Intuitive Traveler: In Search of a Compass, Cape Cod, MA, rev. II

Tremont Street, Boston. about 1843. Philip Harry, American (born in England), 1843–1860. 34.92 x 40.96 cm (13 3/4 x 16 1/8 in.) Oil on panel. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

English: Race Point Lighthouse, Provincetown, Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA, 1876

Provincetown, Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

GIST: 1982-1983

He was a mistake, outside to in. Prematurely pushed into streets, he found sordid company. Dropped acid under a  neon-sway sign on Tremont Street, that read “Drugs.”

Friendly ghosts seen on Colonial streets, down Boylston and Massachusetts Ave, in the day.

Extreme, pulsing jazz rhythms ride and flow from the Berklee Performance Center through out the Back Bay and beyond.

1983-Moved to Roxbury, MA, before gentrification, with sordid fellows,.

14 June, 1983- The partiers threw kan, from The Book of Changes, for direction:

“Crossing The River.”

15 June, 1983- CAPE COD, MASSACHUSETTS

9:00 pm-ish.  Two arrived at the Cape, by the Charity of the Road. Without compass, intending Provincetown, but lost on Portsmouth On The Bay.

Sandy eyed,  blurred, directed by Gods’ breath-winds, coming off acid. Thrown kan as blind faith. To the wind as they will go.
Welcomed only betwixt sea salt air, mournful cawing, and stinging sands.

Wounded veterans, trudging eons. Stars became altered and displaced.

Curses at birth reverberated in his Virgo soul.

His  mothers’ intentional wounding. She had wanted a girl.
Multigenerational poison pulsed in his unwilling helpless, captive veins.
Cut,  hung in airless altitudes, without compassion or mercy.

He dropped tears of despair on obsidian sidewalks,  in midnight rain.

His absurdly optimistic friend puffed verdurous Rastafarian green, as

they ascended:

Pulled anaranjado sun from the bottom of prehensile ocean.

Surreal Native Americans spirits, in furtive bliss, danced ferociously, in future passed in gray mist, clouds. Tom toms, mesmerized , war whoops, fury. Love, encapsulated in timeless sapient winds, sang hope.

But their bellies grumbled amid bliss. Food not easily procured, but clams on the beach, for free. Free ice water at Ye Olde Oysterhouse, where colonial soldiers had sat “in the 1770’s,” while local bluebloods cast disdaining glances and lifted gold-frothed draughts of beer, in 1983.

On sides of the weather-beaten road,  Revolutionary tombstones jutted in spurts. Some stones pushed up uneasily in crooked curious mounds of earth, in uneven grass. The stones mutely weathered in calligraphy from old Hollywood ghost tales, bending clock time to antiquity. Some stones dated before the act of the Revolution ever became forged.

Their brimming imaginations now burst with creative fire. They were having fun. Fate thrown to the Gods, foolish youth play.

Natives, Redcoats, Minutemen collected under soles of their tender feet. Here lay New England‘s collective elders, hallowed, dissentient tectonic dust, they knew, in silence, awe.

They sat in a circle of stones from an ancient fire, or just from campers, but it was more fun this way. Breathed in bliss and thick Rasta smoke.

Barely audible purple, misty waves surrounded their heart chakras. Lingering tales extolled by globe-bells deep in tombs laying on oceans floor.  Lives opened from canoes, slave ships, war ships, boatloads of immigrants, that architected ever wider to more boisterous vibrations. Becoming the pounding urban sprawl of the American city of Boston, Massachusetts, USA.

On its safety valve of the Cape, prisms on sand shaped into mini geometrical architecture. Imperfect angles made by God,  linear measurement being only in man, as God. Man with life breathed into them, created.

Sculptured into generations of minds, as the two lost, bedraggled seekers were being viewed through hand-blown Colonial glass panes. With Puritan disdain from the blueblood locals.

Tides orchestrated by the smiling moon goddess. Waves in the azure ocean pulled sweet songs of Solomon, into the pairs’ opened consciousness, looking for universal directions.

In a moment whispered quiet to them,  direction home,…

as a simultaneous, benevolent driver of a gold chariot red Ferrari pulled over and beckoned them to come in. The driver, with a silver spoon around his neck, was coincidentally looking for weed. And in true Rasta spirit,  delivered them to their doorstep, back in Boston, free of charge.

Walk in the Park, 7/31/2013

 

Today I went to the park. A blackbird (crow?) landed on the vending machine containing duck food. It was unable to break and enter, so his crow(ny) buddy (who I named “Charlie”) knocked him off his roost, to take a crack at the heist.

 

Frustrated, they both paced the ground below.

 

I got out a quarter for the machine, saying “OK, I saw you guys. I’ll help you.”

 

Actually, I was supposed to be exercising, but am supposed to take it easy for a few days, so I was going slow, entertaining myself, trying to be meditative and “mindful,”etc.

 

To my surprise, the crows did not fly away as I approached them, duck food pellets in hand. One came up to me as if happy, saying “Thanks. What took you so long? I was hungry!”

 

Walk

 

Cheyenne Sun Dancer- Swirling Song-in Black Winds

Cheyenne sun dancer

You dance your confidence,

throwing gold sparks,

igniting fury.

Prostitution in the Combat Zone, Boston, MA, Naked I Cabaret (rev).

Lucy_Lawless_092 (Photo credit: graphicgoo)

The Naked I Cabaret:

Naked sex,  wet

passions, searing

dervish dance maelstroms.

Pumped exotic leopard silky,

pulsing, dripping, tender skin.

Many moneyed

bulging-eyed “minutemen.”

Lawless invitations

under dirty filthy tables.

Secreted skyscrapers. Lines.

College girls

exude exotic perfumes.

Lights of neon graffitti’d walls.

Playing Peter’s piper,

beckon teasing lady Chinese fingers,

beckon after dark.

I Ching

gods throwing coins in splendid pink gutter.

Whores in daddy-masters hose,

humped, eaten, thrashed rawly.

Fish-net stockings drip

teeming teasing

bawdry tits

trapped in tall snake cages.

Fluted freaky people.

Freed in war paint, smeared mascara.

Strobe lights hang indecent, redly

promise kissy lips.

Teasing, dominant fun house smiles.

Bent-to-mirror tricks,

slapped silly,

high asses,

up in gold spiked heels.

All corralled at the

hidden, respectable

blue blood edge.

Downtown Boston Combat Zone‘s

Naked I Cabaret.

Where freedom riders

rode! horses! whipped! senseless!

Faulkner Eating Gold Shrooms

Pippi Longstocking

 

 

 

sat on his stocking,

 

 

 

eating pudding and rye.

 

 

 

Along came a spider

 

 

 

right up beside her,

 

 

 

said “What a god door

 

 

 

am I.”

 

 

 

 

Importance of Rocks

I embrace the rock. We hug. It holds me warm, solid, in gentle mountain breeze. Warmed in Ra-sun surround, I hear my breath. Forestalls stunning silence in the back of in my running mind.

A Paiute warrior runs barefoot on the hot, sandy terrain. I am him

How beautiful the black and white metallic glitter rock spikes light. Speckled and striped like my dear old tiger cat’s back.

A crow darts up in the sky. It dove from olden days behind a pile of mountain rocks, last time. I follow the bird, thinking of my betrayal to my grandmother and ended up surrounded by rattlesnakes, as if her spirit wished me ill.

My insides twist again, though the rock does not let go, in its great compassion. Nor abandon me like Mom did. People think they are superior to mere lifeless rocks. The Native Americans said stones have the oldest spirits, should be respected.

Donna appears in my mind’s eye, from forty tears ago. Just thirteen when I pulled a knife on Donna. She said I did that but to this day, I do not remember. My first drunken blackout. Just like Mom had all the time.

She pulled open the knife drawer on me, age three. Said “if you ever say you’re a boy again, I’ll kill you.” Jesus was not there to protect me. The church lied, everybody lied.

So now I latch onto my therapist for dear life, but he won’t fuck  my brains out so I can forget for awhile. So I do it in secret.

Wind blasts, howls all off a sudden. Did I anger God with my thoughts? No one here to judge. I’m safe. The rock is safe as well. It holds me in quiet strength, soothes me, warmed by sun. It doesn’t get angry no matter what I say or do.

Rocks have stayed here, warmed by the love of the sun and cooled in the dark moons for eons. Waiting and watched dinosaurs, and will see the end of the world in quiet expectation  in sweet song. We sense something more is coming.

Patience. My spirit animal turtle.

To think when You were cremated, Mom, your ashes will be rock. So, this rock is all people and I and we are all people.

I wonder if it will take eons to love you again.

Sacred Geometry Daydreams, rev.

All Giza Pyramids in one shot. Русский: Все пирамиды Гизы на изображении. Español: Las Pirámides de Guiza (Egipto). Français : Les Pyramides de Gizeh (Egypte). Català: Les Piràmides de Giza, a Egipte. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Flag of Israel. Shows a Magen David (“Shield of David”) between two stripes.

The end of dreaming is the end of fear. Quote: A Course in Miracles, purportedly  channeled from JC himself.

The inverted triangles. aka Solomon’s Seal,  Star of David, Magen David.

Over several weeks I “encountered” this symbol dozens of times in many different places. Too many times to “just be coincidence,” I thought.

One thing is right before that, a friend traveled to Israel. He put a prayer for healing I had written in the Wall, in Jerusalem.

My background:  I was raised Christian, or at least went to a Christian church. However my mother converted to Judaism before she died, so I guess I’m a little “Jew-ish” lol.
Additionally,  we celebrated Christmas and Hanukah and most of our friends were Jewish.

Despite Presbyterian Sunday School,  I grew up with the idea that Jesus was just a man, though a fully actualized human being who had reached the ultimate possibility.

My parents were quite intelligent, scientists, well educated. Jesus was the perfect man or as close as possible. He was not God.

Plus God was a vengeful, punishing God whose wrath was to be feared. In our Presbyterian church, people were sinners. And sinners go to Hell. No forgiveness, no exceptions, no amount of good works nor repentance nor in any other way could this fate be prevented. Life was suffering. The purpose of life was suffering, because that was Gods Will, according to the way I was raised.

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Heaven and Earth. Male and Female. …..many interpretations of those inverted triangles. An ancient symbol. Used as a Jewish symbol in the 1600’s onward, I think. But the symbol is much older, in the history of the world.

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Here’s some daydream thoughts:

I saw you in the concentrations camps, and flying in the flag of Israel , the people who could not be killed from exile in Egypt till time immemorial.

I saw you again, the triangles of Solomons Seal fell together and I found you.

You are the cornerstone your sacred geometry. Aztec temples with solar solstices planned like the architecture of Indians of Arizona and New Mexico and Stonehenge in Europe, ancient wonders before your time.

Did we know you then?

To my materialist Catholic doctor:  The pyramid, the great seal of US,  13 arrows, the founders of US were free masons.

What secrets, the symbols. Hidden behind the symbols the truth.

The construction of the universe,  the globe circle, the earth of eternity of the now moment.

Why do we dream at night?

I told my friend about seeing the Star of David and that I had overcome some long term problems, using the symbols. One of these was encountering some Messianistic (sp?) Jews, who gave me some hope in seeing JC as a real Savior, for the first time in my life.

The last time I talked to my friend about the Star of David, he said “More will be revealed….”

Near Death Experience/Out Of Body Experience, in 1976

Rosa Celeste: Dante and Beatrice gaze upon the highest Heaven, The Empyrean.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Near Death Experience.

I had spent that evening getting high, huffing model airplane glue. (Toluene causes euphoria). A very dangerous drug, I knew.

I had been in a despondent gloom due to body dysphoria, and my Grandfather dying.  Wanted to feel better. Also, my family and I were at constant odds since I was GLBT and they didn’t want me to be “myself.” I felt very alone. Though I excelled academically, I was unpopular socially. In our religious right, evangelical, conservative small town, I could not fit in.

I was alone that night. There was no one  there to “tell” whether I had passed the death threshold.
However, I “knew”I had died. I was suddenly above my body. I saw my body under me, laying still in dim light, on my bed. Saw my closed eye,s from above. Yet, I was aware, awake, alert, able to see. Wide awake, euphoric, free.

I left my physical body, coming into all compassionate White Light. I had some kind Higher Guide I was aware of then Celestial, holy, loving (Interestingly,  not Jesus or anything we were force-fed in  Presbyterian Sunday School). Who hated GLBT, according to our sunday school teachers.
Of course, church in my family was only for “baby sitting.” A convenience place for my alcoholic mother to drop the kids off on Sunday, so she could be free of us for awhile.

My initial experience after death was love. I remember Time. Clock time just the narrow tip,  this was vastly increased in dimension (very hard to describe). Time was not linear, it went backwards and forwards and curved. I could actually ‘see’ time like a river of colors flowing, living.

I was propelled, or traveled towards a place of glowing white light. All compassionate, love. A sense that a]every thought that had ever been thought in the history of all man was right there. Sort of like Jung’s collective unconscious, I thought. There were little darker spots in the whiteness. These were negativity patches. Not to be feared, though. Everything was OK. Life made perfect sense.

All my suffering dropped off me when I left my physical body. We were all connected, as people. A blissful loving Oneness. At one point I had to make a choice whether to jump into “the pool of humanity. “or not. I greatly feared losing my individuality. But had the courage and took the plunge. My happiness, my happiness jumped exponentially, soared. I was one with all, but still myself, I discovered, to my great joy and relief. My worst fear had been unfounded. It was rerquired I had to lose all to gain all. A great paradox.

I was asked by my guide (s)  if I wanted to stay? I knew I would die if I did. I thought of my family. I could see them in in the future, in darkness, suffering because I died.I wanted them to have happiness, brightness.

Just that fast, I was propelled beck in dark space, by my higher guide and by God (it seemed).
However,  I changed my mind on the return trip! Too late.

I was back in my body on the bed in my dark room. Left with an indescribable peace. A sense of knowing no one need fear anything ever. I couldn’t wait to tell everybody the great news! No need to fear dying.

But started thinking what the consequences of talking would be for me, in my life. And became very frightened for my future.

Alone,  I would read of time concepts in modern physics that seemed to describe this “knowing.” I also learned there have been near death experiences similar to mine recorded from aeons ago, in many languages, many lands.

Many people are coming forth with their NDE s now, if not in the USA in the 1970’s.

After decades of silence for fear of others reactions, I am sharing my experience in the hopes that people can gain a sense of peace and lose any fear of death that might be causing them unhappiness.

If I’d have told anyone back then, especially my parents, I would have to had to say I was sniffing glue. Why else would a healthy teen suddenly die? In that time and place,  I’d have been put way in an institution, probably medicated into oblivion as well.My parents were eager to prove I was crazy because they believed GLBT was a mental illness, as did psychiatry at that time.It would have given them the perfect excuse to throw me away.

Maybe this is experience is crazy, “schizophrenic, I wonder?” The outcome of this hugely positive experience is life affirming. Jump into life, engage, be a part of the world, humanity. I refuse to “pathologize”  this. I have others in my life now who are inspired by my story. I choose to stay with the positive and leave the labeling and negating to small minds.

I had no spiritual teacher on my path. Our conservative Christian church never bothered to discuss mystical experience. They believed people were sinners and sinners go to Hell when they die. Death was greatly feared, for God was an angry punisher, by nature, according to church dogma.

So, I acted as a normal child, behaved as I was “supposed to.” Do and what others expect. Therefore, I was not “hassled” for this, and achieved great success in my academic and musical career later on, as a student at the renown, elite Berklee College of Music, in Boston, MA.

My views of life were never the same afterward. My immediate reaction was overwhelming great relief and joy, and gratitude to God for letting me experience this majestic vision.

My life turned out very difficult, but with the knowing I gained, I have been able to have peace, in the midst of chaos and adversity.

Paradise: Ascent of the Blessed (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Palm Springs, CA Drum Circle @ Crystal Fantasy-2012

Djembe 

 Palm Canyon Drive (California State Route 111) in Downtown Palm Springs, California. 

I entered late. Stopped to carefully take in the sounds.

Breathe, meditate, then “leapt in.”

Listening is important, I reminded myself, as drums pounded.

To my disappointment, slow and heavy tonight. I needed a lift, wanted transported to a brighter realm.
This wasn’t going to do it, for me, but I knew the night was young.

Bass thubbed and thubbed, and little toms ventured in with a weak (or too mellow) heart.

(Laid back Southern California, after all, I thought. My culture shock from NYC street rhythms I left, in tectonic dust).

We stopped, as the leader sat questioning empty spaces between notes, it seemed.

I had to pick up the pace! Besides, I was a little nervous. On edge, in my new environment. Pace of Friday night traffic on Palm Canyon had culminated in a mad dash across for safety, across the street. A black Cadillac SUV  car had swung at me, seemingly trying to knock me off so she could get to somewhere important. Around here, being late for tee time is an emergency, I thought, while she careened off, with contorted, angry expression on her drunken, overly painted,  well-to-do face. Tires squealing.

Chill, I thought.

boom ta ta ta ka boom?

boom ta ta ta ka boom?

I asked, on my hand-carved from a tree trunk, djembe……

Was soon responded to in kind. Then, “discussion.”

I accompanied with “snare” notes, improvised flams, strains. (My background being in jazz and rock ).

All joined in. An Arabic guy beating a painted Indian tom-tom and the woman with a loud, insistent snake-rattle. A bunch of guys on smaller djembe drums and other exotic brightly painted percussion instruments. We’d never have spoken, in real life, of course.We’d disappear into the night afterwards, I knew.

Now I was playing support (bass tones) and lead,  as the flow of the music suggested (dominating when intensity beckoned in my gut).

I closed my eyes, to try really listen, not be distracted by appearances, as a Native American flute player began improvising. Chanting started……

After we stopped, I looked for the flute, but there wasn’t one. I asked about it. The owner of Crystal Fantasy shrugged and apologized

“Sorry. The spirits can’t help themselves, sometimes.”

“Spirits? I asked, not believing, looking at him carefully to see if he was making fun of me.

He wasn’t laughing, he meant it. (CF is such a trippy place, anyway, I thought). He talked on about Indians that used to live in the area. Said this kind of thing also happens at drum circles a lot, everywhere.

Drums stopped beating around 8:30. So quiet. We chatted a bit, then dispersed into the Palm Springs luxurious night. Palm trees swayed in strong wind s while I walked to my car.

Drumbeats still energized my body. I listened to street music coming from an outdoor karaoke bar, and hummed a happy tune all the way home.

 

San Jacinto, CA Mountains, Ramona Trail, 9/14/2012, Cahuilla Land, Rev.

I expect cows in populated, rural areas, but not in wilderness areas. The cows, in turn, probably wondered what I was doing there. lol

Wild Cows in the San Jacinto Mountains-True Story.

Today, out on the wilderness trail, I saw three cows!
Honest to God!

What on Earth were cows doing, in SoCal mountain wilderness, I wondered…………………..?

First, I had heard what I thought sounded like a “moo.”
Told myself I was mistaken. It was some “other animal.”

(I grew up near Midwest farms, the cows were always kept in pens. They stood in grassy fields with their heads down, as they grazed peacefully on grass, till the farmer came and chopped off their heads), lol.  Such was life on the farm.

I didn’t think cattle still existed in the wild.

If I were a Cahuilla hunter looking to feed his family and the tribe, I’d have been overjoyed, I thought.

My family, heck, the whole tribe would have a feast.

Couldn’t imagine being able to kill what happened next with a single bow and arrow, though!

So, I blinked, looked again.

On a trail in the distance ambled three cows.

(I’d been looking for signs from God I am on the right path.
Holy Cow! I exclaimed out loud.
Then thought about what I just said……………………………….!

The irony and sense of humor my spirit guide. I smiled, inwardly. Felt all was well and I was at peace.

“Cows are sacred in India” I thought.

Furthur proof.

I pulled out my camera and tried to get a shot as they ambled off, in the distance.

Some time later, I sat on a log. Some bugs (or bees or gnats) started swarming me and bothering me, and it irritated me.
I yelled at them “Get away I’ll kill you!”

Remember, there were no humans around for miles.
So I was free to carry on, relax and totally be myself.

(whew!)

I started swinging, swatting and hitting the annoying insects.
To my surprise, it worked! The insects got the hint and flew away, and left me in peace.

I thought of the psalm about the swarming bees that yet did not sting, through the Lrd’s intervention.
(To paraphrase…).

I guess the cows heard me, though. Because, a couple of minutes later, I looked up. There, almost in front of me, were two of the cows.
They stood looking at me,  quizzically.
One had floppy ears cocked forward as they looked at me, just fifteen feet away.

Both were at least 700 pounds each.
I knew I might meet mountain lions or bighorn sheep on this path but did not expect cows.
So, I had not prepared in advance, as a good boy scout would.

If they were going to stampede me, what would I do???
I thought of big street predators, back in the “hood.”

Noise terror can go a long way to scare off danger, I knew.
I thought of western movies and TV shows.
So, I did like a good cowboy would ( I hoped). I hollered and yelled loud, made lots of noise.

At this,  they both backed off and ambled away.

I breathed easier, laughing. I felt happy and light, at ease.

I thought I had the movie settings for my camera on, but didn’t.
I felt disappointed I didn’t film them gazing at me, but I did get some snapshots on my camera and a video.