larger.  The front-page headline in April 22’s Sunday New York Times proclaimed: “Before Deadly Rage Erupted, A Lifetime Consumed by a Troubling Silence: A Loner Becomes a Killer.”  This cliché-ridden nutshell actually understates the situation.  Cho wasn’t just silent; he was preternaturally silent.  His was not a silence of bare shyness and introversion; it was the silence of the wolf-child abandoned by humans, raised by speechless animals—except he was a wolf-child weaned in an urban cacophony of dialects and cultures, social aggressions and oral competitions.

He elected to become the one who wouldn’t comply, who wouldn’t put his meanings into words, who was struck dumb, who by being rendered profoundly mute, bore divine witness.

Thus he became tinder for all that was exploding around him, taking it inside himself day by mum day, converting mass collective speech into the inarticulate emotions and icons at its source.  He didn’t need language—language only gets in the way; language dilutes libidinal purity and drive formation.

Cho didn’t speak in Korean as a child in Seoul before his natal family moved to the U.S. when the lad was eight.  He didn’t speak while in Motown or suburban D.C. (Centreville, Virginia) in either Korean or English, both of which were blabbed widely there.  Instead he played video games and shot baskets solitaire, responding, if at all, with a requisite ironical “Yessir.”

In grade school when he was forced by pedagogical authority to debut his “English as a second language,” a sound came out of him, such an unexpected deep-throated chirp that the other kids began hooting.  The teacher merely smirked.  Then Cho stopped speaking altogether.  His lifelong oath became samurai, not just some namby-pamby snit.

But make no mistake: he wasn’t speaking from the get-go as a child in Korea or the States; his silence was an epistemological statement on the planet, the world-age he was born into—a statement that many could have made but for which he was inexplicably chosen, or volunteered.

In college it got to the point that he was a complete and utter cipher; his room-mates couldn’t recall him saying a single syllable all semester, not one.  They remember an Oriental in sunglasses, a baseball cap pulled down over his face.  At one point they bet on whether he was a deaf mute, and one of them offered him $10 just to say hello.  You can imagine how well that went over.

What those around him should have realized was that this was not just a meek or sullen silence; it was an extraordinary silence, the silence of madness and apocalypse, revelation and vengeance, and its bearer should have been treated with the same caution and deference that you would cede a rabid dog, or a lunatic about to buy two guns.  His silence was the antecedent and also the rudiment of a sacred rage that should have been as terrifying and ominous to those who came into contact with him as the actual guns and ammunition into which it vamped and as which it vocalized at last.

The Times refers to “the mystery of who he was,” adding that his parents hoped that college would “extract him from his suffocating cocoon and make him talk.”  That it did.

 

When Cho produced his videos and sent them for posthumous delivery to NBC, it marked the formal end to his silence.  Words spewed out in swift, staccato rhythm—the primitive articulations that had been gestating in him in place of language.  Their meaning was not what he said but a rough translation of a millennial silence into locution.  That is why they didn’t sound quite right; they were very strange indeed.

Acquaintences of Cho remarked, variously, that the figure before the camera didn’t look like him because they had never heard well-formed, refined sentences coming out of him.  “This is someone that I grew up with and loved,” said his uncomprehending Princeton-educated sister, an employee of the State Department.  “Now I feel like I didn’t know this person.”

It was like ventriloquism or dubbing except that the voice matched the body and was surreally apropos.  In fact, everything that preceded it seemed a terrible hoax, as if a Down’s syndrome child were suddenly delivering a sermon on particle physics, e.g. he was never really who he pretended to be.  Cho, the double agent, was debriefing himself, coming in from the cold.  Initiated and educated all along, he fully understood and spoke English—modern, hip English.  Just not aloud.

Cho was no doubt planning his big coming-out party while he was making the videos, which is why they were so imperative to him, important enough that he gunned down thirty-two people for their trailer: to make sure he was heard and heard in the way he intended.  The shootings were the gloss—the liner notes.   That is why he took two hours between his first two kills and the last thirty—he was crafting a tour de force of speech, not murder but language.

In the short life of Seung-Hui Cho, this was the culmination, the single monumental appearance on the big screen (or in fact anywhere), the only trip to the Superbowl.  It was his satanic debutante ball—and he rose to its occasion.  He had been gestating underground, a feature-length epic, shot over decades but never screened.  Then suddenly it was black-tie, gala, the world premiere—the comeuppance and reprisal—and woe to those who had underrated or dismissed him.

If all the eggs are in one basket, it doesn’t matter whose eggs they are.  If they are all there and there are none anywhere else, heaven help those who get in the way.

The networks had it backwards: the tapes weren’t the aftermath of the massacre that preceded and followed; they weren’t even commentary on it—they were the deed.  Murder allowed him to use his voice, the scream that was waiting for permission, for circumstance.

Extraordinary silence begets extraordinary speech.  Mere signification is not enough to break through today’s incredible noise-to-signal din.  If you want to be heard big-time, you have to blow important things up or lie in the street blocking consumers and commerce.  You have to get in the way of commodities or create something that itself can be marketed.  Like Osama, Cho implicitly understood Madison Avenue, appreciated performance art.  Deeds are necessary to render words irrevocable—then even assholes and religious fanatics earn prime-time audiences; even couch potatoes and movie stars have to sit up and listen.

It was necessary for Cho to do more than speak his mind because he had to justify and redeem so many years of silence, to convert them into something worth their price: their communion and purgation, his wolf speech.  He couldn’t risk merely being shrill or anything less than a redeemer in broad daylight: Mad Max, Payback, Above the Law, Delta Force.  He couldn’t unleash just some old angry voice (which might elicit “Hey, shut up, chink!”); it had to be gunnism, bullets, the philosophy of the American ruling and under-classes.  He had to fashion the precise correlate of his unique silence.  He had to be a boy to take note of, with a gun.

Once he did that, no further considerations of clemency raised obstacles; the god who gave him his childhood mission and the pluck to do it now required him to remit, to let it all hang out, to see it through and honor the fucking oblation for what it was.

 

No, it was never first about guns and killing or violence and revenge against anonymous classmates; it was about the Word, as “In the Beginning was….”  It was about the origin of civil society, the nature of public discourse in America, and the long-incubated desire of the zombie god of speech to force people to actually listen and regard the garbage they are mouthing all day long, everywhere and everyone.  Cho was his disciple, and through him he managed to get out a semblance of his message.

Cho said, “You are all speaking and saying nothing.”  He said, “The words don’t mean anything, and anyway here’s what you are really saying.”  He said, “Here I am, Cho.  And I mean what I say.  I mean.”

Listen not to the words themselves, which are stock and random, but the cadences.  The words are almost meaningless and often misnomers, dead wrong or delusional.  The cadences are always right: “You have vandalized my heart, raped my soul, and torched my conscience…. Your Mercedes wasn’t enough, you brats.  Your golden necklaces weren’t enough, you snobs….  You had everything….  You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today.  But you decided to spill my blood.  You forced me into a corner and gave me only one option.  The decision was yours.  Now you have blood on your hands that will never wash off.”

What an incredibly brazen, unabashed rant: flaming clichés set in insipidly mordant singsong, pure bathos and schmaltz!  Yet it is as powerful as any Hamlet soliloquy because, in the end, Cho had no Shakespeare to help him; he was the real Korean (or Mexican or Pakitstani) émigré, driven out of Costco society, forced to improvise and splice—so he delivered the ultimate crybaby, martyr rant, binding the curses of all the wounded and brooding children who lacked his desperation and bravado to sing nakedly to the world.  He was talking back for all the twelve-year-old soldiers (“How old are you?” “Old enough to kill a man”)—Double Trouble, Death and Destruction, Little Weapon, Bone Thug, and Blood Never Dry.  He was the self-anointed Third and Fourth World valedictorian.

If Cho had been articulate or merely eloquent, it would have been Hollywood or a poetry-slam out-take.  But he was articulately inarticulate; he was so trite that he was brilliantly untrite—it was The Little Rascals, Survivor, the lost episode of Seinfeld.

He was Hamlet, the Hamlet of a time out of joint, when kings are imposters, when money-changers own the academies as well as the temples, when drug lords kidnap politicians, when children are recruited into gangs and militias—when conscience doth truly make cowards of us all.  Out of maudlin banalities Cho authored the collective truth.  Out of linguistic bricolage he created an American opera, and it reverberated all the way back to its roots in Seoul: “O, from this time my thoughts be bloody or nothing worth!”

The tempo of his sermon is perfect. Yes, there were a hundred billion chances to avoid what happened.  Far beyond Cho Seung-Hui’s own circumstances and fate, to the remote reaches of America’s decadence, into the White House itself—attend the music of failed penance, of inconsolable revenge, of “bad boy” atonement, of shameless vindication, of petulant song.  No wonder Cho proclaimed that he did it for his brothers and sisters and children (what brothers? what children?) and cited Columbine, Christ, and the President God himself.  If you are composing a requiem, you’ve got total poetic license; you can speak in metaphor and allusion.  A million potential saints and sinners are significators in Cho’s riff.

“You thought it was one pathetic boy’s life you were extinguishing.  Thanks to you, I die like Jesus Christ, to inspire generations of the weak and the defenseless people.”

How many heckled youths have chanted (or wanted to chant) more or less the same raow on global TV and world satellite?  How few get to deliver it in blood!  But, kiddo, it wasn’t Jesus Christ you were running with, just for the record; it was Timothy McVeigh, Mohammed Atta.

“I didn’t have to do it.  I could have left.  I could have fled.  But now I am no longer running….”  Not the words—the cadences.

Can you hear the song for which the diatribe is pale parrotry?

 

5. It is not irrelevant that Cho’s mother, Kim Hwang-Im, was a refugee from North Korea whose family slipped across the border during the Great War.  North Korea is the great subliminal cipher of our planet that “speaks” for the rest of what passes for rational civilization, speaks in its own vast ceremonial silence, e.g. using people as mosaics in military designs on parade grounds.  To say what to the world?  To shadow what ineffable battlefield, what prophetic war to come?

His father, Seung-Tae Cho, was an oilfield construction worker shuttling back and forth to Saudi Arabia before repairing home finally to an arranged marriage.

God knows what shadows lurk within our shiftless and spiritually vacant global Kali Yuga when time and space begin to collapse and the black holes of astrophysical cosmology come to dwell in human souls.

 

6. Cho’s fantasies, tropes, lies, and inventions were both clues and cries for help.  His “girlfriend,” a supermodel named Jelly from outer space, visited him by flying saucer.  She called her boyfriend Spanky.

He fixated on female students, two of them fiercely and disturbingly enough with unannounced visits and instant messages (under the screen name SpankyJelly) that they reported him to the campus cops.

There was his other name for himself: Question Mark, a signature he used on school forms: ?.  Even he didn’t know.

He boasted of having a villa on Mars and traveling regularly from there to Jupiter.  To communicate that tidbit, he must have spoken, though what he said was the antithesis of speech.

He claimed to have grown up with Vladimir Putin in Moscow and said told folks was meeting him in North Carolina to hang out during Thanksgiving break, a proposition so absurd and unlikely that it could have only been a lucid statement of an entirely different thing.

The hallmarks of his one-act plays Richard McBeef and Mr. Brownstone, now immortalized in the literature of crime and madness, are incest, sexual violence, domestic brutality, assassination by chainsaw.  Yet by all accounts his own family was gentle and intelligent.

Hey, it’s not what they didn’t know.  It’s what they didn’t dare to know.

 

7. This wasn’t another al-Qaeda strike on our shores, but it was a full-on successful suicide attack, an aggrandized, fuck-you to perceived oppression and powerlessness and also a prudish clout to the materialism, vulgarity, puerile porn, and gaudy exhibitionism of the West—I might add, by someone equally ashamed of his own fantasies.  Cho was going to obliterate himself and as many of them as he could before he too became one of “them” and lost the virginity of his rage, before he tarnished the purity of his persecution, turning into an asshole too.

He was saying, “I want to.  I don’t want to.  I am.  I am not.”  He legislated by gun as a way of refusing to be humiliated and trivialized.  Remember: being and not-being are the essential blade on which every philosophy as well as every murder or suicide takes place.  Those Palestinians with belts of incendiaries strapped symbolically and actually to their abdomens—albeit most of them saner and more emotionally mature than Cho—must feel pretty much the same thing: “I hate.  I love.  I won’t.  I will.”

 

8. If Seung-Hui could have realized that he was truly known to God, or Intelligence, in all his weirdness and differentness and pimpliness or whatever, and was loved nonetheless, he might not have had to hide his name even from himself, might not have had to hide his voice from the world until it became a call of death.  I don’t know how that could have come about except through a metanoia to which he was not open, and which nothing around him pointed the way towards:

“Oh Lord, you have searched me and known me!  You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar….  Even before a word is on my tongue, behold O Lord, you know it altogether….  Where shall I go from your Spirit?  Or where shall I flee from your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, you are there!  If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!  If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me….  For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.  My frame was not hidden from you, while I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.  How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!  How vast is the sum of them!  If I could count them, they are more than sand.  I awake, and I am still with you.”

 

9. It took a poet, Nikki Giovanni, to intuit what was happening, that she had a maniac in her pack, the kind of person who shoots up classrooms.  She wanted him out of her seminar or she threatened to resign.

By contrast, the various therapists, police officers, and university bureaucrats—constrained by “the law is an ass” labyrinth—were unable to distinguish one more harmless alienated student from a time-bomb on its last ticks.  They were so used to idle melodrama, hiphop hyperbole, Internet loutishness, computer violence, that they couldn’t recognize the real thing if their life depended on it.

And from here on in, it sort of does.

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/piece-on-guns-in-america-from-the-bardo-of-waking-life/feed/ 1 News Notes, Updated December 16, 2012 http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/news-notes-updated-december-11-2012/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/news-notes-updated-december-11-2012/#comments Wed, 12 Dec 2012 14:54:46 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1211

 

News Notes

Up to now, this website has been a blog in the sense that my most recent post has made up the home page and stayed there until the next most recent post.  These cumulative posts are still all present on the site (to the right, see the vertical column).  Instead, I will now regularly update the home page with news, feelers, and outreach.v

Richard Grossinger, Book-Signing in Bay Area

Copperfields Books, Thursday, January 17th at 7pm in Sebastopol, California

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness

Three Volumes

 

 

New Book (see posts of chapters on this website under Features)

In his three-volume work Dark Pool of Light, Richard Grossinger weaves neuroscience and the phenomenology of being and reality together with psychospiritual views of “that single thing which is most difficult to understand or vindicate: our own existence.” Dark Pool of Light Volume One addresses the mystery of how subjective consciousness gets into a material universe to witness itself objectively in egoic systems. In particular, it gauges the various degrees and qualities of gap between mindedness as an experiential state and the brain as a physical object, calling out the schizophrenia of scientists who assert that consciousness is a mirage while living as if they themselves are real. Volumes Two and Three explore the remote ranges and exquisite meanings of consciousness, whether it is real or not. Volume Two leads the reader from a consideration of the psychic aspects of everyday life to engagement with energies outside the human range. Volume Three addresses mortality and the nature of evil while presenting a unified theory of the universe that includes consciousness.

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness:

The Convergence of Physical, Philosophical, Psychological, Psychospiritual, and Psychic Views

Table of Contents

 

Volume One

The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: What the Fuck is This?

Chapter Two: The Scientific View of Reality and Consciousness

Chapter Three: Consciousness: Everything and Nothing

Chapter Four: Degrees of Consciousness: Protoconsciousness, Preconsciousness, and the Freudian Unconscious

Chapter Five: Systemic Consciousness: Nonconsciousness and the Loss of Consciousness

Chapter Six: Qualia or Zombies?

Chapter Seven: Consciousness as an Emergent Phenomenon: The Psycholinguistics and Phylogenesis of Meaning

Chapter Eight: The Quantum Brain

Chapter Nine: The Ontology and Cosmology of Consciousness

Chapter Ten: The Subtexts of Science

Deleted Scenes

 

Volume Two

Introduction

Chapter One: Theosophy and the Hermetic Tradition

Chapter Two: Psychic Tools

Chapter Three: We Are Already Psychic

Chapter Four: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Human Home Energy

Chapter Five: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Frequencies Above the Range of Ordinary Experience

Chapter Six: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Tuning Outside the Axis of Human Home Energy

Chapter Seven: Surfing the Operation of the Real

Chapter Eight: Focusing on What Is Happening

Chapter Nine: Buddhism and Theosophy: A Comparison

Hyperlinks

Volume Three

Movement Three

The Crisis and Future of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: Demonic Entities and Their Symbols of Transformation

Chapter Two: Fear Has an Intelligence

Chapter Three: How Did Evil Get into the Universe?

Chapter Four: One Encounter, One Chance

Chapter Five: Converting Thoughtforms and Riding Synchronicity: Roses, Tarot Cards, and Scapula Bones

Chapter Six: Family Constellations

Chapter Seven: The Cosmic Eternity System

Chapter Eight: We Are In Existence

Hyperlinks

 

 

Maine Psychic Group

My psychic group  meets at 7 PM on Tuesday nights in Manset when I am in Maine (next meetings on Friday 12-21-12 and the following 2 Tuesdays ).  Inquire if interested. Everyone welcome. Please call 207-244-0471 for directions.

Here is a great group I have gone to see many times in Central Park: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x243eDl-M78

New,  Current, and Forthcoming Publications

Migraine Auras: When the Visual World Fails; On the Integration of Nature: Post-9/11 Biopolitical Notes; Embryos, Galaxies, and Sentient Beings: How the Universe Makes Life; Homeopathy: The Great Riddle; Planet Medicine: Origins; and Planet Medicine: Modalities have all been prepared for e-books and will be coming out between December, 2012, and March, 2013. On the Integration of Nature, Homeopathy, and Planet Medicine  have new prefaces that I am also posting on this website. All the books have been corrected with minor changes throughout. The two volumes of Planet Medicine have several hundred changes combined.

The Bardo of Waking Life, 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, and New Moon are now in e-book format and available.  For The Bardo of Waking Life, I corrected typos and added a note indicating where the gap in the book takes place during our trip to Europe (http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/03/trip-journal/).

For 2013, I corrected typos and wrote a different conclusion to my Introduction on the 2012 cosmic shift.

For New Moon, I removed the entire last section (“The Alchemical Wedding”), restoring the book to its original form.  I also returned the names of many of the people to what they actually were, fixed a confusion of narrative version early in the book, and added a note to cover sections omitted in the “Teen Tour” chapter (in the print version too, as part of the transition from Salty and Sandy, my high-school novel, to New Moon).  I also added an Afterword explaining all these changes and related issues; it is available on this website: http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2011/04/afterword-to-e-book-version-of-new-moon/.

The two books which I am substantially rewriting for e-book format (as well as  small print editions) are Out of Babylon: Ghosts of Grossinger’s and The Night Sky.

For The Night Sky, I am updating and revising the entire book, using a fresh OCR scan of the 1988 J. P. Tarcher edition.

For Out of Babylon I have restored most of the material removed from its original manuscript and placed in New Moon (“The Alchemical Wedding,” as per above), I have rewritten some sections from the North Atlantic Books history on this website and placed them in the appropriate spots (replacing anecdotal snippets and lists), and I have generally edited and changed the weaker parts of the book.  I have always thought that Out of Babylon was a promising novel in a Faulknerian tradition (even if nonfiction), but it was unfinished and flawed.  The e-book opportunity has given me at shot at fixing that.  I am  presently looking for proofreaders and feedback on the draft, so write me if you are interested and willing.

 

Family

My Wife: Lindy Hough had a new collection of selected poems come out in the spring of 2011.  It is her first book since 1976 and is called Wild Horses, Wild Dreams. Check it out:

http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Horses-Dreams-Selected-1971-2010/dp/1556439628/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1309394777&sr=8-3

It also has a video trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PG3FF3Mysw

My Daughter: Miranda July’s new movie is The Future: http://thefuturethefuture.com/.

My Son: Robin Grossinger is writing a book on Napa County for University of California Press publication in spring 2012: Napa Valley Historical Ecology Atlas.

My Son-in-Law: Mike Mills’ new movie is Beginners: http://www.focusfeatures.com/profile/mike_mills

 

 

 

 

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/news-notes-updated-december-11-2012/feed/ 0 Dark Pool of Light, Volume Three, “Hyperlinks” http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-three-hyperlinks/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-three-hyperlinks/#comments Wed, 12 Dec 2012 14:52:34 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1208

Hyperlinks

Hyperlinks are brief essays that didn’t fit anywhere in the book but arose from my writing it and relate to a number of different topics in all three volumes. They are a discontinuous alternate book that I might have linked to sections of text in the e-book version. Instead I chose to let readers “hyperlink” as they wish. The pieces are akin to out-takes on cinema DVDs. The five below are saved ones that I edited for separate viewing. Five others appear at the end of Volume Two.

•

1. In an article in the Sunday New York Times, September 26, 2010, A. G. Sulzberger reported on hunters from Lee’s Summit, Missouri, as they got ready to enjoy their annual target practice with flocks of the elusive mourning dove. He noted: “Dove hunting offers some of the best shooting practice one can hope for in preparation for the coming deer, turkey, and quail seasons. A mourning dove in flight moves like a windswept tumbleweed. It will dart and dive and swerve unpredictably; its movements can almost seem like evasive maneuvers. An average of five shells are fired for each bird killed.”

Leaving aside for a redneck moment the negligence of pain or suitable humility and respect for what it takes to make a mourning dove—how many centuries to cull a template for an egg and hatch an actual bird—I will report an insight from one hunter, Jon Rogers, twenty-seven, a maintenance worker from Blue Springs. When asked about shooting a symbol of peace, he said, “I don’t base peace off a symbol. I don’t think we need a symbol of peace. Peace is peace.”

This is both uncannily brilliant and dead wrong. Most New Age aficionados still need to learn that we can no longer use mere symbols for chakras and phases of consciousness; we need activations—the Heart Chakra and Buddhic Plane in the case of peace. At the same time, the historic trajectory of the dove as a symbol of peace is similar to the historic trajectory of a rose or grounding cord. In the absence of the symbol with its objectification, you must either provide an alias or forfeit the meaning.

If you cavalierly shoot and kill the symbol without something deeper in its place, then you do shoot and kill peace, in yourself, in the world, and certainly in the active consciousness of the universe blossoming through the phenomenological field of the bird.

It is all well and good to say, “Peace is peace”; I respect the recognition that the bird is a wild animal, a descendant of dinosaur-like forebears, and hardly peaceful when it comes to its own hunting, kills, gross passions, and hunger-abatement strategies. It is not peace.

But inside human symbology, it is peace, so you had better be making serious and sincere sacrifices to other gods if you want the archangel in charge of dove to relieve you of karma for zapping his sentient representatives for target practice.

?

2. The role of the Heart Chakra and psychic projection in pop culture becomes evident in a survey of Fifties to early-Sixties rock lyrics and tunes (before the psychedelic stuff of the later Sixties, Jefferson Airplane et al., blew those doors off). Try a playlist of “Everyday” and “It Doesn’t Matter Anymore” (Buddy Holly), “Stairway to Heaven” and “Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen” (Neil Sedaka), “Twelfth of Never” and “It’s Not for Me to Say” (Johnny Mathis), “Feel So Fine” and “Running Bear” (Johnny Preston), “This Magic Moment” (Jay and the Americans), “Teardrops on My Pillow” (Little Anthony and the Imperials), “Secretly” and “Are You Really, Really Mine?” (Jimmy Rodgers), “When” and “Forget Me Not” (Kalin Twins), “Always You” and “I Thank the Moon” (Johnny Maestro and the Crests), “Tragedy” and “Without You” (Johnny Tillotson), “It’s Only Make-Believe” (Conrad Twitty), “You’re Sixteen, You’re Beautiful, and You’re Mine” (Johnny Burnette), and “Curly” and “Venus in Blue Jeans” (Jimmy Clanton). These and hundreds like them function psychically as ballads to the Soul.

Then check out the soundtrack to Kenneth Anger’s 1960s biker flick, Scorpio Rising, genre herald for G. Lucas’s American Graffiti and M. Scorsese’s Mean Streets, in particular its apotheosis when Little Peggy Marsh chants, “I love him, I love him, I love him,/And where He goes, I’ll follow…,” as the miracles of Jesus, lifted from an old Sunday-school film, are montaged with a motorcycle gang partying.

Even Forties standards carry esoteric nuance: “For All We Know,” “Strangers in the Night,” the Gershwins’ “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

Broadway librettos are packed with subliminal messages and cosmic codes: “Some Enchanted Evening” and “They Call the Wind Mariah” (Paint Your Wagon), “If Ever I Should Leave You” and “I Loved You Once in Silence” (Camelot), “Namely You” (Little Abner), “Hey There” (The Pajama Game), “Tonight” (West Side Story), “Over the Rainbow” (The Wizard of Oz), “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” (Pal Joey), “Look to the Rainbow” (Finian’s Rainbow), “Try to Remember” and “They Were You” (The Fantasticks).

The unmarked genre emerged centuries earlier, as love ballads and sacred songs melded interchangeably during the Middle Ages, morphing through the Renaissance into madrigals, chansons, lute songs, and ayres as well as the metaphysical poetry of John Donne, George Herbert, Richard Crashaw, and Andrew Marvell, and (later) the Celtic ballads of the American frontier: “Red Rosey Bush,” “Shenandoah,” “The Nightingale” (Jo Stafford handles all three plus “Shrimp boats are a-comin’” flawlessly on the Causal plane—she’s got that “Soul” frequency in her voice, “… while the lo’osiana moon floats on high …”). Even “Oh! Susanna” is a hymnal bearing mysterious buckwheat cakes.

I am referring to the incident at Eagle River, Wisconsin, April 18, 1961, memorialized by French astrophysicist Jacques Vallée. Around 11 AM, a “silvery saucer-shaped object, brighter than chrome,” about twelve feet high and thirty feet in diameter, hovered close to the ground without touching it. A hatch opened to reveal three men inside wearing “outfits with turtleneck tops and knit helmets.” They had dark hair and skin, and “one was dressed in a black two-piece suit.”

All this was witnessed by Joe Simonton, a sixty-year-old chicken farmer. He reported that the men were frying food on a flameless grill. He “saw several instrument panels and heard a slow whining sound, similar to the hum of a generator.” Then one of the occupants held out a jug which, Simonton understood, he wanted filled with water. After the farmer brought it back refreshed from the faucet, he told the out-of-towners that he was interested in their food and was swiftly handed “three cookies, about three inches in diameter and perforated with small holes.” The entire encounter lasted about five minutes before the hatch was pulled shut and the object rose twenty feet and zoomed off to the south, “causing a blast of air that bent some nearby pine trees.”

Since sheriff’s deputies sent to investigate could find no corroborating evidence, this should have turned out to be one of the less notable and more obscure UFO incidents on record, likely a waking dream, were it not for three palpable cookies and the fact that Simonton was considered a straight shooter, not subject to hallucinations or prank-playing. Air Force psychologists in Dayton, Ohio, found his account credible, so the vittles were sent to the Food and Drug Laboratory of the U.S. Department of Health and Welfare for analysis. Simonton had already sampled one and thought it “tasted like cardboard.” The Air Force later released a lab report showing that “the cake was composed of hydrogenated fat, starch, buckwheat hulls, soya bean hulls, [and] wheat bran.”1

The recipe situated the cookies chemically, Vallée noted, in the realm of what faeries and elves had been handing people for centuries in Britanny and outer Celtic lands. Simonton probably didn’t know that. Who are those faeries but members of an unknown tribe of “fees or korrigans associated with a race of beings named fions.” And who are the Fortean strangers but charioteers of the gods, biblical star-voyagers, Nibiru lords under cryptozoological cloaks and psychoid guises?2

It is as though the Soul, while turning us toward each other, is pulling us into itself.

•

3. The Hawaiian sovereignty movement wants to reunite the islands with their ancestral Polynesian kingdom. From its separatist standpoint the situation is entirely different from the American Indians’ plight. Though the continental tribes have been colonized and their rights and territories abducted too, they were subjugated before receiving international recognition. The Hawaiian chain was illicitly seized by the United States in 1898, by which time the Kingdom of Hawai’i had already been recognized as a sovereign nation with a hereditary king and queen by France, Spain, Holland, Hanover, China, Siam, India, and Persia. In fact, European and Asian nations had sent representatives to the coronation of His Majesty Kalakaua and his queen, Kapiolani, and the pair later toured Europe and were accepted there as representatives of a royal lineage. The kingdom of Hawai’i could not be annexed.

So while native movements among American Indian tribes are working their way through the U.S. Congress to acquire “special status,” casino culture, Hawaiian sovereignty aficionados are accepting no less than integration into Polynesia.

Lindy and I were invited to a meeting of the group in July 2010 by Ka’imi, a member of the band Ku Halele’a. After we heard them play a rousing political set at the Hanalei Farmers’ Market, I approached to buy a CD. They hadn’t made one yet, but Ka’imi extended an invitation for the evening instead.

Following dinner at Papaya’s next door, we took seats in the small theater area of the Kapa’a Polynesian Cultural Center. About twenty minutes later, Ku Halele’a exploded from a standing start. Some bands have a charismatic power for me, and these guys really brought it. Intoning their Hawaiian and English lyrics, going hard on the electric guitars, slack-tuned guitars, native drums, and ukuleles, and throwing in warrior-like kiais “Who!” and “Ha!” between stanzas, they held me riveted in the way that some reggae or Country and Western bands have in the past. Lindy found “who” and “ha” as sexy a sound as she ever heard coming out of a band, both energizing and transporting. I can listen to the Skatalites or Dave Insley and the Careless Smokers with rapt attention and chills down my spine for hours as they synergize instrumentations and create moods and meanings. I once stood transfixed before Rosendo Carreon’s marimba band in the Oaxacan night, sticks flying over the huge xylophone-like instrument with aplomb and impeccable syncopation, capturing everyone in the zocalo (whether they knew it or not) in its beat, making each a conscious or unconscious dancer in the collective dance, including a policeman who smacked one of the drums twice as he passed. They changed my heart, my spirit, and my frame of reference to life. Add Ku Halele’a to the group. Plus now they were playing on their home field not the touristy farmers’ market.

When the guys finished their set, they introduced the leader of the movement whose name I got as Dayne. The introduction was conducted this way: Dayne came up on the stage and walked its length with triumphant arm gestures like a preacher or football player after a touchdown. As he did this, he bumped heads with each of the three musicians in a manner that suggested it was part of their cultural repertoire as well as an act of respect. These were pretty solid whacks, which caused me to wince; yet they did not seem to hurt. The bumps said, in essence: “We are native Hawaiians, bump.”

Dayne was a stocky middle-aged guy with a ponytail and ceremonial leis. He opened by declaring that this meeting was about the creation and restoration of the Hawaiian kingdom and its sovereignty but even more than that “how we come together to represent the aloha spirit and the light of God.” Then he introduced his aunt. She intoned a long prayer in Hawaiian, which people in the hall received silently with heads bowed. By then, there were maybe fifty or sixty in attendance, not a huge turnout but not a negligible one either.

After the prayer, Dayne riffed, rambled, and took questions for about an hour. It added up to a compelling if somewhat bizarre and disjointed presentation. His talk was interrupted periodically by an Australian visitor named Derrick, who was summoned onstage by Dayne to do his riff. Dayne was also continually redirected by his aunt who broke in with back stories and revival-meeting cheerleading until it became a combination lecture, ceremony, and political caucus. Here is some of what was put out:

There is no hope in restoring land rights or recouping what was stolen by going through the American judicial system or Congress; that gambit will never be more than a delaying action against further thefts and indignities. It is necessary to appeal to a higher law. On the one hand, the higher law is God, in Whose Name all things will be set right eventually; on the other, it is the Circle of Pacific Island Nations, of which Hawai’i is a charter member and from which it was unnaturally dragooned into America. The legitimacy of the Hawaiian claim must be established by way of ancestral Polynesia, meaning through the genealogy of the descendants of royal lines and by the authority of Polynesian law, which is prior and superior to United States law and has sole jurisdiction here. This should segue, down the road, well down the road, into recognition of Hawai’i as a separate kingdom again by the United Nations or whatever functions as such by then.

Dayne himself has been authorized by the Polynesian confederacy as king of Kaua’i, a role he takes very seriously but does not lord over anyone. ”That would be foolish and bring no honor.” He understands that not all native Hawaiians accept his rank or representation of them, but he is acting on the basis of a confirmation of his genealogy by Polynesians who have researched the matter thoroughly. “I’m not even anti-American,” he adds. “I come from a military family. I served; my father works at the base. No one can take that heritage and identity away from me either. I trained and fought for America.”

Dayne’s own radicalization began many years earlier when he was arrested “for trespassing on my own ancestral land.”

“The light came on in his head and in his heart,” his aunt inserted. “He knew this wasn’t right and it had to change.” Now he represents Hawai’i at the Polynesian court and the Confederacy of Pacific Nations.

There are presently fifteen Pacific polities in the confederacy: Hawai’i (the once and future Polynesian Kingdom of Atooi or PKUA); Tahiti; Tonga; the Fiji Islands; the Polynesian Triangle (made up of Polynesia, Melanesia, and Micronesia); the greater native tribes of Australia; and the Maori of New Zealand (who are lineal descendants of Hawaiian boat-people). Six other nations have not been publicly named.

The power to enforce natural and Hawaiian law will arise from this Circle of Nations. They will defend the land and establish both international and divine law. The kings and queens of Tahiti and Polynesia will regain moral and traditional authority over Atooi and establish a kingdom of aloha everlasting.

Literature handed out at the event declares that “by the royal decree of our Alli Nui, Aleka Aipoalani (i.e., Dayne) proclaims that all lands, waters, and activities under this nation’s stewardship shall transition to being sustainable.” “Sustainability” and “personal spirituality” are the sole prerequisites for citizenship in PKUA. “Those who believe in the sacred can stay,” Dayne’s aunt proclaimed to cheers, “no matter their ancestry, but anyone who desecrates the land has to go, and we will see to that.” I am sure her descendants will find ways. ”Maybe we don’t have the power to kick out the rich, the powerful, and the exploiters now, but ultimately we will have that power, and it will come from the Pacific not from the mainland.”

Sovereign Kaua’i is a meta-nation in a futuristic Pacific ecotopia: the vanguard Austronesian duchy of the Aquarian Age.

If you think that this is a marginal fantasy movement without any chance of success, especially given the modest turnout, then think again. You need to know that Dayne and his sovereignty group have deputized an army of native Kauaian bodyguards and paramilitary warriors; they show up when needed to protect indigenous interests. Some of them train at the bottom of Waimea Canyon, a rift ten miles long, a mile wide, and 3,500 feet down, the local version of Mars’s Valles Marineris. My friend Robert Phoenix told me that he hiked down there many years ago as a young man. He encountered “edgy native Hawaiian wild-boar hunters out of some Dreamtime gone very wrong, kind of like the Polynesian version of Deliverance.” He ended up getting robbed and feeling as though he barely escaped with his life. “It was more dangerous than any block in Oakland.”

While paramilitary activity usually implies confrontation with the state, the county, the feds, and levels of police and the armed forces, there is apparently an understanding between both the Pentagon and the FBI and native Hawaiian militias. As long as the Hawaiians are not breaking federal or state laws, they will receive cooperation from branches of the constabulary. In a mild way, these folks are like Taliban being backed by the Pakistani intelligence services for uses that transcend ordinary judicial authority. But they also foreshadow the First Earth Militia.

Though they practice mostly nonviolent resistance, latter-day Koa warriors play right at its edge. They engaged in successful civil disobedience in order to block a superferry from bringing more tourists and commerciality to Kaua’i, and they put their bodies on the line again to try to stop Monsanto from planting GMOs on the island. In the latter imbroglio, the police negotiated an end to their blockade of local corporate headquarters, though the militia stayed seven hours past the negotiated departure time because, as Dayne put it, “we wanted to make the point that this was our land and we would leave when we were ready.” Monsanto was too big to stop now, yes, but, they reiterated their position: they weren’t going away, and they would be back, javelins and slings against test tubes and mercenaries if need be.

Maybe not in ten years or fifty years or even a hundred years, but in two hundred years or five hundred years, Hawai’i will rejoin Polynesia and the other Pacific nations. Nothing is permanent. The United States won’t last that long. It is falling apart already, south from north, east from west, Red states from Blue states, racist rednecks and birthers from farm workers and welfare recipients, religious fundamentalists and anti-evolutionists from street artists and metrosexuals, neo-Nazi militias from urban street gangs, miscellaneous civilians from both, anti-intellectuals from teachers and scientists, Tea Party from Occupy Wall Street.

Former centers of influence tend to reestablish themselves after successor kingdoms wane. Mexico, from which much of the continental American West was appropriated, is telling us the same thing in a louder voice than Kapa’a, illegal immigrant by illegal immigrant, drug lord by drug lord, marijuana farm by marijuana farm (Wisconsin-based but Zeta-owned). Monsanto and GE are not going to last forever either.

Real-estate conglomerates draining wetlands for gated communities might as well fight the Moon.

That is why the Hawaiians are practicing nation-building now, setting the terms, the long terms, for their children’s children’s children and those thereafter, mixed ancestry and all. It is not about settling for crumbs or placing politicians in office or getting short-term pork or fighting losing battles and ending up in the hoosegow; it is about lighting a candle.

It is also the diametric opposite of how politics are practiced in America these days. As talking points waffle from month to month and poll to poll and politicians boost cynicism and evasion to astronomical levels, the attention span of the sovereignty movement transcends all of modernity by a factor of at least fifty. The people will wait six hundred years if need be, so they are cultivating that level of energetic focus. It is on that basis that Dayne participates in meetings of the Polynesian confederacy. One day his descendants will officially rejoin Polynesia, and they will get their islands back from the corporations, the resorts, the tourists, the hoydens, the billionaires, and the movie stars, unless any of them want to join the Hawaiian sustainability movement.

The efficacy of being willing to wait for a future beyond your lifetime while meeting and planning (and generating thoughtforms and mantras) for it in the present is akin to the vibration of the suicide bomber: it changes the game, it changes the rules, and it transfers power spiritually—slowly, silently, patiently, irrevocably. It gestates new realities.

For now it is a matter of building a constituency, honoring divine law, and dreaming a polity into being while waiting for the end of this corrupt world age. If conditions change fast enough and the present power structures keep crumbling, and enough transits follow, PKUA will manifest a lot sooner than planned, I’d say about 2082.

A thousand years hence, old kings and queens will rule the Pacific; the United States of America with its transnational corporations, secret councils, exceptionalism, entitlement, and black-magic military will no longer even exist.

•

4. On January 16, 2011, 60 Minutes ran interviews with high-schoolers Bryce Tierney and Tyler Conway regarding their good buddy Jared Loughner, Tucson’s slacker assassin. Conway noted first that, till he was about nineteen or twenty, Jared was a mellow dude, generally contented, though he often got worked up over stuff that others didn’t even notice. “He was pretty passionate and enthusiastic. He was quiet, but there was always that passion in him. He was happy. But he was always an observer.”

At a point that neither friend can fix with certainty, he began to champion chaos in his poetry. Conway: “I told him I read it and I find nothing. It’s like nothingness to me. He says, ‘Exactly. That’s where the meaning is.’

“People are going to say that he doesn’t believe in anything, but it’s not that doesn’t believe in anything; he literally … believes … in nothing—nothingness.”

Soon thereafter Loughner started obsessing over Richard Linklater’s roboscoped fable Waking Life, which portrayed live action as having no more substance than a controlled dream. Shot digitally and then animated by being painted over, Waking Life is an extended quest by its narrator to find out if he is real or just dreaming. It paralleled pretty much how Loughner had come to view his own life. “He was obsessed with how words were meaningless,” Conway went on. “You could say, ‘Oh, this is a cup.’ And hold a cup.

“He’d say, ‘Oh, is it a cup? Or is it a pool? Is this a shark, is it an airplane?’”

Jungian psychologist Robert Sardello commented on Loughner’s decline into psychotic dissociation, “Jared’s lucid dreaming has to do with entering the dream world in such a way that it changes into something quite literal. And, when awake, it would seem to mean that everything is like a dream-image, but literalized. Like literalizing the dream world and imaginalizing the day world.”3

Once JLough altered his neurological flow, he became self-impressed, blown away by his clean entry into a flow of superior information. He believed that he was onto something novel in the universe or at least his peer group—the unreality and emptiness of words and forms—so he made as much out of it as he could without actually digging into primary sources.

He was hardly the first such dude. From Sappho and the early Zen kōan-dealers to Emily Dickinson, Ludwig Josef Wittgenstein, and John Cage, people have been experimenting with paradoxes of sound-meaning blocks arising within noise clusters and phonemes. Loughner was evoking, in a primitive way, an established phase of art and philosophy for which his mind and psyche were not equipped—not spiritually, not psychologically, not educationally, and certainly not existentially. I don’t think, though, that this state was a real psychotic break or even a diagnosable psychopathology. It was more like amateur Zen, a naïve lunge at naked awareness and personal freedom. It became madness only when it butted up against a depreciated culture’s contradictions and the dude tried to force the matter. I mean this was Arizona Land of border vigilante Shawna Forde, finger-pointing Gov Jan Brewer, Senate Bill 1070, mad-hatter Sheriff Joe Arpaio, the thieves of Pima and Papago water rights, and the jailers of Iwo Jima hero Ira Hayes.*

 

*Check out the Townes Van Zandt song “The Ballad of Ira Hayes” covered by many, including Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash.

 

 

 

You can’t think about cups being sharks for too long without a meditation teacher, a practice, some historical acclimatization, and a context for kōans. If you force homophonic wordplays into the thunder of one hand clapping or ‘who is dragging this corpse around?,’ tyrannical literalization eventually takes over. You get creepier and creepier, and the world does too.

If your attention then gets sucked into conspiracyville—the sort of gonzo journalism associated with European footballer David Icke, in particular his reptilian conspiracy of brain-snatchers headquartered on the Moon—you’re headed for a true psychotic break, especially if you have a tendency to act stuff out. Icke (while I’m at it) proposes that Luna is an artificial object, an alien-portal control-center for the Earth. Everything down here is governed by the Moon’s reptilian-robot super-brain, which keeps humankind on its own sensory download and sequesters us from the rest of the universe. Well, this is roughly the territory that Loughner got himself into, though without Icke’s football skills, David Bowie décor, or creative merriment.

The robot brain may be a transnational urban myth with lowbrow Gurdjieffian overtones, but there is something about it that commands loyalty. It speaks to an actual conspiracy, maybe not the one that it proposes but one that is equally urgent and horrendous. Remember Vietnam–era Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara’s progression from manufacturing to war-making to global finance; it was indicative of the growing interconnectedness of the power structures on our planet. Now look at the Bushes, Dick Cheney, Blackwater, the Koch Brothers, Scott Walker, Grover Norquist, Sheldon Adelson,* Citizens United, Mitt Romney, Bain Capital, the Carlyle Group, and that new one-percenters’ band, the “Job Creators.” The true conspiracy may not be reptiles on the Moon but how we are manipulated by devices of phony problem creation, staged reactions, and bogus solutions in the direction of currency manipulation and centralized control of everybody and everything on the planet.4

Loughner knew this. It’s exactly what he knew. But he knew it ass backwards.

 

*This guy is willing to spend a hundred million dollars to get his horse elected, the going market price these days for a bombing of Iran.

 

 

 

 

The extent of the conspiracy and the breadth of our indoctrination is paradigmatic—from the first Kennedy assassination to the Alien Grey–Secret Government pact to chemtrails and 9/11’s “loose change”: the so-called demolition pancake effect, thermite residue blanketing Lower Manhattan, plane wreckage disappearing, 2,000° molten metal flowing across the basement of Building 7.

Conflating this weirdness fallout with the semantics of nothingness, Loughner was working himself into apocalyptic hysteria. He was injecting emotions with no valid object onto objects with no emotional basis; the result was a binge of nitro-level alienation and paranoia. He had broken the first law of kōan interpretation: not to attempt nihilistic or dualistic solutions.

He was in this condition overtime when he became enraged by Gabby Giffords’s public dismissal of him. At her Q&A he had asked her, politely I might add, how government could work if words had no meaning. This is a serious question, especially given the ideological gridlock cum delusional entitlement of American exceptionalists (double “especially” in Arizona). But he posed it as an epistemological riddle that no politician could (or should) answer. Giffords likely regarded it as a nutty intrusion by a vandal or potential assassin, and of course it was. Then, with the same delusional confidence, she turned silently for the next, real question. That was a grave misjudgment on her part as to what was real and how it got real. She had entered “the waking life,” the magnetic field of the reptile brain.

For a Zen imposter like JLough her non-response was an imperious brush-off as well as a failure to address a civic issue affecting her district. It reflected her lack of concern for a constituent. After all, he meant the matter sincerely, not as a stunt or a heckle. So he chose not to let her off the hook, perhaps because she was supposed to be one of the “good pols” amid local fascists. He thought he had picked a public servant who knew that she had a municipal obligation to rescue or at least acknowledge him—but she had casually blown him off. Euphemism is a deficiency of modern politics, and in this case it was fateful.

There was no way that Giffords could have understood that the ground rules had changed suddenly from the usual bullshit to twisted Vipassana or begun to know how to respond kindly, let alone serviceably. A bit of compassion or Zen humor would have worked wonders, something like, “You nailed it, son. I sometimes wonder the same thing when my colleagues in Congress start debating.” It would have, in essence, saved her life.

But because of her incapacity to deal with a crisis of meaning on top of her trenchant literalism, she became Loughner’s target. Her cavalier impassiveness may have infuriated him, but it was never her personally; she was simply the lightning rod for a mindstorm.

Loughner didn’t know that there were such things as zendos, Enlightenment Intensives, and Diamond Heart workshops for this sort of crisis. He didn’t read seriously or well enough or even broach the spiritual classics. This was a huge price paid, personally and by others, for a vapid bibliography.

Curtis McCosco takes my analysis a bit further: “So violence, as all phenomena, begins in thought. More precisely, the suppression of thought. Allowing thought to arise is the essence of Vipassana meditation: any thought, no matter how disturbing, perverse, cruel, delicious, salacious, soothing, lovely … and then to let it vaporize like a cloud on your desktop. This Loughner dick-brain thought his thoughts were dissed by a politician and he popped a thirty-round clip into his automatic. He thought freedom is about action. No, no, no, freedom is about thought. Action is about consequence. This man is not free because his thoughts are not free. Violence has been instituted in his mind and that makes sense to him, trapping him in an ever-tightening spiral until he/we renounce violence and let our thoughts out to play in the world.”5

Right on! Big confusion, big mistake. Loughner translated Gun thoughts into an actual gun instead of sticking them in a rose and blowing them up or detaching from them by zazen and converting their low-level, condensation energy into “right action.” He didn’t get to the point of grokking that literalism doesn’t lead to an equivalently literal result or personal sovereignty. If you cross the line between thoughtform and concrete object, symbolic act and actual act, you discover very quickly how non-fugue-like the world is. You don’t want to go there! Real bullets, once fired, cannot be recalled or turned into psychic or symbolic aliases and dissolved afterward. Some things can, but not those NRA darlings. Once there’s real blood in the water and real sentencing on the docket, it’s no longer painted videos or sharks, pools, roses, and lunar reptiles. You end up behind cement blocks with metal bars under corporate prison-industrial management. The nonretractability of this world was established for a reason. It makes exquisite use of this property, converting its own Etheric energy to create the present tier of cosmic density.

And then there’s the sacred Republican right to bear arms. One blogger wonders whether that includes “.50 caliber machine guns, bazookas, 104 howitzers, tanks, attack helicopters, B-52s, or nuclear weapons. [After all] we cannot allow our 2nd amendment rights to be abridged.” Another blogger asks, “Will the US finally devolve into an impregnable national Death Star, whose inmates hunt each other through the tunnels and alleys inside?”6

For Burmese leader Aung San Suu Kyi, contemplation of the Void became tonglen, inspired a captive nation, and earned her the Nobel Peace Prize. Loughner, a callow, impatient gringo, didn’t take one considered, let alone enlightened, breath before diving into the homicidal rip tide and riding its combo swell to shore. He didn’t wait fifteen seconds, let alone fifteen years. He didn’t prepare himself or wonder if maybe this wasn’t all just a little bit too easy. He was conceited enough to believe that he was the actual eye of the tiger, the center of the universe, and could act accordingly. He would be the first true American hero because, duh!, no one had ever conceived or done such a far-out thing before. He didn’t consider the consequences because he didn’t consider, or have any way of considering or running anything more complicated than a slogan or two through his mind.

That’s how close the calibration of reality lies to the heart—a hair trigger either way. Right balance of thought and action might be the most crucial pending practice in the world today. The lives of billions and the future of the planet hang on its razor’s edge.

60 Minutes banally voice-overed that Loughner needed “a high-profile target to make some point that only he understands.” I don’t think it’s that hard, Leslie, to understand the point or how he arrived at the right context but the wrong target. His quandary, even if you don’t grok its exact parameters, was obvious. He was getting so little recognition for what, to him, was originality, exigency, and Ickeian brilliance that he felt he had to do a Paul Revere. He had to break something really big or sacrifice something precious in a way that the whole world would take notice. The loss of meaning around him had become epidemic in the surge of fundamentalist chatter and heated-up jihadist rhetoric, right and left, mainstream and blogosphere. Everyone seemed to collude in “the fraud” and “the scam,” to honor two of Loughner’s favorite terms. He had to throw a monkey wrench into the collective reptilian trance.

When he tried to sell this stuff to his friends and other Tucsonians—in a vintage slacker skiffle of Martians, Illuminati, Lucifer rebellions, and mind control through HAARP*—they thought it was more of the same: spaceman Loughner, a ballad from Mr. Nothing.

The foundation of Mr. Nothing’s paranoid state was always the paradoxical nature of reality—not the printing of currency, not big government, not the Federal Reserve, not “false flag” operations, not the ingredients of commercial jet-fuel, not aliens on the Moon, not Waco.

But then the Tea Party stepped in, passing the test that Giffords failed. They provided him with code words for his dilemma: freedom of speech, Obamacare, Kenyan socialism, the Constitution, Second Amendment rights, bullets if ballots fail—reload. Guns were the one thing finally reverential enough to penetrate the crisis of meaning from which he suffered. He probably did not share the Tea Partiers’ platform, only their frustration and anger and sloganeering logic, but that was plenty.6

There is an element of performance art, conceptual art, and graffito to every terrorist act and public massacre, particularly in the USofA, movie and video-game capital of the planet where fantasy and reality run so close that many people can’t tell the difference. Columbine, Tucson, Virginia Tech, Oklahoma City, Aurora—none of these or events like them could have occurred without public staging and drama. There is no incentive for killing a bunch of arbitrary innocent people unless aesthetic framing turns it into an art piece—a live-action meat sculpture which is also a lethal prank and a meta-political happening, e.g., a revengeful Mr. Nothing

 

*It is worth noting the underground conspiracy theory regarding a subsequent mass recreational killer, James Holmes—that he was part of a high-level military zombie thought-control experiment, which explains why he didn’t remember what happened at the theater and kept asking how he ended up in jail.

 

 

 

firing psychic ordnance through an abstract expressionist weapon, an orange-headed Joker in DC Comics costume activating a dada machine gun at The Dark Knight Rises. All of it is meant for an audience as well as for forced audience participation, and that includes the epic piece of intercontinental performance art memorialized as “9/11.” Even there the line between fantasy and reality got blurred: symbols conflated with realities, a story about Paradise substituted for an actual karmic shock wave.

I am reminded of a t-shirt I saw on a dopey-looking eleven-year-old: “It’s only funny until someone gets hurt—then it’s HILARIOUS!”

I don’t think Loughner really wanted to take it that far. It was not guns as in “assassination” or “bust a cap.” It was guns as in dream reality, as in meaninglessness of language, as in convolution of objects and words, as in a slacker’s “waking life.” Maybe he could “shoot” the world real.

But he used real ammunition. He crossed a line that he had lost track was there: Was it bullets? Or was it chemtrails? Or was it marshmallows? It was a form of question that couldn’t be brushed aside or ignored.

He knew that he had to be stopped, that something horrible was about to happen, something that he didn’t actually want (his final words, full of pathos, were “forgive me, peace out”). Yet his monkey mind was revving too fast; it was driving him toward an apotheosis.

When he ran a red light, he got pulled over by the gendarmerie but then was sent on his way with a mere warning. Unconsciously he wanted to be extracted from the mission, I believe, but no one possessed Vulcan mind-meld or the decency to cuff him, so fuck it, he was going to blast his answer onto the hide of the world, using the reality-machine of a rapid-fire weapon of mass destruction—Glock police issue—distributing meaning and language faster than he could think it.

Tierney: “When I saw his mugshot, that face tells me that exactly what Jared wanted to happen is happening.”

Conway: “Yeah, like to the ‘t.’ Like even this right here. Like he knew that his friends were going to come out and speak about him. And people were going to try to understand him. It’s almost as if he just wants people to question that—”

Tierney chiming in, “—question why, and to not be given an answer.”

•

5. “Boy in the Bubble”

When I first heard this song in 1985, it evoked the Face on Mars, that mysterious meta-object on the barren surface of the Red Planet, determined by crater analysis to be at least 500 million years old. I wrote then: “… before the Ice Age, our image in stone, on the Martian tundra. The Shroud of Turin was not so wrong. For being both human and prehuman, for being stone and suggesting compassion, sentience, the Face was archetypally Christ-like, bringing our fragmented and warring planet together in a single mask, in a unity beyond our history, outside of ordinary time.… The Face is one of the few wild cards in the human deck. Albeit on a different scale and for different reasons, it has the potential, like AIDS, like revolution in Africa, like currency crises, and like new medicines and religions and forces in physics and biology, the capacity to transform us. It is truly the long … distance call.”7

Given the Face’s half-ape/half-lynx gaze, I meant a different kind of message, a telegram phase-shifted through space and time across thresholds of species and DNA. Else why a hominoid countenance? Why on Mars?

We have favored the fourth planet, one rung beyond us, though I think that Mars is the dying phase of the local system: the Mayan codex, the Last Coming, vestigial worm-encoded meteorites and monographs: ALH84001. Venus, by contrast, is the system’s future: planet two, pure salamanders and fire, molten metals and virgin alchemical seas. The first virus or bacterium to arrive from Earth will breathe out a Cytherean civilization two billion (give or take a billion) terrestrial years later.

I don’t know who might be summoning us to old Mars, or would leave such an explicit calling card, but I feel certain that we are the intended recipient. We are being told that we originated and exist elsewhere, that DNA is a system-crasher, a nonlocal rune. Philip K. Dick speculated likewise vis à vis a post-hypnotic cyborg ruse:

These dominant DNA information packets would be disinhibited—induced to fire—in due time, depending on either synchronized inner biological clocks or pure chance stimuli. Or a combination of both, ideally. Thus even thousands of years later, the primordial civilization will be “released” in the minds of the astonished descendants who suppose themselves autochthones [aboriginal inhabitants] of the planet they now inhabit.

The DNA packets in a given individual will tell him: 1) Where he is from; 2) What made up that original civilization, his civilization; 3) His true nature and faculties; 4) What he must do.8

But now, after various satellites have imaged the Face down to little more than a battered Cydonian mesa (whose elision and mirage still pack esoteric meanings on its oddly squared base), and long after I had forgotten the song, I heard it again by chance, so I offer this gloss—not that I think any of it was in Paul Simon’s mind.

By the way, I still hope that when terrestrials explore Mars (if our astronauts ever get that far) they will discover an immense chamber inside the Face with the entire history, science, and art of a vanished race recorded on the largest hard drive in our Solar System—7,920 feet long by 6,336 feet wide by 1,584 feet high—filling pretty much the carved mesa’s entire interior. You can take it from there.

“It was a slow day/And the sun was beating on the soldiers/By the side of the road.” A frozen intaglio of the last hundred years on the Earth—one unbroken World War by other means, one seamless terrorist campaign and endlessly cloned roadside bomb cum civilian-assassination plot, each faux armistice followed by another genocide, from Lhasa to the Congo to Hama City to Mazraat al-Qubeir—all shadowed by suspended-animation nuclear missiles in Pakistan, Persia, North Korea, Israel, Kazakhstan, USA.…

This is what the Sun views in its snapshot of Macedonia and Mali, Sri Jayawardhana and Sudan, Afghanistan and Sierra Leone, Chechnya and Taiz: soldiers by the side of the road. Blink!—what it broadcasts to its fellow stars across the Galaxy: life on Earth, encrypted message-unit.

“There was a bright light/The shattering of shop windows/The bomb in the baby carriage/Was wired to the radio.” Are we speaking of Ireland 1985 or Kigali 1994 or Lebanon or Mogadishu, Colombo or Baghdad, Gaza or Kabul 2011? Could the ritual be any more evident, perfunctory, or desperate, as it continues to be carried out blindly? Blink!

“These are the days of miracle and wonder.” More like blasphemy and devastation—but those are miracles and wonders too. The Sun sees our transformation, our unfolding, as it stares through our fleeting context to a hologram beyond the Milky Way. Its stare, adjusting our epoch to cosmic reality, brings it into the actual ska.

“This is the long-distance call.” Not only a gigantic Sphinx blasted out of rock by putative Martians (or wayfarers who visited Mars) many cosmic cycles ago, but higher-frequency xenobabble from the Milky Way at large, from the center of our nebula, from within DNA and cell templates traveling out of ancient suns trillions of years ago, from across seven times seven planes of consciousness, and from all who have shared mortal or immortal company with us—Martians of five hundred million years ago, Cro Magnons and Bushmen, yetis and mermaids, zombies and devas.

“The way the camera follows us in slo-mo.” Because when we consider this world from the Sun’s perspective, as we “go” our appointed rounds atop tundra, it is all in terrific slo-mo. It is all a waking dream.

“The way we look to us all.” Truth Mystery. Unity Existence.

“The way we look to a distant constellation/That’s dying in a corner of the sky.” A “dying constellation” is Simon’s poetic license. After all, constellations are linear projections created by terrestrial viewlines that pull multiple discrete stars across thousands of light years into a flat rebus, each sun with its own coordinates and life-span. The asterisms in any constellation are situated light years and world ages apart from one another, so how could a whole constellation die?

But astrologically, constellations do die: Aries died with the ancient world. Pisces falling through sunrise in the Galactic center is the overseer of the subsequent world-age we are departing. Aquarius is rising through the precession of constellations coiling out of the Earth’s tilted axis.

What is dying in the corner of the sky is the Piscean landscape, its monotonous death-watch, its cyclical Middle Ages: the Neanderthal boy, the Child Crusades, the Beothuk lad kidnapped from Newfoundland and brought across the Atlantic to England, the Boy in his immunosuppressed Bubble.

“And I believe/These are the days of lasers in the jungle,/Lasers in the jungle somewhere.…” Lasers in jungles, bombs in baby carriages, and IEDs may not be cheerful things, but they are figurations of the late Piscean world that specify and hold it together and hostage at the same time.

“Staccato signals of constant information …” are hitting us from quasars and meta-galactic formations, from transdimensional space, from the Internet, from corporate propaganda machines, from Secret Governments and conspiracies of oligarchs, from Reptile brain control centers, from the Illuminati, from the Luciferian conspiracy, from old Martians and young Pleiadians, from the Trilateral Commission, the Rothschilds, the Zionist Main Frame, the UN, the Bilderberg Club, the Neo-cons, the Demo-cons, the hidden planet Nibiru, the war in heaven, the asteroid belt, the girth of human superconsciousness, the vast rolling databases and power grids that encircle and bind this planet and the entire Solar Congress.

The conceit was true, prophetically so.

The rest is modernity, Holocene debris.

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-three-hyperlinks/feed/ 0 Dark Pool of Light, Volume Three, Chapter Seven, “The Cosmic Eternity System” http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-three-chapter-seven-the-cosmic-eternity-system/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-three-chapter-seven-the-cosmic-eternity-system/#comments Wed, 12 Dec 2012 14:51:04 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1206

Chapter Seven

The Cosmic Eternity System

“The current Eternity System is rich and complex, startling and challenging, mystifying and elegant.”

—Ellias Lonsdale1

“Imagine that not only does your soul withdraw into itself, but that all souls likewise withdraw, and in withdrawing, dissolve into a single over-soul that now recedes into its own inner deeps, the ancient taproot of creation. All is perishing except His Face.

“Reality holds its breath. All is still and silent. Life lives, but without any sign. The Earth was without form, and void.

“Sunk deep in unity, the One engulfs in its abyss the shimmering wealth of all that ever was and all that ever will be. Obsidian and jade, tropical waterfalls and Olympian peaks, the attar of roses, wild honey, herds of aurochs, hieroglyphs and cantos, cathedrals and soup kitchens, melancholy, mirth, the Aurora Borealis and the Pleiades, the reveries of teeming worlds beyond number—all these are present and yet absent. Absent because there is no witness. Darkness was on the face of the deep.”

—Pir Zia Inayat Khan2

“The universe is a divine play of phenomena. To humans those phenomena appear to be separate; we seem to have the experience that there’s a ‘me’ and a ‘not-me.’ That’s an illusion. Everything is interdependent with everything else. Everything arises in oneness, and every apparently discrete package is merely that: apparently discrete.”

—John Friedlander3

“He will not merely rule the universe; he will also be the universe.”

—Philip K. Dick4

i. Cosmic Eternity as Unified Field Theory*

Before we sail into this chapter, let’s take a deep breath. I know, the book is already more than a few breaths deep. But this is a mystery universe, and our path is via consciousness—not the objects of consciousness (though them too) but consciousness itself.

We will never have a map for reality in the way we have Google Earth. Reality as consciousness cannot be represented in reality as matter. But that doesn’t mean it is not real or “scientific.” This is my basic refrain.

In order to assay reality, we need science. That should be obvious.We need everything that science has to tell us about moleculo-atomic structure, electromagnetic and gravitational fields, the organization of biological form, and the flow of information through neurons—these are esoteric as well as secular truths, sacraments above and beyond their liturgically inflated presentation by their own priests. They are the operating system.

 

*You can read sections ii through x of this chapter in whatever order you want. There is no entry point to a circle that originates everywhere and nowhere, as there is no beginner’s level to a system that is turning inside out at every hruck and knothole.

 

 

 

For science to function or even emerge from the mists of unsignified existence, all subjective filters must be removed or disengaged; objective mind must encounter objective reality through the transparency of pure measurement and the neutrality of egoless witness. This means no universe except its own tangible physical map. But that’s also the minimum baseline for ascertaining where we are and what’s going on, for getting out of a perplexing jungle of cries and appearances.

No other way—you have to separate the explicit from the implicit, the deduced flow of energy and matter (turning handaxes into thermo-dynamics) from the induced flow of meaning (turning scapulimancy into signification)—but that doesn’t mean that the world will tell you anything more than that something is happening (rather than nothing) and it is wrapped around its own mechanism snug as a glove.

The display format is pretty much as science calls it: a set of anomalies generating a temporal fortuity from the atomic properties of molecules, the molecular properties of cells, the cellular properties of tissues, the matrices of tissues underlying vertebrate underlying mammalian under-lying primate socio-symbolic acts. But the universe is also a direct emanation. It is disclosed through ordinary experience interpreted by trained inquiry: formal meditation, shamanic induction, aesthetic mimesis, divine petition. To project an abeyant shape into a “rose” is to ask it to become what it is. Yet to exist at all is to be projected by the universe into such an icon or thoughtform. Existence is revelation: a rose. There were always twin ways for humans to divine the universe and our presence in it. Even Stone Age hunters knew that: men and women of action and men and women of contemplation—bump at it or reflect it, assay it or hex it, Coyote–man and Robin-man.*

Objective consciousness maps the apparent universe by its propensity for durable and self-repeating emanations. Subjective consciousness maps  everything else.

 

*See Paul Radin, Primitive Man as Philosopher (New York: Dover Books, 1955), pp. 238–256.

 

 

 

 

 

For all the vaunted chains of neurons, sockets, and monitoring modules, there is no scientific theory of consciousness worth the name (see Volume One on that one). Scientists may build models of mind and write formulas without remainders, and there is plenty of scuttlebutt about how the nervous system and brain work, how we make decisions, initiate actions, and run cognition grids, but no—even hypothetical—way to turn matter inside-out and illuminate it from within, no way to get the city inside the acorn, to originate the damn thing’s glow inside its own mechanical contraption, to explain even how nerves really work. No matter how resolutely the experts gyrate, it can’t be done. The universe (or meaning) is too comprehensive, and the brain is too morphological and literal. Just try sizing reality down to a neuron or even a fat fur-ball of synapses.

Science has no inroad whatsoever to anything that can’t be measured or counted, while consciousness has zero quantitative basis. Neural behavioral maps, electroencephalograms, and ablated circuits in lab cats don’t constitute real measurements of consciousness in the way that everything else under science can be submitted to metrics. However tight we squeeze nanometers through the mind-matter barrier, there remains an uncrossable bumpless region between bodies and thoughts.

For that matter, how does a mind—or my mind, or “I”—know which neurons to affect in order to do what I want to do? There would have to be some sort of subliminal sub-mind that tracked physiological networks scrupulously, got its orders from the “conscious” mind, and then faithfully carried them out. But that sub-mind would need its own sub-mind, and we’d be well on our way down Infinite Regress Highway, which is the Highway to Nowhere, Zip Code 99901.

If you were a scientist and somehow put all the nuts and bolts, levers and pulleys, circuits and switches together tantamount to creating a credible, metabolizing cyborg or even a motivated robotic mouse, how would you click it on and, if it turned itself on automatically, where would the effective bump come from? What would that bump contribute, what would elicit it, and how would it recognize its own possibility and then install itself in the rest? And I don’t mean “install” any differently from how electricity installs itself in thunderclouds and power lines. How does a golem mouse (or man) take on an identity and embark on its human or rodent mission?

Okay, let’s finally call a spade a spade: consciousness is not located in the brain. I stand on this point unconditionally. I do not deny that neurons and mind are joined at the hip—evolutionarily, developmentally—but consciousness as a stream of phenomenological shit in which an objective reality is mirrored is something else altogether. It has a different ontological basis from the nervous system or the brain, and it operates otherwise, probably throughout the universe, without need of them. Science does not know how to cross the bumpless zone, not even close.

Consciousness’s “awareness” property is elicited by nervous systems and brains probably because it is already in the mix—“we” are already there; we exist somehow at large, prior to experiment—as identity, as agency. In fact, the flow of synaptic data into the brain is more likely the result rather than the cause of consciousness. Ignoring this telepathic super-highway is a joke, a misnomer, and science’s catchall sleight of mind.

There cannot be a unified astrophysical field theory without a theory of mind, and likewise there cannot be a theory of mind without inclusion in a unified field theory of space and substance for, without phenomenology, where would you begin to look for meaning’s as well as matter’s thread? And meaning has to have a thread because, after all, it’s here.

Though there cannot be a theory of matter without the inclusion of mind, where (again) would you attach one to the other? We lack even a unified field theory of space-time or matter by their lonesomes.

No comprehensive theory means no place wherein to attach consciousness—so no theory of matter means no theory of mind.

And it’s not as though there is a higher court of appeal for this stuff. There isn’t a context, let alone a structure, within physics that neuroscientists and biologists can jointly petition for redress or a yardstick to which they can even hypothetically affix mindedness or materiality, let alone enlist to officiate over a shotgun wedding. Movement toward one absolute wall is as good as toward another, and none of the walls, in this room anyway, are promising (or, finally, walls).

For starters, we don’t know what gravity is. “Does,” yes; “is,” unh-uh! Think about it: a scientist can’t do gravity. The stuff holding you to the Earth, the djinn propelling the Earth around the Sun, keeping the Sun compressed together in a blaze, the big oomph itself, is a total ringer. Plus there is no smoking gun tying it to either thermodynamics or entropy; they are like separate governments pretending to rule the same polity under different laws. Then quantum entanglement and superposition rule the identical polity under even less plausible laws and without heat’s verifiable basis, while strings and superstrings fail utterly at anchoring their own bottom rung. They are all drifting in one another’s contextlessness.

It takes slamming protons into each other head-on at relativistic speeds (i.e., close to the activation of light) to get even a glimpse of the Higgs boson or the original sticky nest of matter—its purported building blocks plus the twenty-three percent that went missing into superparticles (dark matter, dark intelligence) at the beginning of time—not to mention the possibility of composite quarks or the infinite mass of empty space and its “vacuum catastrophe.” It is a series of tautologies running into other tautologies as well as into its own paradoxes, oxymorons, and quantum uncertainty states.

A universe of matter, which presents itself solely through mindedness, is infinitely dense and utterly transparent at the same time—so it is as unmeasurable as it is undeniable.

In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, speculative physicists and science-fiction authors have floated field theories to unify metaphysical and physical realities. Try these: 1. A parallel universe next to ours (hidden mass) has formed in a four-dimensional bubble and continues to impose itself here as gravity and dark matter. 2. When stars collapse, their black holes torsion matter through a wormhole (an Einstein-Rosen bridge) into white holes that shoot it into a different universe where it bubbles up as if from nowhere, so that the Big Bang forming this entire set-up may be mere discharge from the white hole of a collapsing star. 3. Billion-year-old civilizations are sending gamma-wave signals to us from another universe at the edges of our own space-time. 4. After anti-matter and matter annihilated each other a long time ago, we formed in shreds left by the götterdämmerung. 5. Every atomic configuration here, including you and me, repeats somewhere else in infinite space-time.

All these theories consider that 6. our universe is not a conventional all-inclusive universe but one aspect of a Multiverse, so the Big Bang may not be an originary explosion but one of many “Big Bangs,” each creating a discrete continuum, each with its own laws.

Even so, science provides no waiver whatsoever for consciousness in its unified field theories because, of course, how could it if it doesn’t even know what it is? Insofar as mind is officially the sum of trillionfold quantum–synaptic calculations, it is never going to make it through a wormhole, black hole, white hole, cosmic bubble, or umbilical cord between parallel universes anyway. Consciousness is circumstantial, finite, eminently disposable. I would consider this one exception: perhaps the primordial ground luminosity of Big Mind is what ignited the Big Bang in the first place, gave it its intrinsic radiance, and bound light in a molten ball. Then it was distributed with matter into the expanding elasticity of three-dimensionality. Behind the material universe is a nonmaterial universe.

I want to take a shot at an alternative unified field theory to those of particle physics and astrophysics, the potpourri informally codesigned by Werner Heisenberg, Niels Bohr, Albert Einstein, Steven Weinberg, Stephen Hawking, Freeman Dyson, Michio Kaku, Nikodem Poplawski and the boys. Of course I am not constrained like them by laws of mathematics and physics, so I have a much easier task; still I can’t just make stuff up or throw together any old hand-me-downs and contrivances; you wouldn’t find that believable or interesting. What I say has to be rooted in parity at the depth and complexity of an actual system, not only sufficient but necessary, and address (as well) the existential situation in which we find ourselves: the condition of having to be wherever we are, no matter what is happening to us there. It has to be both metaphysical and physical, Swedenborgian and Einsteinian.

During Q&A after reading a few sections from a draft of this book (Boulder, Colorado, April 13, 2012), I was asked by a guy in the audience if I thought matter and spirit were separate things. I paused briefly, smiling at the absurdity of answering, then said simply, “No.”

Everyone laughed, so he changed his question: “Do you think that matter came before spirit or spirit before matter or did both occur at the same time?”

To that I said, “Well, if I had to choose, I would say, ‘Both at the same time,’ but as soon as I said that, I would be faced with the fact that it was presumptuous and false and the other possibilities were equally true in their way. Matter first, spirit first, both together?—it’s not any of them because the moment you choose one, you realize that something else you have excluded by your answer is demanding equal time. It is matter before spirit, of course, and spirit before matter, of course, and both at the same time too, of course.”

A few questions later another man asked, “Do you think we are inside the forward flow of time or is everything really happening at once?”

“Same question as that other one,” I offered. “I think that everything is happening at once, but clearly that is not true because, well, here we are, demonstrably in a time-line and moving linearly one swift way. So, what we have to do is explain how everything could be happening at once and yet we could still be inside a flow of time. We have to make it so that everything happening at once can occur in such a way that it also feels like this, that it is embedded uniquely and discretely as well in a chronological belt. And the only way to do that is to move toward exactly what time feels like to you rather than an abstract epiphany of timelessness. The simple and indisputable circumstance of being in time, of being born into tick-tock, is what it feels like right now to you. That is the key, because by feeling it consciously and expansively, you begin to develop a sensation of time’s timelessness. The paradox is, that by trying to feel its actual timelessness, you only experience the drumbeat of time, even more readily. It’s all a paradox, but the resolution of that paradox is living the precise complication that it is.”

Okay, for starters, why call it a Cosmic Eternity System? Why not just an Eternity System? An Eternity System transcends cosmic ghettoization. It is by far the more accurate designation.

I have tried the slicker name several times but always abandoned it and set it back the way it was, (one) because a “Cosmic” frame sets the Eternity System in cosmological space, parallel to the astrophysical field theories cited above; (two) because it draws our attention to the transgalactic sky; and (three) because it grounds us in the physical cosmos of Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, et al.

So where in Sam Hell are we? That is, where are we located relative to anything or everything else? And where is the semblance (that we cling to so fundamentally, absolutely, and tenaciously) located?

The other night (October 8, 2011) I was invited to a young friend’s birthday party in a backyard in Oakland. These are very sentient people, but they are also foodies and involved in the restaurant business so they decided to roast a whole pig on a spit over a fire. From any standpoint it was a graphic presentation. The animal’s body had already turned into edible pork, but it was attached to landmarks of independent life and spirit: its teeth, toe-nails, and dead eyes reflecting the flames made the truth inescapable. As sunlight was slowly extinguished, fire more than sky illuminated the backyard—fire and the glistening pig. A few stars were visible beside a bright, near-full moon. The event wasn’t only pagan and primitive; it was transubstantiational. The body-shape and residue of the pig were being transubstantiated, but so were we. Offhandedly someone remarked on the similarity of the pig to Christ nailed to the cross, but no one seconded the motion.

I couldn’t find a way to get comfortable with the roasting pig except to go right at it. I took its vibration up above my crown chakra as high into the planes of consciousness as I could. I didn’t count tiers; I just opened to a shift and jumped.

There I saw it, not so much against life on Earth, against humanity, or even against the stars as against everything that is anything. Only there did the roasting body of the pig fit and adjudicate itself with grace, integrity, or hope. Only there did it have a fallback position that didn’t indict the universe for this outcome.

The Cosmic Eternity System is quintessentially about this: what is happening couldn’t possibly be what it seems. What it seems either leads nowhere and is nothing, or leads everywhere while contradicting itself at every portal. Either way, it is impossible and uninhabitable—as much for magpies and hornets as for us. Just look around.

Well, nature must be filled with something, so here it is: mist, fires, wind tunnels, gaps, pivots, surf, tornados, dances, elections, wars, World Cups, online dating. Each stands for something, even stuff that makes no sense at all: the exorbitant, the cavalier, the wanton, the vicious, the shabby, the degenerate, the sadistic, the vandalistic, the inconstant.

But then again, if it is not what it seems, it is not happening—so it is not a problem. It is habitable because its unlikeliness doesn’t stop us from being here and getting the job done.

The Cosmic Eternity System in all of its richness, vastness, and surprise is the only thing that gets us out of our trap—our trap of identity, our trap of neurosis, our trap of impending death, our trap of enlightenment, our trap of ennui, our trap of every lockdown theory of the universe (scientific or religious).

Only the Cosmic Eternity System provides a clue as to what we are going to do with the cosmos’s shitload of absolute time and space—to say nothing of pure existential reality, to say nothing.…

“Ding dong bell/Pussy’s in the well./Who put her in?”

I am as clueless as you, so like Heraclitus’s god whose oracle is still at Delphi, I shall neither reveal nor conceal but henceforth speak in riddles.

Little Johnny Green, indeed!

ii. Cosmic Eternity as UFO Drama

The UFO phenomenon is a classic instance of an oracle speaking only in riddles—Carl Jung’s “modern myth of things seen in the skies.” These undesignated objects straddle a boundary between apparent extraterrestrial engineering and suppositious interdimensionality.

In 2012 James Gilliland is the man at the helm of UFO central; check out the documentary on him (Contact Has Begun) produced by John Savage. Gilliland has assembled the most vivid, convincing photographic evidence cum eye-witness testimony vis à vis UFOs I have come across, short only (perhaps) of those fractal Mandelbrot-set and insectogram crop circles (if cereological formations are indeed alien messages in grains). He ties the ontological and spiritual dimension of UFOs to the phenomenological experience and enigmatic appearance of them.

Gilliland’s life has been shaped by two major near-death experiences, the first as a five-year-old in the hospital with bronchial pneumonia, the second after a triple dunking by a twenty-five-foot soaker wave while cornered with his buddies on a sand bar in Little Corona, California. The five-year-old’s mother was told by her doctor that her son might not make it through the night, but the boy was taken, while asleep, to a zone between worlds by a woman dressed in blue with electric blue eyes. Emanating benign, healing energy, she stroked his head and fed him a substance with the look and texture of ice cream that wasn’t cold. She told him that it would get him better—and “it” did.5

Some twenty-five years later, while drowning in a wall of water, Gilliland sailed down a tunnel of light, blasted through its ceiling, and emerged on a golden plane of bliss where he encountered a massive Intelligence that engaged him in kōans about the nature of life and free will. He awoke in a pool of water with someone yelling his name, the last words of the entity fading in his skull: “As you wish.” That was Consciousness’s basic answer to every question he asked—though the superficial wording changed each time. The response concerned his destiny, how to get back to the zone of bliss. But it also expressed our overall relationship to karma and being. It was not a simple transmission.6

Gilliland was living in Santa Cruz back then, but he sensed the Loma Prieta Earthquake coming and wanted to get out ahead. He knew he had a mission elsewhere, and he drew a clear vision of where it was going to take place: up north in Yakima country beside a snow-covered mountain. He had to match a landscape to his vision before he could undertake a sanctuary. Then by luck or guidance he located the prophetic replica near Mount Adams, in Trout Lake, Washington, a site of intense UFO activity since pre-Columbian times.

The acronym of Gilliland’s ECETI Ranch taunts the imperious SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) with the more reverential and seraphic Enlightened Contact with Extraterrestrial Intelligence. For the first six years on site he studied, meditated, did yoga, and took hundreds of hours of video of objects in the heavens as well as purported pursuits of them by military jets and black helicopters. “That’s the cheapest camera you can buy,” he bragged playfully regarding his success with the low-tech equipment he could afford then, “and we’ve totally outgunned NASA and SETI. Totally outgunned them!”7

For sixteen years (up to 2012), Gilliland and his team interacted repeatedly with Mount Adams’s celestial orbs and their purported occupants. “We don’t watch TV up there,” he quips, “we watch UFOs.”8

On one occasion, a communication came directly into his head, a beautiful transmission, he recalled, about love, universal peace, individual freedom, the abundance of nature, and the evolution of the human race. When he telepathically asked the voice where it was coming from, it said, “The fifth and sixth dimensions are what we are working in, but we’re actually coming from a ship.”9 That was a bizarre proposition even for Trout Lake so, concluding that his imagination was running amok, he headed straight outdoors to get himself grounded by planting trees. He hadn’t reached the front door when his two sisters, running and shouting, met him on the way in: “You see it? You see it? There’s a ship!” In fact, there was an entire UFO array over the building.10

On another occasion three gold balls of energy lifted him out of his bathtub to a golden plasma ship. There he was greeted by beings resembling the human races combined. They identified themselves as the Orion Council of Light. One of them, offering her name as Melia, told him that her headdress held a technology by which all of his memories would be returned to him; then suddenly he felt its zap and recalled a string of past lives and off-world experiences.11 A modern myth of the skies, indeed!

It is possible that the Greys of alien-abduction lore as well as other visitors to the Earth, no matter what star systems they identify as their home ports, are coming across Astral and higher planes rather than through interstellar space, which would make their capacities distinctly different from hypothetical beings who master faster-than-light travel in order to get here in a mortal time frame. Bigfoot, as well as those goat-eating, hairless, coyote-like chupacabras in Hood County, Texas, and diverse creatures of Fortean and cryptozooid pedigree likewise pop in and out of ordinary semblance—they too could be plane-travelers rather than either aliens or holdouts from prehistory.

In principle, there is no interstellar travel in the universe divorced from interdimensional travel. From here to any other star system is way too far for bodily relocation, even at the speed of light. No one wants travel times of twenty-two years each way. Sound is even slower—no soap, no radio. But grain patterns, for example, are immediate greetings in rebuses that might come through quantum-entangled wave- and pattern-generators in other solar systems. Crop circles simply appear in a gust of air and a ball of light and, no, Doug Bower, Dave Chorley, and their hoaxer buddies and imitators didn’t make all of them on every continent.

Those well-funded SETI scopes are probably beamed on frequencies too rectilinear, literal, and turgid for folks dispatching stuff Earthwards.

If there were truly alien bodies in a wreck at Roswell, New Mexico (as per conspiracy theories and the controversial “alien autopsy” film that made the rounds in the 1990s, later declared not entirely a hoax but a reconstruction of an actual film of a Roswell dissection), one still has to ask how those creatures hauled their intact asses across the light years to be dissectible (vis à vis two hearts, green blood, six fingers, and whatever). I would propose that if people living in other star systems are coming to Earth on the physical, astronomical plane, they have extremely advanced light-spectrum electronics and engineering methods for first getting torus-based saucers onto interdimensional tracks before propelling them across the interstellar grid. These vehicles are operating at an unknown level of not only technology but cosmology. That’s why they look like solid objects, leave metallic debris, and disburse apparent exobiological entities but otherwise don’t perform like shuttles.

As they power down over the Trout Lake property, UFOs morph into double and triple and quadruple gadgets and then fuse back up into singularities.* They make right-hand turns at ridiculous speeds. They explode in balls of light and then reappear. “One of the ships we’ve filmed is just beautiful,” Gilliland enthused. “It’s actually pink in the middle, has blue on the outside, turquoise at the top and the bottom. And you see these rotating fields on this ship and it’s pulsing like a heart.”12

Nothing known to physics behaves in this manner except perhaps subatomic particles. If (again) these manifestations are brick-and-mortar vehicles, they apparently navigate through folded tunnels (wormholes in space) or by raw information transfer. Millions if not billions of years ahead of us in their technology, they don’t have to cross the unnavigably long distances between galaxies and solar systems; they appear when and where they choose by instantaneous information transfer, bypassing time as we grok it.

 

*On a psychic level, stones and crystals keep their spiritual identity while stepping emanations up or down as they are fissioned into smaller stones.

 

 

 

 

UFOlogists claim that there are two types of aliens. Menial, low-level Greys and their fellow antipathetic ETs mutilate cattle, abduct folks, put implants in them, and trade advanced technologies with governments for those privileges. They also unintentionally leave junk behind at crash sites, either way to be stripped and back-engineered by terrestrials into hard drives, fiber optics, computer chips, lasers, microwave generators, first and foremost for military application. According to the insider scuttlebutt, the Greys don’t have our own highest good or best interests at heart, as their own vibes of weaponry, war, and social control align all too well with ours, making for collusion at a National Security Agency/Pentagon level. That’s “conspiracy theory” legend by now.

According to many UFOlogists, the world’s governments and armed forces have known for decades that corrupt aliens are operating here with impunity, and they have done business with them. Then, under a shroud of secrecy, they enacted a SETI/NASA diversionary charade, even kicking some of their own officers out of the loop (to spout bona fide denials). The result is a public mindset in which well-intentioned leakers only make themselves targets of ridicule and jeopardize their careers, while the “average Joe” citizenry relegates all testimony to a weirdness bin of blue or green men—urban and other legends. Anyway that’s the tortuous UFOlogy party line.

Then there are the good guys—fellow humanoids: androgynous, angelic, spiritually advanced, here to conduct us into the evolving family of worlds and spirits.

Could diametric tiers of aliens—beings of darkness and beings of light, interstellar craft and interdimensional craft, incarnate folks in spaceships and psychic mirages of incarnate folks—be converging on our planet beneath media parody and cover-up?

And what to make of Gilliland? He routinely says stuff like, “That’s one of those Andromedan ships! Look how you can see through the middle. That’s because it’s interdimensional. You hear that? The coyotes are going crazy. They always do that when the big ships fly over!”13 The big ships, yeah!

In the Savage documentary, he exclaims, “Got two ships coming in. I’ve got ’em both. They’re both powered up. Holy smokes, they’ve got both of ’em powered up! Whoo! Whoo-hoo-hoo! Whoo-hoo! Got ’em. Two ships. A double, powered up. Whoo-hoo! Look at that!”14 It’s Cirque du Soleil meets Terence McKenna.

On another occasion he exults, “Check him out, man. He’s goin’. You should see the field around this guy. I’ve got him all the way. Holy shit, this guy is big. That thing is huge. Whoa, he’s lightin’ up! There it goes! Thank you.”15

But James is no mere New Age novice or “up in smoke” dude. He received Teaching of the Inner Christ authorization from Anne Porter Remington’s El Cajon church, which channels a host of ascended masters in addition to Jesus and Babaji, and he earned a Rigdzin Norbu (“Jewel of Pure Awareness”) certificate from the Tibetan Foundation. Spiritual teachers of different persuasions have validated his capacity to channel and travel on higher planes.

I sense that this guy is for real in a way that we have to understand in order to budge not only the UFO mystery but the other, deeper mystery that it shrouds. Yet JGill is also a surfer dude right out of David Milch’s John from Cincinnati or as played by John Travolta in Pulp Fiction in his UC/Santa Cruz banana-slugs T-shirt. In the words of Milch’s surfer kid Shaun, “That is sick!” Zippy the dead parakeet had just come back to life under his hand. Well, ditto Gilliland’s powered-up flotillas and gold orbs. Sick! (in the best and baddest sense). It’s either one rad cosmic wave or another: cowabunga; ‘surf the night sky’—soakers or saucers—wipeout either way. Observe what is happening to you, right now.

This is the way the Earth is operating; physicists and corporate execs, lamas and priests are not the ones in the UFO know. By their own mysterious yardstick, extraterrestrials and interdimensionals choose the most unlikely individuals for close encounters of the third kind on up: for starters Gilliland, Whitley Strieber, Jim Moroney, Betty and Barney Hill.

The cartoon has become the reality, while reality is now a shapeshifting cartoon. As their tropes overlap and camouflage each other, they point to the one pathway we have been neglecting, to a basic paradox we have been reading at the wrong level through all our false hierarchies. After glimpsing the fringes of a system populated by entities of different composition and dimensionality from us, in our future as well as our past, and based in cosmic prototype DNA, Gilliland comes to his own conclusion. If you listen beyond his words, at the tone and implication, and to the fact that we are here now, comprehending the shell Universe and the Divine both, you almost get it:

“There’s at least eleven dimensions out there beyond this dimension. And you look at all the diversity of life in just this dimension alone and add ten more dimensions to that, you can imagine what’s out there. And if you look at just this physical universe we’re in with 200 billion suns with planets revolving around them, and now they know that there are 500 billion galaxies out there with the same effect—just this little dimension we’re in alone—the diversity of life here is beyond imagination.… And whole new galaxies and universes are being created daily.”16

Wow! Gazing into the deeply radiant luminosity of galaxies through telescopes, we are looking at the edge of an interdimensional field inhabited by intelligent beings of diverse natures and tempers and wisdoms.

Or we are looking at something even more radical and transformative than entities and dimensions, beyond where mathematics and physics bottom out. We are gazing into the Eye of Creation.

Surfer talk or mother lode? Your call again, reader.

Some or all of the following may be true and to differing and contradictory degrees:

• There are UFOs and they are exactly as proposed by the people logging them. Their physical presence has been verified by numerous air traffic controllers, airline pilots, fighter pilots, and Air Force base commanders, who know what they’re seeing and flat-out confirm that these are ships from other worlds with highly advanced technologies. They show up as legitimate objects on radar.

• UFOs are not only physically real, the craft of technologically advanced beings, but millennia ago these same entities (i.e., their ancestors) terraformed the Earth and crafted us, bioengineering their own DNA in terrestrial animals, then left us to develop by free will at our own pace. These were the biblical cherubim of Ezekiel 1:4–28, bursting out of immense clouds of flashing light, landing with the sound of rushing water, striding with mixed countenances of human and beast. They spoke like thunder, and left behind relics with the appearance of wheels intersecting wheels. Perhaps they traveled back periodically to check out their experiment.

In that case they also “visited” other ancient peoples, including the Dogon to whom they loquaciously described their own base in the double-star system of Sirius (a bit show-offy if you ask me). Centuries later in the 1940s these north African tribal people informed anthropologist Marcel Griaule of the approximate orbital periods of Sirius A and B about each other and also “revealed” rings around Saturn and moons accompanying Jupiter. Synchronicity or hoaxed anachronism?

• There are no UFOs, and these appearances represent an assortment of hallucinations, scams, misappropriations, mass hysterias, myths, and occasional conscious outbursts of collectively unconscious archetypes.

• UFOs are psychoids or spirits with an incomplete hybrid existence. Or they are “screen” dramas of something beyond our comprehension.

• Some ghostlike UFOs may be dead people traveling in conscious but disembodied states before they resolve their own remainder energy into its next metamorphosis. At the cessation of metabolism and breath, these beings wriggled up their spines and blasted out of their bodies imperfectly and with unresolved karma into makeshift orbs—semi-materialized tulpas. They are transdimensional fireflies now, plasma entities on the move under a greater law.

• Unidentified flying orbs are nonphysical objects from other dimensions, ultradimensional energies charging up and then discharging down through our range.

• UFOs are our own collective, Serios-like thoughtographic projections of a genre not yet categorized. Just how collective and thoughtographically objectified they are was demonstrated by flotillas of hundreds of individual ships parading unabashedly over Madrid, Beijing, and Mexico City as if they belonged there.

• UFOs are transdimensional delegations assessing our spiritual progress and, conversely, our present danger to the universe. Nuclear war ending life here could well impact life forms on other dimensions.

• UFOs are Etheric and other higher-plane energies, taking on the status of saucer-like alchemical manifestations, as they power up with bursts of golden light and then step down, not into ordinary metals but something that responds like living material.

• UFOs are orgone, an energy Wilhelm Reich discovered under other circumstances, whose malignant mode he tried to shoot out of the sky with guns drawing on the same enigmatic source. Sound familiar? Good UFOs transmit spirituality and sacred light, while malevolent ones transmit disease and enslave humankind. To one man the UFO enigma is primordial galactic nectar and cosmic eros (plus its deadly radioactive antithesis); to another it is the transmission of a high Intelligence and its Grey Satanic Antipode.

• The borderline imaginal experiences that bring UFOs into being are not what they seem or elicit in us but replicas and semblances of experiences we need in order to enter the actual Eternity System.

• Our subpersonalities and superpersonalities converge in unidentified celestial objects.

It doesn’t matter. We have to leave UFOs behind with their keepers. Neither they nor crop circles are going to resolve any time soon—unless they do, and it’s not that state of world at the moment; the vanguard surf of Aquarius’s carrier wave is at least forty years offshore. In the meantime we have harbingers—harbingers plenty, harbingers only.

iii. Cosmic Eternity as View

While the Cosmic Eternity System includes our particular incarnational system, it is not limited to it. Clairvoyants tell us that most Souls spend the greater part of their individuated existence in less dense vibrations than this one. Habitable worlds need not be spherical planets rotating on axes and orbs with atmospheres revolving around sun-stars; they can be all sorts of other things at varying degrees of sublimity or materiality. Each contingent realm in All That Is arises as it must from its own propensities and organizing principles, which seem quite substantial, satisfying, and tenable to its inhabitants, for they and their landscapes are generated at the same appetite of attention. We are tuned to our own incarnation’s clear channel, as we dwell in the city of its broadcast.

We have zero notion what sort of overall universe this is or, for that matter, what it is a universe in—in what kind of mansion (or Multiverse) it is a chamber. We germinate as properties of vibrating strings (subatomic particles in energy states), much as the mansion itself does. Change the frequency of the mansion (the atomicities), and a different reality arises. Under other predilections, we would coalesce in different rooms or even a different mansion. In order for an illusion to stabilize itself, it has to destroy and threaten to destroy everything else: Thou Shalt Have No Other Reality Before Me.

While this universe may be vivid and all-encompassing to us, other zones and modes of reality are just as vivid, “real,” and stable to their denizens. Though different from ours in material and conceptual ways, they read to them exactly as this one does to us: “home sweet home.” Each is a discrete frequency, and everything there is oscillating at its note. Life is normal: pleasures just as pleasurable, contentions just as contentious, pain just as ouch. The same phenomenology made out of different stuff is generating equivalences of events, some at a higher, purer vibration than what goes on here, some (yes) lower, more insectile or lizardlike.

A less material plane and universe would not represent exile from carnal existence if its mentation and space-time are vibrating at the same frequency. It would hold the same myriad possibilities for experience and happiness and variety; it would operate along a continuum that might or might not be characterizable as Time. It would feel just as thick, rich, and solid as this one does to us and would support existence’s myopias and peccadillos in much the same fashion.

If you yourself should awake without warning in a different body, like the giant insect of Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis, you’d buy into that state too. You’d have to; you’d have nowhere else to go (or not go). Its neural nets would pump your brain full of its hallucinogenic juices.

A pupa lives as a caterpillar for a while, then stops eating, attaches itself to a branch, folds into its own existence, forms a new cocoon, draws on a different genome cached in its DNA, then reinvents itself as a butterfly—all while doing nothing, planning nothing, imagining itself as the center of the universe and the only thing in that universe. At each phase, each instar between molts, it knows what it is and where it is and that it is—beyond representation or representational mind.

The intelligence of its rune infuses it and keeps it on track.

Our life-and-death cycle is one frame within All That Is, the one that constitutes our present view. “A human consciousness is to be treasured,” John Friedlander notes, “not because it’s the only platform … but because it’s a magnificent experience in the dance of consciousness.”17

Creatures buy into each bardo and bardo-like state, in turn, hook, line, and sinker. They allow themselves to get “caught” in its vibration. Their insertion into its landscape is all-inclusive. When they go to sleep or into trance, they shift to a different octave of its clear channel. When they awake, they return to its default station. Yes, “a magnificent experience in the dance of consciousness,” but no, not the only magnificence or the only dance.

As long as we keep waking up to the same reality, we don’t balk or protest its basis as if to say, “This is just a dream. I’m not going to believe it anymore.” During any lucid dream-state we recognize that we have no choice but to continue performing as oneself in the scene at hand. If we tried to flee the dream, we would only become another creature in another dream.

If (for argument’s sake) you were a physicist in such a dream, you wouldn’t be able to peer beyond the dreamwork to its source, no matter what sort of microscope or telescope your colleagues developed. Well, this world is just a thicker, more durable vapor.

But, remember, there’s an up-side too: If consciousness is real, it is never merely destroyed; it either changes frequency or returns to its own larger field.

When consciousness ceases being personal, it just is.

We may not be real, but it is real so, if we borrow its basis in order to become us, we are real too.

Whether the butterfly is the same creature-being as the caterpillar, or is sentient enough to have an opinion on the matter or to witness its own metamorphosis, let alone chart its continuity, is beside the point. In the grand scheme of things we know about as much regarding our own circumstance as the pupa. We feed where we are. The caterpillar-cum-butterfly too.

“Somehow ‘the caterpillar’ knows how to get to ‘the leaf.’ And then the caterpillar gets served by nature in that it begins to alter itself into a cocoon. And it is being gifted by the energy systems. It is being served as a caterpillar and then the service continues.”18 These are the words of a self-declared 250,000-soul multi-personhood represented by Blinded Eagle, a seventeenth-century Pequot Indian sage, hosted by Earthgirl Kimmie Ross as a composite entity calling itself Nommy:

Because we don’t say to the caterpillar, “Can you tell us how you make that happen?”

And the caterpillar would say, “I just do.”

“Well that’s not enough information for us. Why do you?”

“I just do. Man, that’s what caterpillars do.”

“But how do you know when to?”

“I just do. I don’t answer when.”

“Well, how do you know where?”

“I just do. I wouldn’t pick any old leaf. It’s got to be ‘the leaf,’ you know.”

“And why not just skip being a butterfly? Their life span is short.”

“Are you kidding? I am the common denominator to every butterfly. Without me, there can be no butterfly. And we need butterflies. It’s part of evolution. It’s my job, my calling.”19

Two hundred and fifty thousand voices speaking in unison can’t all be wrong. Emanation is hardly something to be dickered or fought off anyway. It is the hard-wiring behind every existence. When it changes, it takes you with it, so it’s you who change, though you may not even notice. You are certainly clueless against the rationale.

And then we interview the caterpillar when it has become the butterfly: “And how did you make wings out of a caterpillar body?”

“The air changed me. It knows what to do with me. And I know what to do with the air. It turns me into a butterfly.”

“How did you know when to break out? How did you know when the alarm went off—you are now a butterfly.”

“I just did.”

“Why are you a butterfly?”

“I just am.”

“Why not walk the ground and eat leaves like you did when you were a caterpillar?”

“I just don’t.”

“Well, how will you know where to go next?”

“Hey, I’m a butterfly and I go where I am attracted. And that plant over there is calling me so I need to go.”20

End of discussion—this is a discussion that always ends before it begins. Either this world is a station of mind, one of the many elaborate, sometimes terrible, sometimes ecstatic theaters in which essential beingness gets to play itself out along a skein of emanations and metamorphoses—or consciousness travels that same path without us though as us, serially, chrysalis after chrysalis, butterfly after butterfly.

Go with what is left. If nothing is left, go with it anyway.

It is all about view. Each view is “reality” because within its purview, everything is real, and nothing is annullable or revocable and … nothing else is real.

You believe a dream and whatever happens in it. More specifically you accept the “you” created by the dream, no matter how unlikely or absurd. Similarly the caterpillar accepts the butterfly created by its metamorphosis in a cocoon, and both of you accept the metempsychosis triggered by the death of your physical bodies—whatever “you” is generated next. There is not only no other place to go and nothing else to be; there is no beingness, existential reality, or trajectory at all. View is you; that is, a sequence of views, dreams, bardo states, etc., is the only thing that constructs and specifies individuality. You-ness is a transmigration that continues to individuate—otherwise the universe is vacant.

Probably something “hard” or at least substantial lies at the bottom of all vibrations, at the basis of all states of being. As they say, stay tuned.

During out-of-body fugues our natural frequency changes: people “see” their physical selves from afar as they become imbued temporarily with another view: their own charged metaphysical corporeality. In one such account:

My “being” felt as if it had a density to it, almost, but not a physical density—kind of like, I don’t know, waves or something, I guess … as if it were charged … as if it were sort of circular, with no rigid outlines to it. You could liken it to a cloud.… It almost seemed as if it were in its own encasement.…

[I]t had no physical characteristics, but I have to describe it with physical terms.21

No kidding! “In body” and “out of body” are not even complementary; they are far more devoted to each other than that. Plus our language is a purely body-based eschatology. All these discussions are just semantics, semantics, semantics.

How could consciousness be solely based in the brain if, during near-death experiences (NDEs), people report floating above their body and seeing the procedures of their own surgeries take place? Viewing surgery being conducted on their own anesthetized anatomy is just the beginning of the adventure. Many NDEers wander out into corridors and other hospital rooms and, after waking, report on patients lodged there. They read badges of doctors and nurses in hallways. In a few instances they even go up through the ceiling. One such surgical patient told the staff about a misplaced object on the hospital roof. It was later found precisely where he saw it. In another account a patient “left” the operating room, “went” to the lounge, and “read” the chart of surgeries scheduled for the day. Upon recovering consciousness he recited them flawlessly. How does that happen without eyes or a brain? What did he track the external world with? How did he see and cognize what he saw? His eyes and brains were on the operating table. “Who” or “what” went elsewhere and gathered news, with methodical conscientiousness as well?

Raymond Moody debriefs the generic Near-Death Experiencer:

A man is dying and, as he reaches the point of greatest physical distress, he hears himself pronounced dead by his doctor. He begins to hear an uncomfortable noise, a loud ringing or buzzing, and at the same time feels himself moving very rapidly through a long dark tunnel. After this, he suddenly finds himself outside of his own physical body, but still in the immediate physical environment, and he sees his own body from a distance, as though he is a spectator. He watches the resuscitation attempts from this unusual vantage point and is in a state of emotional upheaval.

After a while, he collects himself and becomes more accustomed to his odd condition. He notices that he still has a “body,” but one of a very different nature and with very different powers from the physical body he has left behind. Soon other things begin to happen. Others come to meet and to help him. He glimpses the spirits of relatives and friends who have already died, and a loving, warm spirit of a kind he has never encountered before—a being of light—appears before him. This being asks him a question, nonverbally, to make him evaluate his life and helps him along by showing him a panoramic, instantaneous playback of the major events of his life. At some point he finds himself approaching some sort of barrier or border, apparently representing the limit between earthly life and the new life. Yet, he finds that he must go back to earth, that the time for his death has not yet come. At this point he resists, for by now he is taken up with his experiences in the afterlife and does not want to return. He is overwhelmed by intense feelings of joy, love, and peace. Despite his attitude, though, he somehow reunites with his physical body and lives.22

This is what happened to Gilliland, give or take, in the soaker wave: instant NDE.

A bunkmate from Camp Chipinaw (Swan Lake, New York, 1958) friended me in 2011 on Facebook. I last saw him at age thirteen when we contended for the affections of the same girl (Joan Snyder—she chose him). After we reestablished dialogue as adults, he emailed me an account of his own “near death” a few years prior. Canonical in the Moody format, it serves as further indication of “free-range consciousness”: also one man’s intersection with “pain is merely view.” My friend is an entertainment lawyer—nothing else in his repertoire comes close to his NDE:

The events described in the following story actually happened. Whether or not they are “real,” however, depends upon you. They occurred on Sunday, October 29, 1995, in the Emergency Room of White Plains Hospital Center when, at about 5:15 PM, my heart stopped beating.

Earlier that day, while shopping with my family, I felt vaguely uncomfortable but didn’t think much of it or say anything. When we got home later in the afternoon I was short of breath and decided to lie down and rest. After a few minutes, however, I had a moment of insight, realized that I must be having a heart attack, and that I had to get to a hospital.

White Plains Hospital is seven minutes from my house. While my wife got the car, I called my next-door neighbor, our family doctor. He was already at work at the hospital, but his wife called to have him alert the Emergency Room. When I arrived at the ER, a triage team had already been assembled and was waiting for me and, as I walked with a nurse back to one of the treatment rooms, I felt embarrassed that I had made such a big deal about being sick and I joked with her about being there. As I got near the treatment area, I stopped walking, turned to say something to her, and collapsed.

Two nurses lifted me up onto a stretcher and began to set up an EKG and intravenous line. Suddenly, my heart began to fibrillate, beating at hundreds of times per minute. I saw the staff working on me and, as one of the nurses approached me with the defibrillation paddles, my last conscious memory was wondering whether it would hurt. At that moment I lost consciousness, and the heart monitor went flat. For five minutes.

After seven defibrillation shocks, TPA (tissue plasminogen activator) to dissolve the blockage in my arteries, the nurses’ refusal to give up, and the force of nature and God’s will, my heart was jolted back to life. After a week of stabilization in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit I was transferred to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital where I had open-heart coronary-artery bypass surgery to replace three of my arteries, all of which had been more or less 100% closed. Over the next six months, the pain of having my chest cut open and wired back together, the haze of anesthesia, and the lingering physical and psychological “pump depression” that results from time spent on a heart-lung machine eventually faded away.

But the reality of what almost happened never fades away: If my wife had waited for an ambulance or the police, if it had taken ten minutes longer to drive to the hospital, if my neighbor had not alerted the Emergency Room, if the ER crew had been overworked or understaffed that day, or if.…

When I saw the nurse turn toward me with the paddles, the people working around my stretcher were frantic and noisy. An instant later, as I lost consciousness, everything seemed to become calm and quiet, and the matter-of-fact thought materialized in my head that I was dying. ‘Oh, so this is what happens when you die,’ I thought. Suddenly, I became aware that I was no longer feeling any pain, that there was no sound at all, and it seemed as if I were looking down on my own body, from a place behind and slightly above the stretcher. I could see my cardiologist and my neighbor near the stretcher, and I could see two nurses next to me, one holding the paddles and the other pushing on my chest and telling me not to die.

Just as suddenly, this image receded quickly away, as if I were being drawn backwards through a tunnel, and then I was out of the darkness and enveloped by, and encased in, brilliant, white, penetrating light, floating above a dirt path twisting through a forest. My senses became super-saturated, overloaded, with trees of amazingly deep green and an intense brilliantly blue sky. I saw my wife and my children standing near the entrance to the path, unaware of my presence. As I passed by them, I felt sadness thinking that I would not see them grow up but I soon came to “feel” that I would somehow be aware of their progress through life.

I continued to float above this path until I was confronted by a vast and bottomless canyon, through which ran an unseen body of water. Seemingly stretching over this abyss was an ancient bridge of rough and weathered wood. The deep grain of the wood on the bridge made an uneven, unsteady surface. I later learned that all NDE survivors experience a barrier of some sort.

A thick and soupy mist rose up from the water, and it seemed as if, on the opposite side, a group of people stood waiting. I could only see them through that mist, which obscured the details of their features, but I “knew” that I could “see” one of my uncles, who had died twenty years earlier. It felt as if these people were expecting me, were waiting to welcome me. Then the entirety of my life was spread out before me in a panorama, and instantly I came to “feel” and understand both the wrongs that I had done to others and the pain I had caused them. That understanding seemed to be both my judgment and my redemption.

I took one tentative step out onto the bridge, and then a second, when … suddenly … a violent, all-encompassing fiery explosion of blinding, intense orange-white light seemed to surround me. I became part of it. It absorbed me, lifted me up, head over heels, backwards off the bridge … and I was conscious again, back “here,” lying on the stretcher in the Emergency Room. I could see the nurses and the doctors, hear the noise and feel the pain of my burnt chest. The “explosion” corresponded in real time, I would assume, to the seventh paddle shock, after which I was, once again, “alive.” My wife told me that when I awoke, my first words were: “Oh my God, all of the pain is on this side.” When the nurses looked to see which “side” of my body was in pain, I tried to explain that I wasn’t talking about one side of my body but, rather, this side of existence.23

Some would call this a very vivid dream or hallucination, but I call it “net reality.” Revelation and redemption are always part of it—thank goodness.

Spontaneous “out of body” experiences also sometimes follow car accidents:

People were walking up from all directions to get to the wreck. I could see them, and I was in the middle of a very narrow walkway. Anyway, as they came by they wouldn’t seem to notice me. They would just keep walking with their eyes straight ahead. As they came real close, I would try to turn around, to get out of their way, but they would just walk through me.24

Few NDE deponents are more convincing than Harvard Medical School neurosurgeon Eben Alexander. Brainwise he knows whereof he speaks. After contracting a rare form of meningitis, he fell into a deep coma—seven days of virtual brain death, not expected to survive. Instead he emerged intact and, within seven months, was functioning normally again. Here is his report of what happened during those seven days and how he views the aftermath:

I think that if you were trying to come up with an experimental model that would best approach human death, meningitis is perfect because what it does is it attacks the entire outer surface of the brain.… The bacteria had gotten rid of all the glucose and now the only thing left to consume were my brain cells, so my entire neo-cortex, that part of the brain that makes us human, was completely shut down.…

My first recollection from deep inside the coma was what I sometimes call the earthworm view of the world: everything was kind of murky, brown, red, dark. I literally remember roots over my head, and I seemed to be there for a very, very long time. I had no memory whatsoever of my life. I had no words. My language was gone. I certainly had no idea of anything going on around me in the ICU room. And then in the midst of that, there was a little melody that was spinning in front of me, and it just started spinning and expanded, and it ended up clearing away that ugly, foreboding, gross, muddy realm.

All of a sudden I was coming up into this beautiful meadow. I had no body awareness; I had no arms, legs, or anything, but I was aware I was a speck on a butterfly wing, an absolutely beautiful butterfly. And there were millions of other colorful butterflies looking and swirling all around us, all in this beautiful formation of flying. And then we left this universe and went out into what I now call a “core.” At first it seemed infinitely huge and dark, although I was there with that beautiful, warm awareness of the divine, which was clearly what we would call God. It was in this place outside the universe. Basically I recall the whole Multiverse being out in front of me. It was clear that love was a huge part of the constituents of that whole Multiverse.…

This was something that was very difficult for me to explain from a neuroscientific standpoint. The scientific side of me could not see how that could be, and yet it was a very, very powerful, very powerful memory. I came up with several models having to do with neurophysiology and neuroanatomy, and the problem is that none of those models sufficiently explain the very powerful memories that I brought back with me from this experience, and I ended up at a point where I do not believe that there is a good neurophysiologic explanation for what happened to me.25

In the same fashion that Dr. Alexander was once a human being and a neuroscientist, he was a speck on a butterfly wing, traveling through a magnificent realm—no difference in reality tone or proprioception. He saw another zone of the Multiverse in the same thorough, resonant way that he now sees the sky or the Harvard Commons, but there was no healthy neocortex on which to map it. He may yet have other transdimensional butterflies or hyperspatial meadowlarks or equally exotic creatures awaiting him in his future. We all may.

Dr. Alexander continued his speculations in a Facebook post on the wall of North Atlantic author Mark Ireland, who asked him to comment on a cranky materialist’s blast against New Age MD Deepak Chopra’s reification of consciousness:

No one on Earth has written the first sentence in the chapter explaining how physical matter (quarks, electrons, molecules, neurons, brains) gives rise to consciousness. I believe the simplest beginnings to such an explanation lie in the very distant future, at best, and that comprehending a full mechanism of consciousness is probably beyond human understanding (within the limits of a physicalist model, i.e., current “neuroscience”; clues to this conclusion are found in Gödel’s incompleteness theorems). The neuroscience of brain activity in “thinking, feeling, seeing” is still very important, but there are elements of the overall process that are forever beyond physical reality. The brain is like a TV set, serving as a transceiver, and consciousness is the program coming through on the set. Just as the program does not depend on the TV set (except locally, for this one TV), consciousness does not end when the brain ends.26

It is like where the ceiling meets the wall. Even if you don’t get what it is, you get that something is there and it is radiating meaning. Because it feels the way it should, it makes everything else feel the way it should. Well, that is the universe, and that is the life, and that is you.

Where am I right now and how did I get here? Such is your advancing cutting edge. It is also the wall.

Another range of testimony supporting “consciousness is not the brain” is composed of “pre-conception” visitations and communications between unborn babies and their parents. An eclectic pre- and peri-natal subfield (with its own journals and conferences) documents the “ways” in which fetuses demonstrate cognitive awareness before their brain has developed.27 This is not because the early primitive stages of the brain are more sophisticated than previously thought; that doesn’t match the indicia. These interactions occur before there is even the first cell-seed of a brain. What solely matches the evidence is the notion that individual spirit existence chooses a body. The baby brings its own prior “mind”; as with NDEs the brain isn’t involved at all: “The boundaries of memory transcend our brain. Human consciousness exists independently of a brain and nervous system, even before the tiny fetus forms.”28 This violates every physico-neurological model of reality and every astrophysical model of planetary evolution as well as the declared baseline interaction between matter and energy.

The unborn Soul in a sense negotiates its own birth and life situation with its prospective mother, father, or both. Souls intending to be born try to prepare their chosen parents for their conception. Pre-conception spirits are usually persuasive and make a strong appeal. Sometimes the parents aren’t ready, so it takes many such presentations. Eventually a conclusion is reached, and either the parents proceed with conception or the child remains unborn.

David Chamberlain recounted an instance in which two parents had agreed before marriage not to allow any conceptions to progress. Neither wanted children, plus the mother had had surgery that made pregnancy near impossible anyway. But the child-to-be began communicating with her mother, who was quite honest in telling her that she didn’t want to have a baby and probably wasn’t able. The child disputed the “not able” part and, by persisting, eventually convinced her to change her mind. Even so, the woman told her “daughter” that she would have to speak to her “father” about it. She didn’t inform her husband of any of these “conversations.”

The unborn girl then approached her father and was equally cogent. He came to his wife and started to tell her about this strange visitation, but she stopped him at once and described her own prior encounters with the same visitor. He was stunned. The verdict was clear: they made the required changes—psychological and medical. They let their daughter get born. Once incarnate she did not remember any of these communiqués.29 Why would she? She had been through a holographic tunnel and peeled out of it at a denser, more forgetful vibration.

In late May 2012 as I was finishing a draft of this book, prenatal researchers Neil and Elizabeth Carman offered me two more recent stories. One involved a woman who remembered being first conceived by her parents as a man. When “she” heard the vibration of their arguments about whether “she” should be circumcised or not, she decided to go back to the spirit realm, so she triggered a miscarriage. She then saw her herself disappearing in a mass down the shower drain. Later she was born as a girl. Her seed consciousness returned to the womb. In her “second” incarnation she retained the memory of her male incarnation (as well as a traumatic avoidance of drains).30

Another girl, the daughter of Chilean physicists, now forty-six years old, recalls replacing a soul in a severely damaged fetus at the time of birth and healing it in order to incarnate on the Earth at this time of planetary transition to be of service.31

So can an unconceived “baby” really talk out loud to its parents? Or are these just lucent fantasies?

Well, paraphysical communications are not usually tape-recordable and certainly not presentable as evidence at a trial (although some ghosts have transmitted into material particles or spoken on mechanical devices ranging from magnetic tape, radios, and televisions to personal computers). These dialogues otherwise function like external speech with another entity. To the people experiencing them, a visitor feels like outside “company,” that is, another independent consciousness or selfhood, not at all like a fantasy arising in their own imagination.

This is not even an obscure or rare modality like the transfer of memories from heart-transplant donors to recipients. Just ask around. Many parents will tell you that they heard from their unborn children and in quite explicit ways either before or right after conception. When you ask them how they know, they say they just know. When you ask them in what way they experienced their child, they stubbornly insist, “He [or she] was just there.” They get it somehow, like the “Indianapolis kid” (see p. 235) doing math.

Occult philosopher Emanuel Swedenborg characterized these interchanges in his description of another branch of xenolinguistics:

Whereas spirits converse with each other by a universal language…, every man, immediately after death, comes into this universal language … which is proper to his spirit. The speech of an angel or a spirit with man is heard as sonorously as the speech of a man with a man; yet it is not heard by others who stand near, but by himself alone; the reason is, because the speech of an angel or spirit flows first into the man’s thoughts.32

I find these reports simple in premise and happenstance in presentation as if they reflected ordinary, quite prosaic occasions; yet complex in premise because they require egoic configuration of consciousness before birth. Direct spirit communication is matter-of-fact only in cultures that take its ontology for granted and where its acceptance does not turn reality topsy-turvy.

There are more favorable venues for this sort of communication in tribes where human receptivity to transdimensional landscapes is trained unskeptically. In the indigenous Philippines, for instance, babe-spirits fly with the wild doves around mountains. In indigenous Cameroon, spirit babies swarm in dark caves while waiting to be born. In other regions unborn children’s “voices” transmit in thunder, in rivers, in the buzzing wings of insects; they “speak” mutely from the dying bodies of fish after they have been caught. Waiting souls wander as coyotes, wolves, and foxes, peering into teepees to select the right parents.33 These are not fantasies; they are telepathic visitations.

In some societies children make their first appearance as a totem animal. Family constellations and clan signatures scale deeply enough into the universe to encompass simultaneously ancestors who have died and souls who are presently unborn. Each totem-clan, as it were, maintains its own spirit-land where members congregate between lives as spirits at the lineage’s vibration.34 If you belong to the Parrot Clan or the Lion Clan, you receive your earthly instructions from actual parrots and lions, respectively. Here are a few additional examples of pre-conception reciprocity, the last from an Australian Aborigine:

• “A woman told me one night when she was asleep on her couch, she was awakened by a cool breeze and found herself face-to-face with a little boy. For some unknown reason, she said to him, ‘What are you doing up? Go back to bed!’ The giggling boy ran across the room and hid behind a chair. When she got up to look for him he was gone. That is, until she gave birth to him a year later.”35

• “A man reported that the spirit of his son-to-be appeared to him weekly. During one of those visits, the boy told his father to ‘go get pizza.’ He followed his son’s instructions, and on that very night, at the pizza parlor, he met the woman who later became his wife and the boy’s mother.”36

• “Nangor, a Bardi Aborigine, felt someone pulling on his belt from behind as he was walking home from the burial ceremonies of a tribal son. Nangor turned to see the spirit of the deceased.… That night, the boy’s spirit appeared in a dream, asking, ‘May I be born as your son?’ Of course, Nangor agreed.”37

Children occasionally give corresponding accounts after being born:

I travelled through space and time which literally looked like flashing stars. It is a very fluid motion of space and time, from death to life and life to death. Obviously I did not have eyes and ears. I had nothing physical to perceive with. However, my senses were in play and became one sense. All the senses became one, travelling through space and time, and coming into the womb.

I remember finding myself in the physiology of coming into my body in my mother’s womb for the first time. I knew I was going to be born, recalled former lives, and knew I was coming from an intermittent place between early lives.38

Near Birth mirrors Near Death, always.

Another mother told me that she went through her entire pregnancy expecting twins, but after only one child arrived, “Asha Wren kept asking after her missing playmate; she said things like ‘I’m angry with you, Mommy, because you left A.C. behind.’ She told me that she played with her at night when she was asleep. Then one day around age three she informed me that A.C. couldn’t play with her anymore because she had gone to live with another family.”39

Here it is and it can’t be helped: Individualities bubble down into worlds as effort-shapes, creating holographic replicas of microcosms. Reality envelops them like suction at the precise instant they are generating it. Whoosh, in they go! Fizzzz, out they come. And then it’s ‘How the bejeebers did I get here?’ From the outside it looks like a crack on the wall or a wind tunnel; from inside it feels like an amusement-park ride qua trigonometric projection, or Lemuel Gulliver spilling out of some bardo realm into Brobdingnag.

“View” is that explicit, that imponderable. Just ask a patient under surgery or Kafka’s insect “wandering” through hospital halls. No, consciousness is not the brain.

iv. Cosmic Eternity in Eternity

Humans in the early twenty-first century do not privilege entityhood beyond creature bodies (and single-inhabitant ones at that). Our taxonomy is limited to cell-based neurotransmitting networks—the sorts of things we presently are. Yet advanced clairvoyants reading the greater dossier report that most states of consciousness and modes of being do not constellate in private entities like us. Creatures with different sorts of landmarks come to awareness with multiple views and knowingnesses—they do not store their experiences in first-person, gigabyte pods. Instead they meld them in fields and through channels attuned to collective and transpersonal awareness (of which our computer networks are Etheric reflections). Each knows more than its own ego self and consciously so. Yet they remain distinct entities with complex individual personalities:

“[P]sychics identify angels [for instance] as a whole range of non–physical consciousness that travels in an entirely different chain of evolution. Angels evolve in their own sublime direction without need of developing the particular kind of self-reflective ego that humans choose.”40 Angelic relationship to compassion and pure love arises nonpersonally, as these creatures turn toward good as naturally as a plant turns to sunlight. Their expressions pour down upon worlds like invisible rain, which is the reason, to the degree that we perceive them at all, we call their vibrations “angels” (or in India, “devas”).

Angels are not better than humans; they just arise at a different vibration. In fact, to themselves they are “humans.”* Wim Wenders’s 1987 City of Angels is more than just a romantic fantasy in that regard.

We engage other modes of being and consciousness by interacting with their near-plane manifestations at refined ranges of our own attention. Even within the ordinary terrestrial operating span many people already experience faeries, yetis, plant totems, ETs, Elementals, and other transphysicals. As noted in Chapter Five, some of these probably fall into the psychoid spectrum, configured partly out of our own intelligence, as the way in which we perceive them resonates with our innate projections into wavelengths of rocks, rivers, forests, seas, sky, and general space.

According to John Friedlander, the “self,” private personhood, is merely a convention, a ritual maintained by Etheric filters on Earth (and, likely, other planets) to create focal points and views within All That Is. Finally “the self doesn’t come from anything; it comes from everything. Nothing, in fact, is an entity in and of itself.”41 So how did we get so swank and vainglorious in our biosphere? Well, the universe has stuff to teach and learn egoically.

Each personhood sends and receives other “source codes” too. Though we don’t hear or feel or see their realities, we experience them in profound ways, as they hold us in place. In that sense, our existence stands only in relationship, to everything else in the universe.

Yes, bizarre as it might seem, all beings are relative, even essential, to countless beings elsewhere, completing their meanings in Unity

 

*See “cosmic default,” p. 195.

 

 

 

 

Consciousness. We are supported by interdimensional and multidimensional consciousnesses operating in ways that are beyond our ambit, beings and modes of being inconceivable at our level. We are also supported by our own Soul and its pantheon of Group Souls; by the Earth, the Sun, the Milky Way, and the Supergalactic system; by our own other lifetimes and alternate frames of existence (such as any of them exist). As these brace and buoy us at every moment, we don’t grok them like last week’s staff meeting or a drive downtown; instead they are the background context that generates every foreground, any identity. So we are always aware of them, but only at the deepest level.

Sometimes in a moment of distraction or transition or during a hypnogogic state just before or after sleep, you experience an event in progress that is absolutely convincing but then evaporates and is not recallable. What seemed as real as life itself suddenly doesn’t exist and can’t be found because there is no context by which to locate it. It has phase-shifted into Alzheimer’s-like amnesia.

This could be a past or alternate life or another creature’s life happening somewhere else in the universe that, because of field resonance, a psychic surge, or a temporary hole in the system, momentarily bled through and vanished just as quickly and absolutely into the Etheric fog. Yet it remains in the aura, the unconscious karmic field that includes all information and identity relevant to one’s beingness.

Where are these esoteric frequencies of meta-consciousness embedded in every man and woman? I would guess—and it is only a guess—in the unused portions of our brain, our cellular nuclei and other subcellular organelles, our so-called junk DNA, our aura, and various plausible extrasensory plastids and telepathic eoplasts. One or more of these might channel multiple other realities and tiers of reality. But then so might our conscious mind in its way.

Five years ago if you asked me whether I channeled my writing, I would have said, “No,” and meant it unequivocally: “It all comes from internal ‘search’ and ‘organize’ functions of my aware thinking.” Now I am not so sure. Many passages seem already to be forming as I compose them. They have an intrinsic melody, beat, and content, and I can tell when I get off their track and then back on. I feel prompted and coached. In Dark Pool of Light, to an explicit degree that I experienced in no prior text, I woke up often in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning with a complete sentence in my mind like an adage from a fortune cookie—and I used every one of them.

Interdependence is the key to the Eternity System and also the way finally out of the box of tragic existence. If we have to make it in the universe as a single mosquito at a picnic, forget it, because the “God” running the Earth and stars is swatting mosquitos today. But if that mosquito shares consciousness with the beaver, the sun, all other mosquitos (alive, dead, and yet to be born), and the human swatting it, then there is no box to have to get out of.

In the Western theosophical tradition Unity Consciousness operates at the Monadic frequency, the sixth ascending tier in the Seven Planes of Consciousness (described briefly near the end of the last chapter and at length in Volume Two). Unity Consciousness is represented in Eastern traditions by the “pristine cognition of the Buddha level, which results in the coalescence of bliss and emptiness and awareness and emptiness … [insofar only as all] appearances … are infallibly interdependent.…”42 The way to get really happy at a stable wavelength is to shift into cosmic interdependence.

“Venture capital,” macho, “too cool for school,” jihadist, and other “cowboy” egohoods are surprisingly recent on Earth. At an earlier stage of our evolution, disembodied “voices” of avatars, spirit-guides, and intergalactic entities, as well as motley creatures en passant, conducted ordinary powwows, roll calls, and séances at our wavelength; they spoke openly to us. A mode of semi-nondual awareness prevailed throughout the Stone Ages and in Aboriginal Dreamtimes and lingered long enough to seed the perennial wisdom of mystics, some of whom continued to receive intermittent spirit communications as late as Osiran and Homeric times.

Across a period starting legendarily between 1000 to 400 BC, these chatty hyperspatial consciousnesses gradually withdrew in order to allow us to develop on our own or, more likely, we persuaded them to stop talking inside our consciousness so as to let us explore reality and personhood sans mirroring by an Oversoul. At least this is our legendary heritage, the psychic phase of a “forbidden archaeology,” the corporeal branch of which excavates gears, iron cubes, light bulbs, and crystal spheres beneath the planet’s oldest civilizations. Both are true; both are apocryphal. John Friedlander elucidates:

The nature of human consciousness is changing. Several thousand years ago the larger guides stepped back from humanity and ceased to be in really constant contact with humans who were conscious at that time frame. Prior to that time humans had much more flexible egos. They would know themselves as that particular person, but they’d also maybe become a stream and float down the stream to see what the conditions were twenty miles downstream, where there was game, what was the weather like, stuff like that. They didn’t have this hard-and-fast consciousness that located within the body. And as part of that, they would feel themselves part of all consciousness.

But humanity’s choice intentionally to develop a self-reflective ego hardened those boundaries. This process took thousands of years. Before it was complete, it would have been impossible to have this illusion that you’re not an energy being, that you’re a physical being, that your apparent sense of separation and isolation is the way things really are. You couldn’t have had that and also had these large beings talking to you. It would have been harder to really believe that you’re born, that you are your body, that you have your experience separate from everyone else and that you die. If exotic beings were popping in and out in various forms of bodies and stuff like that, that message wouldn’t have worked very well.

Correspondingly, though, that kind of withdrawal forced humanity to develop self-reliance.43

Extradimensional entities haven’t contacted us on a routine basis for at least three thousand years and, over that span, we have thoroughly and conclusively convinced ourselves that not only don’t they exist and never existed, but that we imagined them in the first place—or we concede ex post facto that they were delusionary artifacts of animistic phases of our own consciousness.

Now at the legendary dawning of Aquarius, our egos have begun to expand anew, and we are picking up hints of other channels without losing our objective containment or duality perspective (see “Seth” up ahead). We are passing into a new range—a portiere, according to clairvoyants monitoring the transition, previously unknown in the cosmos. This attunement is still in its infancy, so we barely know how to receive or specify it and mostly don’t hear it or hear only nebulous chatter or fading reverberations without a foreground. Ego privilege remains stubbornly closed to hyperspatial penetration, convinced of its singular primacy. It continues to presume in SETI fashion that its kind of mind is the sole manifestation of consciousness in the universe. Yet, ready or not.…

“[A]s humanity encounters consciousnesses that are far larger than us and consciousnesses that are organized radically differently from our own, we will develop capacities to collaborate and integrate with those other consciousnesses that are currently unimaginable.”44 Individual and group views will begin to fuse and overlap; we will transcend our first-person isolation as private selves and enter into co-experiencing with other “I’s,” native to this planet and quartered elsewhere. As these presences increasingly communicate through their and our transphysical “organs,” people “will know themselves just as much as the larger consciousness as they know themselves as the individual person. Neither will be more real than the other.”45 Co-reality will flicker to the edge of our subtle and mutual cognizance.

Someone else’s reality no less present and real to us than our own? Pretty far-out! I wonder how corporate culture, the family, the media, the Tea Party, the Islamic Brotherhood, and the world’s militaries and governments will relate to that one. It’s a bit more immediate a threat to them than the Internet, Twitter, and terrorists blowing up funeral processions or Tibetan monks setting themselves on fire, though these are rooted in interdependence too. Arthur Clarke’s Childhood’s End, Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, and Theodore Sturgeon’s More Than Human, popular mid-twentieth-century parables, are pale harbingers of how this transition might unfold.

There are many such gateways and lesions forming across this planet along the space-time continuum, and they are what the Aquarian awakening is about, not UFOs or direct lines to Alpha Centauri or Binah, not cattle mutilations and grumpy overwrought calling cards. Beings with three or more eyes are watching us. They are not exactly in our midst; they do not intend to set up shop on Main Street; instead, they are everywhere, which is the same, and ultimately (when we catch up to ourselves) better.

Alignment with the Sun rising through the gateway of the Heel Stone at the Galactic Center is what individuals across the Earth (and perhaps elsewhere in the Cosmos peering our way) will attempt at the Winter Solstice 2012. The Earth means something to the universe. We may not know or have only the faintest inkling or suspicion of what it is, but the universe knows or something knows.

Then there is the incarnational system itself. Transdimensional entities only superficially represent an extrinsic tour of creatures and domains in extraterrestrial or extradimensional settings—they are really an extension and expansion of identity itself.

The oldest living single macroorganism identified on Earth is a creosote bush in the Mojave Desert, its age estimated as 11,000 years. A bristlecone pine in the White Mountains of California clocks at approximately 4,700 years old. The oldest known animal is a quahog clam netted in 2007 off the coast of Iceland, four-hundred-year-plus growth rings on its shell and going strong until capture.

At the other end of the pendulum an aquatic mayfly may dart about for only thirty minutes—its entire expression of its own existence. Many plants go from seed to flower to seed in a year. Mice, bees, and brine shrimp don’t tarry that much longer.

The speed of time is the speed of individual perception or, more accurately, the rate of functional existence. You have to slow an ant down from a range of sixty-four frames a second to around eight to get it into a human meaning, for even without neurons it packs in a lot of experience into a short spell.

What is the Rosetta Stone, what zodiac correlates these lives, spans, and meanings, and rectifies them equitably with each other?

Each life uncurls from its own karmic seed, sprouting in multiple directions and dimensions. For humans on Earth it lasts, on the average, 20,000 to 30,000 days (the oldest of our species, according to The Guinness Book of World Records, died at around 44,700 days in 1997). However long or short, it is really only one day, a Great Day that rotates in place—for a quahog or mayfly too.

When the Sun sets on each Great Day, a singular biological life is obliterated and its basis assimilated into the cosmos (one way or the other). In the Cosmic Eternity System, its personality vacates this pervasive broadcast to find a new venue of experiences and to express itself through other selfhoods, either by direct reincarnation on Earth (or another planet) or in a different type of body or extrabodily wavelength.

The universe burns a lot of focus, a lot of sacred energy just to hold us in this anatomy and timeline, to tune us to their frequency and precipitate our energy fields and auras into bodies. Obviously that focus has a meaning and purpose too, but it doesn’t signify itself or clasp forever.

Upon the end of its conditional frequency, beingness is incorporated into other interdependently emerging beingnesses, comprising a “limitless universe from which all emanated, to which all returns.”*

As to how dissolution and reconfiguration in the Eternity System take place, my suspicion is that we flow supplely across boundaries, maybe with an extra bump or two in a hard death. The universe simply lets go of its focus and we return neutrally to what we were.

Animals sense the greater frolic; at even a hard death, they don’t resist, they keep dancing, and another form greets them. That is why most creatures crawl away, to conduct the yoga of dying and transmigration. Given all the animals on Earth, how many corpses do you actually see?

Humans can reincarnate as undines, sylphs, extraterrestrials, interdimensionals, angels, dogs, horseflies, birds, and so on—it is a matter of conducting a fresh emanation with a new Soul plan.

When an individuality chooses to reincarnate—to take one more dip into the system as ego consciousness—it must follow the vibration of its

 

*A Vedic mantra that I learned as we chanted it in virasana at the beginning of Patricia Fox’s yoga class in Bass Harbor, Maine: Om Shri Ananta Hari Narayana.

 

 

 

 

 

Soul at the pitch of the vibration of its Group Soul as well as the esoterically transmitted guidance of other consciousnesses, spirits, and higher beings. It also has the beacon of its own “individualized spark that it received from All That Is when it initially incarnated.”46

The frame is wide open. Even entities who “chose” an angelic or undine individuation at one stage of existence can subsequently opt for a hominid life, with this stipulation—human incarnation may be special and prized, but it is no picnic.

The Buddha spoke about the rarity and the precious nature of opportune birth amongst human beings. He used a simile to illustrate this point. Suppose the whole world were a vast ocean, and on the surface of this ocean there were a yoke floating about, blown about by the wind, and suppose at the bottom of the ocean there lived a blind tortoise which came to the surface of the ocean once every hundred years. Just as difficult as it would be for that tortoise to place its neck through the opening in that yoke floating about in the ocean, just so difficult is it to attain opportune birth as a human being. Elsewhere, it is said that just as if one were to throw a handful of dried peas against a stone wall, and just as if one of these peas were to stick in a crack in the wall, so to be born as a human being with the opportunity to practice the Dharma is similarly difficult.47

That was ancient India; today we might draw our similes from bosons and quarks.

In a purely mortal sense, all the lights go out and a brilliant flash, much brighter than the surface of the Sun, replaces them. All sounds fade into an unceasing, gathering thunder and clatter that overwhelms them. Smells and tastes dissipate until everything is smelled and tasted at the same time. Sensation coils inside-out. The familiar story and its characters disband, the gates of perception fly open, and consciousness roots where energy, desire, and the karmic seed next place it. There are many accounts of this transition, but for now I’ll choose the “frequency shift” of Andrew Davidson’s seven-hundred-year-old character Marianne Engel in The Gargoyle (by drowning in the icy Pegnitz River) because he provides such an elegant description of her reawakening. Yes, it is a fiction, but aren’t they all?

When I woke, it wasn’t really like waking, because I hadn’t been asleep. It was more that I’d been in a state without any consciousness, and now I was returned into awareness. But not awareness in the way that we perceive the world around us: it was something greater, something sidelessly wide and endlessly deep. I was still under the ice, still being swept by the Pegnitz, but at the same time I was not in the water of a specific river. I was in the water of the entire world, the entire universe, but I wasn’t even “in” the water so much as I was part of it. I was indistinguishable from the water itself; I had become fluid.

When people die and somehow come back, they always talk about a tunnel of light. This was not my experience. There was light but it was not a tunnel, it was all around me. Luminous air supported me, keeping me aloft even though there was no ground that I needed to be kept aloft from. It was in me and it was through me; I was the water and I was the light. I felt as though I were floating liquid radiance, a steady glow without warmth or cold.…

I became aware of presences. You couldn’t call them ghosts or spirits, because they possessed not even that much form. They existed only because I could sense them. But sense is again the wrong word, because how could I sense something with no substance? Like the light and the water, they were inside me. I felt them so completely that I knew that not only were they inside me, but they always had been. I had been ignoring them all my life, in a kind of self-defense.48

Like Swedenborg’s universal language, which arises telepathically, this is the way death encounters in the System work. What is there emerges from Eternal Objects lumbering in the background. Then Ground Luminosity speaks its own inimitable words: “My medium is my message.”

As each incarnating personality holds its discrete vibration in a growing energy field, entities without Etheric filters recognize themselves and one another, supraliminally or subliminally, a degree—a frequency or so—away from their own prior and subsequent incarnations and group consciousness. They form an inextricable network of co-personalities and phases of incarnation and intelligence, each related to the others on both conscious and unconscious levels, each with its own identity and free will, each part of the others’ realities, each “fully free to accept, in whole or in part, or to reject altogether the sensory, emotional, and intellectual responses of her [or his] co-personalities.”49 The Eternity System enfolds us all with love and interest because every molecule, every creature is indexed internally to every other and not only shares but savors its collective existence. We are part of a gigantic thistle-wave pulsating in multiple dimensions while exploring itself in all its vectors and mediums.

Remember: “You are eternal because and only because you aren’t real.”50

The ego to which you presently hold is specified only at one level, fictional at every other. That level has meaning, depth, and value, in fact to an extraordinary degree, but only (finally) in balance with everything else everywhere. That includes other forms and statuses of itself that change the central meaning of what “ego” is, as well as everything that it has been, is yet to be, or has potential to be. These can be felt, whether past, present, or future, as shifting textures and subwaves in the present-time flow of its aura.

Likewise, each instant that you experience in consciousness doesn’t just dissipate or vanish and lose definition as you move to the next; it has intrinsic and accruing integrity. As it evolves, it absorbs and radiates Etheric energies from each novel experience of yours throughout the entirety of your collective being, expanding multidirectionally, redefining what it is, what you are, and what everything around you is. Every moment that you are you, you are also, at other frequencies and levels of the same emanation, merging with different forms and phases of yourself and other related entities. You are growing, not dying. That exquisite moment, “the way you look tonight,* doesn’t just disappear or get extinguished and lost forever.

 

*Yes you’re lovely, with your smile so warm/And your cheeks so soft.…”

 

 

 

 

It expands into, as, and throughout the rest, enhancing and enhanced. We cannot be evicted or unfastened from this web.

Countless such hives populate the universe, interdependent yet egoic within Unity existence. Their beingnesses cluster and disperse, cluster and disperse, giant cnidarian swaths breathing in and out and traveling while undulating like cosmic jellyfish. “The massless I, dilating at dreamspeed, grows coextensive with more and more selves.”51

As each Soul melds into its Group Soul, each Group Soul is welcomed into the Milky Way Soul, and each Galactic Soul is embraced within the Universal Cosmic Soul: “Everything is spontaneously arising simultaneously out of All That Is, and yet is distinctly itself.”52

There might be a trillion trillion or more such lookouts making up the Diamond of Reality, each with its own perspective on creation—any one of them transient and “unreal” by itself but an essential facet of Unity Consciousness. Each vista is packed with information, experience, inquiries into beingness. The source of meaning is not here and not not here; it is everywhere. Mathematician-philosopher Alfred North Whitehead spoke in his own terminology of a similar concrescence:

In a certain sense, everything is everywhere at all times. For every location involves an aspect of itself in every other location. Thus every spatio-temporal standpoint mirrors the world.53

All philosophies back to Confucius and Plato in fact converge at the same inextricable Unity.

But it goes beyond even that: There is no time in the universe, so everything has already happened. But everything is yet to happen. Everything is past, but everything is sparkly as morning dew. “Prior” and “yet to be” are irrelevant qualifiers since “in a way hard to understand given our existence in linear time, the baby being [not only exists—remember—before its brain is formed but] through its own divine spark, gets to choose, in an important sense, the desires that gave it birth.”54 It literally reaches out and over each of its own lifetimes to its potentiating origin, entertains its own unformed form, and gives it a venue into which to blossom. All entities are thereby individually and collectively simultaneous and simultaneously emerging.

Before the Atman and Soul created you, you were already choosing them. That choice was literally who you are. And now that you are it, you are traveling in its latency. As a babe in a crib you felt both your separation and nonseparation from the Atman as well as the helicopter presence of the Soul.

Think of it as a bead vibrating on a string of many beads. This here is one track that we’re following, of all the tracks in the universe that we’re oscillating among. Somehow we’re here, not there, not elsewhere. But we are casting meaning into and receiving meaning back from all the other tracks. That’s my answer now to the questioner in Boulder:

“You are timeless and egoless at this very moment, so subtilize into your cosmic signal. Everything as it arises in consciousness is creating itself and expanding your frame of reference at every moment. All That Is, which is a single rainbow lotus-splash suspended in eternity, is inventing a different same Creation within creature consciousness moment to moment, over and over. Consider that!”

How could the universe’s profundity express itself and operate except inside such a structure? Anyone who says he gets it doesn’t get it. The more we know, the more mysterious it becomes and the larger the range of the unknowable. In the end you have only one choice: to let go of an egoic mindset and trust consciousness itself.

In such a system age doesn’t flow linearly from birth through childhood into youth, maturity, then senescence. Time radiates all ways, and everything that is occurring is recurring at another level and giving rise as well to alternate selves. Many interdependent worlds and realities are happening on our single Great Day, as we circle within a vector of consciousness around its manifold layerings.

Then as each life fuses with and infiltrates other lives at different ages, it continues to reincarnate and grow through its own successive, simultaneous personalities in interaction with its Soul, blending even as it splinters into each next. “Multidimensional time allows the personality’s experience to go in multiple directions at once, and to exist in many forms at once—one form integrated unrecognizably in the Soul, other forms as part of larger consciousnesses, and at least one recognizable as the personality as it knows itself.”55

If you weigh the situation carefully and interrogate your own emergent lotus of existence, it becomes clear how you are not even the same person from moment to moment (see pp. 245–248). What connects each version of yourself to its next version is not a fixed identity but something else, something composed partly of memory, partly of karma, partly of desire, partly of ego individuation, partly of social convention. But none of these is an absolute ipseity. Even a raccoon is not the same raccoon from each moment to the next, though he “thinks” he is or, more accurately, he doesn’t think he is not, which is not the same thing (either).

Life is something other than character singularity, though it represents itself to itself by its own illusory oneness.

I experience my own metamorphosis every time I rewrite this text. In each draft I read a thoughtstream that someone slightly different from me wrote, and I resonate with his text. That varying parallax impels me to edit and make changes. By the time you read Dark Pool of Light, it is the work of a composite being—the many “me”s who collaborated on it over two and a half years.

Now that I am done rewriting it, it will drift out of my particularity, as I morph away from it. Right now I know it intimately. Eventually I won’t even remember most of the words; I will no longer be a person who could have written it. As proposed in the footnote on p. 245, it will be the work of a different author; yet that author has a special connection to me.

Take it a step further, across the bardos between lifetimes, and you begin to understand that each of us wrote the plays of Shakespeare and the Egyptian Book of the Dead as well as stuff in languages not spoken on the Earth. Or if we didn’t, what we express, through cosmic interdependence, systemic telepathy, and Group Souls, is far closer to collaborative creation than distinctive author-ity. That’s why we serenade each other with symphonies and songs, read each other’s books, and go to each other’s plays. They are all collective, composite creations (see Multi-personhood, upcoming).

Terrence Malick concluded his movie Tree of Life similarly to how Stanley Kubrick ended 2001: A Space Odyssey—by breaking with the space-time continuum and letting every manifestation and state happen at once. Malick’s young man meets himself miscellaneous times as both a child and an old sage, as each of his stages diverge or travel together for a spell. Though they depend on one another for their existences, they mingle extrinsically and hold I-Thou discourses like separate personae. For that reason, whether a given vibration projects itself into a boundaryless desert, an icefield, or a room in a timeless Hotel California, one thing is  always certain: there is no desert or hotel.

Alejándro González Iñárritu opened and closed his film Biutiful in a snowy forest of bare trees. The main character Uxbal, played by Javier Bardem, is approached by a young man. When we see the scene for the first time, we do not know who these people are or what is transpiring between them. By the film’s end we understand that Uxbal has just died, and the youth who approaches him resembles a photograph of his dad whom he never met. Fleeing Franco’s Spain a generation earlier, Uxbal’s father left behind his wife and infant son and sailed to Mexico to start over, only to die there of pneumonia three weeks later at the age of twenty. His embalmed body, shipped back to Barcelona and buried, was exhumed for cremation as part of a cemetery relocation within the time-frame of the film. Uxbal gets to see him again as a mummy, a “man” far younger than himself.

The story considers the weight of a life in the context of the memory of the dead by the living—and how the dead recognize each other without their bodies.

Biutiful did not actually commence in a forest. That scene was preceded by a brief a flash-forward from just before Uxbal’s death when he gave his daughter, a girl of about ten, his mother’s ring. Then he pleaded with her to stare long and hard at his face and promise not to forget him. The request occurs inside the film’s narrative, not in its prologue, which shows only hands, father’s and daughter’s, and a ring changing fingers. Uxbal did not make a similar request of his son Matteo, a boy of about six at the time.

Instead, the terminally ill father visits Matteo, finds him sobbing on the bed and, though usually gruff, comforts the boy. Matteo has been punished, denied a long-awaited trip with his sister and mother (Uxbal’s estranged wife) to the snowy woods of the Pyrenees.

So the young man at the beginning of Biutiful is not—or not only—Uxbal’s father but his son Matteo, grown up. How would Uxbal recognize Matteo (he last saw him at six)? How does he know that the youth who so resembles his father is not his father?

Matteo’s unique and timeless signal is the forest and snow, a phantom reality made of symbols, proxies that Uxbal will forever identify with Matteo because they represent an absence that needs to be filled. A very beautiful brown-and-white owl is lying dead on the snow, its feathers rustling in the breeze. As Matteo approaches, he says the exact words he will say (or has already said) at six, “Do you know that when owls die they spit a hairball out of their beak?”

Uxbal completes the encrypted exchange by adding that the sound of the ocean scared him as a child because he was afraid of the things that live at its bottom.

It is not a real dead owl either.

Where do original primordial beings or individualities commence in order to journey through discrete personalities, mind-bodies, and reality dimensions?

I think that all Souls are old Souls or, more properly, have the same primeval origin and in a certain sense have existed forever. They come from outside space-time, coterminous with Creation but not all at the same level or in the same way.

Some entities collect (after or without planetary reincarnation) in Group Souls or multi-personhoods. Avatar spirits—Seth, Abraham, Michael, Aaron, Nommy, and the associates of the Brazilian psychic healer John of God (Dr. Oswaldo Cruz, Brother Sebastian, St. Francis Xavier, and King Solomon among them)—are all multi-personality complexes and group souls rather than individual deceased mortals, though they each “read” to channelers as if one personified voice. I will explore this riddle in my upcoming discussion of Seth.

Numerous people channel Michael, a purported collocation of a thousand and fifty souls or essences of which the last to complete its cycle of cellular existences on the Physical plane (fifteen hundred years ago) had the name Michael, hence the appellation. “Michael” channelers claim the capacity to measure, with “his” telepathic guidance, the number of grand cycles or great karmic lifetimes a given person has been through before this present incarnation:

Four is the average number of previous cycles for human beings in general, and the average for Americans is five and a half. These figures apply only to human beings.… [D]olphins and whales, earth’s other sentient species, have an average of about six and two-fifths previous cycles, making the average for both of the earth’s sentient species (humanity along with dolphins and whales) about four and three-fifths. The highest number for anyone on earth is nineteen. The man Jesus, for example, before the entrance of the infinite soul … not [Jesus as] an individual “fragment” of an unrecombined entity, as we all are [but as] a representative of a reunited cadre bringing the Tao to bear directly on the physical plane through one of the three high planes … had nineteen previous cycles; he was relatively very experienced at the planetary “game.” Buddha, on the other hand, had fourteen, and Krishna had thirteen.56

At that level who’s counting?

Forget having attitude about the drolly precise accuracy of these calculations. Focus instead on the principle itself: soul fragments, immortal bundles of consciousness walking in and out of bodies and frequencies, gaining experience, transiting unobstructed (except by karma) between planes; recombining and reuniting in new entities and cadres. This is better than death, guys.

Remember, the above numbers are not of lifetimes—these are full lifetime cycles, karmic completions, each of which could hold fifty, a hundred, or ten thousand lifetimes. When we view our personhood or multi–personhood between lives—an entire lifetime cycle if not multiple reincarnational cycles—the vista must be breathtaking. And this is what we are if death as obliteration is circumvented:

Also essences with a relatively high number of previous cycles more typically incarnate on more advanced planets where the average number of previous cycles is higher. Such planets are all over, but in general closer to the center of the universe than earth.… Their infant soul cycles produce societies that are more complex than an earth infant soul society … more advanced in their abilities to work together cohesively and even telepathically, like one large organism.

Individuality is not sacrificed; “it’s just a different game.”57

Old Souls have many life cycles on which to draw; Young Souls have fewer—since Soul Emanation they spent more of their time (or whatever the cosmic medium is) blissing out in stellar cores, drifting in solar breezes, or helping to create planetary masses. They tend to be more aggressive, heedless, and sure of their own authority because they have not been “around the block” enough times to get it, to “know” the consequences. They generate strife and wars into which everyone else gets dragged, effects of which others horrifically suffer, but their energy is in the system and must be served—it feeds the collective ongoing manifestation. In fact, that’s how Young Souls become Old Souls.

Old Souls can’t dissuade Young Souls. They don’t speak the same language or even live on the same planet.

Where did Young Souls with fewer cycles hang out before their initial incarnation or, from a different view, within the sourceless cycle, presuming that they too must have originated at the stir of Creation? Michael’s consensus response: “Other universal experiences include being a deva, being part of the consciousness of a star, or helping design new planets. There are countless other ‘jobs’ available.”58 Talk about a fully operating Employment Bureau!

The Eternity System of Life Cycles is the basis, the prior field, out of which individual creatures and personae form and from which they matriculate into dimensionalities and onto worlds. As the metaphysical flipside of Darwinian reductionism, “Life Cycling” proposes that individuations exist and have “always” existed in Creation, “always” in quotation marks because, again, time itself is an illusion. They create the sensation of passage and make space for personal evolution. Those other individuations were maybe not you or me as egoic personae—or that spider—but are at their karmic source and get pulled into this emanation at this wavelength through the collective force-fields of their proclivities and passions. Their innate tempers and valences were once pulled molten raw from the Great Forge and are evolving “now” through All That Is.

If the transfer of emanations is “real,” the flow among vortices is just as real, but the emanations themselves, the succession of worlds and body-minds, are only conditional. Consciousness is literally the link between what is real and what is conditional. The rest of existence, the rest of everything else, is unconscious and profound.

This stream of Life Cycles is the core operating Intelligence of the Universe. It is the motif drawn on by biological and instinctual intelligences of each accumulated genetic template in each organism on each planet—their Nature or Phylo-embryogenic Body. They “take” hold in a particular ego as agency, as acts, and as concepts, or for anything in Sam Hill to make any sense. Likewise the individual learning patterns of a lifetime—their Nurture or Ontogenetic Psyche—extract their template from the same semblance and residue. A carpenter cannot learn carpentry without prior construction or drafting experience in the Eternity System; a musician cannot play music or sing without having already played archetypal music or crooned divine songs among the Spheres. A child cannot master language, syntactic and neural logic strings notwithstanding, without having previously spoken Universal Language (the telepathic xenolinguistics native to faeries and angels)—and he or she needs those grids too.

In fact, you cannot educate a “tabula rasa”; you can only educate a spirit or soul that has already been “educated” in other configurations and venues. It may be “born” a “tabula rasa” in local terms but it is not a Blank Slate. It knows a lot of stuff, and that stuff shows up on time, say, when a duckling instantaneously and magically groks what it is and what behavior is expected of it and then as it takes each lesson or mimics every demeanor of its mother duck; a cub likewise a lioness or Mama bear; a hominid its pack leader or first-grade teacher—each as if it had been practicing beforehand for a long, long time.

The field of Life Cycles is our absolute background, an intrinsic fog that can never be penetrated discretely or cognitively in any one life but, in principle and by existential syllogism, can never be shed (because it is “is”), so is always there, supporting, informing, and guiding one’s temporal existences, whether one is a chipmunk or a shaman. “It” alone is “conscious.”

If you believe that the Universe is bigger than space-time and mortality and there is something other than birth, battle, and extinction, it is because you feel the System’s overarching gravity and electromagnetism (which are neither gravity nor electromagnetism in the material sense).

This cosmology also corresponds roughly to an alchemical tradition, beyond minerals and athanors, that specifies a macrocosm-to-microcosm seed within one’s own mineralized imprint:

The mystery of alchemy was the true identity of the Prima Materia, the first matter, the origin point of time itself. Within the lower torso of every human being there is a golden serpent of knowledge lying dormant. This causal body is created at the time of conception prior to the embryo becoming a mammal. To see your original face dissolve into nothingness is to recognize a golden Nāga as the divine holographic source of yourself and the universe. This Nāga is the origin of who you really are.59

Once you see your face, you become deathless, capable of transcending your present form and influencing your future trajectory through the Cosmos.

Who knows how far this dark pool of light goes in not only time and space but probability to the end of hyperspace, ricocheting and shattering like a mirror in its own reflection so that every energy is appeased or released and then brought into every other form of energy and expression until each is made whole. The torch carried into ancient caves reveals not only horses and bears painted by Cro-Magnons 35,000 years ago but the faint lineaments of All That Is.

v. Entering the Eternity System

Everything you are connects you to the universe and the Eternity System; in fact, you are the Eternity System individuating. Once inside the system, you are anchored to it by stuff that uniquely characterizes your existence; the System is what you adore and enjoy, what you shun and deplore, what is painful and impossible for you but keeps arising. You invest your own richness, subjectivity, sense of wonder, longing, capacity. They are your contribution to the universe’s experience of itself. Every tendril of your energy—ecstatic, tormented, or neutral—is necessary; it will have to be used in some identity or formation sooner or later—why not now?

You not only have to experience everything; you have to find its basis and dissolve your resistance to it inside yourself, as the force of your beingness emanates through your birth spark into myriad shapes and manifestations. In the timelessly unfolding surrender of the cosmos this process will go on long after “you” by name and lifetime exist, as it continues to steer you through All That Is.

While the person whom you are now did not exist ten thousand years ago and will not exist in ten thousand years, it paradoxically will; that is, something will still exist in a form recognizable to you as you, in continued relationship to yourself now as well as to every other mode of existence, state of being, and manifestation you have gone through or will go through. It will not know and remember itself in the way that you do now. It will be embraced by the Soul and the Atman but won’t get gobbled up by them or by any greater multi-personhood or dissipate like ashes in the Void. You will still be a Self even as a greater Self surrounds and embraces and knows you and lets you know It. Phase by phase you will pass into a deeper profundity and state of knowing (and being) such that all your lives and prior modes of being will appear to you differently from how they presented at the time, yet convincingly as you.

Imagine this incomprehensible network. Now claim your place in it. Exercise your spiritual birthright. Broadcast your Big Reality off-planet to other-dimensional beings (as well as to friends, relations, and assorted Earthfolk). Show them right now how you’re still growing and changing and cool. You are doing it anyway, unconsciously and telepathically, but do it deliberately with faith that the beings are there and attending to you through their and your auras. Note the difference between conscious communication and prior default dissemination. Feel your higher vortices opening (heart, throat, third eye, crown); find the exquisite rattle of their signaling. Attune to its sublimity and pitch.

Stay amused. This is far too real to get either serious or gaga about it. Self-importance and drama shut down chakras; they will have no truck with earthen ponderousness.

We are in a system—that is the key. Without the system, nothing holds any meaning ultimately and everything forfeits whatever contingent identity it has. The system, not our isolation, is our context. Everything we do is inside the system and connected to everything else: every act thus has cosmological implications. Nothing is irreconcilable, incurable, as long as true healing is going on at any point because every cure is expanding and eventually will wash over every defect and state of suffering.

No wonder psychic healers grok the karmic, transpersonal origin of a disease. They read its instantaneous tattoo, the motif in which timeless archetypal forms are passing through a particularized body-shape. Whether aware of it or not, the healer does an instantaneous character reading of the aura, balancing the healee with his or her own discombobulated energies. He has multiple pathways available to him, all of them overdetermined. All he has to do is stand in relationship.

I believe that the reason why so many college dropouts, damsels and dudes between careers, and non-fans of 9-to-5 day jobs practice Reiki for rent and food money—and are good enough at it to command clients—is that the energy is already there and, if they are mellowed out enough, balancing is free and intrinsic. All they have to do is bring focus, transparency, a few spiffy runes or roses, and persuade their client the deal is real, which is more or less covered by their own outsider status, projection of sincerity, house style, and yin pacing. The mere fact of being out of the rat race and having enough self-confidence to ask for cash for touchless massage handles about half; the rest is ritual, practice, and a dash at faith.

It isn’t that these folks are good (or not so good) at Reiki; it is that Reiki is good at them: they are open to the universe and cultivating nonresistance, so harmony flows into them through the session.

Similarly a palmist reads lines on a hand at the level at which they mirror another, esoteric hand. An invisible zodiac creases our appendages, as these paws synchronously extend from quadrupedal silence into stone tools and semiologies, and an ancient animal rises on its hinds to shape its emerging digits and pads into dowsing rods, wands … machines.

You don’t have to be aware of the system to be in the system; most creatures are just scampering, galloping, paddling along, or surfing thermals—that’s it. The Eternity System is too vast to fathom anyway, but the fact that there is a system is not. Every creature values and takes its identity from it. Every creature is what it is because of it and knows it—its body knows and sends back a blessing and gratitude at each feint.

Otherwise, humans exist on small islands surrounded by doubt, inexplicableness, and their own myopic meaning sets (or tenets of meaninglessness from which they engender meaning anyway in order to live day to day). There are many such islands and kinds of islands. Most enclaves are formed of multiple intersecting hoops: religious and cultural beliefs, straps of consensus reality, acts of self-pleasuring and material acquisition.

But the biggest reef of all is the loyalty to personal pain, the dread that one is isolated in his or her suffering. Getting off this atoll requires a direct swoop into the system, for only in the context of the interdependence of consciousness do suffering and persecution take on crispness as intelligible states.

I am not saying this is easy to do. It is probably the hardest thing in the incarnation system to get rolling long enough to push matter through the black hole of consciousness into a white hole of the same consciousness. But the fact that it isn’t easy is what makes it such a profound and powerful system-creator. Painful stuff is the missing context for everything else. It is what ties your very existence to the system. Not suffering per se—that is sterile and futile—but its transmogrification into other energies. I think it was Gurdjieff (or one of his disciples) who said that only conscious suffering amounted to more than a hill of beans.

Plains Indians about to be burned at the stake shout back imprecations, profanities, and recommendations of even worse tortures at their oppressors with apparent glee. Clearly they know something about the universe. Even before Euros showed up, Native American captives dared victorious warriors from other tribes to stab and mutilate them. A similar awareness is achieved by soldiers who, having lost arms and legs in battle, persist in making viable lives with their “new” prosthetic limbs or armless and legless bodies. Likewise victims of rape, abuse, polio, leprosy, and other traumas overcome their own damage and convert it into healing waves, for others as well as for themselves. This is how the system works and why tonglen is such a powerful creator. Virtually every wrongfully convicted inmate later freed by DNA evidence understands that, despite decades of unjust deprivation life in lockup, real freedom comes from forgiving and even redeeming the police, the prosecutors, the warden, the guards, not seeking reparation or revenge. It goes beyond good etiquette or graciousness, though it encompasses them—it is biological transmutation, then psychic transmission of the argentum.

You get it, don’t you, that none of these are educated stances? They arise from deep waves and tingles: junk in the trunk, irie, bare and straight up.

It is likewise not just some “laughing gas” mirage whereby those returning from near-death experiences report a universe radiating ecstasy, even offering rides on butterfly wings. Joy is “a perceptually supporting presence that percolates up through every atom and quark, through every psychic energy that composes your being.”60

Pain is not even pain at the level of cells and molecules; it is information flowing in a particular oscillation. Cells and neurons don’t have preferences; they only want stuff coursing through them: charge, connection, linkage. They crave sensation. They want to resonate. They want to “know.”

The body as a configuration of cells does not intrinsically resist any experience—good, bad, or indifferent; it holds no judgment. The judgment is a verdict by the personality, its driver in the brain, a homunculus that can be “disabled.” There are times when a body hurts, excruciatingly so, but its possessor doesn’t mind—a state that has been reported, for instance, by terminal-cancer patients on LSD.61 Every atom and quark in them is vibrating with rapture, solace, and cosmic company, even though they’re in immediate agonies of pain.

If you think about it, the most unwelcome feelings register for at least a nanosecond as pure sensation before they hit the plexus of ego. There the suffering catches and becomes real, though it doesn’t negate the elation of the cells.

The spiritual journey is not to free us from pain; it is to change the way in which we relate to pain.

On another level, you become what you are only by becoming what you are not. Initially this sounds unlikely, even irascible, but once you check its references it is ineluctable.

At a level of unity and profundity, the universe disburses perfect ballast. For each thing you become at each moment that you are becoming it, you are potentiating another thing which you not only become by not becoming it but by arriving at it later (even lifetimes later) as the only option for filling out your immanent wholeness. “Self” is spiral in expression. You always set “what you are not” in motion by “what you are.” It may be a long journey, but it has only one possible destination.

Ultimately you get to escape this particular incarnation system by becoming it.

This is how the world’s wars, catastrophes, and depravities are working toward redemption and sanity. This is how even evil is creating more consciousness, more sacredness: by spreading what it is not. This is the inevitable outcome of all consciousness expanding in all directions. It can’t help creating more sacredness than was there an instant before.

The Divine has a wide enough view to make sure that its plan gets done and that we don’t sell out to religious dogmas, New Age panaceas, or some fancy new technology first. So while this planet is clearly not the world that we want, it is exactly and only the world we should have, because it is how the world is becoming the world we want. It is how the utopia we think we should have is torquing itself into existence.

A way to get into the “system” (if not as a fully made Dzogchen practitioner) is through the low-budget exercises in Chapter Five. They are not the only way nor is the Cosmic Eternity System the only use of them. In fact they are intended mainly for the crises of everyday life, as well as for routine personal interactions and difficult conversations (which are part of the System too). However, they can be applied directly in the Eternity System, for they derive from its dispositions and draw on vibrations that only function and are real if we co-originate as a multiplicity of forms under a flexibility of view. The exercises then become vehicles for engaging the Eternity System. That is their inherent scope, specification, and cardinal payoff; it is also what makes them effective in social situations. If you put something in a rose, the rose demonstrates what it is.

Roses are as cosmic and atomistically high-tech as UFOs, but they can also be used in regular run-of-the-mill, low-tech situations to deter energy vampires, improve friendships, get a job, or cause rowdy teenagers in a movie theater to settle down. This commutation is easy to overlook.

When you enter the Eternity System in this way, the limitations imposed by embodiment, causality, cosmic vastness, the flow of time, Darwinian materialism, etc.—the whole kit & caboodle and diabolic cabal—instantaneously seems to vanish. Whether they actually vanish, melt away, is moot because everything in mortality is either in a condition of root uncertainty or eternally pending. Yet a sense of arriving outside of prison is effortless; it confers an easy capacity to expand, to heal (oneself and others), to know (implicitly), to travel by intention rather than road rules, to actually be. Even though it is functionally ephemeral, what makes it real (or meaningful) is that it doesn’t feel like anything at all, or anything special; it feels like this, with the construct of personality removed—you slide naturally into spaciousness, timelessness, and full access. It is de rigueur and automatic and, most important (and telling), kicks you right back into the body at the same moment that it is welcoming you with open arms. Then it holds you, against your intention and will, a gentle waterboarding under gravity, inside the terror of infinite spaces and mortal time, inside the density and delight of this particular vibration—as it tells you (though not of course in words) why you have to be here now, why you want to be here, why you chose to be here, and how this is the only place you could be: the most poignant and prescient situation in which to awaken to yourself and to everything else. At the same time, it is pulling you into itself, embracing you, whispering sweet nothings (or everythings), while granting you permission to rescue every exile or orphan and inviting you to fulfill its absolute occasion.

Human beings are asked to orbit twin antithetical suns simultaneously, so they are always in a state of superposition and existential doubt: in darkness and luminosity, in limitless ecstatic potential and bottomless grief, in ruthless brutality and consummate compassion. Tapout forever denied: the rattle of the woodpecker, the autumn breeze, the night heavens, the lunar lantern are as incontrovertible as the bite of hunger, awe, and loss. Yet the System is just as incontrovertible.

In the Cosmic Eternity System every rose, every placeholder or transistor, opens a new mode of being in the universe while converting the present moment. That is how everyday life turns into cosmic life and ordinary desires become psychically as large as stars and galaxies. That is why magician Aleister Crowley made the outrageous comment—outrageous, that is, in an astrophysical context—that “every man and every woman is a star.”62

Yet in another sense we do generate stellar fields (lives) as we generate rolpas, roses, and other thoughtforms. We determine the condition and manner of the gravitational field of our birth by remitting energy through something like fourteenth or fifteenth chakras into the cosmic whirlpool and letting it shape itself embryonically. Our body-seed blastula is the original tulpa. At the moment of incarnation our intention matches a genetic constellation as it embeds us in it. Then we re-breathe that form every day.

Well, we use the same hyperspatial “technology” when we create roses for personal transformation.

From a simple practical standpoint, the more you repeat psychic exercises, even for trivial goals, and let them reinvent and change themselves, the deeper you get into the Eternity System and, more important, into your own relationship to it and, in fact, to anything—that is, to anything else, other than island “you.”

The opposing agenda (or realmspace) is to keep in one form, one status, one egoic selfhood, fully defended, rigidly managed, and narcissistically served. The “reality” bosses of modernity do not want to let the mediaeval jinnis, augurers, and devas back in. As you know, they serve transnational corporations and their local governances; they want to keep them chugging along, running the Show. They want to control the System and milk it dry, from their seeming position of privileged isolation on Island Pain.

In this regard what we believe makes a huge, huge difference. It may be just words, but, remember, words are seeds, seeds are thoughtforms, and thoughtforms are realities.

Philosophically there are two choices these days: the Eternity System or fashionable nihilism. The gap between them is gargantuan, but at the start it is mere sound-blocks, alphabet soup, phonemic mantras. You can believe in “you only go around once, so you better grab for all the gusto you can get,” or you can believe in the dance of nonegoic, nonergodic consciousness fields. Whichever alphabet you plant, that determines the seedling that will grow and become your existence—it is the range that your identity will have.

If you believe in the primacy of the Eternity System, you can still believe in the laws of thermodynamics and evolution (why not?), but it doesn’t work the other way around.

The narrator of Andrew Davidson’s The Gargoyle is a disfigured burn victim from a drug-induced, one-car crash: a plummet down a ravine after being chased by cosmic-bleed-through dwarves with arrows. Before the accident he was a pornographic producer and actor, a cynical seducer of women, a confirmed nihilist—a dude who believed in nothing and wanted to believe in nothing. Now that his beauty is ruined and his penis has been burned off he intends to kill himself as soon as the doctors release him from the hospital.

He is led through the Eternity System by the woman he loves, a seeming schizophrenic patient who has found him by sneaking out of her sector into the burn ward, concluding a seven-hundred-year-long search. What she is telling him he knows can’t really be true; the places she is showing him can’t possibly exist—there is a fallback position for every one of them; after all, she is a schizophrenic. Though he doesn’t believe any of it, Marianne is a woman of unshakable faith and he is tied to her story by the deep feeling he has for her as well as his dependence on her largesse. At an ego level, though, he remains a nihilist; skepticism is in his blood. He says: “I know you believe that story is true. But it’s not.”

Then “You can’t believe that.”

Then “Marianne, there was no—”

Then “I could not persuade her that this medieval child had never existed.”

Finally, not wanting to rebuff her cruelly but not wanting “her to think that I was endorsing her story,” he challenges her central premise with “I don’t believe this [ever happened].”

I wondered how the novelist would have her respond to his ultimate, damning smashdown and denial. Then I laughed out loud because she gave the universe’s response to the human race for what it is presently hurling its way: “You’re a wonderful liar.”63

We all are. It’s the one hope we still have.

vi. Cosmic Eternity in Temporality

Consciousness isn’t going away. The sheer size, scope, and depth of the System tell us that. We die, our durations here stunningly brief (especially given all we have to do). But we are consciousness, and consciousness is an indelible, expanding form. Its agenda is not its agenda, but boy does it have an agenda, so don’t feel cheated or forlorn. Its intuited epiphany is its actual epiphany. (This is one of those epigrams I was given in my sleep.)

Creation is a texture and richness beyond anything else ever tried by All That Is. We are meant to be in a state of dualism, bafflement, and confusion.

Gulls over the harbor call out in shrieks of absolute meaning, ‘Here I am. Here I am.’ The vision is brilliantly, horrifically real. ‘We know! We know!’

Yet they can’t “know.” They, like us, can only experience: ‘We are! We are!’ Nothing beyond their existence as flying, famished scavengers can be  explained or filled.

“One sticks a finger into the sand to see what country one is in,” declared Søren Kierkegaard. “I stick my finger into existence and feel nothing. How came I here? Why was I not consulted?”64

“It is ultimately incomprehensible,” John Friedlander avers, “as long as we’re in a body. Everything is always and already, and yet it’s new and different every moment, even though there’s no such thing as a moment.…”65

“What is the purpose of this life?” the Dalai Lama wondered during a 2009 talk in Hamburg, Germany. After a moment’s consideration he up-tempoed the reckoning with a hearty laugh, “The purpose of this life is existence.”66

?

Stand again in the flux of sensation and contemplate its spaciousness and pang of exigency. Let it come alive in its fragile elusive immensity.

Feel the flow of light and sound over your body; these have weight too. They can be softened and transmuted. Go toward where you are quietest.

Our profundity and the night sky’s implied profundity stand in perfect, eternal balance, each mirroring and intimating the other. In Van Gogh’s painting of “Starry Night,” mind and matter are each other’s whirlpools.

Unity Consciousness stares at our existence, stares through our existence at the night sky and feels something truly profound, which is itself gazing back.

We Might Be Giants!

Now imagine removing the threat of mortality from the equation and ask yourself, what am I experiencing? Try it when you’re feeling particularly miserable, desperate, lonely, hopeless about your prospects and the universe, or abandoned—when life seems horrific and cruel, not worth living. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it dramatically expands your range of consideration. Suddenly, for an instant, you are not just in the Eternity System, you are creating it. Now try it when you are happy here and don’t ever want to die.

Let Creation radiate everywhere, thrum its psalm in every cell of you, if possible every electron.

You are no longer on the clock because there is no clock. You don’t have to play out your hand rapidly and greedily; you have oodles of time in which to explore every nuance and deepen.

Whatever “this” is, it can only increase its frame of reference—so you are in it for the long haul, and what you are thinking and feeling at this very moment, even as it dissipates and fades, is in it for the long haul too. Instead of running for cover, imagine becoming as large as it is. Right now. “Subjective, expansive joy is eternal.”67

When I came to this same breakwater in Volume Two, I wrote: “It doesn’t matter how much or how little you are getting because the smallest patch of something this big is a game-changer. It changes your placement on the river of life and death, and it changes what you have to do and the amount of time you have left in which to do it. Suddenly there is no hurry at all—you are off the clock, you are not limited by this lifetime, it will all happen as it should. Enjoy the watermelon.”

There is no alternate outcome to the present crisis. We are gladiators in the exact amphitheater of our own apostasy; we are asked, each one of us, to earn the Purple Heart by becoming who we are, to redeem the faith of those throughout the galaxies cheering for us to awaken and recognize our divinity. We hold their possibility too in our single throw of the dice. I invite Ellias Lonsdale to interrupt here because he has a big, big message:

Earth has become the new hot spot in evolution. It’s all here now. The whole Eternity System is flocking to our planet because it senses something uncanny about to happen—human spirit, having embedded itself into the densest period of all, is about to light up the galaxy with the force of its awakening.…

Existence is throwing you a great dare to show up as you really are, which is something you don’t know yet—any of us—and something you will only find when you stay with that edge, and hone it, and come to it all over again each living moment, and share from there, and mean it.68

Radiating from a point of private, isolated identity in a solitary body-field on a single Goldilocks bead orbiting among mostly molten and frozen strings of worlds in the mysterious outer Milky Way, in a tridimensional space-time continuum filled with such Milky Ways, we have hidden ourselves from the Multiverse in precisely the way that we have hidden from our true selves. We can’t make the jump even though it is right there and even though we keep making it and then looking up to see if we succeeded.

For me, this third volume is a forum to address the real danger we are in: the precariousness of the current universe and every outcome in it. I, like you, stand at the precipice of my own mortality and the loss of everyone I know and love. I tell you, this “freak show” and stirred-up metadrama of mind, matter, nature, and embodied existence is not inherently reassuring—but again that can’t be the whole story. If it is, then we have to change it. But first we have to recognize it: recognize that it is happening, recognize that we care, care deeply and unremittingly and irreconcilably and, because we care, we can’t defect or hide.

Consciousness seems like a real thing, in a sense that nothing else is real, a real thing that absolutely has to be here, and had to be here from the beginning and is not going away. The certainty with which I exist, to myself and to anyone else, is the bottom-most current of All That Is.

Only if the universe is random and its molecules are random does it have nothing to say. Only if the source of the universe is random, if it arises without context, are its molecules random and do its entities have no meaning or purpose. And that’s a big algorithm to float in the middle of nowhere and no-when.

I am trying to make a Multiverse big enough to die into—safe enough, friendly enough, and wise enough too.

vii. Multi-Personhood in Eternity

Speaking through a twentieth-century American woman, initially by way of a Ouija board, the spirit Seth adopts the voice of a man: “Forget the cringing selves that you sometimes are and remember, instead, the magic essence of your own being that sings even now through your fingertips. This is the reality which you are seeking. Experience it fully. Do you need an old dead thing like me to tell you what life is? I should be ashamed.”69

An old dead thing indeed! He is neither “dead” nor a “thing.” Those fingertips are actually cells and electrons, masses at rest consisting only of the surplus generated by their spin and acceleration.

Seth’s teachings contain the sort of stuff that has been around the Earth for a while, but that doesn’t make it either passé or New Age blarney. Guess what, it is still the same universe that it was ten thousand or five hundred thousand years ago, at least of our mode of time.

Why would a dead avatar bother to transmit perennial wisdom here against recent custom and orate at such length through a homemaker in rural New York? Who was “he”? Was he once of us? And what does his visit (and omen) portend?

I think you know the answer by now. Seth heralds the turning point of the Earth at the onset of a fundamental shift of its frequency within the Eternity System, so his “voice” is an augury of spirits and interdimensional guides from before 1000 BC getting back in touch with us, a xenolinguistic stalking horse at a startling new frequency of permission—so spontaneous, straightforward, and modest that it was hard to grasp at the time as what it actually was: “ETs Land on the White House Lawn”! Our species had a Close Encounter with a more palpable presence than anything that might or might not have crash-landed at Roswell, but it was almost entirely missed.

“Seth,” the persona attached to this event, is an affable, unthreatening cosmic uncle who looks and talks like us though he is anything but. If we were really to see him, we would be as abashed as Moses had he looked directly into the face of Yahweh instead of a mere burning bush.

We are meant to receive this line of information under protection; otherwise its amplitude would freak us out.

According to John Friedlander, Seth was a multi-simultaneous, multidirectional beam of a higher-dimensional energy-gestalt put together as a personality by Jane Roberts and her husband Rob while she was in an extrasensory state. The multi-personality was meticulously and vibrantly enough conceived and fully enough realized that, when broadcast beyond the Ouija board, it took on semblance as not only an independent life form but an avatar of the highest order.

And the chap was singing like a bluebird. The enormous body of work that Jane dispensed via Seth may grow over the next thousand years like the works of Plato and Aristotle into a fundamental document for humankind, becoming more and more salient as we understand just how seminal it was. Or its essence may trickle into our world through nether channels.

To contact the “living” here cogently, to join your voice harmoniously to other voices like the individual components of Seth—even to know how to become a self-sentient chorus—takes a highly refined intelligence and earned wisdom. It also takes a rotor of beingness anchored beyond the fast-moving stream of appearances; literally a holdfast in the deep cosmos, privy as well to a clear channel. No Earthian who dies routinely does it, at least not in his or her own name. Consider the meaning and consequence of that for a moment, how much sheer experience, witnessing, and dead reckoning are involved—how many lucid bardo metamorphoses—and then backdrop it against your own precious life in the currents of space-time. One day you are going to have to shift position, sender and receiver both.

“Seth” is concurrently at least three things: (one) a reincarnate entity returning from an advanced state of evolution to provide details of his former lives in order to educate us about the nature of the universe and our place in it; (two) an emanation of a very high consciousness, independent of incarnations, e.g., beyond the human incarnational system, with an insider’s view of Cosmic Eternity; and (three) a “made-up” phenomenon drawn from undesignated, multidimensional energies directed toward us. John adds: “‘Made-up’ doesn’t mean unreal because Seth was as real as any of us.… There are other places in the books where Seth says, ‘I was part of a group that put your Earth together.’”70 That’s beyond fictional or nonfictional.

When Seth speaks offhandedly of his own many incarnations as different individuals on Earth and other planets, including the last as an oregano–smoking sea captain, this almost certainly means something less cozy than a linear progression of lives and roles. And, even then, it’s not really who “Seth” is but how he is presenting himself and using his channels’ capacities to articulate the inscrutable gestalt of his being. Who he is is the energy and shape of his care and desire to communicate to us, period. It’s also a character and storyline that fit into what Jane and Rob were capable of channeling. Seth knew himself as all his different selves and many others simultaneously. John concludes, “Seth was all those things and mind-bogglingly more. And so are you right now!”71

Me too!? That’s a shocker, but it’s what it means to be in the Eternity System—however you began, however it began. Seth validates not just his own multi-personhood but each of ours.

Furthermore (four), there is a reason that Jane Roberts (and not someone else playing with Ouija boards on Earth at that time) contacted and channeled Seth (and not some other entity or multi-personhood floating around the universe with a message for humanity): “In a meaningful way, Seth was an incarnation of Jane herself. At the same time, when Jane gets into her future she will be herself and she’ll be her own Seth and not just the Seth that talks to us.”72

That’s how anisotropic the whole affair is.

How do you know yourself? On one level you experience the activated storyline that you tell yourself. On another you experience that it is only a “story” and, at that, only one of many overlapping fictions. You may tell yourself a single story or you may tell yourself a number of competing stories but, either way, the deeper you go, the more stories and storylines you will excavate, making any one life-view or narration a transient rendition. This is true for everyone, even the most ego-proud hardhat.

Multi-personhood explains why pinning down and then trying to confirm particular past lives is futile. So much about our schizzy, threatened state of being is resolved by the notion that any one person can be multiple—even a part of different multi-personhoods at separate cosmological levels. Likewise, many individualities can incarnate together in a single body. A widow never truly leaves her husband, a widower his wife, even if they remarry: all partners simply continue to expand independently and polyamorously through a larger communal network.

Your aura will not disclose to you in a format that you can understand in your present state the myriad Souls or Group Souls around which you have coalesced and to which you have access at one level or another or, for that matter, how many other Souls and Group Souls constellate your personality or vibrate with your identity outside the space-time continuum and in alternate universes—or anything about them except who you are now.

At the same time, every epitome of yourself, even the present narrow one, is a legitimate personhood, and every experience of you by anyone else or anything else is just as valid too. Who you are to your house-cat or to the crow staring down at you from a street light is as real as who you are to your mother or spouse—maybe not as significant but as real. All of them are “real” because none of them is really real. They combine in a composite reality that none of them individually achieve. In the Buddhist sense they share interdependent origination.

You yourself could not exist without an interdependent origination that includes the Earth and the Sun to the degree that each of them also have incarnate spirit intelligence and participate integrally in your beingness. When the Sun dispatches a storm of charged particles into the Earth, that robust flare, though more powerful than a hurricane or meltdown at Chernobyl, seems to have little or no effect on our body-minds (at worst, it disrupts electrical grids and communications systems). But in the deepest recesses of our aura where we share personhood with the Sun it is literally a breath of pure meaning from Sol through our fourth, fifth, and sixth chakras into our head and heart, as well as a shift of internal selfhood and consciousness of the most radical and terrific order that will take decades to assimilate and manifest.

The shift begins at contact: I am writing this passage (March 8, 2012) inside such a flare.

Perhaps along with Seth and his associates you also helped create the Earth. Well, even so, that’s just another layer of your being, inaccessible to you now. Maybe it will seep into the way you come to know yourself as you achieve broader Buddhic, Atmic, or Monadic awareness and evolve through your multi-personhood. Maybe and maybe not.

Yet over the long haul you will molt into no less an intentional multi-personhood than Seth or the New Mexico phenom Drunvalo Melchizedek. In 1941 Melchizedek was born Bernard Perona but after studying at the Alpha and Omega Order of Melchizedek in Vancouver, Canada, he renamed his human pod, proclaiming that he was a walk-in who had traveled here from the other side of the universe, a complex spiral journey that took him millions of years. Upon arriving “he” received permission from “Bernard” to cohabit his body but, in another sense, “Bernard” simply awoke to the fact that Drunvalo had always been sharing his incarnation and selfhood.

I remember first hearing about this affair from rebirther Bob Frissell in 1992. I asked him, tongue in cheek, if Drunvalo was going to stay around here. Bob answered (tongue also in cheek), “He spent a long time getting here, so he is in no hurry to go.”

Well, same for us.

At the time, I thought of the trope as Mr. Melchizedek’s private shtick, either an authentic personal revelation or a stroke of spiritual theater from a shameless hustler. I practiced some of Drunvalo’s Flower of Life techniques with Bob back then—which involved breathing your own spacecraft (merkabah) out of and around your aura in order to switch dimensional frequency, leave the Earth, and travel through Astral and higher realms. I didn’t get beyond light-headedness, but I did begin to understand that the former Mr. Perona was not being grandiose or self-aggrandizing. Like Seth he meant: we are all walk-ins and avatars, not only here but elsewhere, and many times over. That is why we can breathe merkabahs and escape both our own mortality and the planet’s coming extinction events.

The message is: the body is the greatest and finest and sleekest UFO of all, with the broadest intergalactic, interdimensional range. What we have to do is first turn it into an ascension body and then proceed in it upward through the planes. The aerospace industry is certainly not going to do it for us. Astronauts may “leave” the planet, but they cannot get out of their Earth vibration; they cannot even travel very far in that vibration (for instance, to other planets or galaxies) without first changing its frequency, something not yet in the NASA handbook.

The key is locked away in our DNA and the seals built into our Etheric bodies. Yet they are there not to bind us forever in Luciferian fashion; they are there for us to break them in another way when we are ready—only when we are ready, which is the other way. It won’t happen unless we arrive at it by ourselves, give ourselves permission inside ourselves where the code-shaft is hidden.

Multi-personhood was Seth’s most fundamental and intoxicating message to Earth, likely from his transmission of himself through the Eternity System as he presented his beingness to Jane Roberts and Rob Butts. His account was his way of modeling multi-incarnation potential; its medium was his message: ‘You along with everyone else on the Earth are moving from Piscean individuality into Aquarian group consciousness.’

Despite this hullabaloo I still can’t begin to answer the question that opened Volume One—“What the fuck is this?”—nor can John Friedlander, but he really got his post-Sethian swerve going during some late 2011 and early 2012 seminars:

There are no objective essences, but your subjectivity exists in a “fuzzy logic” sort of way too—in the same way that words have a meaning even though you can only define their meaning by other words. There is no completely objective way to define a word because it’s interdependent with all other words that you say, and the words that you don’t say. The mystical analysis is that there is no objective self and therefore you can’t rely on that self. Well, that’s true … because each subjectivity is expanding in all directions and because every part of the universe is expanding in all directions, in at least one of those directions it retains its subjective existence in an eternal growth. Every subjectivity does.

That is why our existence is “unreal” but meaningful.

When you start to follow that, then your personality is eternal, and every personality, even someone atrocious, eventually attains nondual awareness, enriched by its humanity, in duality. If someone’s really evil, it might take them twenty million years and another planet, but since every personality, every subjectivity grows in all directions, no subjectivity is ever lost.

In this way Seth has turned impermanence on its head. Impermanence is what generates growth in all directions. In generating growth in all directions, subjectivity is always changing, but it’s eternal because it’s always growing.…

A cat’s subjectivity is never lost even though it dies and merges into the deva that does its group consciousness, but that subjectivity is much more playfully engaged, and it’s not that big a deal. For humans, whose subjectivity is more important to them, it is a big deal, but it serves more functions too. If you track it in one direction, that subjectivity is obliterated, but if you track it in every direction, it’s eternal, always growing, and ever more sublime.73

The agenda is not the agenda we thought was at stake, so it will always get done despite our mortality. This is why the intuited epiphany is the actual epiphany. This is why Seth promised that we would get a fair shake. A few months later John brought this theme to crescendo:

It is exactly true that you have no objective essence, no objective separateness—no objective existence as an essence because you arrived interdependently and impermanently. So even your soul is not a separate thing or even the Atman is not a separate thing but is all of those things arising interdependently and impermanently. Impermanence subverts your objective existence, but it supports your eternal subjectivity. So the gestalt that you think of as “you” will eternally expand in all directions.

The fuzziness at the concept of a personal gestalt is that I can have collective existence even though some components of my gestalt are the Earth, the moon, my cat, and my wife, and you folks, and past lives and future lives, and my Soul, and the Monad. I would have no existence as John without all those things and yet there’s a fuzzy line around John.…74

As for Seth, we still await him, though in the world of literature he has come and gone, said his last goodbye, and wished us well: “Travel in peace and joy and safety, in your bodies and out.”75

Always the love, the cheerfulness, the foretokening.

viii. Cosmic Eternity Checklist and Review

Here are five takeaways from this chapter (and book). They are by no means the only takeaways, but they are ones that might get lost or be missed in the overall splay:

1. You are emanating right now, originating from somewhere. Find that place and separate it in your mind from the daily, convenient self you serve, protect, and try to keep safe.

What does the “origination self” want and think and know and feel? What do “you,” by comparison, want and think and know? Why is there a difference between you and your origination self? How do you locate that difference? Is locating it the same as beginning to know why it exists?

Even if the “originating self” seems to be arising everywhere, try to particularize its source; find it at a single point or give its emanation a stable vortex. Identify the necessity driving it (and I do mean “driving”). Why are you emanating from at least two places (ego and ground luminosity) simultaneously? How does this duality serve the universe?

I invented this exercise during a very bumpy flight over the ocean from Mau’i to Oakland on February 15, 2012. I am the kind of passenger who can’t forget for a moment that I am in a cushioned metal-alloy capsule, a fabricated room packed with fossil fuel propelling itself through the sky 38,000 feet above the ground. Optimistic statistics regarding previous such flights don’t guarantee arrival; likewise the comment of an off-duty pilot to me before take-off that day: “Only potholes in the air.” The plane still had to hold its integrity and complete the journey with Newton’s laws operating at every instant, among them shear force, system turbulence and nonequilibrium, the progressive weakening of all cohesiveness (metal fatigue, for instance, under saltwater corrosion and gravity), and the probability equations governing systemic mutations, strange attractors of chaos, and the quantum states of the pilot and his mental stability.76

As we vibrated and rose and fell, I was desperately uncomfortable and wanted to get “outside the box,” to find some activity as profound and foundational as my claustrophobic situation.

At the root of my breath I found a gateway into the Eternity System, so I stuck my mind to it and invented a meditation to keep expanding the sensation while bringing my identification back to my originating self.

Under my symptomatic restlessness and distraction I had to keep re-finding the spot. It was a subtle but continuously arising view that, whatever happened on this plane, my fate lay with my point of origination regardless.

Gradually the perils to the Hawaiian Airlines jet (seemingly being ignored by the passengers around me) became a secondary subset of the true jeopardy of being in a body. That would remain after I got off the flight. I would be in just as much real danger.

We are always subject to getting sucked or blasted or crushed or rotted out of ego life, many of the ways just as horrific as the consequences of hitting a crisis sealed in a can going through the stratosphere at five hundred miles per hour—a plane crash is nothing special. An asteroid or nuclear bomb would do as much or far more damage, while ripping you from your present mind-body and tossing you into the void casually and harshly. Carcinomas and scleroses are more drawn-out and torturous.

The Dalai Lama once remarked that, despite his advanced Buddhist training, on transoceanic flights he would sometimes look down at the water and imagine his body being torn apart and eaten by sharks. I take him to mean not so much that a catastrophic mechanical failure would entail unwelcome worldly suffering for him but, worse, it would impede spiritual transmigration in a particularly unpleasant and disorienting way.

The turbulence was a wake-up call, and it conferred a priceless prajñā, a deeper comprehension of my situation along with a purifying wisdom. It also gave me a shot into a core exercise needed for living—and far too often neglected because the next crisis isn’t yet at hand. In that sense it was an acceleration, by grace and my willingness to drop instantly on red alert into my spot. It wasn’t Dzogchen, for I am nowhere near that perfection of practice, but it was a fleeting “Dzogchen-like” view.

Just keep breathing and returning to the origination self. Identify with the boundless luminosity of the self rather than the crimped field of the ego. When you fall into the origination self, you experience how vast, comforting, and embracing it is, your actual vortex in the universe is, of everything, of every frayed, frantic, and futile energy. Try it this instant. Where and how are you forming?

You need an origination point for yourself and this mirage because eventually everything will be put on the line of what you actually are. There will be nothing other than originating energy to go toward and adhere to. The cabin doors will have closed for good.

2. The System exists to test heart/courage at every level, to make us big-hearted, courageous beings in the most plenary and comprehensive sense.

It can’t be done any other way. There are no shortcuts or bypasses. The goal is not only to explore the emerging depth of an unknown, multi-tiered, meta-dimensional universe—not only to transmit our own exquisite and obscure meanings, desires, and sensations into the Akashic records and heart of the Cosmos itself and to its expanding Unity Soul—it is to make All That Is what it is.

Desire (remember) is not what we want or think we want. Desire is the aggregate of all the information the cosmos is packing into us from all the different aspects and dimensions of ourselves while trying to express and explain and manifest and entice into experience as many dimensions of Creation as it can—at our birth and throughout our span. Even though desires mostly present themselves to us as ordinary, their origin is beyond anything we can track. They only feel like run-of-the-mill personal predilections in order to propose a private universe that dares to expand transpersonally—to get our narcissized attention.

You fulfill your desires and become happy not by going at them as absolute priorities and unquestioned goals and then logging your “scores” one by one on your tablet. You fulfill your desires by not focusing or obsessing on them, while running energy through your aura and remaining open to life as it is. You cannot bend the universe to your wishes; instead you expand into their multidimensional source and actuality. You hit the cosmic “meaning” barrier at full speed like a Cossack warrior melding with his favorite horse across the steppes. It doesn’t matter if you are headed toward love or battle or just riding. Desire is not only how you identify yourself but how you know the kind of universe that self is in.

3. Inside bodies, expansion and contraction are inevitable, the systole-diastole of the creationary wave. We expand into big-hearted curiosity, generosity, catharsis, and gumption; then we contract into despairing greedy guardedness, compelled by old superstitions, unconscious curse-patterns, and sissy hexes.

This is more or less what I experienced as a child (alternations of terror and euphoria) because children are in the Eternity System too, even though their families act as if they are exempt.

Eventually our expansions will increase, as our contractions get briefer. At least, that is what we hope for.

4. Time is a cone into which we are forcibly yet receptively injected. Temporality changes everything else to become this. Its vortex generates incalculable degrees of variety, which get resolved only in timelessness—which is where we are not.

Time is the arena for working out a timeless drama (a grail quest and ceremony) at the precise and shifting apex of the cone itself.

5. The universe is fair in the sense that it will give you all the time you need in order to get it right—meaning whatever it takes in terms of births, deaths, shapes, energy fields, and situations to open your heart and spirit and meet Creation where it is, which is where you are too. Everything else (along the way) is neither fair nor unfair.

Another person—a parent, guru, teacher, lover, buddy—can only open the door. That door takes on many shapes and multiple appearances. Whatever—it is you who finally have to walk through it. It is you who have to summon the courage, wisdom, wonder, and discipline that walking through entails.

All these takeaways were scrawled in my notebook during the flight from Kahului to Oakland.

Six months later, while kayaking in Long Pond in Southwest Harbor, Maine, I stopped in the lake’s center, a basin of energy gouged out by a glacier and over a hundred feet deep. I set my paddle down and closed my eyes. I imagined that the lake was the universe. Then the lake became the universe—the night sky, the Galaxy—and its trickle of water was a celestial sound. In truth, the lake is the universe, and the gulls I heard crying out are galactic citizens.

ix. Cosmic Eternity on Earth

Most religions and religious orders tell you that in order to get into the Eternity System, you have to make a big-time switch from the attitudes and habits of everyday life (the mundane and profane) to sustained sacred attention or mystical awareness. Until you do that or start the ball rolling in that direction, you are squandering a fortunate birth. Usually this switch involves a lifestyle change, a personal sacrifice and/or sustained devotion or participation in a devotional mode.

It is not that the world’s religions don’t recognize the sacredness of ordinary life. They do indeed, and emphasize, each in their way, that there is no schism at all between its sacred and profane vibrations—creation itself is sacred. Yet, at the same time, they work to construct temples, churches, kivas, mosques, monasteries, and other sequestered holy zones. Collectively they have spent thousands of years developing ceremonies, methods, and meditations for getting out of the muck into the sacred vibe and its Divine mystery. It’s all good.

What’s intrinsic in aggregate spirituality as well as the universe as a meta-system is this: You have to do any and all of the above, acknowledge the dharma as dharma, not fritter away the special hours of your life on trivial acts and superficial diversions or titillations. You have to actively deepen your connection to the Divine and then keep your attention at that depth. You have to literally recognize and accept too that every moment spent not doing a spiritual practice is also sacred, and not just sacred but sacred in the peculiar, idiosyncratic way in which it is unfolding. You have to allow and warrant this not just in the sense of knowing it intellectively but knowing it and tying it to your practice and spiritual allegiance by a continually renewed pledge. The System is about salvaging and elucidating truancy, transgression, lounging with tacos and margaritas, and plain old laziness and hedonism, and making them sacred too—because that’s the only way to fine-tune the sanctified vibrations as well.

There are two breakpoints (breaking points) in this book. One is institutional neuroscience’s and physics’ attempt to shoehorn phenomenal consciousness into the universe by way of those oft-mentioned trillionfold quantum switches and synapses. The other is institutional Buddhism’s escorting of daily trance consciousness out of favor by tuning our attention to the self-originating luminosity. Both are admirable; each is brilliant in its way; each offers a theory of truth. But neither quite values temporal existence as a legitimate cosmic power-broker. Neither accepts that ordinary, mulligan consciousness has to exist for anything to exist (or that “we” have to exist mundanely for stuff to arise elsewhere).

Matter is not only random molecular activity refined through membranes and neural networks—it is enunciating something. It is far too delicate, specific, heartrending, and discrete not to be enunciating something.

Of course these are drastic oversimplifications of science and Buddhism, but they are the backwash across which my proposition rides.

There is oft-mentioned operational difference too between most Buddhist systems and most theosophical ones: whether to empty self-arising thoughtforms to achieve a state of simple joy (Buddhism) or to fill them with the baseline bliss vibration (theosophy). Of course (again), both traditions empty and fill thoughtforms with bliss, so the distinction settles at a finer level: whether you consider the ground luminosity of the universe to be full or empty. But, since it is always both, it becomes a question how you choose to match your true nature to a chord oscillating between emptiness and joy.

Everything we do here is incredible, and everything we do here is ordinary, and that is incredible. When we greet each other on the trail, in plazas and hallways, within grand vistas and on the battlefields of the world, recognizing that we share a condition, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in strife, that in itself as well as what follows during each encounter is incredible too but, in being ordinary at the same time, gives rise to what it creates, gesture by gesture, as it pulls itself and us simultaneously out of the background of a universe that must once have been unconscious to all this because there was no place else to hide it. There is no place to put it now either, and that is why our lives are ordinary and extraordinary both.

You have to honor the Earth and incarnation that you are: the sensory and cognitive terms of your body-mind, your personality, your ethnic constellation, your historical time on a planet, and the down-time tastes and habits that you are cultivating under those regimes. What you are under present density is even more crucial than what you might be if enlightened. Furthermore, bringing those potential ranges into each other’s frequency—rather than trying to supplant common existence with transcendence—seems to be what the universe is not only telling us but installing in us through our bodies and nervous systems, telling us and creatures like us elsewhere.

John Friedlander hits this subtext running in terms of the gap between Eastern systems promoting nondual awareness (the preemptively sacred) and Western systems advocating active participation in duality (the irreconcilably profane). From his standpoint, there is no intrinsic problem with either approach (and, as noted, they each have as big a hand in the other’s pie). There is a problem only with the intention to make a particular view of the universe the sole path to true self-realization (see Volume Two, Chapter Eight, for an extended discussion of this topic).

When one declares a privileged Divine path, one depreciates its “anti-path,” hence unintentionally empowering it with a shadow consciousness that continuously flips or blights the mission. For John the alternate mode to nondual awareness (or sustained enlightenment) is a psychically expanding, multi-personhood universe.

Seth explained as best as he could jimmy into his breeze why we are where we are, in an unevolved, unenlightened muddle, and why that’s also the ideal place from which to get into the Eternity System because it’s the “local” that the Eternity System is projecting into our moment of egoic being. John summarized these matters in an email to a Buddhist critic of his own writings in which he emphasized the distinction between a Buddhic or Atmic level of kensho and a more mundane Astral level, from the standpoint that the Astral level is equally dharmic, equally cosmic and sacred, and also inescapable:

Seth recognizes impermanence and interdependent origination while inverting the implication of these spiritual insights, valuing each person’s life in duality in his/her own terms, for his/her own purposes. Duality and conceptual thought, rather than mere delusion or even, according to Ken Wilber, a dualistic hell, are investigations on the part of nondual aspects of ourselves that cannot learn what they need without our dual experience.… Those who are engaged in non-conceptual thought no longer have emotions that vibrate in the Astral plane. This Astral vibration is central to the projects of our souls and the Earth, and to our own multi-personhood. Thus the person who is consciously, that is, neurologically, aware of his/her nondual nature no longer fills the human spiritual ecological niche of connecting our souls and Mother Earth. While they don’t fill that niche, they can, of course, be a huge blessing to all humans; though I think their day is passing. The coming group consciousness will only be possible for our waking selves when humanity has fully developed its capacity to generate dualistic stories with relatively little resistance. Being enlightened implies nothing about one’s emotional maturity.…

In our tradition, only emotions that vibrate in the Astral plane are emotions.… When Ken Wilber says he experiences emotions, only more joyously and more vividly, I can see that he has his individual response to bodily experience, and that his response is more pleasant and joyous than Astral emotions. Still, those non-Astral responses are not what we call emotions and don’t satisfy the vital purposes of Astral, conceptual emotions to one’s multi-personhood. This is controversial, but those “non-emotion” emotions leave saints like Muktananda susceptible to Astral energies that get pushed, for a while, entirely out of the aura. At best those lost emotions remain unaddressed throughout their entire life. In Muktananda’s case they led to criminal misconduct, though my guides have him, from certain important perspectives, as the most enlightened person of his era. It was the sheer magnitude of his enlightenment that brought those Astral emotions back into his space. When they returned, he didn’t have the experience or neurological organization to deal with their conceptual nature.77

That is to say, everything is in play, and there is no reliable Lonely Planet Guide or favorite lost sutra for salvation. Even as some practices are consummating in sublime forms, others are tumbling back through the Shadow into unenlightened transgressions, even when enacted by enlightened beings. It’s not an easy universe to solve and not an easy body to live in. Old-fashioned ethics and morality are often the only red lights that say “Stop! Do Not Go Here!” when every other indication says: “I’ve got it made, so why not?”

But even that misstep doesn’t make your routine activities any less sacred, though it does put you on a slow track, perhaps even a very slow track. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter because every train is headed to the station.

On the other hand, without a continuity of immaculate attention you will dawdle almost forever in getting to a sacred recognition or sustained joy awareness.

This is a subtle distinction: practice but don’t overpractice; try to make every act a practice.

It is human nature to judge and compare oneself to others. People get downright harsh on their own behaviors when they start fucking up, telling themselves (one way or another) that they are just plain losers. What you mainly don’t want to do, I believe, is beat yourself up about not practicing or not practicing well, and then cheapen or downgrade the intervening moments and experiences, which may be most of your life. You want to do both—the sacred and the profane—at the same time and at their own proper frequencies. Hone your psychospiritual skills and also permit everything not under their auspices or in their range to be just as good or even better (spiritually) in the sense that they have their own divine identity and caliber of the real.

The point, the mission is not to stop doing dumb stuff or even stop critiquing it but to comprehend what it actually is and the huge and radical spiritual potential it has.

Just to exist is the whole game. To exist inside the system. Once you arise in the System, nothing can get you out and nothing doesn’t have a meaning, a meaning that reflects and reverberates throughout the cosmos. Find it and dub it into autopilot. It won’t always work and it mostly won’t work, but when it does, it will penetrate and enhance everything else, even what is long past, duly evaluated, and sealed away.

It isn’t abstract joy or peak experience or incipient satori that you have to cultivate here in order to resonate with the Eternity System. It is the joy you know and have felt thousands of times: in waves of passion or love, in canyons and waterfalls, in wild things, in cheering your team to victory, in the birth of a child, in a blue and gold day (beautiful planet by the way, this here Earth).

It is childhood with its toys and games. It is the gratification of a sharp business deal, a scientific breakthrough, forgiveness and redemption, an act of purification. It is quiet recognition of another; it is sharing Creation with an animal. It is jumping in a lake on a sweltering day, it is a fire in winter. It is”Never, ever change./Keep that breathless charm.”

It is glamour, a great meal, a wrapped gift. It is grief and despair with their nuances and bite. It is longing, losing, and finding, and (of course)just being at all.

x. Cosmic Eternity as Cobras and Cobwebs

If you’re wondering what I’m really saying, it’s time to put Dark Pool of Light in a rose and blow it up again.

I don’t have a theory or model for the universe. There couldn’t be a theory and model for the kind of thing I am trying to say. We just exist, whatever else comes down the pike, and that’s enough to establish surrogate meaning. Whether I believe a word of my diatribes or can frame them into a “Ken Wilber”-like integral model of the universe and reality—stop right there—I can’t.

What are you knowing and feeling this very moment? Take some time not only to explore and interrogate it; be receptive to the quality and tone of its actual presence. Be aware that there has to be something in you—whatever “you” are—that tunes and shapes your reality into recognition, as well as something else that is rolling, wave after wave, onto your shore.

At the heart of that manifestation is a realm that is unique to you but that you and I share or we wouldn’t be meeting here. I have no interest in declaring what it is, which would be pretending to declare what it is anyway; I am interested only in cultivating its subtle qualities, in making it more subtle and wondrous to you and me both, and to itself and thereby pitching in to move the stone—the stone that blocks our way but the stone that simply is and can’t be moved.

I once asked meta-astronomer cum cosmic clown Richard Hoagland if he really believed any of his stuff about a Face on Mars or the remains of cities and ancient battles there. He replied with a smile, a smile that could have gone either way, “Every other Tuesday and Thursday.”

This book is “every other Tuesday and Thursday.” Any model of the Cosmic System is a story or a fantasy, but we are not a fantasy, as our existence manumits energies and frames of which we have only raw intimation. We are multidimensional beings on a vibrational continuum of which we are able to measure less than one percent—less than one percent of an actual universe we live in. Re-enter Lonsdale:

“Whoever you are, wherever you’ve gotten to, something is being asked of you now that you haven’t gotten to. Do not fall for the error of thinking you’ve done this. You haven’t.…”78

No, we haven’t.

Notice how wind, mist, lightning, thunder, and rain combine to create a storm with its changes of phenomenology. The process is pure local physics, a sequence of molecular and electromagnetic field effects, but it is also a portent of something else, something happening for the first time in the universe, something almost real.

As evaporation turns ground water into clouds and a cool, breezy dousing of the land, the rubric is alchemy. It originates at the core of another system that is invisible to us and will always be invisible in the ways we are looking.

When scientists try to anchor their own unified field theory in the Big Bang and conceive of this entire universe as created in the middle of nowhere out of, essentially, nothing, or go on a snark hunt among atoms and then subatomic particles and gamma rays for the baseline of matter, in the search itself they are falling short of the real complexity of the system or an explanation for this astounding manifestation. They are limiting themselves to a cognitive resolution of an intellectual problem.

I want to emphasize how important it is to experience the world and this life as fresh rather than some semantic proposition or scientifico–religious narrative posited as definitive. As physics determines the ultimate fate of particles, the universe itself, unfolding out of mystery into mystery, determines the ultimate fate of consciousness and of personal identity. Its reign is absolute because there is nothing to challenge it. In fact there is nothing else, period: it is beyond ideology and, so far as we know, can do anything.

Then anything it does means what it is. The universe, under showtime conditions, is only what it is, profoundly so. It overthrows every heresy and apostasy, anti-scientific as well as scientific, because everything is a heresy or apostasy. It will not be denied, even in its own name.

Evolutionary biologists pronounce that creatures are drawn to the allure of sexual partners and orgasm because mutations synthesized that effect for obvious reasons and were installed in genomes by the increased number of offspring bearing that mutation in each subsequent generation. Neuroscientists don’t challenge that prognosis but identify it in terms of precise Darwinian pleasure-inducers in the brain. Freudian theoreticians don’t challenge it either but give independent weight to a neurally represented libidinal flow that streams across the famed matter-mind barrier while turning its molecules into consciousness’s forms and meanings.

Renegade Freudian disciple Wilhelm Reich takes the epitome further by flipping its terms around to propound that the pure creationary energy of nature, orgone, bears the absolute meaning contained in the act of biological copulation: a preexisting cosmic precept tapped subsequently by biological systems for interpolation into procreational reward cycles. A primary archetype or eternal form rather than a cynically self-organizing system is why sex feels the way it does.

I think that these are all correct—on this matter as well as similar etiologies, both scientific and psychological, regarding the origin and destiny of consciousness in its manifold forms, for instance, sociobiological explanations of self-sacrifice as based in genes maximizing the number of their alleles shared within future generations. But each paradigm only follows the universe for a short pace, and then reality bends away into other paradoxes of its sheer depth and the destiny inside its latency, for “being” itself.

I am talking about a failure of teleological imagination. All we have are cover stories for our unknown past or future. Rosy or bleak is irrelevant, scientific or New Age; none of the stories cuts at the actual depth of the universe.

The “Akash” isn’t Newtonian, Darwinian, Heisenbergian, Buddhist, theosophical, hermetic, Pentecostal. It is everything and much more; it is a multi-perspectival, holospheric Borgesian library within a Kabbalistic library within “The Matrix.” It is William Burroughs trying to shoot the head off a cobra with an Uzi in order to propel himself into the Etheric and make an escape route out of this dimension. It is Philip K. Dick receiving the grail from a hidden brotherhood of armed knights and descrying the victory of Christ as Lord of the Cosmos over Astral (planetary) determinism and the causal, unthinking mechanism of Fate as “a living creature of cosmic size, wisdom scope, and power infiltrating the natural (i.e., deterministic) order of nature.”79 It is Chris Rock saying that the only other black guys in his neighborhood are superstars like Denzel Washington, Mary J. Blige, and Jay-Z, but his next-door neighbor is a dentist: “And he isn’t like the greatest dentist in history either … a black dentist in my neighborhood would have to invent teeth.”80 It is the Maori Ngakau Toa theater company performing a pre-Cook haka while enacting Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida in London in their native language.

It is academics at a scientific conference on the nature of consciousness, it is stoners at a rave, it is indigenous Peruvians in an ayahuasca ceremony, it is Australian Aborigines doing the Emu Ceremony circa 200 BCE. It is the Dogon dancing the Dama. They are all in the system, so they define not only reality (“it is what it is”) but teleology. It is the collective hum of Antarctic penguins matching the frequency of an anti-war rally in New York as well as every other mantra, chant, ditty, Om, ska, jazz, and pop lullaby arising from the planet—now, then, or to be—passively and collectively in the blue-green aura and psychic shock wave that Earth is dispatching into the cosmos.

Any way you look at it, the consciousness gestalt is expanding, and this insane reality we imbibe as early twenty-first-century ghosts on Earth is already developing holes, switchbacks, and unauthorized corridors as a deeper reality is penetrating it at every level, getting into its daily life and political and economic tumult as well as our dreams. As novelty penetrates what is already here, it changes it fundamentally, but (again) only into what it actually is.

I invite John Friedlander to take a spell at the podium again and put his signature on an old piece of jazz. C’mon Jack, lay your rack:

The idea is to attend to whatever’s up, whenever it is, with an openness to the experience. You can play with time. The principal advantage you get out of that is that it helps you actually respond to the deeper meaningfulness of every moment. Even when we say “the meaning of a moment,” we are packaging it in linear time and limiting ourselves from really getting the meaningfullness, which is every moment expanding in all directions. So I think the primary reason to become much more flexible with time, at least psychologically, is that it opens us up for an embracing of meaningfulness that does not fit in linear time—though linear time is part of the playground in which we generate that.

A secondary advantage is that creation doesn’t really happen in linear time. As Seth says, “Every cell in your body straddles probabilities and is constantly reading past and future probable realities and making decisions underneath your conscious awareness.” That’s one of the ways in which your reality gets assembled. There are other ways in which your reality gets assembled, and very few of them actually operate in linear time. And as you get more playful with that, you’ll have a better time of getting out of your own way.

But for some reason we want to use our emerging psychic abilities to avoid experience: “How can I get from here to there without making any mistakes, John? Is my soul stupid or something? Why am I here?”

From one point of view I can see why people think it ought to be that way, but at its extreme, I’m constantly seeing people saying, “I don’t like my boss. I don’t like what’s going on. I’m going to work on the laws of attraction or my beliefs or creative visualization, and I’m going to make money by day-trading or betting on the horses or getting on Oprah, and then I’ll be so wealthy that I’m going to become a philanthropist, and that’s how I’m going to create value.”

It’s sort of, “with my brains and the universe’s money, it’s really going to work well.” That approach omits the process of cultivating experience in time, with night and day—that’s a part of time, night and day.

People are looking for jobs, so they call up a psychic and say, “What job should I apply for, that I can get and that I’ll love?” There’s no opportunity for them to learn anything in the process of applying for jobs. But part of the reason you apply for jobs and you go on interviews is to develop your skills as a human being and learn something about what’s out there. Most of us want to jump over that: “Oh, I hate applying for jobs!” Well, there’s a good reason why you hate applying for jobs; it’s a grueling, awful process. However, if you engage things with kindness and generosity for yourself and others, it’s not nearly as grueling, it’s not nearly as awful, and you generate so much spiritual freedom out of it.

So why can’t you just skip that and generate spiritual freedom by working on your beliefs or regulating your intent or creative visualization? Well, all those things are really great, but they are not a substitute for engaging the rhythms and the experience of life.

There’s a phrase in the Jewish prayerbook, “Thanks for the day and its work and the night and its rest,” or something like that. There’s a rhythm there, of you go out and you do stuff and you have interactions and then you go to sleep, and you take that experience apart, and you explore it outside of the everyday, and then the next morning you do it again. And there’s summer, fall, winter, and spring. Those things have rhythms to them, but most of us want to win the lottery rather than go through the experience. We want to have a hike without putting our feet on the ground.… Somehow or other, I really think that if we understand time differently, we’d be less likely to want a guarantee that we know the path.81

The only alternative to taking our existence in the universe seriously—and not only seriously but seriously in the sense that every moment is connected to every other moment and to Eternity, and not just connected but connected as exactly what it is and will be forever—is (again) to concede utter meaninglessness and personal demolition. It is (and I am walking a thin line here to put it this way) to march willingly to the gas chamber and acquiesce in the belief that the best possible deal that any of us can negotiate at this point is to be put out of our misery before the pain gets too great to bear. We want to be proven nothing, made nothing, eradicated or incinerated into nothing, even though the “wanting” itself begs its very question. Should the wanter be expunged too? Then who is left to care about the outcome either way? Incarnation in this view is a low-yield proposition—brief entertainment on a dead-end street. It is vacant, and most of its repasts are ultimately vapid.

This is the consolidated view of modernity, and most of its enforcers are decent people, humanitarians, which shows how broad and deep the spell over the present Earth is. Religionists, scientists, politicians, and merchants are all in agreement and collusion here. See the way I open the next and last chapter.

But we can’t break the original Catch-22: we have to want to exist, and then exist, in order to want not to exist. That is Shakespeare’s question for Hamlet: “To sleep, perchance to Dream; Ay, there’s the rub,/For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,/When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.…”82 To extinguish the self that wants to be extinguished is to have to fight off our own integral etiology, which can’t be done. What dreams indeed!

At the same time, we can’t ride a pink Cadillac into nirvana, regardless of the fact that there are many moments when we seem to be driving exactly such a vehicle—and it isn’t a car.

But if someone says (even if it is just a voice in your own head) that you are being gullible or self-indulgent and you better get with the real program—or some asshole adds, in keeping with the modernist, capitalist, materialist agenda, that there is no depth to the system and you are just jacking yourself off—you’ve got to answer (as best you can) with free-speech activist Mario Savio and fellow anti-war folk singer Phil Ochs:

“I ain’t marchin’ anymore.…”83

Check him out on YouTube if a live version is there (Ochs sitting under a tree with a guitar and some rapt young folks was removed during the writing of this book). A meaning travels outward in the tonation of his voice, in the pacing of the syllables within the melody as well as in the realization that Ochs took his own life young (hanged himself in a Chicago flat at thirty-five). The sacred side of his bipolar disorder radiates profoundly and indelibly into the cosmos through his lyrics and melody from his Heart chakra and intrinsic Buddhic vibration (… all we have done/with a saber and a gun …). You can match the song in your own aura and blend with his presence (in a video or by another visualization).

After hearing Bob Dylan in Greenwich Village the first time, Ochs joked that his ambition now was to be the “second-best songwriter” of his generation. Yet he radiated a fourth-chakra precision, a closely worded authenticity (… a ghost without a name/stands ragged in the rain …) that resonates still across the lower chakras with a jolt and whammy that belie the rugged simplicity of the message. Dylan goes much higher into the blue-indigo range but not as deep into the Heart.

Introducing “I Ain’t Marching Anymore” at a 1968 performance, Ochs proclaimed, “Here you are, helpless soul, a helpless piece of flesh, amid all this cruel, cruel machinery and terrible, heartless men.” He meant it literally and on more than one level, both personally and collectively. During the last year of his life he said that he was now John Butler Train, that Train had murdered Ochs and replaced him, that a cabal (foreshadowing the enigmatic Men in Black) was now out to kill Train.

Savio foreshadowed Ochs’s mantra on the Sproul Hall steps of the University of California at Berkeley, December 2, 1964: “There’s a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious—makes you so sick at heart—that you can’t take part. You can’t even passively take part. And you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop. And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you’re free, the machine will be prevented from working at all.”84

You can take these prophetic voices deeper, far deeper, to a psychic level, where they are still channeled and channeling, and mean a lot more than the slogans or vibe of the Sixties or the anti-war movement or politics themselves or even Planet Earth. Ochs was born in El Paso, raised in Ohio, attended a military academy in Virginia, and found his metier at Ohio State. Savio was born in New York City, devout Catholic parents, his father a Sicilian immigrant steel worker. He was an altar boy planning to become a priest, then found a holy voice in Sproul Plaza.

Check out Ochs’s “When I’m Gone.” It holds a place between everything the Eternity System is and everything the world that he left isn’t: “Won’t see the golden of the sun when I’m gone … /All my days won’t be dances of delight when I’m gone,/And the sands will be shifting from my sight when I’m gone.…” Match its vibration precisely at your own. That’s life, and that’s death, and then that’s life again.

You can continue to expand his hope and possibility, as well as your own, into the cosmos. You can tell him, we’re in this together and we hear ya: we gotta build something different, something new someday. You can let him know, wherever he is now, because you are somewhere too.

A blogger named TheEarlBounty wrote under a YouTube version* of this song, “I dreamed I saw Phil Ochs last night, I said ‘Phil you’re 34 years dead,’ ‘I never died,’ said he. So long as this song does what it does and has the impact that it can have, so long as his beautiful voice inspires others to actions he lives on in all of us, he never died. Phil killed Phil, he couldn’t kill Phil’s music.”

Send Phil Ochs a message that we’re still listening, and it’s all okay. Conduct that same message inward toward your own heart. Now let’s open the gate for everyone:

When I was young and foolish and first tuning into higher worlds [Ellias Lonsdale admits], I believed the Earth experience was on its way out. I believed that it was becoming passé to take on a body. It was becoming obsolete to get immersed in all the gritty gunk of the physical plane like sex and love and food and digestion and parking tickets. I believed cosmic transcendence was gonna take charge around here, to such an extent that Three-D Reality would fall away, and we’d ascend into greater and greater worlds and be done with all this.

What I feel today is that, yes, that’s a cool idea, in its way. That idea has some merit.

But there’s something about this world, this moment, this way of being here in this level of existence that is so profound

 

*www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQd_zLZevzQ for now.

 

 

 

 

that I wouldn’t trade it in for any cosmic space however sublime. Rather, I want to renew my physical existence, quicken it, come to it afresh, find all over again what it’s all about. I want to immerse myself in the great give-and-take of human beingness. I want to stay with this outrageous Festival of the Senses until I give it everything I’ve got and it gives me everything it has in store for me.

I know there are finer worlds out there.

But there’s something about this moment in history in this world that is so worth getting into that I don’t want to squander any of it. I don’t want to sleepwalk through this changing of the guard. I don’t want to waste one nanosecond at the festival wishing I was someplace else.…

The reason spirit beings care so much about what goes on here, the reason they work diligently and lovingly for our species, is to catalyze something that’s never been in the entire Eternity System. What’s never happened is for spirit to sink to the utter depths of matter and ignite. We don’t know what that looks like; nobody anywhere in the universe knows what that looks like, but we will soon.…

The great human experiment is to see if the high spirit forces could inject a dose of their refined essence into a dense physical species, stepping down their cosmic voltage into the lower frequency of humans, and seed that species in the Earth, giving them free will to make their own choices, and have that species not get totally bogged down in the density but awaken to its greater potential and fill the physical plane with its light.85

The Cosmic Eternity System is fruitful and manifesting at full throttle now: mosquitoes and daisies and new stars and planets; heroin hits, gang shootouts, and lap dances of matter.

What’s it like to fly through [the] Cosmos while being right here on Earth? What’s it like to be in the body with all senses aroused, with no wish to be gone from any of it, but a profound urge to share it and partake in it and be with it all?86

This entire canopy and array of illuminated terrain is infused with the stuff of gods and angels so that it glows through every particle and hillock with essence, even this far out from its unclaimable center. Every atom and molecule, atomicity and molecularity, is fizzing with esoteric information. Every meteor and lava bed carries the signature of a psychically imploded universe.

What is it to be incarnate on Earth 2012, riding through urban traffic on your bike to a game of hoops, the ball’s cold roundness strung to your bare back by the tension of an old T-shirt? A sparrow eats seeds off the hood of a Hummer, you see the sheer breadth of cosmic consciousness at a glance. And that’s just local.

How did the universe get so lush and imminent, so personal and sentimental? Then how did it get itself inside an acorn?

Look at that vague collection of cobwebs, dust, and dead insects in a patch of light under the chair. You can’t evade it, you can’t bypass it or the feelings it arouses, you can’t transfer yourself anywhere else.

Why does any universe let such a thing arise as, perchance, Leonard Cohen singing “I remember you well/at the Chelsea Hotel,” or for that matter the “Chelsea Hotel” itself or New York City 1970, or Haight-Ashbury, or Janis Joplin, or an unmade bed? In what universe is Frank Sinatra crooning, “It was a very good year,” and small-town girls, and “fine old kegs/from the brim to the dregs” and soft summer nights on the village green?

What the universe is telling us is that it wants all of it. It needed someone to go here, but not everyone was into it or willing to be a guinea pig. We’re the ones who did and—guess what!—it is drop-dead amazing. Everything is happening at multiple levels in multiple contradictions at an unimaginably sumptuous density, and it is utterly vulgar, profane, sacred, sweet, and perfect.

Message back to the rest of the universe: “Aren’t you sorry now that you didn’t volunteer?”

All of it! Do you get how fucking amazing this is?

Life on Earth is something you agreed to out of your entire heart and soul and being. It’s something you chose, when you had the foresight to know what you were choosing. Your life path is something you codesigned, in tandem with higher beings, to release the unique gift of your inner nature to the world. Life is something you knew you could give yourself over to, and by doing that, receive everything in return.…87

Game on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven. The Cosmic Eternity System

1. Mark Borax and Ellias Lonsdale, Cosmic Weather Report: Notes from the Edge of the Universe (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, 2010), p. 191.

2. Pir Zia Inayat Khan, “A Hidden Treasure,” unpublished manuscript, 2011. “All is perishing except His Face” is from the Qur’an 28:88; “The Earth was without form, and void” is from Genesis 1:2.

3. John Friedlander, “Focused Meditation,” September 11, 2011.

4. Philip K. Dick, from “The Exegesis,” unpublished essay, 1974, www.philipkdick.com/new_ex-thevictory.html. (In 1974, after he had an experience which he described as “an invasion of my mind by a transcendentally rational mind,” Philip K. Dick began recording his thoughts about it in a journal called “The Exegesis.”)

5. Contact Has Begun: A True Story, with James Gilliland, directed by Micheal Knight, A Savage Documentary, DVD, 2012.

6. Ibid.

7. James Gilliland, quoted in Frank Bures (September 2001), “Aliens, Anomalies, and Absurdity at Mt. Adams,” The Portland Mercury, March 1, 2007.

8. James Gilliland, quoted in Joe Schoenmann, “Among Believers,” Las Vegas Weekly, April 23, 2004.

9. Contact Has Begun: A True Story, with James Gilliland.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid.

12. Ibid.

13. James Gilliland, quoted in Frank Bures.

14. Contact Has Begun: A True Story, with James Gilliland.

15. Ibid.

16. Ibid.

17. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology: Energy Skills for Life and Relationships (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, 2011), p. 185.

18. “Blinded Eagle” (Nommy), On Transcendence Mountain, channeled by Kimmie Ross and transcribed by Bethany Savage Klyver (Southwest Harbor, Maine: unpublished manuscript, 2012).

19. Ibid.

20. Ibid.

21. Raymond Moody, Life after Life (New York: Bantam Books, 1975), p. 48.

22. Ibid., pp. 21–22.

23. Alan Gordon, personal account, 1995 (repunctuated). Since it is not available elsewhere and quite powerful, I am offering the main chunk.

24. Raymond Moody, Life after Life, p. 45.

25. Eben Alexander, www.helpingparentsheal.info/#!videos, 2012.

26. Eben Alexander, www.facebook.com/groups/humanconciousnessgroup
/10150859034007433/.

27. See David Chamberlain, The Mind of Your Newborn Baby (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, 1998) and the website www.birthpsychology.com.

28. Elizabeth M. Carman and Neil J. Carman, Cosmic Cradle: Souls Waiting for Birth, Selected Stories (Fairfield, Iowa: Sunstar Publishing, Ltd., 1999), p. 17.

29. This is from verbal testimony gathered in David Chamberlain, Windows on the Womb: Your First Nine Months (unpublished manuscript, tentatively North Atlantic Books, 2013).

30. Elizabeth M. Carman and Neil J. Carman, Cosmic Cradle: Spiritual Dimensions of Life before Birth, revised edition (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, forthcoming 2012).

31. Ibid.

32. Emanuel Swedenborg quoted in Raymond Moody, Life after Life, p. 124.

33. Elizabeth M. Carman and Neil J. Carman, Cosmic Cradle: Souls Waiting for Birth, pp. 341–342.

34. Ibid., p. 342.

35. Theresa Danna, “‘Mommy, I’m Coming!’ Psychic Birth Announcements,” unpublished undated newsletter, Gardnersville, Nevada.

36. Ibid.

37. Elizabeth M. Carman and Neil J. Carman, Cosmic Cradle: Souls Waiting for Birth, p. 182.

38. Ibid., pp. 25–26.

39. Richard Grossinger, 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, 2011), p. 529.

40. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology, p. 179 (see note 17).

41. John Friedlander, “Focused Meditation,” September 11, 2011.

42. Dudjom Rinpoche, Jikdrel Yeshe Dorje, The Nyingma School of Tibetan Buddhism: Its Fundamentals and History, Volume One: Translations, translated and edited by Gyurme Dorje with the collaboration of Matthew Kapstein (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1991), p. 204 (rearranged and repunctuated for clarity).

43. John Friedlander, The Big Picture: Joy, Meaning, and Luminosity, workshop, February 2012 (slightly rearranged).

44. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology, p. 191.

45. Ibid., p. 181.

46. Ibid., p. 201.

47. “Rebirth,” www.buddhanet.net/funbud10.htm.

48. Andrew Davidson, The Gargoyle (New York: Random House, 2008), p. 488.

49. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology, p. 203.

50. John Friedlander, “Spring Intensive,” April 2011.

51. Greg Keith quoted in Nick Herbert, Elemental Mind: Human Consciousness and the New Physics (New York: Dutton, 1993), p. 269.

52. John Friedlander, “Focused Meditation,” September 11, 2011.

53. Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1926), p. 114.

54. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology, p. 202.

55. Ibid., p. 200. (In his Winter Journal, novelist Paul Auster writes, “Some memories are so strange to you, so unlikely, so outside the realm of the plausible, that you find it difficult to reconcile them with the fact that you are the person who experienced the events you are remembering.” [New York: Henry Holt & Company, 2012])

56. Shepherd Hoodwin, The Journey of Your Soul: A Channel Explores Channeling and the Michael Teachings (Laguna Beach, California: Summerjoy Press, 1999), p. 202.

57. Ibid., p. 203.

58. Ibid., p. 202.

59. Barclay Powers, “Time Travel and the Nāgas of Eden,” unpublished essay, Eugene, Oregon, 2012.

60. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology, p. 245.

61. John Friedlander, “Focused Meditation,” September 11, 2011.

62. The Master Therion, Aleister Crowley, Magick in Theory and Practice (New York: Castle Books, no date given), p. xiv.

63. Andrew Davidson, The Gargoyle, pp. 494–496.

64. Søren Kierkegaard, Repetition: An Essay in Existential Psychology (1843) (New York: Harper & Row, 1964).

65. John Friedlander, Etheric Energy and Magic, tele-class, September 2010.

66. Dalai Lama, “The Purpose of Life,” www.youtube.com/watch?v
=6IsiJ9eclpo&feature=g-vrec&context=G2c3e56dRVAAAAAAAAAA.

67. Ibid., p. 175.

68. Mark Borax and Ellias Lonsdale, Cosmic Weather Report, pp. 192–193 (see note 1 above).

69. Jane Roberts, Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1972), p. 505.

70. John Friedlander, “Focused Meditation,” September 11, 2011.

71. Ibid.

72. Ibid.

73. John Friedlander, October 2011 Intensive.

74. John Friedlander, The Big Picture: Joy, Meaning, and Luminosity, workshop.

75. Jane Roberts, Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul, p. 505.

76. This sentence is a blend of my original writing with material from a passage in an unpublished draft of Curtis McCosco, Maya Cosmos, Buddha Mind, Quantum World.

77. John Friedlander, “You might be interested in how I used your criticisms as a road map,” email, June 17, 2012.

78. Mark Borax and Ellias Lonsdale, Cosmic Weather Report, p. 193.

79. Philip K. Dick, from “The Exegesis,” 1974 (see endnote 4 above).

80. Chris Rock, “Kill the Messenger,” live performance, “No Apologies” tour, 2008, www.youtube.com/watch?v=53hXBg-U-ac57.

81. John Friedlander, Etheric Energy and Magic, tele-class, September 2010.

82. William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1623, Act 3, Scene 1 (many folios and editions).

83. Phil Ochs, “I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore,” Elektra, 1965. The very moving video I used (www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVCJC5wIFbA) was removed from YouTube for copyright infringement.

84. Mario Savio, December 2, 1964. The moment is iconic and can be viewed at www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcx9BJRadfw.

85. Mark Borax and Ellias Lonsdale, Cosmic Weather Report, pp. 80–82.

86. Ibid., p. 82.

87. Ibid., p. 83.

Page 331: From “We have zero notion” to “even a different mansion” is grafted from 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, p. 53.

Page 332: From “If (for argument’s sake) you were a physicist” to “more dur-able such vapor” is grafted from 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, p. 550.

Pages 332–334: From “When consciousness ceases being personal” to “butterfly after butterfly” is grafted from 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, pp. 63–64.

Pages 357 and 395: The Song “The Way You Look Tonight,” written by Jerome Kern with lyrics by Dorothy Fields, is from the movie Swing Time, 1936.

Page 398: For Troilus and Cressida in Maori, see www.youtube.com
/watch?v=Bnq7qFKkGU4 and www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XGld-J5rEU.

Pages 401–403: Some of the Phil Ochs material was written after viewing Phil Ochs: There But For Fortune, a documentary directed by Kenneth Bowser.

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-three-chapter-seven-the-cosmic-eternity-system/feed/ 0 Dark Pool of Light, Volume Two, Chapter Seven, “Surfing the Operation of the Real” http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-two-chapter-seven-surfing-the-operation-of-the-real/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-two-chapter-seven-surfing-the-operation-of-the-real/#comments Wed, 12 Dec 2012 14:46:15 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1202

Chapter Seven

Surfing the Operation of the Real

“There is a single main definition of the object of all magical Ritual. It is the uniting of the Microcosm with the Macrocosm.”1

—Aleister Crowley

i. Psychic Origins

Since teenage years I have explored occult realms and the possibility of spirit beings while at the same time doubting their existence, not only in my presentation to others but in my dialogues with myself. They were too spooky to entertain and too equivocal to hold onto. I didn’t believe in “magic” because I couldn’t and still be cool—that is, in a jive teenage world where everyone was all over everyone else’s ass for any slip-up that could be “ranked” (in the jargon of the day). Plus I was suffused in an unexamined whimsy that made up my life and trajectory through the universe. I didn’t want to be distracted from all my dramas and diversions. I didn’t want to peer very far out of the wrap-around panorama. I was busy competing in games, collecting stuff, following my teams, doing homework, messing around, daydreaming, and later, trying to find a girlfriend. I had only the most glancing relationship with my own inner life. It is one thing to be enamored of science fiction, fantasy, and magic; it is another to consider it believable, another to believe in it, and still another to make it part of one’s everyday plan. I liked weird stuff, but I never took it seriously in the way that one takes the regular world seriously. The real was just too real, and also a full-service reality, so I stayed well inside its parameters.

Even when I imagined I was trying to learn psychic or magic stuff like tarot, astrology, and Astral projection, I was still supporting gringo habits. I wasn’t trying at all. I made hit-and-run rushes into the occult and lame ones at that.

The adults had just finished their Great War and were about to embark on the Great Boom, a surge of prosperity, materialism, and worldly celebration that installed a nostalgia for reality even deeper and more gaudily than before Normandy and Pearl Harbor as it cast its “Leave It to Beaver”/Perry Como/“I Like Ike” trance over a generation of Americans. People wanted to be happy but, most of all, they wanted to be here, and they wanted us kids to want to be here too. The skeptics of the world can be hard to refute, especially when they are holding the stage, the rulebook, and the key too.

Yet my psychic visions secretly supported me, and I believed them in my heart on their own mysterious terms. They were my allegiance to something else, a stubborn refusal to be enlisted in the world in the way that it presented itself. They honored my desire to break ranks—a vagabond style of rebellion against all authority and fashion (including those of dress and appearance). I gradually turned my apostasy into a pursuit of esoterica and, from there, reinvented the occult in poetic metaphors.

I had to be in the world and steeped in incarnate experience much longer to be willing to take responsibility for my own reality. For most of my early and middle years I was caught up in the game, glad just to be alive, whatever that entailed.

During my childhood and adolescence I was in Freudian analysis too, so I developed a style of receptive observation, unorthodox for the era. The world was a giant puzzle in which everyone provided inadvertent clues to hidden motives and subterfuges. All it took for me be an amateur sleuth was to query (in the style of a Hardy Boys or Ken Holt mystery) why someone was really doing something—and the opportunities for that were endless, from unconscious slips of the tongue to acts of what we now call passive aggression, denial. It was amazing how transparent the behavior of my classmates, teachers, and relatives, when interrogated, was. They were almost always posturing, carrying attitudes. My summer-camp counselors, for instance, performed overt neuroses in their instruction, inflated umpiring, and general imperious bossing of us. Almost everything they did was some sort of pretext or affectation. Everyone was a bigshot and also an imposter, a show-off or a VIP in some manufactured context. Even when they weren’t trying to be macho or gross, anal and libidinal innuendo was never far beneath the surface of the Fifties and early Sixties.

In the era of Dion and the Belmonts, long before I trained psychically, I used implicit cues to read situations, to enlist selected kids and adults into my trust while instinctively avoiding others as having bad vibes. I did this extemporaneously from hunches so successfully that I took my talent for granted and assumed that I had good instincts plus had been well-taught by my psychiatric elders.

Though totally unaware of Wilhelm Reich’s method of “character analysis” for identifying personality traits in speech and gestures (that is, unaware of even its dumbed-down, pop-psychology knock-offs), I was reading people’s bodies, movements, breath, and masks, making critical choices about them. When I sensed dangerously weird energy or kinky projections, I gave them a wide berth, even though I didn’t actually understand them or know what was going on. I was often prescient and complimented by the adults for discovering a con artist, an ingratiator, a schnorrer (as my stepfather used to call serial spongers), a joker concealing murderous rage, and, in one notable case, a “sweet” pedophile whom no one else suspected.

Meanwhile I preferred outcasts and nerds to the cool guys and bigshots. I liked their combination of sloppy ease, transgression, and lassitude, as I felt the strain and artificiality in many of the more popular Fifties and Sixties personae. I adopted my sidekicks and heroes spontaneously, often from an obscure intimation about them. I tended to ignore what others told me about a person if it didn’t match my own read. Though all the adults and peers in my circle might have been on the opposite side against me, challenging my estimation of character, I was loyal to a fault. I had a knack for finding strange, unlikely people who would later do wonderful things. Everyone else would be going: “Eek, a freak!”

While I was just as fierce in my rejections of charismatic and admired figures, I might retract later, as when my resistance to the smart-aleck surface  of someone’s actual depth had gotten in the way of my being amenable to their substance and originality. I could be a prig and a creep with the best of them. I might take an instant wrong-headed dislike to a person and have to reverse myself later, but even the first time was an accurate read—a read of an obsolete picture. I picked up a vibration even if I initially got it backwards. We all do some of that, par for this course.

I initially thought that Phil Wohlstetter was a know-it-all weisenheimer and a troublemaker when we met in first grade and Bill-Dave Group, but we became sidekicks, an amateur detective duo, and a double-play combination; we participated together in petty theft at Jessie’s Jip Joint. Phil initiated me into baseball, science fiction, and the Hardy Boys—mainstays of my childhood.

I thought that Abbey West was a tyrant and arbitrary disciplinarian when he was our head counselor and plantation boss at Camp Chipinaw. Like the other kids, I fled even his presence or glance. But I became the first camper to recognize him as an avatar and mentor of an ilk we were never given. I submitted to his wisdom and authority and even visited him openly in his house.

I thought that Chuck Stein was a phony intellectual snob when I met him in Latin class at age fourteen, but he initiated me into Black Mountain poetry, tarot, and Jungian alchemy during our junior and senior years at Horace Mann—staples of my later adolescence.

I thought that Nelson Richardson was a grandiose dingbat when, at age nineteen, I first encountered him at Amherst College, but he taught me how the angels send messages through the calls of birds; then he co-founded the journal Io with me and my girlfriend, thereby kicking off my career as a publisher.

I thought that Ron Sieh was a macho poseur when I first tangled with him at Peter Ralston’s dojo in 1991, but he would later train me as a t’ai chi and hsing-i boxer and lead me into psychic practice (see Volume Three, Chapter Six).

Conversely, a number of buddies I adopted too readily from fantasy energy turned out to be imposters, and I eventually had to flee my relationships with them unskillfully. They shall go unnamed.

All this time I was reading people’s—friends’, strangers’—energy. I did it, but I was not aware of doing it and was certainly not trying to go psychic. I attributed my success, as noted, to Freudian insight, free association, and being the oldest of three children in each of my two families, plus an extra layer or two of self-protective vigilance I developed for strategic maneuvering among the unreliable and ill-tempered adults. The sensations of insight that accompanied my spontaneous “hits” felt more like my own alert perception than energy from the aura of another being. I wouldn’t have begun to know how to conceive of such a thing back then anyway. I would have “ranked” it with a showy smirk.

Over the years I watched a fair number of my acquaintances exhibit consistently poor judgments in not only friends but lovers and spouses. Given what I could discern even at a distance, these were insane, death-wish choices. Now I think that that is not what they were doing. They were answering the bell, and the bell is called karma. They were reading themselves by the energy of their own auras, either lucidly or through the distortions of old pictures. They took partners (business and romantic) who then abused them or whom they abused, because each was matching pictures in the other.

I have stumbled into a fair amount of these mistakes too because I have a “character” and my edge of resistance is attuned to misjudge precisely its counterpart in others. For instance, narcissism has a difficulty reading sociopathy’s charm because each is giving the other precisely what he or she needs. I didn’t make the big mistake, that of spouse, though I did hire two borderline sociopaths a decade apart to run North Atlantic Books with frightening and expensive consequences. In either case, the person reminded me of an old friend. Sentimental nostalgia is rarely psychic: to read the deeper field or reach into an emerging unknown, you have to be calm, impartial, a bit goofy or slaphappy, and wide-open. You can’t long for what is lost and gone.

Here is what I am getting at: we begin to read people psychically once we realize that we are already reading people psychically—intuitively and from the gut. When we validate the psychic (as well as the psychological) level of our intuition, we proceed to observe the world itself more psychically from there—past lives and auras too.

Psychological reading is psychic reading. Any skillful psychotherapist is a clairvoyant. He is reading his clients’ auras at the same time that he is picking up behavioral cues, analyzing character traits and neuroses, applying the diagnostic manual. The worst psychotherapists are the ones who go out of their way to taboo the psychic element in their practice—who give two-bit advice, practice pseudo-Winnicott as if their rendition of him were Robert’s Rules of Order, and spew academic formulas, while ignoring the odd, unauthorized recognitions that arise spontaneously. You can take this one to the bank.

The average person is also reading auras in the sense that he or she is noting core warmth or coldness, good and bad will. These things project psychically and are unmistakable, even to those who deny that there is such a thing as an aura or psychic awareness—you ignore them at your peril. In fact, you only read a person’s character and heart by reading his or her aura, but most people never tell themselves that or acclimate consciously to it. They use intuition but assume that it is deduction or common sense (which it is, for those are part of a psychic “read” too).

In applying any modality of energy work—psychic meditation, chi gung, craniosacral therapy, rebirthing, Reiki, etc.—one starts by contacting one’s own aura first, consciously or unconsciously. Then one blends his or her attention with the unconscious flow from the world. A good craniosacral therapist or Rolfer is basically reading energy and exchanging psychic information through the tissues. There is a subliminal exchange between the unconscious field and aura of the practitioner and the field and aura of the recipient. Operationally the same energy or information is transferred while reading tarot cards or lines on palms.

I got my first tarot deck when I was around seventeen. I studied fortune-telling and then did readings for my stepmother and her friends. At the time, I regarded it as a game—creating imaginative narratives out of book attributions:* perfidy, felicity, adversity, riches, adversaries and allies in the form of kings, queens, knights, and pages. I developed my own thumbnail stories for each of the cards, my favorites being the Five of Pentacles (mendicants in rags on crutches, passing in the snow with a stained-glass window shining above them) and the Six of Cups (children sniffing the

 

*From A. E. Waite, The Pictorial Key to the Tarot, and Paul Foster Case, The Tarot: A Key to the Wisdom of the Ages.

 

 

flowers of memory). For the former I invoked the sacred potential for happiness and salvation all around oneself while the significator is immersed in self-imposed nihilism and misery. For the latter I warned of the attraction of eternal return. I thought that I was popular and got so many repeat requests because I was a witty symbol freak. And the women were charmed by getting their fortunes told by a kid.

I did these sorts of readings for about five years and then dropped the mode for almost five decades until the summer of 2009 when our Maine psychic group took up tarot. During my second career in reading the deck I began to interpret less by individual pictures’ divinatory meanings and more by motifs and gateways within the pattern of cards laid out in a Celtic cross. I realized then that I was drawing on an intelligence outside the story-telling.

There are always two levels of tarot reading, and it is often hard to know where one ends and the other begins. You tell the story in the cards, and you tell another story that you are getting from elsewhere. It is not that it is not in the cards but, even if it is, you are not getting it from them in the same way or at the same level. Yet paradoxically you are only reading it from them—they fall right into place as you go.

Not only did I recognize this in the present, but I realized that I had been doing the same thing as a teenager; only I didn’t take it seriously then. I didn’t really grasp it because I had no context for it.

I was a sought-after ingénue tarot reader not only because I was entertaining but because I gave accurate information despite myself. And that’s why I was entertaining. Decades later some of these women were still telling me that I had foreshadowed major events in their lives.

I remember a few of those fortunes. You could lay down a hundred random draws without getting ones so chilling and on target, especially as I wove them into narratives like Dr. Fabian, my therapist. But at which level and layer, and how did I trick myself into reading both energies at once? (I think it was from wanting to be a good story-teller while feigning to myself that that’s only what I was doing.)

After recent similarly powerful readings, I have reshuffled the deck and tried other layouts, and they are banal by comparison. Banal by comparison but never entirely meaningless—there is no such thing. There are only more and less elegant draws inside the matrix. I don’t know what energy governs the grid and its links between cards, but in this regard none of us know much of anything.

My psychic work today isn’t that different from how I read tarot for friends and relatives and their friends during my high-school years. Back then I didn’t know that I was consulting auras and deciphering energy-waves; I thought I was following instruction booklets by the same protocol as building model airplanes or playing Monopoly, throwing in a smidgen of science-fiction theatricality cum Freudian melodrama. But the cards flowed like Atlantean cinema, and pictures arose in my teenage mind.

ii. The Tarot

Arranged in synoptic murals packed with Kabbalistic, astrological, and theosophical information, the vistas of the tarot are operators and activators of an elevated mode of consciousness. How that happened—how the transmission got into them and why it works—is the same “secret doctrine” that attends the Hebrew alphabet, the I Ching, Navaho sand paintings, and numerous other occult matrices. As cosmic triggers, the cards must be accessed at the proper frequency or they devolve into trite fables and staged iconographies prone to self-delusion on either side of the deck. Yet, as with the Seven Planes, if you make yourself receptive to the intelligence behind the designations, you invite tarot guides into your life. The cards are a whisper in the wind, a folio of keys beyond knowingness—also an early clue to a new direction, for you and for a planet like this one in some future Aquarian Age.

The major trumps operate as projections of one hologram. When set in three rows of seven columns with the first (zero) card on top, the series functions as a Rubik’s Cube that can be read over and over again with different results.

Robed in the brilliant white of wisdom, the Fool (zero) is a guileless youth, rube, and neophyte, his radiant garment concealed by a decorative cloak of ignorance lined with the red of passion and material force. He has forgotten his relationship to Absolute, the wand of will and attention (through which all spiritual endeavors, including the deck itself, begin) slung idly over his right shoulder—at its far end suspended the wallet of universal memory of previous incarnations, its flap locked shut with the All-seeing Eye of Horus and Freemasonry. The Eagle of Scorpio on its lower pouch denotes the cycle of carnal forces leading to ego existence.

Our cosmic Life-Breath is “forever young, forever in the morning of its power, forever on the verge of the abyss of manifestation. It is neither male nor female, hence the gay young traveler’s figure might be either a lad, or a girl disguised…. Actually it is the Heavenly Androgyne.”2

The wand recurs in card one as the Magician’s raised trident uniting macrocosm and microcosm and drawing supernal energies onto this plane. The High Priestess (card two) transmits their essence into unconscious waves, phases of the Moon embedded emblematically in her crown. The cube on which she reclines is the geometry of Space—What Exists. The scroll in her lap is our species memory. Her robe, flowing out of the bottom of the card’s frame, is a stream vibrating with lunar subconsciousness, providing world-stuff for the Emperor, the Chariot, the Wheel of Fortune, and other subsequent keys—information that they will convert into the Universe.

The meaning of the deck is that nothing precedes it or can reside outside it—no planes of consciousness, no stars, no people, no molecules. That is its iconographic and significatory power. We can’t read fortunes or meanings outside reality, so the original tarot projects an esoteric frame large enough to slide the universe inside it.* It does this through simultaneous designation and discursion of the same symbols.

A skeleton with a scythe commands all versions of the Death card (number thirteen). In some decks it rides a pale horse in a suit of armor, bearing its usual black banner with the Mystic White Rose of Life; in others it dispenses with the horse and strides across the ground, mowing down everything in its path. In the landscape’s far distance are the pillars of the Priestess (two) and Justice (Balance or Verisimilitude, card ten + one = eleven), the binary portals of reality through which the Sun of immortality dawns.

 

*For a captivating, page-turning novel about the original deck, see Charles Williams, The Greater Trumps (New York: Farrar, Straus and Cudahy, 1962).

 

 

 

Death oversees a transition for which “ordinary death is neither the path nor the gate”:3 the eradication of old, defunct ideas, systems, and institutions as well as the atoms in which they were patterned and the molecules in which they were materialized. New ideas are implanted subconsciously in the nuclei of fresh cells, a process initiated in the Hanged Man (twelve) whose gallows are a living wood asprout with leaves. His face in agony is beatific because his impending resurrection will lead to a different personality, a new conception of existence and mortality. As such, the sequent  trumps (twelve and thirteen) coupled together speak to both personal death and the meaning of Death itself: liberation, renewal.

The Devil (fifteen) is a caricature of the Angel who blesses The Lovers (Six). Adam and Eve gaze in adoration at each other’s nakedness while an Angel bathes them from a golden star. In the fifteenth trump the star has turned black, while the Angel’s fulsome birdwings have shriveled into batwings; the innocents have been replaced by an ashamed man and woman in chains, eyes averted. The Devil’s application is: when subconscious and conscious attention turn away from each other, the hell-fires of materialism take hold. But the chains that bind the tormented couple are  only loosely set in place; at any moment they choose, they can take them off: spiritual freedom originates in secular free will.

In the Tower (sixteen) the same figures become falling men and women. A lightning-flash has struck their tenement and spontaneously deposed their obsolete ideas of reality, the unexamined materialistic notions that were the ruling principles of their existence. The Tower is the bastion of false power, attachment to zealotry, propaganda (any version: capitalist, communist, Islamist, fundamentalist Christian, scientistic).

The Tower card was drawn from the world’s deck with chilling accuracy and precision on 9/11/2001. Liquid gold of jet-fuel tossed archetypal lightning into the Edifices of Commodity; people leaped to their deaths from the flames, paradoxically their remaining best choice. The buildings themselves crumbled. A new atomicity was sown into world consciousness.

Each person must strike his or her own belief system with lightning in order to rid oneself of obsolete habits, old pictures, and defunct ideas. The 9/11 jihadists did this unknowingly and brutally for the planet (and in lesser service to their own tribal gods).

The Angel in the Star (seventeen) is pouring Cosmic Energy from pitchers in each hand through senses and extrasensory nodes. The rivulets run into a pool of illuminated mindstuff and universal consciousness.

In the Moon (eighteen) a shellfish emerges from the pool, a primitive template of the early phases of conscious unfoldment, converting cosmic energy through its unconscious carapace. The crustacean has a long journey ahead, past the drab ramparts of civilization, up the uncharted mountains and valleys of future consciousness at the card’s horizon. The ancient creature is heading, albeit at tortoise speed, toward new, esoteric meanings of self and planet.

The water in the Star and Moon cards, which trickled out of the robes of the High Priestess, by the twentieth card fills an ocean on which the coffins of three-dimensionality float: the Judgment. Men, women, and children arise from bare linear boxes into the ecstasy of higher-dimensional reality all around them. They now understand the collective nature of consciousness, as its radiance dissolves all former delusions of separation.

That was one abridged reading. The trumps themselves are merely one platform of initiation by dormant wisdom seeds, a gateway for the occult to penetrate the world mirage. I know people who have received tarot lessons like what I just gave from Builders of the Adytum for more than forty years—and a new one still arrives every other week, though their author, Paul Foster Case, passed decades ago.

When a practitioner internalizes an image of the Priestess’s robes flowing into the stream of unconsciousness that travels behind the deck, she triggers a memory of the relationship between her own psyche and the universe. This recognition awakens the Lion of cosmic consciousness (card eight—the woman taming the numinous cat holds his jaws closed in some versions, open in others); but only if the practitioner suspends disbelief long enough to let the trumps ripple through her imagination, the tarot spirit to engage her, the infinity (life) symbol above the lion-tamer’s head to activate her crown chakra.

The twenty-first trump (and twenty-second card), the World, represents “the perfection and end of the Cosmos … what you really are, and what the cosmos really is … the secret which is within it, the rapture of the Universe when it understands itself in God. It is further the state of the soul in the consciousness of Divine vision….”4 The dancer, as she becomes her dance, is the Magician again, reembodied as a naked androgyne, her “As Above, So Below” wand twisted into twin activated tridents conducting multidimensional messages across space-time. As the lion lies down with the lamb, the zodiacal figures of Taurus and Leo, once staring at each other in eternal return (the Wheel, ten), now turn their scrutiny away and release us to the realms beyond.*

iii. Astral Travel

In the Physical plane, vehicular methods of transport are familiar. If we want to move ourselves (or a package) fast or far, we put them in a vehicle constructed by Mental–Causal processes. We get behind the wheel of a car or hail a cab, hop on a bus. To move heavy cargo, we might call UPS or another carrier, or rent our own truck. For long-distance journeys, we can purchase a ticket for jet travel, then show up and get seated in a row of fellow travelers. Seat belts are recommended because you might cross unstable air. There you go!

But if you want to travel beyond the Earth in an Astral body, you have to invoke a different protocol entirely; you have to go inside “in” to get outside “out.” Astral travel is hazardous in different ways but safe in the ordinary sense. Astral bodies don’t crash or blow up and you don’t, despite rumor, mistakenly snap the silver umbilicus fusing your Physical and Astral envelopes together nor do you ever lose your way back to the body. The best part is: you no longer have to wait for NASA to take you to the Moon or to journey in exotic metal-alloy rockets to icy satellites of Jupiter and Saturn with their volcanoes and subglacial seas, to say nothing of the planets of Andromeda because—well, anyway, it is beyond their capacity. Instead you have to segue into an Astral vibration and activate psychic frequencies. The bad news is: you have to be very proficient in Astral travel and in sync with your present-time aura to glimpse even the Astral zones of other planets.

 

*I pick up this tarot discussion again in Volume Three, Chapter Five.

 

 

Are these worlds real? You know the answer to that, so I am going to let it hang.

First, confiscate a molecularity or psychotronic replica (Etheric, Astral, or Mental), then match the vibration of its envelope on a higher plane. That is, match your own imaginality by shifting internally while using an external sight. For instance, if you want to journey Astrally from your bedroom beyond your house, imagine yourself floating above its actual roof. If it is nighttime, “see” the stars. It doesn’t matter if it is cloudy because you are looking through the materiality of clouds, not at the Astral sky but an astrophysical sky in an Astral body. It doesn’t matter if you make up stars and then slap them cartoon-like over an inner vision. This is meant to be a dry run at subjective projection, not actual space-flight—but it is the first step in activating subtle-body psychokinesis.

You will recognize the Astral realm first as a fleeting glimmer realer than a lucid dream—and even then it is just a short ride in a fast machine.

“The only rule is imagination,” advised Italian avatar Falco in one of his seratas; “the world is made of illusion, but the illusion is material that can be worked. You have to work with the illusion. The illusion is imagination. Imagination is the basis of all life.”5

That isn’t the way it works.

But that is the way it works.

Our homeboy John Friedlander encourages his students to practice plane-traveling by attuning to the launching chakra in not just the layer of the aura to which it corresponds but all seven layers, with a subtle intention of expanding yourself into its full energy field and making the field a vehicle. “Subtle” means subtle. Better to slip into a visualization of being aboard a commercial jet than to try to become an esoteric mudra. Become something else. You get into your esoteric body by not trying to get into an esoteric body. You find the layers of the aura and weave them into a traveling garment by not looking or feeling for their ectoplasmic wrap-around in an ordinary sense. Put yourself in an old-fashioned Jules Verne flying can, and meld.

This is also how Theosophists and yogis traditionally found routes. The second chakra at the tan t’ien, for instance, vibrates hyperspatially all the way up to the crown and down to the base of the spine, projecting thusly into Astral body. When it is enhanced through an internalization of the seven layers of the aura, it becomes, as it were, an exponentialized chariot for travel.

The vibration emanating from the base chakra can similarly be tuned to all seven frequencies to form an Etheric body. First, you feel your way into your Etheric self; then you internalize its vibration into a seven–layered cloak for excursions among the Ethers. The third chakra at the solar plexus can be similarly installed to form the Mental body. Vehicles can also have components of more than one metaphysical body and cruise among  dimensional levels (see below).

I have not come close to figuring out Astral travel, though I accept that some people do it like water off a duck’s back. In the early Seventies I read Ophiel’s The Art and Practice of Astral Projection, then Sylvan Muldoon’s classic forerunner, Projection of the Astral Body. I tried Ophiel’s exercises with zero success, as my writing from 1975 indicates:

I sat on the couch in my study, memorizing a sequence beginning at the corner the closet made with the ceiling, cobwebs from the top of the window frame across the statue of the owl on my desktop, knotholes and stains along the wall. I didn’t expect to emerge floating like a bubble in New York, but the exercise titillated my fervor for such a moment.

Even after a month of trying, all I could generate were flat cartoons of super-consciousness. Everywhere I went my mind was there, tracing the space from the wavy oval knot to the top of the closet, distorting the grain from there to the paisley pattern on the curtains, flitting superficially past the owl and lamp, trying each time to incise another mark.6

Wrong route! I was subjectivizing objective space and romanticizing my attention. It was more like a daydream of trying to imprint myself into a higher-dimensional range and then make a dramatic appearance elsewhere. I don’t know what I thought would happen because I didn’t really believe in what I was doing. Probably I was just amusing myself, biding my time. I could be excused by my youth and its instinctive caution. I was young and also wary of any slips in the direction of an out-of–control psychedelic subculture that seemed to merge contagiously with dark Crowley-ite magic in every “Cosmic Consciousness” poster and invocation of wanton communal ecstasies and demon brotherhoods.

I was stuck—mentally stuck, physically stuck, conceptually stuck (and basically terrified, not only by the practice but my own reckless fantasies and unexamined existence). It would take a move to California and another thirty-four years of life experience for me even to understand the terms of the exercise, e.g., the difference between externalization and internalization. And I had to go through t’ai chi ch’uan, bioenergetics, craniosacral therapy, chi gung, and psychic meditation in order to get back to an inkling of Ophiel’s intent.

Now I regard Ophiel and Muldoon anew. Though the latter’s language is as ornate as that of Shakespeare (with Dale Carnegie and Rod Serling thrown in), he could not have been more explicit:

[T]he Astral body is … the first step into that mysterious realm called ‘death,’ which sooner or later all of us must enter…. If you have stood o’er the casket and gazed upon the cold corpse, and in silent awe wondered how that being who only shortly before was animate—possessed of intelligence, moving, thinking, and talking, even as you—could now be a lifeless clod … as you shudder to think you too will become, then you are interested in astral projection, for … this Astral body exists through and after death….7

This is big-time news for humanity, but it has been repeated so often and so off-handedly in so many different contexts of “Astral” and “survival” that it has pretty much lost any vigor or capacity to shock and engage us. We sense an inherent relationship between sources of dreams and other subconscious realms where actual people, even the dead, appear restored and sacred in some fashion. We know that they know that they are dead and out of touch and have not kept up appearances or swept their earthly rooms. But we can’t engage with them at par—we can’t make them any more durable or official than Hamlet’s ghost. And we can’t quite square this manifestation with anything else. Yet hearken to Muldoon with renewed attention. His Astral body is our primal cloak and gateway:

[I]n reality the material part of us is as dead as a door-nail. It is the energy behind the physical mechanism that is the real “live” thing … and the Astral body is the condenser of the nervous energy you are using right now….8

That energy is the elixir of life—the animating vibration of the chakras and the layers of your aura. It is the vessel that rises and sinks through the hermetic seal, the Seven Planes, the chi gung set, and the tarot matrix. From this life you pass into another Metaphysical body of unknown denomination, a new frequency functioning as a vehicle of information and consciousness.

Practice it soon. Get a feel for it. When entered intentionally, it becomes a carrier wave, initially for travel through the Astral plane and, from there, across unimaginably  arcane zones of the universe. No guarantees, just a posit.

“For my part,” Muldoon concludes, “had I never witnessed a séance or visited a medium; in fact, had no one else in the whole world ever suspected ‘life after death,’ I should still believe that I am immortal—for I have experienced the projection of the Astral body.”9

And then there are the unsinkable Monica Szu and Gary Whitney, contemporary Astral explorers whose work I published in the late Nineties under the title Portals and Corridors: A Visionary Guide to Hyperspace. Monica’s paintings and Gary’s words documented real-time encounters with Astral beings such as Aah-Nuk, Ruul, Electric Eel, Lizardman, and Shulaz. These are not undines or sylphs but true aliens dwelling in other solar systems and galaxies, either on the Astral plane or accessed through Astral travel.

Do such entities (or their kind) exist and did Monica and Gary encounter them as independent beings rather than by their own imaginal projections? Well, in the introduction to his book Gary makes a case that, although “the imaginative will … takes the raw materials of inner landscapes and fuses them…, one only employs the imagination to navigate … and interpret the hyperspatial domain, not to create it…. These landscapes exist in their own right in other dimensions of reality….”10

“…in their own right in other dimensions of reality….” The whole psychic system was conceived through clairvoyance, intuition, and practice from the bottom up, by masters who intuited realms that they could not bodily inhabit. If these realms don’t exist, then the system is fantasy and delusion and hardly worth the fuss. If they do, they transcend the exercise, which is merely a bridge to elsewhere. The only use finally of creative imaginality is to make alien and energetic landscapes accessible and to “salvage” a portion of the unknown—and to get a shiver or glimpse of what is to become of us next.

I had what I believed was an autonomous Astral dream in mid-2010. In it I was sitting on a couch when suddenly the whole sofa began to levitate. It got aloft and soared as gently as a feather. I was told by a dream narrator that it would accelerate a hundred times faster, then a thousand times faster, then a hundred thousand times faster. I prepared myself, as I had trepidations about what such velocity would feel like.

Then the couch began to zoom. As it picked up more and more speed, the meaning of acceleration evaporated and the dream changed. The concept of “a hundred thousand times faster” was beyond all reckoning, so what occurred was a phase shift into a different body.

I was no longer lucid-dreaming. I was flying through actual sky. There were planes all around me—gigantic metal objects with lights, packed with passengers. We were zipping past them, in among them, through them—a feat of brinkmanship at that speed but seemingly pro forma too. They weren’t dream planes; they were huge chambers hurtling along at six hundred miles per hour at 35,000 feet. Somehow we dodged or melted through them as we scooted across their zone.

I saw the whole of South America like a living map beneath me. It wasn’t an image; it was South America. It reminded me of my first view of Iceland from an actual airplane, how the real and imaginal shimmered intermittently (and now again in this “dream”) at a binary point of recognition:

We were flying almost motionlessly in a lens of moonlit clouds, the Dipper always there; the impact of the dawn, an explosion of light like fire across the East. I had forgotten that the appearance of dawn is like someone blasting a hole in the sky and letting a gorgeous rainbow across the whole creation. There could be no mistaking sunrise. And then there was Iceland lying in the sea, the precisely shaped puzzle piece, up ahead like a map, layers of clouds rushing over it, waves splashing on its shores, the contour of the island visible with its jagged fjords, unfinished volcanic geography, and rashes of urban lighting (6 AM local time).11

That was Earth 2006: Physical–Etheric Earth, Google Earth—this was Astral Earth 2010. But there is a standing relationship: the Physical subtends the Astral, while the Astral is as shockingly real as the Physical once you get there. They are woven together, not as landscapes but through filaments of atomicity and higher perception.

As I saw the Southern continent from orbit, my zooming shifted into a different Astral vector, one reminiscent of the closing sequence of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. I was in a shower house full of naked men. They had no memory left. They were zombies, shells of forgotten lives that had once been lived. Now they were carrying out empty protocols. The cubicles of the stalls were crumbling, water coursing intermittently and irregularly from spouts that protruded from where walls used to be.

The way in which this bathhouse was rugged and unformed reminded me of a land described by an old cowboy whom I was tape-recording in Prescott, Arizona, in 1967. I was trying to elicit gab from him for a dictionary of American Regional English, my summer job in graduate school. Suddenly my informant switched gears and told me of going into a country vast beyond imagination: giant unknown lakes, fifty thousand head of cattle stampeding loose. I’ll let him take it from here:

Rough country, lotsa cattle in there. Well, there ain’t no country like that. The only place like that that I ever knew was over on the north side of the Grand Canyon—what they call the Strip up there, right along the line of Arizona and Utah. And it was a wild outfit—and I guess they was runnin’ quite a few men killed on that ranch. Well, that’s the only ranch that I can even picture in my mind that’d be anything like the dreams I’ve had.

The other night I had a dream about—I got into a country, and I come to a stream of water—big stream. I was on horseback, and didn’t know where that stream of water went to, and I had to cross it, and I didn’t know whether my horse would swim that stream of water or not. I figured maybe I could help him get across it because I had to cross. Well, I rode off into it, and we jus’ swam across it—without a bit of trouble and got on the other side. It was only jus’ rough country, real rough, rocky country. I thought, ‘What good is this country, ain’t nobody want country like this. There’s nothing here; there’s not even a bird here. Couldn’t nothing live because there’s no feed.’

The Astral is “ain’t no country like that.” Its rocks aren’t rocks. Its dreams don’t feel like dreams because they aren’t dreams; they are what they feel like: places stillborn and emerging. The cowboy thought that maybe it was where he was headed when he died—and that insight was both right and wrong for reasons that I’ll let you figure out on your own.

When I told John Friedlander about my jet-couch, he said confidently, “You were definitely in the Astral and probably the lower Mental as well.”

I wish I knew how I got there.

iv. Overcoming Cynicism

Higher planes and energies, if they exist, are not operating at this frequency. So no matter how many great runs or occult expeditions you have, the wedding festival ends; the guests are kicked out of the banquet hall. That’s just the way it is. A flaming sword was placed inside us for a reason.

Perhaps cosmic lucidity will someday be stabilized at a human frequency but, if so, it will be a long time from now and we have a daunting journey prior. We will go from here to another epiphany and its dissipation, though, as foretold in the Moon card, its valleys will be higher than the peaks of previous emanations. Each cosmic manifestation will capture more of the Truth Mystery behind the universe, will concede less as it turns over to the next.

From the epidemic skepticism of our time, we twenty-first-century humans block most possibilities for psychospiritual growth. Everything untoward or in the cracks between worlds is rejected out of hand. Auras and Astral flying-body stuff seem like, as a long-standing anti-spiritual buddy emailed me recently in smug triumph: intellectual masturbation. Grim, fatal words.

It’s easy enough to adopt his aspersion and go “mea culpa” internally (we do it all the time): “You’re right. I don’t really see or feel or hear anything—not a damn thing—no spirits, no ghosts, no communiqués from the dead, no auras, no disembodied voices, no beams of light from the star Sirius, no out-of-body peregrinations. I have no incoming telepathy or remote views either. I don’t feel any ‘chakras.’ I don’t remember any past lives. I don’t have foretokenings or future visions that couldn’t just as well be ascribed to something else.

“The many synchronicities I notice are just coincidences. With all the things happening in the world, some are bound to seem connected in meaningful ways, and those are the ones we notice. What about the rest that are unconnected and nonsynchronous and don’t get our attention because nothing about them stands out?

“More than ninety-nine-point-nine percent of life is ordinary—make that a hundred—so anything that I attribute to karma or destiny could have occurred without karma (and did), and, if something else had happened instead, the same would be true of it. Any tarot reading or birth chart is as valid as any other, good for anyone. Just make one up. Anything I credit to gods or guides I could just as easily assign to blind chance. There would be no differences between any of these alternatives or between them and any other happenstance outcomes. Everything is fated, once it happens. The one-in-a-trillion card is always drawn, every moment in fact, but once it is drawn it is no longer one in a trillion.

“I have zero reason to believe that consciousness isn’t just a light that went on in the darkness for incidental reasons and will go out soon enough forever. ‘Little brown jug, ha ha ha, you and me.…’”

By now mainstream culture has officially ceded the Astral sky and its environs to the heavens of modernity that shine coldly down on all literature, politics, prayer, and civilization. They tell us that the Divine is no longer watching us, no longer guiding us, no longer even there; that we cannot escape our imprisonment in matter or obliteration into dust.

In fact, God was never there. People may chant and pray as often and as avidly as they used to, but they do it joylessly and without much hope. They no longer even pretend to access real spiritual beings. Only money-changers fill the temple.

There are plenty of times when I have concurred with the anti-spiritual gadfly and his Amazing Randi–worshipping crowd* as I stare through my incurable crisis of faith into an impregnable void, feeling alone and afraid and tiny again—isolated in who I am, afraid for myself and all of us against the sheer vastness and anonymity of the night and the cruelty of design—a God who has lost track or doesn’t care or is actively sadistic,Ω beyond petition or appeal.

Under the reigning cultural model and its thought terrorism, the cynic in us flummoxes and confounds itself with organized materiality, zones of rubble without end—the bottomless abyss. No one wants to be conned, especially by themselves. Certainly the Amazing Randi and his CSICOP∫buddies don’t. The most demagogically fatal dagger goes something like: “What if I believe some weird unscientific promise and it isn’t real (as surely it won’t be)? Then I will be deluded and suckered. What a waste of my life! I will fall for something merely because I want it to be true, a hoax that’s not part of reality. How pathetic! If I hoodwink myself into believing in a fantasy or fairy tale, I won’t be any better than an ostrich with its head up its ass or some guy with a bone through his nose praying to a statue of a mongoose or his crony over there sacrificing hogs to the ancestors.”

 

*For what it is worth, there is an alternative narrative about the debunking golden boy that exposes him as both a crook and a fraud who keeps changing the rules and moving the goal posts; in private venues “the Amazing Pederast.” No big surprise. The surprise is that he is an unexamined hero and accepted “good guy” among humanitarian scientists and otherwise educated people.

ΩThe dark reading of the Crucifixion is, if God did that to His own Son, what do you think He is going to do to you? But that overlooks the Resurrection.

∫Committee for the Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal—switch out the facile first vowel and make the alphabet trainwreck into CSDCOP for “Debunking.”

 

 

During my one visit with him, in 1972, pop-star astronomer Carl Sagan snarled over what he viewed as my credulousness. “If I believe in life after death and then I die and find that there’s nothing,” he declared in exasperation, “I will have wasted my whole life.”

I felt like noting the obvious: “But if you die and there’s nothing there, you won’t know.”

Because I didn’t say that, he didn’t have to toss back the smartass retort he probably had waiting: “But I don’t have to die. I already know it.”

The stranglehold of this belief is such that the smartest people among us haven’t the slightest doubt that they are right—doctors, biologists, physicists, geneticists, amateur and professional skeptics. The universe is what science shows it to be—that’s the height of our species’ redaction. It is what it looks like and what it shows itself to be. The constraints of the physical world alone generate functionality and productive, admirable lives. Furthermore, material systems have proven to be multi-leveled and complex and, once they go digital, all bets are off: exquisite order arises out of chaos, without paraphysical interference: gifts of nonequilibrium thermodynamics. Good enough to play!

That’s the paradigm that makes twenty-first-century folks smarter and more valid than dart-blowing pygmies and rock-dreaming Aborigines. And I include the God of religionists in this myopia, though fundamentalists from Islamabad to Houston coronate Him as their difference from the materialists. But He and their prayers to Him are just other commodities. These dudes are invoking the divine as a means of hijacking power and moral ground and influencing the gullible rather than of putting the human event into an actual divine context. No, the religious fanatics don’t help one iota because they don’t believe in anything either except their own xenophobic war-gods and sectarian agitprop. They raise an even stagier and more rigid pseudo-reality.

Faith is not sissyish or frivolous. The Dalai Lama doesn’t have a puerile, delusional intelligence, nor does a monk feeding the poor in Algeria, a nun in Colombia. These are mature, sophisticated beings with a measured sense of who they are and what the universe is. They do not think that serving the Divine is a sinecure or that they are wasting their lives. They are not intellectual or emotional cripples or copouts—quite the reverse.

Yet most average people are literally scaled down into triteness by their own doubts and apostasies, denying Christ at least three times a day before the cock crows. These doubts are durable and, in a metaphysical universe, have real psychic and planetary weight. We all participate in the murder of angels, the denial of other planes, the obligatory certainty that this is it, the whole enchilada. It is not only the obligatoriness and fierce certainty—that is a minor coloration—it is the living out of density at the frequency of density, so that we feel as dense as everything else and experience our exile in matter as absolute and fatal, with all that that implies.

There are days during which I have to force a shallow smile just to keep my humiliation and self-betrayal under wraps—and I am mostly faking it. I hit long dead spots where nothing happens, the world stays hard and “what you see is what you get.” I can be as cynical, dismissive, and recreationally wry as the next guy. I get suffocated in the thick, shiny, seamlessly self-renewing reality, and I get just as asphyxiated by the New Age extravagance and inflated kitsch proposed as its make-believe alternative, its own smug impenetrability and infernal amenity. The overriding mood is: let’s just tell jokes, stay amused, follow the games and the politics, have a good meal now and then, cherish the peaks for the fleeting epiphanies they are, hang for a while until the party ends.

To the nonbelievers and aggressive cynics (the Marxist atheists and professional academic crowd), “intellectual masturbation” and “opiate of the masses” sound just about right. Hedonistic vacuity and professional nihilism are the bands to which we march. Modernity is a nasty, tedious encampment, and we are all on death row. We are lifers too. We better have a sense of humor about it, not take ourselves too seriously. Existence is not for sissies.

Then just when things seem most hopeless, the whole universe opens up—not as the manic phase of a bipolar state but the song of Creation. I feel infinite capacity to change and be anything and everything, to contribute spontaneously to peace, well-being, and healing, not just in my immediate vicinity but throughout All That Is. Nothing could wipe that delighted, knowing smile off my face. I see a flock of geese or children playing in a schoolyard, recall a line from the Prajñâ-parâmitâ Heart Sutra, or receive instructions in a song—Jay and the Americans: “This magic moment/so different and so new…” or Jimmy Cliff: “This little boy is moving on….”

Such is the natural oscillation of existence. People get the same hits from sports triumphs, rock concerts, intimate relationships, or just upticks in the daily Om. “No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path….”

Catch a look on David Freese’s face at the turning point of the 2011 World Series. He grew up in St. Louis, a wannabe baller and fan of the locals; then he made the Show with the San Diego Padres. In a fluke deal for an aging superstar, he got traded to his hometown team. A month before his heroics the Cardinals faced something like one in five hundred odds even to make the playoffs, let alone the Series. Before Freese no one ever got two such legendary hits in consecutive at-bats—he logged three of them, tying and winning the sixth game with a double and a home run, respectively, and then tying the seventh with another double. He must have been wondering what had become of the universe, what alternate reality was running. It was playing his song and only his song. He was surfing the Real.

Both the epiphanies and the inconsolable griefs are real, both are ecstatic; both are unbearable, both are delusions. None of it is real but, ah, the way in which it’s not real…!

Rock musician Rob Brezsny (Tao Chemical) recalls staggering offstage after a high-energy performance to what “I most want to remember about my stay here on Earth; that when my body dies and my will-o’-the-wisp soul is negotiating its way through the bardo planes, I will treasure most the exquisite blown-out sensation that comes from blending kamikaze release with practiced discipline.”12

We are moving much too fast to notice ourselves in the act of life, and the speed of light is moving almost as fast. Sometimes a decade transpires in a day (revolutions, earthquakes, tsunamis, terrorist attacks), but all of it gets folded into life and death anyway, and then people abruptly depart this manifestation for good. It’s quite a thing, the Show.

So what to do?

For a start, just keep working at simple recognitions and psychic exercises, believing in them, believing in your epiphanies, that they are real epiphanies matching real energies, especially in hard times. Create and destroy roses; breathe into your visualizations. Bump the vibration up or down a plane or subplane. Neutrally experience what arises.

You have to go where fate (and the angels and guides) take you. There is no magical shortcut or “one size fits all.”

Any of this stuff—viewing auras, chakras, nadis; excavating past lives; finding the Soul; communicating telepathically with the dead (or for that matter the living); reading the future, remote viewing, etc.—is equivocal at best: first of all, because it may actually be fabulist bullshit sustained by self-delusion and fain suggestibility; secondly, because any exertion toward activating psychic techniques or proving them leads to zippo. There is no way to break the ice with a hammer; in fact, there is no way to break the ice.

Yet paradoxically, efforting is the only way to acquire tools. It takes concerted intention and commitment to generate an inner framework tight enough to attune you to upper frequencies because, if the energy field exists, it is operating at intervals that are indiscernible within the hypnotic body trance, and they are shifting wildly too. You have to expand your capacity. But first you have to build capacity.

Your approach has to be light and improvisational; efforting to attain subtlety is crushing a feather while pulling it off the surface of a lake. Effort takes you precisely the wrong way. Use effort to begin, to make your commitment to following through, but then turn effort into bare intention and receptivity. That is how you shatter the paradox.

You have to be willing to stumble and bumble, get blindsided; then you stop efforting and a portal opens in such a way that the part of you not in the Great Trance falls into alignment with the macrocosm, the “abyss of manifestation.” It just happens. “[F]ind an energy that is you—an energy of infinite resiliency, expanding in all directions, which like a lullaby assures you that all is well.”13

At the same time, maintain a minority report: allow that it is mere flimflam and that nothing psychic or paranormal could be possibly happening.

Real psychic flow comes from nimbleness, mirth, goofing around. At Berkeley Psychic Institute, joke books were made handy, and classes were routinely interrupted by random readings of cornball and politically incorrect ha-ha’s.

Once you acquire a few tools consciously, you can—oxymoron—try to use them without effort. Or not “try,” just let it happen. First you load yourself with information potential and intention, then Creation picks its spots.

“The difference between death and sleep,” declared Woody Allen, “is that when you’re dead and somebody yells, ‘Everybody up, it’s morning,’ it’s very hard to find your slippers.”14

So, have at it, Amazing Randi! Congratu-fucking-lations. It’s all just intellectual masturbation anyway.

The universe is laughing too.

v. Spirit Talking to Spirit

Everything I have presented up to now is a hoax, a post-hypnotic trigger (as it were) to something else. Reality will always differ from models of itself, which do not feel like the sort of labyrinth we are in.

Any system is a crutch or raft to allow you to refine your gaze. It gets you onto the playing field. From there, actualized practice is, as the Babe (the illustrious Mr. Ruth) put it, “the only real game.”

It is okay to return to the crutch, as long as you experience the map behind it. But you shouldn’t give up the raft until you can swim. It is not that you will drown; it is more likely that the water will vanish, and you will be back on dry land where you began. Or if you happen to drown, you’ll wake up in the next bardo, having to do the whole setup all over.

The cosmos has to become what it is insofar as you have to become what you are.

Recently I have begun to realize, quite incidentally, that I occasionally see faint spirits hovering around people, but I never looked at them because I always thought of them as mere after-images or neural smudges—bad information or not even information at all. In fact, almost no one actually looks at their own inner imagery even when they see it. I believe that we all glimpse high-vibrating semblances. Settling into neither outer nor inner sight, they hang between realities. Psychologists identify them as projections, libidinal spills. There is no way the hawk can see outside his hood.

In the early Nineties, almost twenty years before I did any psychic work, a friend’s face suddenly “flipped”: I saw it melt into a sequence of other faces. This happened during a straightforward bodywork training program in which he was demonstrating an exercise. Suddenly, right before my eyes, without warning or a transitional phase, he was no longer there, at least not as himself. I was looking at a Mongol warrior, then several individuals alternating in such rapid sequence that they were present simultaneously even as they succeeded one another. I don’t recall the entire cast, but one was an African shaman, another a wiry old Scotsman, and one was definitely not human or male; s/he was from another planet or a lost hominid species of the Ice Age. They were actual—as real as anything else.

I was flabbergasted. I had never seen such a thing before (and I have never seen anything like it since, though occasionally, if I am attentive in a certain way, a face will flip for an instant). This was not a macule or optical illusion; it was pure sight.

When I told my friend what I had just observed, he was stunned: “Those are exactly the past lives that several psychics have reported to me. You were spot-on.”

I wish I knew how I did this one too.

I now try to shift offhandedly to other vibrations (or the intimation of other vibrations) whenever circumstances call for it or at least when they alert me to a possible opening. Maybe I am not doing that exactly, but I am doing something, and it has energy—energy of a slightly different quality from the vibrations of psychotherapy or Zen meditation, more along the lines of shamanic evocation. That’s how I saw the illuminated city above Noniland. Yet nothing has ever been as lucid as that Mongol warrior.

As you become more consciously psychic, you automatically begin to read others’ (and even your own) thoughts (and moods and actions) as expressions of energy that are not necessarily what they seem at the time. You lose one level of recognition, but you gain another because the system is bottomless and the process is infinitely more complex than you can gauge or than can be outed at any one moment. It is no big deal; it is not even novel: it is just an internal shift of objective focus.

What you experience, even at its most profound and subtle, is mutating stuff passing through your aura. You cause anything to deepen only into your own actual depth.

Once I began to recognize the possibility of accessible subtle-energy fields, I began intentionally reading people and, though I might not always get their story right, I intuited that there was a story, and I usually got a piece. But I had to take a shot in the dark and not just as a throwaway wager; I had to believe in it. I began seeing quite different things—that is, I began seeing richer forms of people and events. Or I began noticing that I was already seeing richer, more nuanced forms but had been discounting them. I knew more about people than I had been willing to let on to myself, in part because I read more than it was safe to read. I think that this is how most great psychics start. They chance believing in their intuitions, even the looniest ones, initially as young children, perhaps because a “psychic” grandmother encouraged them. Then, if those intuitions and future visions turn out, against all odds and rational premises, to be accurate, they adjust their baseline belief system. Over time their new belief system becomes more stable and real as more intuitions come true. Eventually they trust their hunches and “clairvoyant” hits enough to go on television and read the auras of audience members and callers-in randomly and shamelessly. They don’t have any paradigm or explanation for what they are doing. They just do it and ride the wave.*

To this day I cannot aver that I see anything like people’s auras or past lives, or can even tell you exactly what these things look like in their actual multidimensional state, but I always see something, especially when I remember to shift from attunement by intellect to attunement by energy. What I glimpse is probably the combination of an imaginal aura and the transient three-dimensional projection of an event or object beyond scale. It is as though I might be able to see their auras. And that gives them something very much like auras.

I sometimes instantaneously read a stranger passing on the street. It is a split-second snapshot, but if I give it a go, I get a flash as extrinsically unfamiliar as another person’s imprint would be. These sensations also have

 

*See the story of the Kwakiutl shaman Quesalid in the Introduction to Volume Three.

 

 

 

been there my whole life, unacknowledged. They are either nothing or the key to the kingdom.

You begin seeing because you begin believing, and you begin believing because you are seeing.

Occasionally I feel a powerful and intense sensation and get a rush of fragmentary images just from looking at a person in a car or truck turning around me as I stand at a corner, perhaps as our glances meet. I used to think of these as nothing more than free-association flights of fancy. But their fragments (even if only a fraction of a second long) are vivid, cinematic, instantaneous, and definitely not coming from me.

You can do the same with a crow passing overhead: just shift to the bird’s frequency in imaginal space. For a fraction of a second, before your automatic censor blocks or erases it, you capture its psychic territory; you meld with the crow and “get” its reality—a breathtaking peep through a corvine platform. It is languageless and gone before you even know it is there. If the bird is releasing a throaty sound, that vibration can serve as an emanation to match. The key is: don’t talk yourself out of it and don’t back off. The only difference between you and an Apache shaman is that the shaman has practiced it fifty thousand times and knows what’s up.

In April 2011 I attended a party for the publication of Robert Duncan’s H. D. Book more than two decades after his death. The guests that night included many former poetry associates of his now in their seventies and eighties, some of them quite infirm, in wheelchairs or using crutches. Readings and tapes of Duncan’s writings went on a bit long for my attention span, so I drifted into considering my options. Given that RD was a theosophist as well as a bard, I deemed it admissible to scan the auras of people in the room (or at least to try).

I initially drifted into a familiar toggle of staring too literally with my eyes, then reactively swinging too far in the other direction by closing them. Both frequencies proved as pretentious as they were fatuous.

Finally I lapsed into an intermediate position and began to see pale rainbow patterns in each person’s trajectory. They were indistinct, patchy, intermittent, but they did stay relatively stable as to color and shape whenever I returned to a given person. A man’s or woman’s orangish aura remained orange, and a purple or yellow streak showed up consistently, or consistently within an orbital range. Because so many different layers and dimensions are in play in auras and because I saw so little of their actual holograms, each separate peep at a person’s field caused a stable element to change in relation to the overall topology. On second or third glance a yellow streak might be higher or deeper or rotated ninety degrees relative to the pattern’s main axis, but it didn’t go away.

The space into which these “auras” fell was that of interior imagery, like an actual memory of the past rather than poltergeist currents of fog over wind tunnels. The auras of the physically most decrepit people were the brightest, clearest, and most colorful, with puffs of royal purple, glows of violet gauze, and even a few scintillations of gold. By contrast, the auras of younger people were duller, thinner, and less rainbow-like. I took that to mean that, as our physical filament weakens and dissipates, our spiritual vibration expands and fills—life information translated into a higher vibration. I also figured that since the members of this crew were associates of Duncan, he was providing, as always, a trickster’s tilt. He would play us, for sure.

Scags of unruly white hair around a bald pate like something out of a Dickens novel, March-of-Dimes crutches clamped to his wrists, poet David Meltzer was helped to the stage, then with a bit of a vaudeville slapstick declared, “Let me get rid of these crutches.” He bounced them gruffly off the back wall, turned, and let the podium break his lurch. Holding it with both hands and beaming a long beatific smile, he finally said, “See. This is what happens.” At that moment, in the right outer edge of his aura I saw a thin bar of alchemical gold.

The other day I briefly watched the spirit of a North Atlantic staff-person’s long-dead mother following her around the office, checking up on her—not as a cohesive chevron but a diffuse figurine, an ectoplasmic fragment.

My streak of recognition began the afternoon before when, while holding my newborn grandson for the first time across the room from his five-year-old brother, I offhandedly scanned for their proximal past-life identities. That is, without straining to observe, I looked at what might be there, just in case.

Month-old Joey cast a faintly visible wise old avatar, a grizzled sage in bearded form. Older Leo’s doppelgänger was younger, not past his forties—dashing, physical, athletic, in a leather jacket.

This spontaneous mythography intimated that Joey had been a learned magister who lived to ripe old age, while Leo had been a race-car driver, a bon vivant who had flamed out young.

I know—these sightings are at about the level of “Little Lulu,” “Sylvester and Tweety” cameos elicited by a woman with a crooked, warty nose and tall pointed hat hovering over a crystal ball.

So, was it my ditzy, indulgent imagination? Relics from old comics? Corrupted files? Cinemas posing meretriciously as past lives?

All these explanations are possible, even likely. Yet I realized certain other things at the time: the images of my grandsons came unprompted; they were my first pictures; they were stable. Remote-viewer Russell Targ once told me: “The target is always the first thing you think or see, and you have to grab it before everything else intercedes.” And he had clearance at the Pentagon to remote-view Russian missiles for the generals.

I didn’t supply these images, at least not consciously. Such imagery flows automatically and unexamined through all our brains, much like in blindsight experiments in which subjects with gaps in their visual field register objects there and report them with a high degree of accuracy, even though they never see them—the actual forms never enter their conscious minds. Blindsight subjects prefer an intact house to one in flames even though they don’t see the fire—because they “feel” its presence (see Volume One, Chapter Five). Targ was able to teach soldiers how to do it themselves.

Later I asked John Friedlander about my experience of these figments: “Are they real? Could these have really been the immediate past lives of my grandsons?” I knew there was no answer, but I had to ask someone who had pondered the mystery longer and with an unforgiving focus.

He said that I was asking the wrong question; the real issue wasn’t whether the images were real or true. “They are energy,” he prompted. “Energy transcends identification or designation. If they work for you, they’re real.”

The right question, he went on to explain, is whether, upon exploring these images over time, they hold up and continue to deepen and retain meaning in relation to the person for whom they were visioned. Whether an image continues to grow and develop is what confirms or negates its reality, not its putative factualness. Our frame of meaning is that large and diffuse. You plant a seed, any seed; whatever it is grows.

I am reminded of something that happened during my year studying at Berkeley Psychic Institute—and I consider this the central fable for all three volumes of my book. Director Javier Thistlethwaite, a man in his mid-thirties and a former stock-car racer in Mexico who first came to BPI only because he heard it was a great place to meet girls and ended up marrying the founder’s daughter, was running the joint. Javier liked to gather an audience from the various classes in session and demonstrate some principle or other in the common room. One evening he performed a series of past-life readings of random students. Each recipient in turn responded like “Yo, that was incredible. That was so my past life. How did you do it?” As the buzz died down from the last clairvoyant feat, he looked at the group and asked, “Was that her real past life? Is any of this stuff really true?”

After a half a minute of scanning a room of nonresponders he answered his own question: “I haven’t the slightest idea. Her past life is past, and the reading is past. And my question is past too. We’ll never prove anything one way or another. The only thing that matters is that energy moves energy in the present. I as spirit was talking to her as spirit.”

He was saying, “Here it is on a platter for all you young dudes.”

Ostensibly fake or ostensibly real, it is all energy. Any psychic ambition (or skepticism) aside, we are always activating and reading, using and transforming energy; we are always manifesting and decoding states of information. Validity comes solely from recognitions that continue to resonate over time. This is as true of metaphysics as it is of physics.

As Javier affirmed, actual truth and fictiveness are impossible to pin down anyway. Time itself is entangled at multiple levels, and our memories are as conditional as our lives. What’s a real past life as opposed to a made-up one? What’s the definitive test for either?

A memory pattern, whether presenting ordinarily or ostensibly beyond time, is relevant only insofar as it supplies current energy. The dead are dead and gone, whether they were us or someone else. From where we sit, “real or unreal” is unanswerable in every sense. It’s a question without even a context or use. A real individuality (Atman) or sublime configuration (Monad) runs beneath all transiting personae.

At one level or another, everything—love, art, battle—is a leap of faith that we must take sooner or later, or live in an empty, drear universe.

Even if a past life is deemed real by some arbitrary standard, is it an immediately proximal one and does it definitively belong to you? It might be also a prior “past” existence or an alternate life of karmic significance. How do you know if something is specifically your past life as opposed to the past life of a “brother” or “sister” in your Group Soul or an extraneous past life to which you have access through some other multi-personality concordance or, for that matter, telepathic interference inside your aura or brain?

Literal past lives imply a necessity to have been reborn continually and egoically elsewhere in other bodies and minds. But what does that mean? You can have equally profound connections and psychic resonances with a range of different lives without explicit personal or chronological links.

An otherwise conventional uptown New Yorker called me one morning in 2011 on the recommendation of my stepmother and confided nervously that she had been a concubine of a pharaoh and that her present husband had been in the palace guard. After Egypt they stood in similar relationship to each other through numerous other reincarnations through the Middle Ages and Renaissance. She wanted my opinion on how to proceed.

Yikes! What to say? This was New Age central-casting calling, plus I am not often confronted with such a direct request.

I accepted her deposition at face value and promised to call her back. I put it off for a couple of months, then I bit the bullet.

We were soon back at the same place. She repeated her past-life details, so I asked how she knew these things. I won’t go into particulars, but the answer was: she didn’t know them or experience them—she was told them by a psychic. But—and this is the important part—she did know and experience something, something quite profound and unquestionably inside herself, and it was that thing which gave the psychic’s channeling its ring of validity. This other thing was deep and real and not validated in any way by consensus reality or the belief systems of those around her. It had an ineffable and numinous quality that could more readily encompass past lives in ancient Egypt and mediaeval France than it could accept the denial of its very existence. It was that that she wanted and needed, and felt compelled to give shape to.

I suggested that she not so much forget her “past lives” as forget trying to confirm them, and merely follow the other thing that she did know. After all, that was what gave resonance to the stories.

You can’t get to higher frequencies just by willfully labeling them or making up fancy stories. You can only match pictures, psychically or any way you choose (psychologically, religiously, slackerly). And that is what life is anyway: doing things because you match their pictures, because you like to, because the stuff is there, because time has to be filled with something, because you want to be happy, because you want to splash in the real. You match your talents, your friends, your lovers, your enemies, your business partners, your colleagues, your politics, your melodramas, your sports teams, your meals, your favorite songs, your TV shows, all your serious encounters. You don’t have to know what you are doing; you just do it.

What’s the “real” as opposed to “psychic” source of anything? If someone claims to be channeling extragalactic entities or dolphins and whales or Abraham or their Druid great-great-grandfather or, as various acquaintances have reported to me with trenchant conviction, the Sirians or Arcturians, what is relevant is that they have an authentic experience and are tapping into something, something that cosmic entities or telepathic sea mammals or their own “past lives” suggest to them. They are confirming intimations. Authenticity of connection stands out; the rest is beyond designation or proof. We don’t know squat about our actual situation but, at core, we know everything.

Because we live in a society of “put up or shut up,” we develop an inflated view of the value of verification. If someone is healed from a chronic or longstanding symptom complex after a past-life regression—for instance, from the insight that a stomach pain is actually an unhealed scar from a lance wound in a previous lifetime—that is a successful past-life healing but not a proven past life. It could mean that there was an actual incident in an actual lifetime, or it could mean that the metaphor of the “lance” got at an energetic knot underlying the condition and released it by allowing it to release itself. Who cares if it was a lance, a bullet, or a metaphor. A metaphor (or placebo) is as good as a karmic memory and, at any present moment, astonishingly, there is no difference between the two, certainly no functional difference; plus, as Javier affirms, we haven’t the slightest idea and never will (in this body anyway). So go with energy, always. Energy is always morphing and transmogrifying. It doesn’t matter what it was (or wasn’t). Forget the past or the truth.

In psychic space the energy of a bullet can turn into an equally energetic spear. Not knowing the skinny is no excuse not to accept the invitation, not to go toward the pull and allow the attraction of the energy, whatever that energy is, whatever its “real” source. What else do you want to do with the life that entropy and the gods have given you.

It is all spirit communicating with spirit. Once you understand that, you accept that energy has its own reasons, its own value, its own meaning set. And the system is fully overdetermined. You can pick a meaning and it might not be the right meaning (the right “past life,” the right source of energy, the “actual” cord in play), but it is always meaningful. If you repeat the process twenty, a hundred times and more, the “past life,” the person, the picture, the cord, the remote view, whatever first arose will eventually become what it is, and that will be meaningful in a whole different way. It may not be the most meaningful thing to you or your destiny, but it will still be of psychospiritual use. It may even pass at the Pentagon for a deployment of Soviet missiles.

This is why cords and pictures do not generally get removed on a first try with roses or psychic plucking: you do not get the actual shape and position of the energy, the precise knot or image, or even the full plexus available to you—plus not all of it is available.

If a system is overdetermined, then everything in it works in some fashion and everything is real. Astrology, the Enneagram, palmistry, angel readings, and other similar typologies are also overdetermined. But if everything works, how do you know what really works? How do you know if anything works?

You don’t and you can’t (Javier). No matter what number is assigned to you in the Enneagram or what interpretation an astrologer draws from your birth chart or whether he even drew it accurately within his own system, it will always not only mean something but open an evolving matrix of meanings. It will always be accurate, even when a different number or chart or reading is imposed later or by someone else. Everything is correct because the point is not to ace the universe’s resumé but to get into psychic—meaning cosmic—process, which always flows toward depth of symbol and meaning, even as it materializes toward stars and solar systems. A “wrong” meaning is also biased toward the truth—and how do you know it’s wrong? It could simply be unripe or incomplete. It is still psychic, by default, so it is pulled by psychic gravity.

The wary novice, the suspicious customer at a psychic reading, the Freudian-slip maven each tend to assume (for their own separate but related reasons) that their mind is tricking itself into making meaningful associations and divinations and reporting either an answer they want or a story that supports their chosen binge, so they secretly malign sententious outcomes to themselves as if they were merely the results of their own manipulation, cheating, or metaphysical fakery.

Yet even the most over-tipped or prompted correlation will bear some element of truth and will also set the stage and trajectory for the next and then the next. “Fake it until you make it” is the motto of the Berkeley Psychic Institute for a good reason.

Even if we had countless lives or prior existences, they are no longer operative and no longer inform us directly; they are not in our present range. They don’t even mean what they did then; their past is elsewhere. They mean what they are. Time is a timelessly unfolding lotus. How can you find actual past lifetimes among its folds? They could be anything by now. In truth, they manifest in present consciousness as anything else but never as themselves because that would be a sentence of eternal return, which is not the judgment of this particular system.

Whether something is or isn’t an actual past life is both imponderable and irrelevant. If its energy vortex is coming toward you or arising in you or just nipping at your imagination, then it has something to do with you and you are meant to know it. In that sense, it is your past life: it is vibrating in the energy field from which you arise. It is pulling you into its emblem and story. If you stick with it and follow it, it will continue to overdetermine itself and eventually lead you to an actual past life or to whatever is there to be known. That is the difference between going with the psychological interpretation of a picture as a projection of your own mind and a psychic interpretation of it as energy from an unknown source with a possibility of limitless expansion.

Even a convincing past life, a past life you regularly dream of and seem to remember, might not be a “life” in a literal sense; it might simply be a relevant vortex. Another way to put it is: we have continuity and interface with the universe and are interrelated and interdependent with energy flowing through the cosmic system. Whether where we come from niches out into actual sequential lives or is closer to intersections with consciousness fields and vibrations, like passing from dream bodies to angels to undines to humans to knights, is not as critical a distinction as you might at first think. Its anchor and ballast are not keyed in the manner of: drop into this life, goodbye; now get born again and drop into this life; adios; now be this new person. It is more like a whirlpool of simultaneous, overlapping, internally referenced and vibratory states and flows of information, regardless of specification or individuation, between consciousness systems and projections of reality systems.

We are born. This is a planet orbiting a sun-star—strange business. We are made of local molecules in networks. Our existence here is defined, in one sense, by how difficult and costly it is to get an astronaut out of the gravity-well into space, how empty and vast the space, how uninhabitable almost all of the physical cosmos: airless, toxic, frozen, or molten. Only the Earth egg Earth supports our existence, and it is also our matrix. What is interior hangs in the balance of what is exterior, but it cannot penetrate it.

Of course you will never know if any of it is real or not. No one will ever know. So what! We are blind, deaf, and clueless anyway. Each of us will live and then we will die, and all the proofs and disproofs won’t count for moose turd then.

Life comes out of a searingly hollow place, out of bottomless vortices, out of our own “negative capability.” Even if we don’t survive death, even if our expectation of continuing to “be” is itself a delusion, we still must be what we are, travel our own darkness, complete the given trip, exist.

?

On October 22, 2010, during morning rush hour I was riding the Number 1 Broadway subway en route to a meeting in downtown Manhattan. With the car packed, I began to worry compulsively about a terrorist with a bomb—that I had ended up just where I had promised never ever to let myself be. The anxiety triggered a mood shift. A corrosive doubt undercut my spirit and any sense of hope or confidence. I sank into its tar for the better part of a minute.

Then I thought of protection roses and gently placed one, an effortless white one, luminously upholstered and psychically charged, outside in the dark tunnel to guard the car.

After a moment of static floating and placeholding, the meta-flower blip began to clone a holographic ring of bioluminescent roses orbiting like electrons. They made a soft, radiant field like an aura around the train. This happened without me doing anything to the rose and in a space that was neither internal nor external. As the roses circled, individual ones seemed to change from wave to particle back to wave back to particle—or something like that. Perhaps they were teasing me, or maybe they were really in uncertainty states. We were flying!

I stood among the crowd, holding the pole, swaying in balance against the jerks and shifts, the vehicle’s rhythm of acceleration and braking, watching this curious, autonomous display encircle us while the other riders vibrated at the densities of their various auras. But it all had jumped up a notch, and everyone seemed happier and more aware. Waves of hilarity and good will, gratefulness and compassion toward everyone, swept over me and the other passengers—the hypothetical terrorist too. I realized that even if he was in this car with his device among us, even if the roses were not adequate to protect us and he blew the whole damn subway up, it would all be okay, in the long run, not only for those whom I glimpsed in the moment as my eyes panned, but for the universe as well.

We were okay, and this was okay.

The vision had depth and resonance, even as it was a mere immature cartoon of what I might have done if I were brave enough and really trained as an Aquarian ensign.

It was an epiphany or brief intersection with the epiphany that is always there, as I called out to him in my mind, ‘Go ahead, do it. Go for it. You can’t harm us or yourself.’

As we zoomed between stations, I thought back to when I rode this IRT line to and from school (1956–1962)—how tedious and interminable the hour-plus journey from to 96th Street to 242nd and back, how remote I was from any kind of grace as I did my homework and matched the oscillation of my existence; how entrenched my youthful melancholy and existential nihilism, how dense and panoptic the world, how recreationally cruel the cynicism and fury of pundits around me everywhere, how I longed against any hope imaginable then to be healed and be able to heal—in daydreams of extraterrestrial allies, in tarot cards, in alternate romantic lives, in “Dream lover, where are you…?”, in “Somewhere beyond the sea…,” in “Why must I be-ee/a teenager in love?”15

It took a long time—a long long long long time. Now, a couple of weeks before my sixty-sixth birthday, that wish on the Broadway subway, silently and effortlessly, had been granted.

 

 

Chapter Seven. Surfing the Operation of the Real (endnotes)

1. The Master Therion, Aleister Crowley, Magick in Theory and Practice (New York: Castle Books, no date given), p. 11.

2. Paul Foster Case, The Tarot: A Key to the Wisdom of the Ages (New York: Macoy Publishing Company, 1947), p. 32.

3. Arthur Edward Waite, The Pictorial Key to the Tarot (London: Rider, 1911), folio 39 (online).

4. This quote is a medley from Paul Foster Case, The Tarot, p. 199, and Arthur Edward Waite, The Pictorial Key to the Tarot, folio 48.

5. Oberto Airaudi (Falco), personal communication blogged by an American visitor to his commune.

6. This was grafted from my unpublished nonfiction novel Episodes in Disguise of a Marriage, 1976.

7. Sylvan Muldoon, The Projection of the Astral Body, edited by Hereward Carrington (York Beach, Maine: Weiser Books, 1969), pp. 47–48.

8. Ibid., p. 48.

9. Ibid., p. 316.

10. Monica Szu-Whitney and Gary Whitney, Portals and Corridors: A Visionary Guide to Hyperspace (Berkeley: Frog, Ltd., 1999), p. 7.

11. Richard Grossinger, 2006 Europe Trip Journal, www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/03/trip-journal/.

12. Rob Brezsny, Televisionary Oracle (Berkeley, California: Frog, Ltd., 2000).

13. John Friedlander and Gloria Hemsher, Psychic Psychology: Energy Skills for Life and Relationships (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, 2011), p. 251.

14. Woody Allen, Side Effects (New York: Ballantine Books, 1986), p. 54.

15. “Dream Lover,” written and recorded by Bobby Darin, 1959; “Beyond the Sea,” written by Jack Lawrence, 1946, recorded by Bobby Darin, 1959; “Teenager in Love,” written by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman and recorded by Dion and the Belmonts, 1959.

Pages 240–242: The childhood tarot account was partially grafted from 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, p. 575.

Pages 241–242: The section on reshuffling the tarot was grafted from 2010 Kaua’i Trip, www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/08/2010-kauai-trip.

Pages 242–246: The section on the tarot was partially grafted from “A Primary Reading List,” www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/04/a-primary-reading-list/. The designations are adapted from Paul Foster Case, The Tarot. For further discussion of the matrix of cards, see New Moon (Berkeley, California: Frog Ltd., 1996), pp. 403–404.

Pages 248–251: The section on Astral travel was partially grafted from Richard Grossinger, 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration (Berkeley, California: North Atlantic Books, 2010), pp. 365–367.

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/12/dark-pool-of-light-volume-two-chapter-seven-surfing-the-operation-of-the-real/feed/ 0 Notes Updated December 1, 2012 http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/11/notes-updated-november-19-2012/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/11/notes-updated-november-19-2012/#comments Wed, 21 Nov 2012 15:59:05 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1189

 

News Notes

Up to now, this website has been a blog in the sense that my most recent post has made up the home page and stayed there until the next most recent post.  These cumulative posts are still all present on the site (to the right, see the vertical column).  Instead, I will now regularly update the home page with news, feelers, and outreach:

Lindy and I have rented a loft on 27th between 10th and 11th to spend and are in NYC through December 15.

Richard Grossinger, Book-Signings in New York CIty

December 12, talk and book-signing

Talk, Author Interview (by Daniel Pinchbeck), and Book-Signing for Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness, Three Volumes

Grossinger will  engage in a dialogue with Daniel Pinchbeck and the audience. Copies of the three newly-published books will be available.

Volume One: The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness

Volume Two: Consciousness in Psychospiritual and Psychic Ranges

Volume Three: The Crisis and Future of Consciousness

McNally-Jackson Books, 52 Prince Street (between Lafayette and Mulberry); Spring Street subway stop on 6, N, R, F, V, M, D, B trains, December 12, 2012, 7 PM.

 

In his three-volume work Dark Pool of Light, Richard Grossinger weaves neuroscience and the phenomenology of being and reality together with psychospiritual views of “that single thing which is most difficult to understand or vindicate: our own existence.” Dark Pool of Light Volume One addresses the mystery of how subjective consciousness gets into a material universe to witness itself objectively in egoic systems. In particular, it gauges the various degrees and qualities of gap between mindedness as an experiential state and the brain as a physical object, calling out the schizophrenia of scientists who assert that consciousness is a mirage while living as if they themselves are real. Volumes Two and Three explore the remote ranges and exquisite meanings of consciousness, whether it is real or not. Volume Two leads the reader from a consideration of the psychic aspects of everyday life to engagement with energies outside the human range. Volume Three addresses mortality and the nature of evil while presenting a unified theory of the universe that includes consciousness.

 

New Book

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness:

The Convergence of Physical, Philosophical, Psychological, Psychospiritual, and Psychic Views

Table of Contents

 

Volume One

The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: What the Fuck is This?

Chapter Two: The Scientific View of Reality and Consciousness

Chapter Three: Consciousness: Everything and Nothing

Chapter Four: Degrees of Consciousness: Protoconsciousness, Preconsciousness, and the Freudian Unconscious

Chapter Five: Systemic Consciousness: Nonconsciousness and the Loss of Consciousness

Chapter Six: Qualia or Zombies?

Chapter Seven: Consciousness as an Emergent Phenomenon: The Psycholinguistics and Phylogenesis of Meaning

Chapter Eight: The Quantum Brain

Chapter Nine: The Ontology and Cosmology of Consciousness

Chapter Ten: The Subtexts of Science

Deleted Scenes

 

Volume Two

Introduction

Chapter One: Theosophy and the Hermetic Tradition

Chapter Two: Psychic Tools

Chapter Three: We Are Already Psychic

Chapter Four: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Human Home Energy

Chapter Five: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Frequencies Above the Range of Ordinary Experience

Chapter Six: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Tuning Outside the Axis of Human Home Energy

Chapter Seven: Surfing the Operation of the Real

Chapter Eight: Focusing on What Is Happening

Chapter Nine: Buddhism and Theosophy: A Comparison

Hyperlinks

Volume Three

Movement Three

The Crisis and Future of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: Demonic Entities and Their Symbols of Transformation

Chapter Two: Fear Has an Intelligence

Chapter Three: How Did Evil Get into the Universe?

Chapter Four: One Encounter, One Chance

Chapter Five: Converting Thoughtforms and Riding Synchronicity: Roses, Tarot Cards, and Scapula Bones

Chapter Six: Family Constellations

Chapter Seven: The Cosmic Eternity System

Chapter Eight: We Are In Existence

Hyperlinks

 

Richard Grossinger, Book-Signing in Bay Area

Copperfields Books, Thursday, January 17th at 7pm in Sebastopol, California

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness

Three Volumes

 

Maine Psychic Group

My psychic group  meets at 7 PM on Tuesday nights in Manset when I am in Maine (next meetings on Friday 12-21-12 and the following 2 Tuesdays ).  Inquire if interested. Everyone welcome. Please call 207-244-0471 for directions.

Here is a great group I have gone to see many times in Central Park: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x243eDl-M78

New,  Current, and Forthcoming Publications

Migraine Auras: When the Visual World Fails; On the Integration of Nature: Post-9/11 Biopolitical Notes; Embryos, Galaxies, and Sentient Beings: How the Universe Makes Life; Homeopathy: The Great Riddle; Planet Medicine: Origins; and Planet Medicine: Modalities have all been prepared for e-books and will be coming out between December, 2012, and March, 2013. On the Integration of Nature, Homeopathy, and Planet Medicine  have new prefaces that I am also posting on this website. All the books have been corrected with minor changes throughout. The two volumes of Planet Medicine have several hundred changes combined.

The Bardo of Waking Life, 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, and New Moon are now in e-book format and available.  For The Bardo of Waking Life, I corrected typos and added a note indicating where the gap in the book takes place during our trip to Europe (http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/03/trip-journal/).

For 2013, I corrected typos and wrote a different conclusion to my Introduction on the 2012 cosmic shift.

For New Moon, I removed the entire last section (“The Alchemical Wedding”), restoring the book to its original form.  I also returned the names of many of the people to what they actually were, fixed a confusion of narrative version early in the book, and added a note to cover sections omitted in the “Teen Tour” chapter (in the print version too, as part of the transition from Salty and Sandy, my high-school novel, to New Moon).  I also added an Afterword explaining all these changes and related issues; it is available on this website: http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2011/04/afterword-to-e-book-version-of-new-moon/.

The two books which I am substantially rewriting for e-book format (as well as  small print editions) are Out of Babylon: Ghosts of Grossinger’s and The Night Sky.

For The Night Sky, I am updating and revising the entire book, using a fresh OCR scan of the 1988 J. P. Tarcher edition.

For Out of Babylon I have restored most of the material removed from its original manuscript and placed in New Moon (“The Alchemical Wedding,” as per above), I have rewritten some sections from the North Atlantic Books history on this website and placed them in the appropriate spots (replacing anecdotal snippets and lists), and I have generally edited and changed the weaker parts of the book.  I have always thought that Out of Babylon was a promising novel in a Faulknerian tradition (even if nonfiction), but it was unfinished and flawed.  The e-book opportunity has given me at shot at fixing that.  I am  presently looking for proofreaders and feedback on the draft, so write me if you are interested and willing.

 

Family

My Wife: Lindy Hough had a new collection of selected poems come out in the spring of 2011.  It is her first book since 1976 and is called Wild Horses, Wild Dreams. Check it out:

http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Horses-Dreams-Selected-1971-2010/dp/1556439628/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1309394777&sr=8-3

It also has a video trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PG3FF3Mysw

My Daughter: Miranda July’s new movie is The Future: http://thefuturethefuture.com/.

My Son: Robin Grossinger is writing a book on Napa County for University of California Press publication in spring 2012: Napa Valley Historical Ecology Atlas.

My Son-in-Law: Mike Mills’ new movie is Beginners: http://www.focusfeatures.com/profile/mike_mills

 

 

 

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/11/notes-updated-november-19-2012/feed/ 0 Planet Medicine: New Introduction for E-Book http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/11/new-preface-for-e-book-of-planet-medicine/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/11/new-preface-for-e-book-of-planet-medicine/#comments Wed, 21 Nov 2012 15:58:05 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1187

Planet Medicine

Introduction to the E-book Edition

 

Reading my own Planet Medicine in 2012, decades after its composition, I find not so much an organized thesis as a meandering archive of healing systems and their medicinal meanings. A medley of epiphanies, catharses, and umbrages, it is a rebellion against authority (both medical and literary) inside but also in opposition to the anthropological establishment.

I began writing Planet Medicine in 1976 as a book proposal for Harper and Row. Several editions of the book were published by different companies in the seventies, eighties, and nineties. Its last note sounded sometime in 2002. After a gap of a subsequent decade, I find the following: Planet Medicine’s radical proposition is still active. I experienced some of the same “cures” and revelations as back in the day, for the book is full of magical prompts, therapeutic exercises, and shamanic bumps. While some of its lessons got embodied and internalized for me as I wrote it, others had been lost and forgotten, making me a neophyte in my own text. When I traveled the course anew, I became aware of my unconscious imperatives, shallow breaths, and parasitic movements. I was brought into harmony with spirits, and I received a fresh personal transmission.

I believe that Planet Medicine always had this quality, its most redeeming feature: to act as a guide to self-healing.

On the negative side this book is, to my present sensibility, a disorganized jumble of unexamined assertions and partisan didacticisms repeated in shifting contexts, including a number of poorly conceived and lazy paragraphs. I am embarrassed by that aspect, but what can I do? I am no longer the guy who wrote it, and I can’t anymore quiet him down; he is who he is.

Not all of Planet Medicine is a mess—only about a quarter of it, but that’s a lot. Another quarter seems amazing, startling, wonderful. Like any book the other half gets by, though I didn’t think I was writing “any book” at the time: I was conducting prophecy and art. But I had no perspective on the background against which I was generating a shape.

In retrospect, some of Planet Medicine’s predicaments were the result of a careless process and bad decisions. I accrued material uncritically without indexing or correlating it. I went from a proposal for Harper to a revised proposal for Doubleday to a series of drafts for Doubleday to an expanded and revised behemoth over almost twenty-five years. Even in the mid-seventies when I started, I didn’t resolve whether the project was an up-tempo tour of alternative medicines (which is what the acquiring editor at Doubleday preferred), a continuation of my graduate study in ethnomedicine, or a new stage in my then ongoing lineage of experimental prose books from Solar Journal and The Continents (1966–1969) to Book of the Cranberry Islands and The Slag of Creation (1969–1974). In effect, it became a bridge between a twenty-something self, who was already a clash of a compliant academic and a rambunctious artist, and a Saturn-return through fifty-something self, who was vision-questing experientially into systems for acts that he could believe in.

I never resolved the matter, so a series of clashing cadences reflects my default blend of ethnographic documentation, New Age marketing, and Black Mountain rap (with facile parentheses, brackets, and dashes). Some reviewers remarked on how confusing the style was, particularly its back-and-forth nuancing of its own conflicted voice. Hidden in a medical ethnography is a cyclical performance of a ceremony and the composition of an aborted poem.

The Doubleday editors asked me for a last-minute subtitle to discriminate my book from another being published at the time (Theodore Roszak’s Person/Planet), so as not to go up against an author more famous than me. I offered a number of possibilities, each of which they rejected. Then I submitted a playful parody of their own sound bites: From Stone Age Shamanism to Post-Industrial Healing. They loved it, and it stuck.

In the brief life of the Doubleday edition (1979) and the eighties that followed, Planet Medicine had many advocates. Read by a generation, it was a contributor to the revival of alternative medicine in the West and was seminal in numerous career choices and career changes. A required text in courses in alternative medicine, history of medicine, anthropology, and philosophy, it was also assigned in osteopathic and Traditional Chinese Medicine colleges. For a number of years it was placed on reading lists of conventional medical schools as an intro to complementary views and procedures. On that basis, I was invited to address incoming medical students in San Francisco during their orientation period. The edition was translated into German as Wege des Heilens (Ways of Health). Yet after Doubleday lost half its print run in the warehouse, it elected not to reprint, making the book’s tenure a mere 3,000 units.

After it went out of print in 1980, a year after its pub date, I sold the rights, and it was republished in 1983. Though the pages were badly rendered the first time on a belt press (with sections of broken type), the new publisher (Shambhala) understandably did not want to pay for a whole new typesetting job. They reproduced the existing text cheaply with a photo-offset version. I was permitted to rewrite some material in the Reich chapter (a mess because of Doubleday’s historic permissions issues with the Reich estate) and also to update the book with what was essentially a second, shorter Planet Medicine at the end of the first as an epilogue.

The Shambhala edition went out of print almost as quickly, and the rights reverted again to me. I published two subsequent North Atlantic editions, essentially reprints of the Shambhala version, the first in 1985. In the predigital days of publishing, once a text was typeset it was “frozen” on the page. Without changing the type I could make only minor revisions.

Yet I was dissatisfied with where the book had landed because, needless to say, it didn’t keep up with my research. I should have written a second book: Planet Medicine Revisited or somesuch. But I was attached to the generic vessel. I paid for a re-keyboarding of the Shambhala edition and siphoned my discoveries from twelve or so years into its matrix. The sudden digital fluidity of the publication process by comparison with the constraints of the past encouraged me to indulge, so I poured out the entire contents of my medicine bundle. I retained almost everything from the Doubleday and Shambhala editions while inserting new stuff in its expanding grid and along the margins, running my narratives together in an undifferentiated scroll. I created such a heap of text that I then had to split it into two larger volumes while pulling the homeopathy chapters into a smaller book called Homeopathy: An Introduction for Beginners and Skeptics. This essentially buried a potential “hit single” in an imposing encyclopedia of albums. Whatever the Doubleday book lacked in content and style, it at least had a shape and integrity of composition plus a spontaneous energy and manageable size that attracted readers. The new presentation sacrificed all that for thoroughness of topic.

The many voices and periods of Planet Medicine now spoke in tandem and chorus. If a point was made in 1978, it might have been framed in different ways in 1982, 1994, 1999. Well, they are all here, either in a row or distributed throughout the text. In some instances, reiteration might be helpful for readers encountering complex material for the first time, but most of it seems belabored and retentive, as though I was stuck in a rut—a meaningful rut but a rut all the same. I never resized Planet Medicine; I merely poured its myriad views into the same vessel. So the text goes up and down, back and forth, like a car on a bumpy and winding road, honking its anti-allopathy horn at unprovoked intervals. It never makes the absolute progress it should for that many hours on the road with that much petrol consumed.

Instead of archiving all and everything, I should have gone back to square one for either the first or second revised edition and sorted from there. I should have cut blatant duplications and reorganized core issues. Either that, or I should have left the original tome to history and, like other respectable authors, written a fresh book.

To the degree that I even intuited the problem, I solved a different one: I gathered more or less relevant art and instructed our designer to make the two large volumes more reader-friendly. I named the first, which had most of the initial three-quarters of the Doubleday text (minus the homeopathy), Planet Medicine: Origins. Completed afterward, Planet Medicine: Modalities received pretty much the last quarter of original book, the Shambhala material, and the bulk of my new paradigm sets. Within ten years I revised all three volumes again, changing the title of the peripheral book to Homeopathy: The Great Riddle.

In particular in my revisionary view of Planet Medicine, I feel as though my snide critique of mainstream AMA allopathic medicine is both shrill and tiresome. In my mind I keep saying, “Richard, enough already. You’ve made your point.” I search my present perspective for why I thought it necessary to bang the gong so many times. It is a pesky doo-wop indeed.

Then there is this major residual issue: Planet Medicine is not even really about medicine, not in the conventional sense anyway, which is its central problem and an intrinsic flaw. The book is about the esoteric and psychospiritual aspects of health and disease, the “self-cure” contained in any medicinal act, and the potential for knowledge and personal improvement in healing crises. It is certainly not about the medical aspect of medicines. As one reviewer noted, it is about the ancient and oft-ignored notion of disease (and healing) as a crucible for inner development. It likewise doesn’t distinguish among healing of the body, healing of the mind, and healing of the spirit—they are run together.

In that sense, I abandoned my readers outside a critical distinction: most cultures and individuals want first and foremost to get better—to dispel malaises and bind wounds in order make living bearable. Most people want to be able to get up in the morning without pain, free of systemic weakness and organ immobility, and not under a malignant threat to their existence. That’s the whole point of medicine, yet I let it slide right by!

Esoteric medicine is a luxury. Few people prioritize disease as a spiritual crucible or karmic opportunity. Nonetheless I dived right into it as if its primacy were obvious, never respecting the fundamental “fixit” nature of all medical systems or proceeding chronologically from ancient herbs and bone-setting to modern surgery and pharmaceuticals. By default I merged all of the developmental stages of “fixit” medicine into shamanic, phenomenological, transpersonal, and cross-cultural contexts, seeking only their subtexts, latent meanings, and metaphysical embeddings without telling anyone what the surface texts, terms, and mission were. I did not deal with medicine in its own context.

Really, a book that purports to be a history and anthropology of healing should have begun with a pass over practical ethnomedicine followed by a discussion of Rationalism and Empiricism in Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Hebrew, Persian, Indian, Tibetan, and Chinese systems, withholding existential and shamanic overlays for the conclusion. By opening my revised volumes with the relativistic nature of all diseases and cures (1995’s priority) and then following with the origin of healing in vision quests (1977’s priority), I squandered an opportunity to move from pragmatic medicine in all its guises to meanings of those forms.

In addition, I was one life lesson short of what I needed in order to make the text really work; I had not explored psychic healing yet.

 

When I originally began Planet Medicine in the 1970s, it was a literary and anthropological enterprise. I was going on my childhood psychoanalysis, my undergraduate Jungian reading, my graduate training in cross-cultural framing, my exploration of homeopathy (initially as part of my graduate work too), and my empathic grasp of shamanic issues from a study of occult science that began with a deck of tarot cards in high school. It was a purely intellectual, emotional quest; I envisioned something like the thesis I had wanted to write (but was dissuaded from) in graduate school. After eight years of fieldwork and teaching after my coursework, I had an advance from Doubleday to write that “thesis” at last.

Planet Medicine’s viability and oomph came from the fact that I was able to meld a psychoanalytic vision (e.g., “Freud, Reich, and Jung”—a course I taught several times in the early seventies at Goddard College) with my metaphysical studies and ethnographic material. In that sense I reenacted Carlos Castaneda’s shamanic synthesis but in a library and on a psychoanalytic rather than an entheogenic basis.

As I rewrote Planet Medicine in the eighties and then the nineties, I was being trained in bodywork, martial arts, and Qigong, so I added lessons in healing touch, conscious breath, and energy transmission.         I would have had another key peg if I had begun psychic work before revising. Yet it was not until 2008 that I entered into an experiential study of psychic systems. Much of Planet Medicine is legitimately seminal to my embarking on that path, but I can’t get around the fact that I had no psychic experience as I put down its layers—and I sorely needed it.

If I had had the knowledge then that I do now, I would have addressed vitalism, faith healing, shamanic healing, homeopathy, and many of the other systems in less bashful terms and would have had the wherewithal to separate muddled meanings of different intentions and energies. Instead I indiscriminately invoked spirits, transdimensional planes, occult radiations and codes, and all manner of scalar, holographic, nonergodic and transductive metaphors willy-nilly. With the training I got subsequently, I would have keyed a range of metaphysical healing actions from shamanism to cranial osteopathy around two simple realities: that the body-mind has more planes available to it than are accessible by ordinary physical means, and that we can’t ply the imperceptible universe directly so we have to ply it indirectly through operations that approximate its “seeming” properties of synchronicity, telekinesis, alien transmission, symbolic transubstantiation, and the like. We have to act as though spirits and hyperspatial energies abound and interlope, whether they do or not, in order to activate an extant system that is everywhere and in every appearance, both ordinary and extraordinary, both dust-to-dust and magic. Whether it works by placebo and autosuggestion, psychosocial induction, or some unknown mechanism is all but irrelevant, for the issue is solely whether a sick person gets well. European homeopathy, Chinese Qigong, and Navaho sand-painting are equally field disturbances, emergent forms, and nonequilibrium dynamisms that shatter existing complexes and the paradigms that support them in order to create new meanings as well as new stages of health, harmony, and soul recovery.

Activated intention is not minor or subsidiary; it has a central basis, both cosmological and ontological, in an expanding universe. That is something I set myself up to learn from later psychic teachers by writing Planet Medicine in my youth, but I didn’t know it while I wrote it. What I knew was that shamans and healers knew it.

The rituals and language of all ethnomedical systems are cultural and characterological; they function as symbols and semes as well as treatments—that is how they link properties and acts. They are never literal in a literal sense, though they are literal because there is no other way to get to the same place, at least not in discrete circumstances (and what else is there in the hospital or the kiva but unique sociocultural and psycholinguistic events). This is true for agency in homeopathy, acupuncture, kachina-dancing, Reiki, faith-healing, etc.: the specific method is both arbitrary and indispensable; it doesn’t mean what it says, it doesn’t even mean what it does, but it is the only way there—the only way to the same meaning and action. So it does mean exactly what it says and does. The universe has a bias toward solving its own truth mystery—its own healing crisis—through us to boot, so it always provides humans with absolute tools in relative circumstances and leaves it up to us to make our individual journeys through its rich and diverse landscapes to get ourselves there. I had no way of saying that then, so I burbled on about paraphysical energies and psychic (or voodoo) transmission systems. It’s all good, but it sure makes for tough sledding.

As it stands, Planet Medicine works as a kind of encyclopedia of alternative, spiritual, and non-Western medicine—not only the medicines themselves as principles and techniques but their sources, paths of evolution, and hidden meanings. You can dip into it happily at any point, or you can look up individual modalities. I may not have distinguished the psychosomatic from the psychic, the pragmatic from the synchronistic, but that isn’t a problem at the book’s level. I did that later, so I direct you to some of my subsequent takes. In a 2007 essay “On Healing” in The Bardo of Waking Life, I summarized Planet Medicine in twenty pages. Its key themes are there in epitome and synopsis. I originally wrote the piece as a preface to a book entitled Calm Healing in which authors Ruth Miller and Robert Newman simplified all acts of healing to a combination of meditation, placebo activation, and the internalization of therapeutic runes and syllables.

I added the missing psychic component in my three-volume book Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness, written between 2010 and 2012. If you want to go to the next phase of this topic, that’s where to find it. The following are the themes of Planet Medicine as I see it:

Orthodox Western medicine is only one medical system; it is not the endpoint of medicine or even a present threshold to such an endpoint. Elements of it may be discrete, final, proven down to their mere and absolute laws of strong and weak gravity, but the system itself is temporary, relative, indeterminate. Its robots and labs are super-powerful now, but we have no idea how super-powerful and effective the curative acts of shamans were amid our forebears during the Stone Age, and we also have no idea of what’s coming down the pike, let alone what’s being practiced, beyond technology, in other star systems.

Even when new alternative medicines are based on ancient and traditional practices, they are not faithful renditions of those indigenous forms; they are the reinvention and evolution of some of their source terms under a different historical and cultural alias.  A future medicine conflating craniosacral therapy, homeopathy, power runes, energetic palpation, and cell transference will reflect shamanic Stone Age medicine from the other end of the universe.

Vision quest is the primary and original source of scientific data. This was true in the Stone Ages and is true now. All that has changed is the terms of the vision quest, from nature to culture and from animal and plant voices to machine and robot ones. A vision quest must always encompass the following: a crisis of information and understanding, a self-healing, and a transmission of terms from a higher or different mode of intelligence. And that transmission must be radical and personally radicalizing. A real healer must be a healed (made) person too.

Unconscious projection of both health and disease from a doctor or healer is as powerful as any strategy or plan. Despite the concrete nature of comparative anatomy and pathology, there are no hard or categorical diseases. All diseases are subject to relative nomenclatures and protocols of reporting organic, social, and phenomenological processes and their symbolic categories. The line separating fighting from love-making and love-making from healing is contextual only.

Cures are never what they seem; they create (as they cross) categories of language and metalanguage; they depend always and obscurely on systems of belief as well as acts and their results. If you don’t believe this, look more closely at everything, everything you have experienced and everything you have observed anyone else experiencing.

 

 

There is never a clear line between health and disease. Nor is there one between either one of them and the sheer turbulence and static of beingness. Any discussion of health and disease is a discussion of existential being. It is likewise impossible to tell the difference between a cure and remission—between a disease that has gone away (been cured) and a disease that has turned into something else. Every disease is simultaneously cultural, ecological, semiological, and somatic; likewise every cure. This is less obvious in cases of generally accepted disease categories and well-defined individual ailments, especially where there has been a reversal or elimination of clear-cut symptoms. But a closer look shows that it is always true because there is always more than one level (or layer) of a disease as well as of its symptoms, and always more than one layer of that pathology’s happy resolution or unhappy intractability and escalation.

This principle is dramatically illustrated by two famous recent cases of sophisticated biologists who crossed the scientific and medical establishment with radical ideas. Peter Duesberg challenged the almost universal recognition of HIV as the cause of AIDS (or even AIDS as a legitimate disease category), claiming that its horrific ravages, in Africa for instance, represent a host of different autoimmune, wasting, recreational-drug, and other sexually transmitted diseases as well as poverty, malnutrition, and abuse of pharmaceuticals.

Stanislaw Burzynski similarly challenged the American Medical Association (AMA), the Texas Medical Board, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), the National Cancer Institute, and Big Pharma with his “cancer cure” known as antineoplastons.

Both men persisted in their views for decades (and continue to persist) while defying and rebutting all attempts to silence them. Both suffered major blowback professionally, as they were widely characterized as frauds and quacks and forfeited their standings in the scientific and medical community. Both fought continual legal battles not to lose their tenure or livelihood or license and, in Burzynski’s case, to be allowed to continue manufacturing and dispensing his drugs, treat his patients, avoid multimillion-dollar fines, and stay out of jail.

By 2012 Duesberg would seem to have lost his battle insofar as AIDS is more rather than less established as a real disease category and it has also seemingly been treated successfully with exactly the kinds of antiretroviral and “cocktail” drugs that Duesberg said would only kill patients by further compromising their immune systems. Burzynski has seemingly been demonstrated to have patented a medicine that already existed in numerous well-established and natural forms and to have overcharged desperate patients for its use. His “medicine” has also ostensibly failed every clinical trial.

Yet AIDS still has not behaved like an ordinary transmittable disease or even had a consistent form from culture to culture, while not all HIV-positive individuals develop AIDS symptoms (and HIV-negative patients who do develop those symptoms are routinely assigned to other disease categories). The expected AIDS epidemic (predicted to follow the exponential pattern of prior global flu and polio epidemics) also never occurred.

It is not clear whether AIDS is now manageable, whether it never existed as such in the first place, whether a different epidemic (or epidemics) not associated with the HIV retrovirus ran their own course, or whether HIV is a co-factor and not a sole or sufficient cause of the AIDS symptom complex—and that is not a complete list of possibilities.

What remains inexplicable in Burzynski’s case, especially if his medicines are, as claimed by various establishments, inactive, tautological, criminally simplistic or naïve, and at best placebos, is the large number of cases of cure of advanced and terminal cancers, especially numerous aggressive brain tumors (many of them in young children), after his administration of his laboratory’s drugs. It is also unclear why the Government (through the FDA and the Texas Medical Board) held multiple grand juries in failed attempts to indict Burzynski for more than a decade during the 1980s and 1990s while it attempted, at the same time, through the United States Patent Office and National Cancer Institute, to replicate and re-patent his already-patented drugs under other names. Are we looking at real medical fraud (and by which party)? Is the FDA protecting the public from quacks or large pharmaceutical companies from competition for their profits now generated by high-tech AIDS and cancer industries (which the FDA shares through tithing-level fees)?

Is it not possible that in both instances (Duesberg and Burzynski) we are looking at unknown effects or unknown combinations and synergies of effects leading to both disease complexes and their cures; perhaps unidentified or obscure interactions of cell states, transpersonal symbols, cultural categories, placebo effects, and immune triggers or even archetypal and synchronistic events on large scales or in collective forms that have no ordinary causation chain or explanation?

Was the AIDS epidemic halted by increased public awareness of its causes and new drugs or did “it” halt itself? Could Burzynski be dispensing something other than his drugs, perhaps at an energetic or psychic/shamanic level or even at some mysterious astrocartographic frequency, something that neither he nor his opponents (and competitors) are aware of, that works in part by dissuading (or removing) patients from toxic doses of radiation and chemotherapy?

Because these questions have no consistent or certifiable answers, their battles continue to be fought in courts, media, and academic and professional societies, as members of the public (on both sides of the issues) are outraged at either the stupidity and gullibility or the cravenness, arrogance, and greed of their opponents.

In a mundane sense, disease is pathology, compromised organs and functions—that is as plain as day. Esoterically, though, disease is spirit intrusion, even in modern life. All disease is, at core, spiritual (spirit) disease or metaphysical disease in that all diseases post extrinsic messages into the organism and engage with it in the creation of new languages and ways of talking to its “self.” Every physical disease and every mental disease has a spiritual and karmic basis, but that doesn’t mean that they are represented only by their karmic meanings or that the spiritual meanings take precedent over bump effects in bodily space.

The most effete metaphysical off-body approaches to holistic healing as well as the subtlest manual, symbolic, and shamanic tactics are meant to deal with everything in the name of disease and healing, from states of possession without designation to pathologies for which science has serious names like AIDS, cancer, heart disease, strokes, autoimmune dysfunction, etc. Every healing is a mode of cultural balancing, a community resolution of meanings and acts going forward.

The goal of holistic medicine is to treat the greater organism always, not single organs, even if organs are the proximal sites of distress and peril.

One’s own habit of self-cure is the most basic means of healing. When someone gets sick, what fails first is the loop of self-cure—and this doesn’t (or doesn’t only) indict the immune system. It cascades across various languages, including character, ego, and other subcellular and hormonal signaling, in which a person continues to address him- or herself, unconsciously and prelinguistically as well as mentally and semantically. Every ailment is also a “narcissism” or it wouldn’t take hold.

Every medicine that instigates a physical change sets in motion a chain of symbolic transformations and psychosomatic phase states of a different order. They are often more significant in their outcome than the target event. Healing is signs speaking to signs, codes to codes.

Real healing means real change and the transduction of disease into something else, e.g., freedom and health. The homeopathic microdose is a perfect metaphor, if not an actual nano-spark, for activating the laws of cure. A real and deep cure jolts an organism into changing by breaking into not only its morphogenetic codes but its semiologies. Rudolf Steiner’s alphabet of eurythmy is a near-comical trope of the affair.

The most powerful medicines are autonomous, latent, part of the systemic basis of the biology of being. The ultimate medicine is dream medicine.

The lighter and more internal the treatment, the deeper and truer its healing effect. Surgery, radiation, and pharmaceuticals are never vectors of healing; what they are is crisis management, disaster prevention, symptom alleviation, life extension. One has to follow nature’s laws of cure for real healing: from the inside out, from the past to the present, from a ping to an event, from a subwave to its long wave.

The most penetrating diagnoses and treatments are not made by using exogenous disease categories but by reading character and matching the character of a cure with the character of a disease. This is not just character in the personality sense but character as a patterned replica and signature of energy; e.g., the peacock’s feathers, the flounder’s gait, the crab’s shell, the neurotic’s phobias, the clinical patient’s fractured dance of symptoms and failed self-cures.

Character is also cultural, which situates the relative symbolic basis of all medicinal systems. Whether into a shaman’s hut or an urban medical office, the patient is entering a context, and the character of his (or her) disease will be “acculturized” not only in definition and accoutrements but in application and final assessment.

In some fashion all medical systems are frauds and symbolic displacements. Placebo effect is part of any treatment, any cure. The real unknown source of health is coterminous with the real unknown source of body-mind: the embryonic metamorphosis of molecules into autonomous creatures. Each nameable disease is merely a symptom of a real disease that is unnameable and unknowable.

All healing ultimately must tap the embryogenic stem energy of the body. Vital and invisible energies are precisely that: vital and invisible. Something induced molecules to make cells and cells to make organisms and it wasn’t just entropy or thermodynamics under boundary conditions of membranes and tissue subsystems.

Death is not a failure of healing but part of the cosmic system and inevitable. Some ailments must conclude in death—this is where the esoteric nature of disease collides unhappily with the commoditization of healthcare and sends corporate and national debts spiraling. Death is also healing, for it conducts the psychospiritual organism to its next phase, clearing otherwise incurable illnesses and dressing the spirit core for its return to the cosmic incarnational cycle. Even if you don’t believe in this cycle (and, regardless of your beliefs, you are subject to it insofar as it exists), death is the ultimate cleanser. It creates a transpersonal chrysalis—socially for the friends and relatives of the sick person, culturally for the flow of history, ecologically for a material-weary planet, and existentially for the organism that has run its course and grown too weary and sluggish to respond to its own vital force.

 

I recognize that Planet Medicine—all its phases and tributaries—holds a nonlinear view of a moment in history and our culture. Writers tend to repeat revelations that are cutting-edge and profound at the time. They seem so fresh and novel that they cast a mirage of unbounded applicability. Holistic health and alternative medicine have gone so far and so fast in their own development as well as in public acceptance that many of the issues I am stressing back then seem obsolete today, even pedantic. From a medical standpoint, that’s good—we are in a more enlightened era. But the book itself remains in the Dark Ages, crying out for a new paradigm.

In November 2012 as I was rereading Planet Medicine, a fan in Toronto posted an enthusiastic call-out to the print version on my Facebook page, saying that it continued to inspire her and thanking me for having written it. I responded that coincidentally I was checking it for an e-book version and troubled by its sloppy presentation. I thanked her for giving me encouragement and energy to carry on. She wrote back:

“It’s no skin off the world’s teeth to put knowledge in the context of its time; every author’s caged in the moment, personal and global. It’s always great to get revisionary forewords that give us the writer’s own view on the work years on, but don’t be so discomfited by the gentle facts of change and the ways we evolve our understandings. Planet Medicine is an excellent and important book published at a time when medical anthropology really needed it…and absolutely, here’s to unlimited energy for going forward!!”

Now that’s a great reader. So, here’s to revisionary forewords as well as unlimited healing energy.

 

]]> http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/11/new-preface-for-e-book-of-planet-medicine/feed/ 0 Notes Updated November 19, 2012 http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/10/notes-updated-october-23-2012/ http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2012/10/notes-updated-october-23-2012/#comments Tue, 23 Oct 2012 15:18:46 +0000 Richard Grossinger http://www.richardgrossinger.com/?p=1179

 

News Notes

Up to now, this website has been a blog in the sense that my most recent post has made up the front page and stayed there until the next most recent post.  These cumulative posts are still all present on the site (to the right, see the vertical column).  For those who want to skip these notes and go directly to the most recent posts, they are the Valedictory Address delivered at my Amherst College Reunion in 2011,  my Notes for the e-book of On the Integration of Nature, and my new preface for Homeopathy: The Great Riddle.  I will now regularly update the home page with news, feelers, and outreach:

Lindy and I have rented a loft on 27th between 10th and 11th to spend and are in NYC through December 15.

All three volumes of Dark Pool of Light are now published and available.

God, Science & The Evolution of Consciousness Panel & Networking
with Howard Bloom, Richard Grossinger, Kurt Johnson, moderator Alan Steinfeld
Meta Center, 214 west 29th street, 16th floor, NYC
7:00pm – 9:45pm

These three impressive authors and presenters will give a comprehensive overview of the new paradigms of science and consciousness. Their collective understandings will weave together a new view of the universe in its present reshuffling of awareness. The event will include the panel discussion and networking, along with light refreshments later in the evening.

Some of the question we hope to discuss are:
* What is the relationship of consciousness to the cosmos?
* Where do human beings fit into the great picture of everything?
*How can science evolve to create a better understating of the nature of reality?
* Cognition plays a key role in all these authors’ most recent work: What is the common ground that we can seek to agree upon despite the diversity of opinions?
* How can we redefine the notion of God, or Universal laws of creation in terms of a new science and a new state of being?
* How is our evolution directly related to the embodiment of the potentials of the times we are living in right now?
*  How can that create a world of new realities for the overall benefit of our human family?

Howard Bloom is the author of 4 monumental works of writings: The Global Brain: The Evolution of Mass Mind from the Big Bang to the 21st Century, The Genius of the Beast: A Radical Re-Vision of Capitalism, The Lucifer Principle: a Scientific Expedition into the Forces of History. His most recent work: The God Problem: How A Godless Cosmos Creates, takes you on a scientific expedition into a cosmos that is constantly creating. One critic has suggested that The God Problem may be a great book on a par with Darwin’s Origin of the Species.    http://www.howardbloom.net

Richard Grossinger: Along with his wife, Lindy Hough, founded the publishing company North Atlantic Books. His own published works include titles on holistic medicine, cosmology, and embryology. His most recent work Dark Pool of Light, is a three-volume set, that brings together embryology and human consciousness. Richard discovered how “the embryo is the universe writing itself on its own body.“ With this he weaves together the science of “being” with psychological and spiritual views of “that single thing which is most difficult to understand: our own existence. “ http://www.richardgrossinger.com

Kurt Johnson is a scientist, spiritual teacher, seminary professor who co-founded, InterSpiritual Dialogue in Action www.isdna.org and the Community of The Mystic Heart. Kurt is co-authored with David Robert Ord the forthcoming The Coming Interspiritual Age. This is the first book to review the ongoing history of world religions and spirituality in the context of developmental history, the evolutionary consciousness movement, and current scientific understandings of anthropology, human cognitive and consciousness studies.  http://www.namastepublishing.com

Alan Steinfeld, moderator, has been the host of the spiritually based talk show New Realities for the past 15 years. He has interviewed many of the top leaders in the human potential movement. He feels the times that we are in now are creating vast changes in consciousness. He hopes this panel will shed some light and direction on these changes. For his latest interviews go to:  http://www.NewRealities.com

Cost: $20 in advance. MC, VISA, Discover, Checks accepted – all non-refundable).
$25 cash only at the door. To register, call META Center at 212 736 0999 Ext. 1.

 

Richard Grossinger, Book-Signing in New York CIty

December 6, talk and book-signing

Talk, Author Interview (by Daniel Pinchbeck), and Book-Signing for Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness, Three Volumes

Volume One: The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness

Volume Two: Consciousness in Psychospiritual and Psychic Ranges

Volume Three: The Crisis and Future of Consciousness

McNally-Jackson Books, 52 Prince Street (between Lafayette and Mulberry); Spring Street subway stop on 6, N, R, F, V, M, D, B trains, December 6, 2012, 7 PM.

 

In his three-volume work Dark Pool of Light, Richard Grossinger weaves neuroscience and the phenomenology of being and reality together with psychospiritual views of “that single thing which is most difficult to understand or vindicate: our own existence.” Dark Pool of Light Volume One addresses the mystery of how subjective consciousness gets into a material universe to witness itself objectively in egoic systems. In particular, it gauges the various degrees and qualities of gap between mindedness as an experiential state and the brain as a physical object, calling out the schizophrenia of scientists who assert that consciousness is a mirage while living as if they themselves are real. Volumes Two and Three explore the remote ranges and exquisite meanings of consciousness, whether it is real or not. Volume Two leads the reader from a consideration of the psychic aspects of everyday life to engagement with energies outside the human range. Volume Three addresses mortality and the nature of evil while presenting a unified theory of the universe that includes consciousness.

 

Grossinger will read briefly, answer questions, and engage in a dialogue with Daniel Pinchbeck and the audience. Copies of the three newly-published books will be available.

 

A native of New York City (1944), Richard Grossinger attended Amherst College and the University of Michigan, receiving a BA in English (1966) and a PhD in anthropology (1975). He wrote his doctoral thesis on his

fieldwork with fishermen in Eastern Maine, after which he taught for two years at the University of Maine at Portland-Gorham and five years at Goddard College in Vermont.

With his wife, Lindy Hough, he is the co-founder and publisher of North Atlantic Books as well as its forerunner, the journal Io. His works include early books of experimental prose; a series of titles on holistic medicine, cosmology, and embryology; two memoirs; and recent books reexploring these themes, related topics, and aspects of contemporary politics and pop culture. Some of his titles are 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration; Embryogenesis: Species, Gender, and Identity; Migraine Auras: When the Visual World Fails; Planet Medicine; The Night Sky; and The Bardo of Waking Life.

He and Hough live in Berkeley, California, and Manset, Maine. Their children are Robin, a historical geographer at San Francisco Estuary Institute, and Miranda July, a writer, film director, and conceptual artist.

 

Daniel Pinchbeck is the co-founder of the literary magazine Open City, author of Breaking Open the Head: A Psychedelic Journey into the Heart of Contemporary Shamanism and 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl. He is also the co-founder of the website Reality Sandwich and the social network Evolver.net.

 

Richard Grossinger, Book-Signing in Bay Area

Copperfields Books, Thursday, January 17th at 7pm in Sebastopol, California

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness

My psychic group  meets at 7 PM on Tuesday nights in Manset when I am in Maine (the last two weeks of September and October, 2012).  Please inquire if interested. Everyone welcome. Please call 207-244-0471 for directions.

 

Here is a great group I have gone to see many times in Central Park: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x243eDl-M78

New,  Current, and Forthcoming Publications

Migraine Auras: When the Visual World Fails; On the Integration of Nature: Post-9/11 Biopolitical Notes; Embryos, Galaxies, and Sentient Beings: How the Universe Makes Life; Homeopathy: The Great Riddle; Planet Medicine: Origins; and Planet Medicine: Modalities have all been prepared for e-books and will be coming out between December, 2012, and March, 2013. On the Integration of Nature, Homeopathy, and Planet Medicine all have new prefaces that I am also posting on this website. All the books have been corrected with minor changes throughout. The two volumes of Planet Medicine have several hundred changes combined.

The Bardo of Waking Life, 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, and New Moon are now in e-book format and available.  For The Bardo of Waking Life, I corrected typos and added a note indicating where the gap in the book takes place during our trip to Europe (http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2010/03/trip-journal/).

For 2013, I corrected typos and wrote a different conclusion to my Introduction on the 2012 cosmic shift.

For New Moon, I removed the entire last section (“The Alchemical Wedding”), restoring the book to its original form.  I also returned the names of many of the people to what they actually were, fixed a confusion of narrative version early in the book, and added a note to cover sections omitted in the “Teen Tour” chapter (in the print version too, as part of the transition from Salty and Sandy, my high-school novel, to New Moon).  I also added an Afterword explaining all these changes and related issues; it is available on this website: http://www.richardgrossinger.com/2011/04/afterword-to-e-book-version-of-new-moon/.

The one book which I am substantially rewriting for e-book format (as well as a small print version) is Out of Babylon: Ghosts of Grossinger’s. I have restored most of the material removed from its original manuscript and placed in New Moon (“The Alchemical Wedding,” as per above), I have rewritten some sections from the North Atlantic Books history on this website and placed them in the appropriate spots (replacing anecdotal snippets and lists), and I have generally edited and changed the weaker parts of the book.  I have always thought that Out of Babylon was a promising novel in a Faulknerian tradition (even if nonfiction), but it was unfinished and flawed.  The e-book opportunity has given me at shot at fixing that.  I am  presently looking for proofreaders and feedback on the draft, so write me if you are interested and willing.

New Book

Dark Pool of Light: Reality and Consciousness:

The Convergence of Physical, Philosophical, Psychological, Psychospiritual, and Psychic Views

Table of Contents

 

Volume One

The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: What the Fuck is This?

Chapter Two: The Scientific View of Reality and Consciousness

Chapter Three: Consciousness: Everything and Nothing

Chapter Four: Degrees of Consciousness: Protoconsciousness, Preconsciousness, and the Freudian Unconscious

Chapter Five: Systemic Consciousness: Nonconsciousness and the Loss of Consciousness

Chapter Six: Qualia or Zombies?

Chapter Seven: Consciousness as an Emergent Phenomenon: The Psycholinguistics and Phylogenesis of Meaning

Chapter Eight: The Quantum Brain

Chapter Nine: The Ontology and Cosmology of Consciousness

Chapter Ten: The Subtexts of Science

Deleted Scenes

 

Volume Two

Introduction

Chapter One: Theosophy and the Hermetic Tradition

Chapter Two: Psychic Tools

Chapter Three: We Are Already Psychic

Chapter Four: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Human Home Energy

Chapter Five: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Frequencies Above the Range of Ordinary Experience

Chapter Six: The Seven Planes of Consciousness: Tuning Outside the Axis of Human Home Energy

Chapter Seven: Surfing the Operation of the Real

Chapter Eight: Focusing on What Is Happening

Chapter Nine: Buddhism and Theosophy: A Comparison

Hyperlinks

Volume Three

Movement Three

The Crisis and Future of Consciousness

Introduction

Chapter One: Demonic Entities and Their Symbols of Transformation

Chapter Two: Fear Has an Intelligence

Chapter Three: How Did Evil Get into the Universe?

Chapter Four: One Encounter, One Chance

Chapter Five: Converting Thoughtforms and Riding Synchronicity: Roses, Tarot Cards, and Scapula Bones

Chapter Six: Family Constellations

Chapter Seven: The Cosmic Eternity System

Chapter Eight: We Are In Existence

Hyperlinks

Family

My Wife: Lindy Hough had a new collection of selected poems come out in the spring of 2011.  It is her first book since 1976 and is called Wild Horses, Wild Dreams. Check it out:

http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Horses-Dreams-Selected-1971-2010/dp/1556439628/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1309394777&sr=8-3

It also has a video trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PG3FF3Mysw

My Daughter: Miranda July’s new movie is The Future: http://thefuturethefuture.com/.

My Son: Robin Grossinger is writing a book on Napa County for University of California Press publication in spring 2012: Napa Valley Historical Ecology Atlas.

My Son-in-Law: Mike Mills’ new movie is Beginners: http://www.focusfeatures.com/profile/mike_mills

 

 

 

 

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