The relationship between our brain and our Spirit is like the story of young lovers separated by War and in this case The War was the explosion brought about by the Scientific Age. Since that time the only ones entitled to Spiritual access have been the Artists, by which I mean musicians, writers, actors, painters and those rare individuals who have had to guts to take the truly individual path and depart the herd entirely. . .
This is a very exciting time in the evolution of the Human Spirit. We are literally positioned in the nose-cone of the Human Spiritual rocket as it is lifting off and what we see passing by immediately outside the window can very easily be called...History.
Most of the "Serious Stuff" we deal with in this life, did not originate in this life experience. We are all still playing with cards we were dealt in a previous life, still trying to play the Winning Hand! Still trying to figure out if we should draw, hold, raise or fold.
And what is it we are trying to do? We are trying to create a metaphor bridge, a road for the Spirit to cross over.
My name is Jann Burner. My partner's name is SJ Sutton. Together we have a company called Center~Point Management
We are hypnotherapists and we specialize in Past Life Regression and Remote Spirit Clearing. We have been doing this now for a period of years with hundreds of clients and we feel that it is time we publish a book on our experience. The title of this book will be SPIRIT TRACKER. Admittedly, this subject is a little off America's Main Street, and not likely to be embraced by the A.M.A., but we have been consistently discovering some things which people need to be apprised of .
The human race has had an ongoing relationship with the world of Spirit until the onset of the Scientific Age. Any specific reference to "Spirit" outside of church or the Sci-Fi Channel has pretty much been disavowed since the turn of the last century. But the pendulum is beginning to swing back. Science is recognizing that there is a very real Mind/Body connection in matters of health and wellness and with long funded projects such as Stargate, the government has even recognized that there is a validity to the concept of Remote Viewing.
Spirit Tracker will put forward certain long held, but presently unacknowledged possibilities such as:
In the beginning of SPIRIT TRACKER, we will describe who we are and how our paths crossed. Then we will proceed to an overview of the subject and a little history, including some of the other major players in this country.
Then we will offer a transcription of an actual Remote Spirit Clearing session from beginning to end. Once the base is established we will include a series of abbreviated session transcriptions pointing out significant aspects. We will describe what an Earthbound Attachment is, what a Dark Attachment is, how the physical, the astral and the etheric energy bodies play their part. Then we will begin to take it all apart and describe the role of the Facilitator and the Scanner, what they do, what they are looking for. We will point up the crucial pivot points encountered during a session. We will describe how long held frozen emotions can lead to present discomfort and how these emotional blocks can be removed.
We will then point up why being cleared of Spirit Attachments is important and how it happens. We will show how, in our experience, clearing spiritual attachments remotely has lead to remote past life regression and the significance of this experience. We will point out how "normal" and "natural" this is and finally we will end the book with a view of a future in which we will all live in a world where we realize that we are more than our physical body, more than the sum of our present earthly experience, where we truly see the interconnectedness of all humans being.
And finally we will attempt to show that there really is no such thing as death. We all move on from this present earthly experience with our hard earned memories intact. We are so very much wiser and more powerful than we dare imagine, in fact...we are immortal.
Heady concepts for sure, but just perhaps the time has come to open the windows and let some Light into this room. Spirit Tracker is not meant to be an exhaustive technical or scholarly manual. Instead we will simply attempt to share some of our experiences in the field of Remote Spirit Clearing and Remote Past Life Regression and introduce some of these concepts to perhaps a wider audience than has been previously available.
There are a lot of people in pain and confusion in this world.
We have a box of tools with which to address the problem of dysfunctional behavior and ill health.
Some would say that these are "new" tools.
We suspect that possibly these tools are very ancient and we are merely remembering skills long forgotten.
by Jann Burner
The Journal of A Perimeter Man,
The following images and ideas are metaphors. They are not held to be hard truth in the empirical sense, more these metaphors are meant to be truth sensors. When a specific metaphor and a reader's personal experience close, they set up a vibrational resonance. When the "resonance" is first felt one might note a feeling that "this makes sense". As the vibrational field continues to close one might begin to see the particular matrix of metaphors as "true". Then comes the "Ah ha…" feeling which means that one might notice a slight "deja vu" as if the "idea" or metaphor stream is more than objectively true; it becomes an "inner truth". And then if the metaphor bridge arches from the printed page directly into the reader's heart it becomes intimately personal and is capable of dissolving long held frozen emotion resulting in tears, shaking, or other signs of physical discharge.
Metaphors are names and symbols which mark something and allow it to stand for something else. Metaphors have symbolic meaning often above and beyond the named object or emotional state. As humans we come into a chaotic world. Those who have come before have given "things" names, and for us these "things" become the names and these names have powerful symbolic value.
For an example The Internet, one might say, is a metaphor for an Overmind, a vast cybernetic net of metaphor thrown over civilization at large; an active matrix of ideas and images commonly shared by the composite human mind and available to the individual throughout the world, regardless of caste, color, religion, gender of financial status. This is the true democratization of the metaphor. No longer is it limited by mere language, intellectual caste or economic privilege.
The brain merely serves as the control room where the screen of recognition is housed. We all know lots of things. We know more than any human in history. We know more than we will ever have reason or need to know. In our culture we stand beneath a constant shower of information, but we are seldom moved to "own" our knowledge. Our wisdom, knowledge and beliefs are like a closet of clothes with the price tags still attached. They are lacking in true ritual or value. Because information is so easily assimilated we tend to dismiss its intrinsic value. To follow the "clothes" metaphor, we try them on and then hang them back in our closet with the intention of wearing them at some point in the future, should they become "in fashion". But the understanding is that these metaphorical clothes can always be returned if un-worn. We don't have to "own" them. Sort of like our jobs, relationships, cars or cats, they can be exchanged, co-mingled or abandoned.
The purpose of a Metaphor Bridge is to communicate commonly held knowledge in an uncommon manner so that by the time the "reader" passes over the bridge they will be closer to "owning" that which they already know and posses. Reality, after all, is merely a group consensus. We give something a "name", and as a culture we agree on that symbolic name and so it is…it IS valued.
My intention with the metaphorical offerings within this slim volume is to create a bridge for the Spirit to walk over. It is not the content nor the political slant that is important, nor even the creative ability exhibited within the juxtaposition of the words upon the page. It is instead, a process as old as Man: the naming and claiming of reality, metaphor by metaphor. This is the Metaphorical Imperative, as strong as the drive for food or water. This quest, which has driven the human race from the very beginning, is, in the final analysis, a quest for the seed of Truth.
The Journal of A Perimeter Man,
In San Francisco, on the West coast of America in the state of California, there is a group of individuals called taxi drivers. For a very small fee they will be with you in their vehicle. They will transport you wherever you wish to go. They will talk, they will listen, they will even carry your baggage. Most of these people are writers, poets, old hippies, recovering substance abusers, out of work musicians or recent immigrants to this wonderful land. Dreamers one and all; the best and often the brightest fruit left unpicked upon the societal tree, turning to sugar and threatening to rot and stain the ground.
The urban taxi driver makes more life and death decisions than a $150,000 per year airline pilot, and yet the driver flies alone and gets paid little more than the allowable minimum. He receives no raises, no retirement, no medical coverage nor even any workman's compensation and he is treated by public and private citizen alike as a felon on parole. The taxi driver is, at one and the same time, victim and potential threat. He is often abused, verbally and sometimes physically, by passengers, fellow drivers, the police, and passing strangers in the grip of a bad day. He receives no ego strokes behind the wheel. Any satisfaction from the job he receives has to be generated from within. He is, in the truest sense, an urban bracero; a fisher of men on mean streets wearing a coat of many cars.
Between 1975 and 1988 I drove a taxi cab on the night shift in San Francisco. That is over 3,000 ten hour shifts behind the wheel. All, I might add, without being wrecked or robbed. During my years behind the wheel, the taxi cab became my office. I sat in there for eight to ten hours per night. I had conversations (sometimes quite intimate) with strangers while the backdrop of one of the world's most beautiful cities slid by outside. These strangers would then bid me goodbye and place money in my hand.
Driving a taxi, I often found that after about six hours in the driver's seat a strange phenomena would begin to occur. It was as if I was sitting at home perfectly still, and a holographic projection of The City was flowing around me. No sense of movement, totally centered, no sense of motion or even thought. The closest most people ever come to this clear zone, is when they are about to become involved in an accident. At such times that moment of clarity is often reported--just before the crash.
Emotionally, taxi driving is neutral. It isn't oppressive like I imagine working in a factory or a bank might be and it isn't so thrilling that one would want to devote their free time and energy to it. It is--as the Buddhists would say--a left handed sort of a job. It allowed me to support myself and yet really didn't interfere with my life. It left me--free. It left me enough time and energy to pursue the real interests in my life. With energy and curiosity and persistence, I found it was quite possible to develop an entire bouquet of--other interests.
Driving a taxi, at least in San Francisco, is an ongoing experiment in self discovery. It is an eccentric job that offers very wide parameters. It gives the driver lots of leeway. It gives him the freedom to re-invent, re-imagine (or destroy!) himself every day. He spends perhaps sixty seconds with an authority figure receiving the waybill and small metal taxi medallion like some sort of unholy communion wafer, and then he is out on the streets, on his own--FREE! No boss, no supervisor, no one to tell him what to do. If he doesn't want to work, he doesn't have to. But remember that this also means that no one cares what he does. It is a two edged sword. He can end up drunk every day, (many do), behind in his rent, and suffering terribly from the lack of ego-stroking that goes on in most normal lines of employment. In order to survive and thrive in this sort of work environment, one has to have a very well-defined sense of "who" they are. For self-originating sorts of individuals who have more need of freedom than money and position, the art of Vehicular Tai Chi as practiced by driving a taxi can be very worthwhile.
The whirring of the tires on the late night asphalt, the blur of pedestrian faces through the glass often induced in me a blissful vacancy of mind that has no real equivalent in civilian life. For me, driving cab was part martial arts, part meditative practice, and part graduate school; sort of a graduate school of mind. It satisfied my voyeuristic impulses, fed my reclusive nature and inspired me to look deeply into the "why" of all things.
During my years of focused concentration behind the wheel I became a practitioner of what I call Motor Zen. Taxi driving very closely approximates the formal practice of Zazen. The driver has his seat cushion, his formal sitting position and in place of the white meditation screen he has the white city backdrop and instead of a Zen koan he has the mindless chatter from the rear seat and the endless circuits around and around the city...for ten hours at a time, looking for meaning. "Why am I doing this?". But unlike ashram Zen, Motor Zen carries some serious risks. The price for inattention is often the destruction of the vehicle within which the body resides; sometimes even the body itself. No mere swat of the stick over the shoulder as in the Zendo. And the 'Makyo' encountered in the safety of the meditation hall is nothing compared to the phantoms encountered out on the street, behind the wheel of the speeding metal sled and in the back seat; not to mention those found in the deepest recesses of the mind after a late night shift when the questor lays curled alone in a cold metal bed, in a small rented room wondering....
Often in the taxi, I was privy to deep discussions and questioning. Over the years the most recurrent theme either stated directly or implied was simply:
"Why am I here? (in this life)." "What is it that I am supposed to be doing?"
Be they doctor, lawyer or Indian chief the general consensus seemed to be that 'that' (whatever that was), was not what they were really supposed to be doing. Seems we are all spear carriers in someone else's opera. All except for me. I was The Driver. For that period of my life I seemed to have a back stage pass.
From picking up people night after night I came to notice a growing restlessness in the population, a spiritual uneasiness. It was as if we were all waiting for something to happen; waiting for the weather to change.
I contend that the mechanism of consciousness is not fully understood. I believe that the brain, the Mind and the Spirit may have some surprises in store for us yet.
During my years behind the wheel I was an ardent journal keeper and I preserved my insights, concerns and observations on life and the human condition in a series of small three ring binders. The following volume is culled from those journals.
This is a collection of essays, interviews, insights and taxi stories--an eclectic mix of what passes through a man's mind as he dreams his soul's transformation behind the wheel of a taxi on the night shift.
This book is about paradox and contradiction. It is about ideas that are ridiculous and some that are sublime. This is about a dream of higher consciousness under difficult conditions.
After all is said and done, what are we anyway, except fictional creatures--figments, traces of spark and color from The Great Imagining in search of a worthy story.
Tales from the Children of the Sea
"Remember who you are. Remember who you were.
Remember why you came"
By 2007 hundreds of men and women were observed cruising the coastal waters between Alaska and the Sea of Cortez. In the summer of the year 2010 U.S. Coast Guard spotters in Northern California observed seven hundred kayaks pass Point Reyes headed South. The emergence of these Sea Gypsies, as described by the media of the day, can be explained in part by the Crash of '09' which drove a failing economy over the edge and sent untold millions to the streets and to the woods in search of work, food and personal freedom. For a lot of people on the coast at this time the initial step off onto the sea seemed most natural. For a minimal initial investment they found essentially unlimited freedom. With a well outfitted ocean kayak they were tied to neither gas station, welfare office or complex industrial technology.
At first the small boats were almost unnoticed upon the bays and inlets of Washington, British Columbia and California, mostly they belonged to day trippers out for a frolic in the sun. But, as their numbers grew, the more adventuresome began to take to the unprotected waters of the coasts, intent upon duplicating and expanding upon the adventures of those early, near legendary cruisers like Romer, Lindemann, Caffyn, Dyson, Gillet and many others too numerous to mention. Eventually some hearty souls began to actually live on the water, travelling the coastal shoals, obtaining their protein from the ocean as well as the coastal forests and the remainder of their nutritional needs from the new seaside gardens.
Suddenly there was a new breed of savage. Usually college educated, these kayakers equipped with fish line and snorkeling gear became the gypsies of the sea. With the introduction of cheap water makers in the early nineties and small solar-powered auxiliary motors by '08', many individuals began to complete the entire circuit between Glacier Bay and The Bay of Conception, on the East coast of the Baja peninsula, within a year and a half. This activity was called Coasting and these adventurers referred to themselves as The Children of The Sea.
By 2010 there would be observed isolated camp fires burning far into the night upon the more remote beaches of the Western coast of the Americas. And seated around these fires would be the most diverse group of individuals ever assembled outside of a war. Mountain trekkers, river runners, campers and back-country specialists of many kinds, gold miners from Alaska, taxi drivers and Dead Heads from San Francisco, poverty stricken musicians, aerobic instructors, hod carriers, college professors, NASA scientists and unemployed computer programmers, brought together by their love of the ocean, kayaking and the quest for personal freedom. Reminiscent of the mountain men of the previous century, these citizens wore suits of rubber instead of leather and had adopted ocean waves and swells instead of mountain ridges or desolate prairies as their roaming grounds. The original voyagers were usually loners and not terribly young, most having reached at least thirty years of age with many in their forties, and more than a few in their fifties as well.
But within a few years entire families began to organize and travel, gathering each morning upon the beach beneath vibrantly colored flags denoting clan.
At first it was thought that the voyagers were merely following the weather patterns on their journey south, but some documents recently discovered in an old magazine point to the fact that they were following or traveling with dolphins on their path south. It is unknown who made contact first, the kayakers or the dolphins, but this early journalist states that specific dolphins and whales traveled with specific groups of kayakers, in order, it was thought, to show The Children of The Sea where the birthing grounds were located. In any case, the lesson bore fruit, and the first documented human birth in the sea took place in 2004, near the entrance to Scammon's Lagoon on the Pacific side of the Baja peninsula.
The child was the now legendary Mary Tree. As near as can be determined, her mother became pregnant somewhere along the coast of Oregon. Later, many more salt water birth occurrences were reported and it became a matter of great pride to give birth to one's son or daughter in warm salt water while in the presence of dolphins and whales.
When this writer was a boy I remember my great-grandfather taking me aside one day to confide in me that he had been born in the Bay of Conception, in the shadow of a gray whale. My mother told me later that he had lied. Nonetheless, when he died he left me a strange artifact, which he referred to as his Spirit Caller. It was a piece of rippled tube about three feet long, said to be made from the intestine of a sea mammal and which, when swung about the head emitted an eerie sound. It was used (or so I was told) to signal to whales that a human birth was about to take place. The father would swing the spirit caller throughout the birthing process so that this might be the first sound heard by the newborn. The instrument would then be presented to the child as his or her very first earthly object. The child would carry it with him throughout his life to signal the birth of his own children and if all went well, eventually it's sound would be heard one last time to signal to the whales that a brother was leaving this earthly frame and he would be buried with his original Spirit Caller. Because my great-grandfather realized that he no longer lived among "free" men, he designated me as heir to his Spirit Caller.
My parents smiled indulgently as he placed it in my young hand upon his death bed. But I have kept it all these years and it hangs now on the wall above my desk as I write. Someday perhaps I shall have the opportunity to summon a whale using my great-grandfather's instrument.
With a relatively small amount of money, a neophyte adventurer could purchase a perfectly fine seventeen foot ocean cruising kayak with separate bulkheads and a surface composed of fourth-generation solar cells with which to power his stereo, GPS unit or VHF transceiver. Many options were available. Later, of course, when the new child of the sea became more proficient, he or she would devise the means to obtain one of the new-generation clear glass kayaks. These were called Crystal Ships. Totally clear and essentially invisible in the water, they were made of a high strength but very light glass developed by NASA. These boats were utterly indestructible; one could land them on rocks without the risk of a scratch and they had a secondary quality which endeared them to their owners; they emitted a tone when struck with a solid object. Because each boat's sound was entirely unique, one lone kayaker could hail another over a long distance by merely striking the side of his boat with the handle of his paddle. Even in a dense fog a lone voyager could keep track of his fellow travelers by merely striking the side of his cockpit with his paddle while completing a stroke. In this way, one always knew where everyone was. Often a family or clan would order their boats tuned to specific tones and on long cruises, groups would click their cockpit combings in unison and send out a clear musical chord far across the water. Later on, the ritual of "thumping the hull" became very complex and individual clans would actually create their own music. One of my most prized possessions is an extremely rare CD of a kayaking clan celebrating a sunrise over Isla Espirtu Santo in the Sea of Cortez.
The Crystal Ships were very beautiful. They were utterly transparent. Empty on the water, they were invisible. At night, snap one cyalume light stick and lay it within the kayak and the boat would give off a soft colored glow as it slid through the water until dawn. The colored glow from the individual boats mixed with the crystal bell tone of a tuned hull could be awesome. Couple this with chanting and the whole gathering began to take on the look and sound of a Tantric chorus from God's own music hall moving on down multi-colored energy waves...across the great surround.
Since many of these Children of the Sea possessed gifts of spirituality and imagination, it was no surprise when hyperbolic tales began to emerge from around the glowing fires of these hi-tech aborigines. Through the process of speech they would share their ideas, concepts, mind pictures and fears as well as the random musings which come and go in the mind of the lone cruiser. The more interesting anecdotes were saved, reconsidered from time to time and embroidered upon, or edited and tightened much like fine short stories to be shared later with new friends on even more isolated beaches.
This pattern of speech, referred to as "Speak" or more usually "Intuitalk", was a technique whereby these sea gypsy's attempted to bypass the labyrinth of the intellect and speak directly and extemporaneously from the richness of what they called the mind ground. They even had a curious custom where they would interview their children as soon as the child began to speak.
They would ask the young human such things as--"Where did you live before you came here?" "What caused you to pass over in your last life?", "What did you do in your other life?" and "How do you know me?"
Apparently the parents were trying to establish a sense of serial continuity in the mind of the child so as to reduce the sense of alienation so common in their city brothers and sisters. These little intuitalk dialogues were of course recorded on a CD and given to the child to become part of his or her Earth Kit along with other important items like the previously mentioned Spirit Caller. This CD was intended eventually to be played beside the person's death-bed in the hope that listening to his or her own child voice describing the other side and another life would ease the transition for the now aged entity about to cross over. This entire recording process was referred to around their fires as the Return to Earth Ceremony. It would seem that we are all immortal Light Beings and everyone on Earth is an imperfect model striving towards perfection. This is a secret which we all hold in common.
These Children of The Sea had the custom of meditating while paddling. Asked why he meditated, one kayaker said he believed life was one connective matrix of meaningful coincidence--synchronistic patterns that we have somehow isolated ourselves from. Meditation allowed him to fall back into that synchronistic web. He laughed and said that he felt he belonged to the Church of Synchronicity.
Within the extended cruising family clan citizen anthropologists have been able to isolate six specific levels of archetypal entities. First we have what we might call the simple Thirty-Day-Adventurer or tourist. These people usually traveled in a group under the watchful eye of a professional guide and the mere prospect of sleeping on the ground was viewed as an exotic event.
Second in this hierarchy was the Writer-of-Words, the individual who went on extended trips with the group and then sold his words and images to the societal herd through articles in books and magazines in order to finance his next adventure. It is this second level voyager that has proven to be our prime source of information. This particular type of vagabond was, often as not, a wolf of the steppes; too wild to ever be completely domesticated, somewhat alienated and unable to fit into normal society and yet too fearful to ever break completely free. This person was far too much of an addict to the fringe attractions of the urban scene like clean sheets, television, single's bars and good restaurants.
The third level of this anthropological stratification was typified by the Cruising Jeweler. This, our scientists now believe, was the first individual to totally break with the land and the mainland culture of the day. These individuals took a lesson from the Hopi and the Navajo of the 19th Century and turned bits and pieces of silver and ivory and bone into items of personal adornment. They carried a minimum of supplies but still managed to turn out attractive as well as valuable works of art that we have all seen in museums. They traded their creations to the writer-of-words and sometimes to the thirty day adventurer and thus obtained the small funds they needed to survive.
The fourth level constituted the beginning of the shaman class. Here we find the famous Scrimshaw Artists who recorded legends and other magically significant images upon bone, ivory and tusk. The scrimshaw man (or woman) usually traveled alone for a good portion of the year and could be described as a co-creator and certainly a prime designer of the Life Fable, which is how the Children of The Sea viewed their earthly sojourn.
The fifth level of Coaster was the Teller-of-Tales, the Catcher of Words, the Shape-Shift; the true guru of the water. Sometimes this type of individual was referred to in legend as Orca Man because it is said that he was able to transform himself into Ornicus Orca--the killer whale, or as some people thought, he was an Orca who was able to transform himself into a man. The teller-of-tales or “Stalker of Words”, or “Word-Catcher” always lived alone but sometimes came to the fires of traveling clan groups late at night to tell them stories and weave his magic. Some would accompany their stories with music or song but often as not they would simply rely upon the power and the magic of the spoken word. A Teller-of-Tales would recount strange and wonderful things to those gathered around the edge of the fire's glow.
The sixth and most obscure level of coastal cruiser was occupied by the entity known as the Selkie. This was reported to be a female presence only viewed dimly at sunrise or sunset. Never seen directly but only spotted from time to time in the fog or in the distance gliding away. To have encountered a Selkie was to have one's life transformed! The Selkie was a truly magical creature spending part of it's life as a seal (which ironically was food for the Orca) and part as a human, and when in human form it was said to be a female of such incredible beauty that all who chanced across her path fell in love in the deepest recesses of their being. The Selkie was said to often reside in the deep fjords of South East Alaska, and she was sometimes referred to as Shadow because that is usually the form in which she has been reported; a mere shadow slipping across a rock face deep in a glaciated canyon. The Selkie was--and some say still is--the link between this world of three dimensions and the world of the original children of the sea. She is said to come to certain men, like the Teller-of-Tales, in their sleep and from that moment on their life fable unfolds in a most magical and mysterious fashion.
1. “We are God’s Memory Palace. We are an interactive holographic construct of dynamic memory being visualized by a higher form of Consciousness.”
2. Life is like a hand crafted tapestry and every conscious entity in the entire universe is seated at the loom, tying their knots of experience into the overall design.
3. The Expression of any Art is in the doing. Create life don’t wait for the applause.
4. “Fear is just the dark suitcase carried in the hand of MIND, the supreme dramatist. Don’t combat it or argue with it or even fear it. Just...take off your mind. The mind will creep back again and again. Don’t fight it, just watch it do its mind dance.But note that each time it returns with its seductive drama, the black bag it carries will become smaller and smaller until it is hardly a wallet. And then, merely a dark calling card, and then, perhaps one day, just an ironic smile.”
5. ‘’The Mind illustrates an intelligence and a sense of persistent continuity that the brain can only dream of...’’
6. “The Spirit Sports with Time. The Soul is the Light that shines through...
And all of our earthly desire and ambition is nothing but shadow play on the cave wall...There is a secret here that we have all sworn not to reveal.”
7. My intention is to create a bridge for your Spirit to walk over. It is not the content nor the political slant that is important, nor even the creative ability exhibited within the juxtaposition of the words upon the page. It is instead, a process as old as Man: the naming and claiming of reality, metaphor by metaphor.
This is the Metaphorical Imperative, as strong as the drive for food or water. This quest, which has driven the human race from the very beginning, is, in the final analysis, the quest for the seed of Truth.
8. I am a vendor at the Blind Babies Bazaar, and sometimes, as I graze on the open wounds of realization that bite deeply into the furrows of my being I feel like God's own Angels are making pee-pee in my hair.
But then, what do I know? I am just a cab driver. My thoughts often get entangled in my mind´s hair like stale gum. What can I say except that I am involved. I am a prober of an emotional universe. I am involved because my pain is workable flesh. But it is not important. The beatific fluidity of one soul dreaming its own transformation is not concerned.
9. Sometimes, late at night, I become griped with the fear that I am trapped in a golden trace. Hardly a beast of burden like my forefathers about to expire from overwork in the mill or the factory or the field but none the less trapped--behind the wheel, with my face pressed up against the glass seeing things I will never have, taking people to places I will never experience and eavesdropping on conversations that I have absolutely no part of.
10. I feel like I boarded a train in my youth in anticipation of an incredible adventure only to turn around a seemingly short while later to see the reflection of an old man in the window; the conductor…who looks vaguely familiar and in the end has been going nowhere, merely passing back and forth along the track among the travelers. Punching other people's adventure tickets.
11. It is hard to change...very much. I continue to see the world filtered through a very personal set of prejudices and pseudo-values. The vibrational zones and pockets of habitual conduct become so familiar and comfortable, even the most tenuous and aberrant become like warm old blankets that are permeated with my very own stench and of course, it smells like home.
12. Paranoia is when you begin to suspect that your teeth are laying in wait for your tongue. The problem is not really serious though until you call the police in a muffled voice to report a crime in progress.
13. Some people would have you believe that we are all stranded in the dark grasping for answers. Seems to me we are basking in the light of answer leisurely formulating questions.
14. A woman looks at a man as something to ride. The pony her father never gave her. Her means out of the yard, off the block, away from the home town, into of the Big City. The frustrations grow from there.
15. Sometimes I feel like a bullet shot from the barrel of a terrorist gun. The type of weapon is the culture I was born to. The rifling in the barrel that determined my spin and put the scratches and marks upon my psychic body was my family.
The inescapable realization is that no one comes out of the end of the barrel clean. The impact point that ultimately deforms the lead bullet will be the instant of my death. The detailed pattern the distortion will take will have been my life lived. The ultimate target will have been my dream of the light at the end of the barrel.
16. The personal human identity is a submarine descending into the oceanic unconscious on exploratory missions and coming up again and again with bits of treasure; phrase and insight and then sliding again back beneath the surface searching for the sunken craft; the black box…the interface between illusion and reality…in hopes of finding the right magical incantation: the words of the pilot and cockpit crew as the original plane went down....
17. Our job is "To create a more perfect union." Right here. Right now. This has always been the dream of humankind since the beginning and once it was a reality and people around the world would speak about it to one another in quiet whispers over late night fires and it was called AMERICA!
18. We are like spiders, we pass from one spot to another and we leave a trail of our intent and our expectation. It is the beginning of our “Web”. At first we may rationalize it as a “bridge”, it facilitates our getting from one place to another, but we do not stop there. Soon we have a full blown intricately created web of our intention: our DRAMA!
And soon we become trapped within this dream web. We become the fly and fall to playing victim, forgetting that we are not only The Fly, we are also The Spider who created the web in the first place!
19. Watching television, movies, reading books and newspapers and magazines as well as observing people in the street I can almost see a spiritual power sculpting the human entity; turning it first this way and then that way, pushing in at one point, pulling, stretching and stressing points and aspects here and there.
Meanwhile humans continue to strut about the stage and see things as individual threats or rewards or phenomena, isolated and interesting but utterly disconnected one from the other. We fail to recognize even the simplest patterns. We are all just little chips off the diamond, facets to refract the light. We seem utterly unconcerned as well as unconscious of the fact that we are being turned upon a Heavenly lathe.
20. The following is a true story, or rather it is a true experience from the story of my life. Some say that just because something happens doesn't really make it "true".
21. "There is no time", he said, "Time is a parade, it takes only as long to pass as it takes and you are at one and the same time the curb side observer, the drum major, the general pompously standing high atop the reviewing stand and the last street sweeper who picks up the last bit of rubbish on the following day.
22. Once you've been in the room within your imagination where the creative machinery lives--once you've seen the creation of color and smelled the spiritual smoke given off by the wheel of life then you'll never be the same. Your life will be transformed from that moment on. If you are lucky enough to enter this room with your work clothes on and dirt under your nails, then you will emerge an artist from that point forward and you will see the world through marvelous fresh eyes.
23. This is a very pleasant sensation, at this instant--being a writer; being able to entertain and introduce the three prime portions of human consciousness: the physical animal, the thinking brain and the transcendent mind.
When these three parts come together they form a bubble which exists quite outside of time/space. The movement of this bubble seems to be a form of active prayer. This bubbling is the creation of the Mind, not the brain and certainly not the robot narcissistic greed freak doing the stenographic work (me!).
24. In order to 'qualify' as a serious writer, a significant part of the person's mind and personality must be able to transpose, transmute and transcend. One must be able to transpose events as quickly as a professional musician transposes musical keys; transmute the gross into the ethereal as facially as an alchemist and in the end, transcend and become as centered as a Zen initiate. This is quite aside from being able to write at all.
25. The brain is the interface, like the second stage of a rocket before the essential package reaches free space and is cut loose to orbit. This impulse comes from a disembodied state. There is no material consideration there. It is far reaching. It is holographic in intention. It is not often referred to in popular literature. It has been called the un-nameable. Before that, they lived it. For the last ten thousand years the only thing we can say for sure about it is..."we can't talk about it!"
26. If my journal seems fragmented it's because over the years I've found that my Mind operates in a larger room in time. Bits of idea jotted down in my journal will complete themselves months or even years later. A second fragment will fit the other so perfectly that it's as if they are but pieces of the same vase broken years ago with the shards scattered across time. Whole sentences began weeks, months or even years before will have a beginning, middle and end separated by vast spaces of time. It would seem my Mind illustrates an intelligence and a sense of persistent continuity that my brain can only dream of. It's as if my Mind is an artist spending large amounts of time painting extremely detailed oils, whereas my brain searches for the 'quick fix'; the immediate sign of life, the Polaroid print. "No time for art", my brain says..." the paint takes too long to dry."
27. I am a symbologist. In my writing I attempt to take a great confusing mass of information and select a few succinct images to imbue with feeling and significance. Hopefully these images (or at least a few) will stick in the mind of the reader and become symbols for a future. Hopefully these little ribbons tied to the trees along the road of life will encourage man's two great desires: to grow and to travel towards the perceived Light.
28. Writers are very cerebral. They live in their mind. Their body is often like a loyal pet that follows them around and demands to be fed and taken out and exercised. It is like a good dog. Thus I am often surprised and taken back when I run across someone who actually LIVES in their body and is totally unaware of the thought life of the mind; the thought glue that serves as the epoxy which binds the entire thing together. The universe is a connective matrix of pure thought forms but you don't have to be aware of this for it to work. Some people (most) live their life as animal. Some are (most) quite domesticated types like sheep. Some are cows. Some (few) are closer in nature to dolphin/eagle or bear. Some (very few thankfully) are truly wild and are like hyenas, snakes, weir wolves and vampires. These feed on the herd and bare watching.
29. The problem with writing is not the years of poverty, obscurity and struggle with the world and with one's personal demons, nor even the months, sometimes years of struggle to bring a story through the mind frame, kicking and screaming into the earthly light of the clean white page. The real problem with writing is dealing with the liberal arts graduate readers with the hearts and souls of lawyers. These strange yuppie hybrid creatures stand like centurion guards between the writer, and the people who might want to, might need to, read his stuff.
30. We seem to tolerate Art as either a hobby, an excuse for the terminally lazy or as the domain of the extremely rare, eccentric talented few. We forget (or never take the time to notice in the first place) that art is initially taken up by the sensitive person as a survival tool the same way as another person might take up a club or a prayer book. Art is the highest form of human expression, even higher than religion and prayer because it requires no intervention by anyone on anyone else's behalf. Art is the naked act centered in the immediacy and purity of the moment. Rather than plaintively inquire, request or plead, it serves instead to actually illustrate the Holy Presence of the living Spirit.
31. When The Spirit shines through the human frame it is the artful moment that is captured and not the over-educated negotiator on bended knee hoping to strike a deal or offer penance for some imagined past misdeed.
32. The Mind rules.
The brain is paint on the canvas;
Merely autumn color--a mouse in the grass.
The Mind is the eagle
Looking down on the mouse.
Mouse-brained man chases his chemistry
All over the field.
Eventually the Eagle will close with the mouse.
33. Images and insights flit bat like through my mind and condense on the walls of my brain and gradually drip down in the form of words, metaphors, and analogies to form stalagmites and stalactites upon the floor/ceiling of the cavern. These experiential mineral deposits build up over many years and give me an idea of who I was, who I am and who I might become...
34. If a man can verbalize his experience; his position, front, back, top, bottom…all around; if he can get a glimpse of his place in the ongoing process which we call this life, this world, this universe; and if this man can verbalize it at least in his own terms, to his own satisfaction and write it down, then he is like the skipper of a small sailboat in mid-ocean armed with the appropriate charts and sextant. He is not merely surviving, lost at sea on a raft awaiting rescue or death. He is on a voyage. He knows where he started and he has a past track at hand from which to judge his present speed and position. He is a cruiser...
Attitude is everything.
35. I once though I knew the truth, or as much of it as my personal data net was aware of. But who really knows anything for sure anymore? It looks like the technology of perception has finally outrun the technology of verification. Maybe there really is no truth. Things have become so strange that sometimes I suspect that everything has already happened and we are just toying with selective memory.
36. Things are increasing in speed. There is a quickening. The future is headed at us like a semi just crossed over into our lane. Coming at us, head on! Ready or not. Quick, create something to expect and in no time at all you will see it stream past your window, in your rear view mirror, and you will call it...History.
37. Humans seem to live in order to name things. We live in a world created by metaphor. We stand beneath a shower of metaphor. It is literally raining metaphor at all times. We are constantly creating metaphors, agreeing with others on the validity of their metaphors and scanning the horizon for metaphors we haven’t even imagined yet. We string metaphors around the tree of life as if they were popcorn and it was Christmas.
38. As soon as one draws a line through The Moment (any moment), one splits the circle of supreme intention thereby dividing the sphere of ultimate potential. When this happens the crystal of realization is fractured. Like dropping a red hot glass marble into a bowl of cool water, it fractures and each little spider-web like fracture line is either desire or fear and together they generate...Drama. And once fractured by "thought" each separate line must be run out to its positive conclusion before the initial potential of the original crystal can be realized. Some call this the web of life. Some call it karma.
39. The fact is we have been entranced, put into a hypnotic state, and dumbed down to the point that we have taken this trance state illusion as total end of the day reality. It's like we are travelers in some exotic port and we've lost our money and our ID and our passport. No credit cards, no cash, no travelers checks, things seem serious but in our hearts and minds we know where we come from, we know that we have money, credit and assets…"back home". The induction and eventual trance state brought about at physical birth and refined by our culture has wiped out that memory of any other place, any other time and any other reality.
40. By granting your intention and by refraining from thought you will fall through the brain's lock box back into the moment, into Mind. Paint the world with your pure intention and the world, as you have previously known it--will vanish in a flash! The spell will have been lifted. When you finally free your mind to experience the world, the world will finally be able to experience you. For in the final analysis, what you have been looking for, your entire life, is really, what has been looking. You (we) are God's mirror. God's Memory Palace.
41. Life is a riddle wrapped in a conundrum and packaged in a practical joke box. It all has to do with what we call time and our mistaken assumptions surrounding it. Time is not linear, there is no past, and no future.
Time is an explosion and you are ground zero and everything, every thought, every deed, every person you have ever been or will ever be...is happening right now. You are an explosion of consciousness radiating out from a single point of supreme intention. From a single point of Light.
42. Let me ask you to wrap your mind around the “idea” that TIME, as we perceive it, is not linear. It does not move from the past into the future like a highway. Nor does it begin on page one with something like “In the beginning…” and end three hundred pages later with something like, “and they lived happily ever after.”
43. Imagine that all “time”, everyone’s time, and everyone who you have ever been or will ever be and everything you have ever done or ever will do, is happening right now. And that it is only through the mechanism of your personal ego that you choose to identify with this particular linear spoke, this radial of Mind date stamped, 2010.
44. This is called The Resonance Theory of Simultaneous Existence. We occupy our consciousness--all at once. What happens in one life experience resonates across all frequencies and influences all other life experiences. These feelings resonate across frequencies like small waves across the surface of the ocean. Our consciousness IS THE OCEAN. Our individuated feelings are like the waves upon the surface of that sea. Sometimes the waves move in unison, sometimes, as in a storm, they move in a very chaotic fashion across the surface. And sometimes, rarely, but it happens, there can be a Tsunami type wave which moves at astonishing speed across the surface altering everything it touches. In recent times these have been called World Wars!
45. What we are doing here is not simply finding a trail of breadcrumb clues left along the path in the forest of our very limited current life experience. What we are doing is nothing less than co-creating a tapestry of consciousness, a true work of Art. We are creating this across the vast reaches of what we naively call time and space and we are not doing this alone, but with the direct intent and cooperation of every other conscious entity.
What we are doing is growing a holographic universe and with this realization will come a subtle "click," as from the opening of a backdoor, as from the opening of a human mind, and with this, the rings of realization will began to radiate in all directions across the pond of time.
46. "Life is easy when you've got new tread!"
47. “When time is halved and halved again; when years pass as months and days suddenly stream passed as seconds; somewhere in a small rented room in an urban center, (probably over a liquor store) seated beneath a bare 60 watt globe on a hard backed wooden chair with tablet and pencil in hand will sit--BURNING MAN...the writer.”
48. After all is said and done, what are we anyway, except fictional creatures--figments, traces of spark and color from The Great Imagining in search of a worthy story.
49. Welcome to the night shift, where time runs in a concurrent spiral and all lives are simultaneous and all thoughts form realities and everything is probable.
50. Quantum foam, light-cone, wilderness home; I wield my thoughts like a tongue. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I see the fly-catcher lizard, and he is hungry. Other times I see the condemned prisoner politely requesting a doggie bag with his last meal. Descriptions and concepts are quickly passed around and about like hives of gold.
51. All I've ever really wanted was to keep myself amused and to have a good friend to bless me when I sneeze. And perhaps to be a national literary hero. To wear honor's helmet I would have been willing to go wide in the water. To wear the robes of grace I would have been willing to traverse the very retina of the mind's eye.
At one time I would have gladly been an optimistic spirit; an igniter of stars...and the dead.
52. What can I say except that I am involved. I am a prober of an emotional universe. I am involved because my pain is workable flesh. But it is not important. The beatific fluidity of one soul dreaming its own transformation is not concerned. "It is all just so much strawberry syrup," say us vendors at the Blind Babies Bazaar.
53. Every person represents an entire interior world. A world not known in all the universe until they arrived on the scene with new eyes and beheld and began to appreciate
54. It would seem my Mind illustrates an intelligence and a sense of persistent continuity that my brain can only dream of. It's as if my Mind is an artist spending large amounts of time painting extremely detailed oils, whereas my brain searches for the 'quick fix'; the immediate sign of life--the Polaroid print.
"No time for art", my brain says..." the paint takes too long to dry."
55. He was a salesman, he told me. He sold vacuum cleaners door to door and his commission was $100 per machine. He made twenty calls per day and usually sold one machine.
"Don't you get depressed by all that rejection?" I asked.
"What rejection?" he replied. "Everyone who opens their door gives me $5."
56. Shaving ritual:
In the early morning mirror:
Zen is the moment of stillness
Once the plug has been pulled...
But before the water begins to turn.
57. Fate intervenes only when man is not following his destiny. When a man is not fulfilling his destiny, fate will drag him along like a dog worrying over a bone in a stranger's yard.
58. The true condition of most people's lives can be best described as...situational living. On the whole it can be classified as neither good--nor bad. For in the main it is merely predictable and...boring. But if it were to change (and the truth were known) they would surely miss it: miss the situation they find themselves in, for above all things the boringness is security and the predictability smells of home, and it is all their own. It is possibly all they have....
59. Character is timeless. But we do not grow chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, sometimes in another. Sometimes there are whole dimensions in which there is little or no growth. It is a very uneven process.
It is all partial and relative. We can be mature in one realm and quite childish in another. A genius in one world; an idiot savant in another; autistic in a third. The ego attempts to serve as a mixing board to all this input, hoping to be able to distill and mix out a commercially acceptable product. Something with a strong sound and a good beat; something you can dance to.
60. Advice from an ex prisoner encountered in the rear seat, speaking about the solitary experience:
"It's O.K. to talk to yourself as long as you don't interrupt!"
61. The emphasis here is on time, process, mastery of the leisure principle. Simple enjoyment combined with simple foods, clothes, exercises, pastimes, desires and goals. The middle way; the path that leads out into the world and not to the bank, the bar, the restaurant, the analyst's office or the divorce court. The desire is to become a master of cycles.
61. The cause of the blockage will ultimately become the reason for the breakthrough.
62. As the anesthesia of sleep wears off and one becomes more conscious, the fragmentation of everyday professional 'business is business' becomes increasingly intolerable. One begins to feel the tearing of flesh and spirit. We are all part of a large family, not a large factory.
63. I am a leisure addict. I freely admit it. I lust after unobstructed days. Time, free, stretching before me with no horizon in sight. No dependence upon watch, phone or calendar page. Blank pages and blank days with warm weather, close to clear water and blue skies mean more to me than money, security or maybe even love.
64. I often have moments of great peace in which the simplicity of my life is very dear. The difference between human wants and human needs is truly vast. It is time to simplify my life even more. It is time to bring my desires and my needs into common focus.
65. I seem to be the sort of man who prefers the precarious freedom of solitude to the forced gaiety of the jostling crowd; the lazy habits of the unpublished, undisciplined writer to the shinning success of the urban professional.
Permanent work, regular hours and the kindly, supervised discipline that such employment would entail, are just not my cup of tea. I am a solitary man and it's time I acquired a single-handed ship to match my life-style and move my act out onto the water.
66. I feel like I am part of an ignored "New School" of writing, rather like the primitive painters who paint the simple stick-like figures of early Americana. I am an ideaist; an intuitalking imagineer, a corny sort of rube writer who seems utterly lacking in sophistication as well as certain basic skills.
67. When some people write it seems effortless like they are reeling off whole cloth by the yard. When I write it feels more like a series of controlled explosions. The challenge is in how I might connect the craters, the points of impact.
68. When considering a particular thought or theme, when looking for new wrinkles, look to the contradictions. Look to the mirror opposite image to perceive new truths about the reality of the thing itself.
69. There is--in the realm of man--the frequency of Personality, the frequency of the Brain and the frequency of the Mind. Man is, above all things, of the frequency of Mind but he has fallen.
70. Personality is soap opera and "People Magazine". The Brain is the labyrinth of the intellect where the smarter ones become lost. It is also the starter engine that can grant access to the Mind where there is no time, no place, no past and no future as well as no life and no death.
71. It is an inalienable right for each man, woman and child on earth to have healthy and unfettered access to the Mind. It should be in the preamble to the U.S. Constitution.
At some time in the future we will look back upon the present strictures placed upon access to the MIND much the same as we look back upon the exploitation of children for cheap labor in the 19th Century.
72. An artist is a primary personality unable and/or unwilling to adopt the dominant ideology of his age. As a primary personality, the artist has an innate distrust of collective ideas and programs.
From out of his conflict with the collective ideas of his age is born the tension which makes it possible for the artist to recreate or reinvent himself each morning upon arising.
73. Like two rafts approaching over a rough and turbulent sea, the forces that pull us together will eventually form the back-wash that will preclude our touching.
74. It seems to me that one significant problem the creative person has, is getting in his own way; standing in the light so that all he sees is the shadow cast by his own image.
75. Never confuse seriousness with intelligence, age with wisdom or education with enlightenment.
76. This day I felt as smooth and centered as the bubble in a carpenter's level in the hands of a master craftsman!
77. Hoola hoops and mini-skirts may go in and out of style along with power ties and hot tubs but the Spirit and the voice that speaks of and with the Spirit does not go out of style and will not be ignored.
78. Images and insights flit bat-like through my mind and condense on the walls of my brain and gradually drip down in the form of words, metaphors, and analogies to form stalagmites and stalactites upon the floor/ceiling of the cavern.
These experiential mineral deposits build up over many years and give me an idea of who I was, who I am and who I might become...
79. A truly centered human is a thing of awesome beauty and significance. A centered person gives off a ring when tapped like God's own crystal.
If you are centered, then all is right with the world. If you are not centered and if you are out of balance then you will continually try to grab more and larger things in an attempt to regain your center and yet all will be for naught because you will be moving through a world of off-center beings, each intent only upon keeping their fellow off balance, distracted and out of their circle.
The spiritual light does not shine from the East or the West but from an infinite number of center points. From within!
80. Wherever you go...there you are. Wherever you are is the center. Wherever you find yourself make it your center. Don't place yourself in line (first or last). Don't be low man on the totem pole. Low rung on the ladder. You have no place to be other than where you are.
You are always in your perfect place. You are always at the center and the radials of your consciousness move outward in all directions from that centerpoint. There is no such place as a top or a bottom. No outside, no inside. Every point is center point!
81. The true nature of the universal mind will not become evident until left and right halves of the brain are working together: again. In that mode the ego will seem to fade like thin smoke and the personal "I" will take up a position in the moment, positioned exactly between the two halves of the brain. It will be at this exact position that the two beams of the holographic projection from the overmind will intersect and create focus.
82. Whenever you can't make up your mind about something use the device of flipping a coin high into the air. Not to depend upon 'fate' to make your choice but to clarify your own feelings and desire.
When the coin is twisting high upon its arc, suddenly you will find yourself "rooting" for one particular outcome.
83. Air play, Intuitalk, the upper levels of speech, where it becomes extremely rare and airy and yet supremely dense.
The neural net and spider-like webbing; climbing the stairs, the jungle vine network of idea where it is possible to swing from hand-hold to hand-hold.
Continually removing substance from the conversation until you reach the zone of shadow talk where the Center Point begins to radiate light and the dialogue is fascinating. The communication is intense and yet absolutely "no-thing" is said...it is all just air play.
84. Totally accept the premise that everything in the universe everything (yes that too!) is totally perfect. Accept all things. Release all dissatisfactions with the universe and your part in it. Erase your dusty image from the mirror.
You are a tourist in a foreign and exotic land but you are in no hurry and have no plane to catch. Cease to judge.