Dedicated to the memory of Brian Lawrence and Barry R. Cheskin: 

Talented visionary writers, fun-loving collaborators, loyal friends and steadfast allies on the path of life

"Wouldn't it be sublime if we could talk with trees? Then the bristlecone pines could tell us what has really been happening in the last five thousand years."

- Unwonted Reflections, Barry Cheskin

Selected Poetry 

"The milk-rich flow of memories"

The milk-rich flow of memories
Can be recovered like peeling an artichoke
Layer by layer
Until you find yourself, a tiny child
In back of a pick-up truck rolling with grown-ups
Rumbling down the road
Then the mattress suddenly flies off
And tumbles away, spinning down the street
Doing crazy cartwheels off into infinity

(Boston University, circa 1989)

"Conjecture on the Night"

The night runs deeper,
Deeper than negligee falling may fathom
Consider the way
Black eye-liner lingers
Just until dawn usurps
With her rosy-petalled fingers

The sting of forgetful wine
Brings an unconscious litany of snowflakes...

Melting, just wishing I had
Ah, the power to streak your face

While the night's as inbred and woven
As all your father's chosen habitudes

And the rude, unseemly
Unmelting moon
Sloughs behind a symbolic dark cloud

Aloud, the silence of phasing stars
Unamazing for their vibrant discharge
Of rings in apparitional white

The night means black.


(Boston University, winter 1989 - 1990)

                                                                    "Fear"

Pillow-hiding from the red-eyed wolf

Who paddles slowly by
Row, row, rowing his wooden boat
Billows of smoke curl from his eyes
Icicles lit by flames surreal
Drip, drop like funereal tears
My eyes in frozen horror stare
Through the open window, cob-webbed no more

(Boston University, circa 1989)


                                                         "Summer haiku: Boston 1990"

Footprints in the sand,
Seaweed in a swirl of waves

"At Revere Beach"

Beach uncomely, riddled with waste

Like a hit of crack, you start and it's so hard
To stop, so easy since everybody else is
Equally implicated, just one more fritter

        a paper bag
        a piece of crab (but that's nature's litter)
        a plastic straw        a shovel and pail through with a day's castle ephemera
        soda cans (pollute the sands)
        and a cruddy litany of etc.'s

Negate anyone's responsibilities
So it seems, as the waves keep doing their thing
And the seagulls dip down low
Sure never to touch or come down too near
The sunbathers
Undaunted as a spectre
Amid the fruitflies of the damned

(Boston, summer 1990)



                                             "Thinking of My Brothers on a Moonlit Night"

from Chinese poet Tu Fu (712-770 A.D.), translation by T.S. Minton

Travelers shall not venture far

Since sound of drumbeats fill the air
Sure sign that troops prepare for war
The goose flies across the frontier
Then the bird's cries disappear
And echo off, so far away

I am here, summer almost lost
Soon red leaves will fall all around
Dew will form a whitened frost
While tonight the cold moon shines down
To light the dusty ground, where once,
Across winding roads, far away,
My brothers and I made our home

Now leaves are flying from the trees
We are scattered, like all the leaves
Like letters tossed in the wet breeze
Will my letters reach their dear eyes?
Or are my brothers still alive?
Unsure of all but the coming war
My eyes will meet only the moon

"Reflections: On Writing"

The moment remembered, rehashed in the mind

Becomes a key
To the free flow of artifice
The moment lodged in the mind
Gets made into a linguistic hieroglyph
And the reality of events that slip and shift
Becomes something more than it was
And something less

(Benson, Arizona, fall 1991)

"The Year The Flower Explodes"

I

So shall this be the year the flower explodes
And scatters her petals in sacrifice
To herald the time of the dream that heaves the heart
And spirals so swiftly upwards from whirly depths
To meet soft-hued eyes that surrender, never fading
To spark the flow of sweet nauseau mercy milk
Rekindle the sprinkled leaves of wintergreen
And revive the silver mystery of frost? 

II

Such was the sway of ensnaring illusion
Set in play when her face I seized
And all in a flash I saw it floating:
Petals of the bloody, effusive rose
Spreading for the sun
Desire's unblemished complement
Outward radiating, to me or so it seemed

And so in the auditoreum the poetry reading droned on
The cascade of honeyed words blurred
Though to her, girl veiled in mystery, I could speak none
Down that path to limbo went our chimerical meetings
Where words would tumble
And spill into conversations, hot mazes
That lead to mysteries opening, like petalled fingers
That tip-toe toward that secret spot
Where time stands still
And the laudatory egg of bliss
Too eruptive to bear
Engulfs us
And we drift in aftermath
Toward the yearning depths of the swishy sea

III

Careening rip-roar of the blue-tinged sea
Where amoebas spin round and round in halo'd light
And the whoosh of akashic breath
Brought from realms above by the cognate angels
Toss me through time, a traveler, to dance the primal dawn
Though in the dying rays of the empty theater called today
I can only fail to trace the lineations of my fine desire
And no effort of imagination can move the halcyon wave
Let go of the pendulum, strange sailor!
And let God let it come in all due time

IV

Electric green light pours from the lighthouse of the mind
And I see the silhouettes appear on the water's horizon
Like the glass-blown heat of a mirage
An image, a faraway apparition of nuclear sentinels so keen
To surge and streak and wreak havoc
Bringing the ash of apocalypse to bear
With time so short, and the night so very long and langorous
Won't you traipse with me through the fields of Avalon?
We might stumble perhaps on pink meadows in repose
And let the sharp stark tablets that record our past
Sink low into the murk and muck of everglades
And Hades will not know which way we turn
Why wait to find that in death all ends are known?

V

Oh to dream, to pass through a liquid dimension
And to visualize your doppelganger, quicksilvery form
Materializing to hot breath, breathing flesh
To just pluck my slip-shod daydreams from their web
And smolder right through the seething vale
To greet this steamy place of concrete streets
Where the hermit has hid, he's hankered in silent retreat
In a cold place, the place where silence seeps
Or will love come like snow that falls in the desert
Appearing suddenly, then gone, melted by the rising sun?
Will I be the arcane passerby who never dives
Into the bubbling fountain of your soul?
All the while the strangled ghosts of hometown nights
Spin round and round in roadside effigies to my ire
And we are no more to wonder:
"Oblivion, is that what the messenger came to claim?"
And then, beneath the stationary moon
How long will I wait
For the sounds of celestial music to spur me on?
There in the hazel light of the never known
You will be the one born from the dark ash
Who goes through life glowing like gold

(Tucson, circa 1993)

Lyrics (in search of music)

"Song To God"

On the day that I was born

I smiled at what I left behind
I ran through the brambles and I cut my skin
But I did not mind

I sing this song to God

Though I don't know who you are
There's nothing in the sky tonight
Not a single star

But if I live to see

The dawning of the dawn
There'll be a million trillion shining spawn

There beside the tree of dreams

Layed low like the falling leaves
A traveler to the other side

Who finds, oh my --

On the day that I was born
I smiled at what I left behind
I ran through the brambles and I cut my skin
But I did not mind

I sing this song to God

Though I don't know who you are
There's nothing in the sky tonight
Not a single star

But if I live to see

The dawning of the dawn
There'll be a million trillion shining spawn.

"The Price of the Game"

All the soldiers killed so far away

Are howling through the vale of the night
Purple mountain majesties turn bloody anyway
Guess that's just the price of the game

You tell me I'm not old

Am I old enough to be alone?
Who's that knockin' at your door?

But oh, the horror

You can watch it on TV
You can keep believing words
Soaked in duplicity
But that's all right, my love

Guess there's no coming back now, man

You're far away as the Aleutian Islands

All the soldiers killed so far away

Are howling through the vale of the night
Purple mountain majesties turn bloody anyway
Guess that's just the price of the game

"Cascabel Meditation: Sunrise" 

(composed 1988 - 1995)

"One of the most remarkable bodies of work I have ever encountered." 
- Prof. Barbara Jackson, Harvard University Department of English. 

"Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed."

 Arthur Rimbaud, A Season In Hell (Une Saison en Enfer)

I 




The same sun's shining        yesterday

That rose so slow, and stood so long

And stretched my time like clay

Years can't turn 'round

As the whirl of the windmill's vanes

Or the foot-pumped potter's wheel

Yet still the scintillant dust blows

Through the chasm between

That place, once called home

And the Chinese boxes of dream after dream

Where desert light refracts

Rebounds off phantom forms

And aches

To reach that ground again
Where bronze-backed workers sweated in the sun
Piling mud cake blocks to make an adobe home
Day in, day out
Hardscrabble immigrants with blistered feet
They'd crossed a hundred miles or more
From Sabinas Hidalgo 
To work a day or two or three
Then be on their way to Winkleman
There our home was a school bus
Shaded by trees of mesquite 
While down the dirt road woven mysteries loomed
In the redolent realm of communal house and pottery works
And our backyard: a yawning canyon
The gnarled ribs of the San Pedro River

To touch that ground again
Would it be again to taste
The juice that only once
Produced amazement in every sense?
Would I merge with my old self's shadow
And swim again in flowing wine?

Oh, but only a child can really see
The blueness of the blue





II 

Now broken strands will fall together:
Memories embedded like a graffitto in cement
Nameless as a scent of wind
Fleeting as a feather
Are brought toward ambience again
To form this song's single heather

Tucson's somewhere back there in the dust
As my father wheels the '47 Studebaker bus
And drives further, further across the arid land
Peppered with cacti, sky so tender, endless blue
While our yellow caravan bounces and careens
Suffused with hazel sunlight
Warm with strangers bearded, beaded, embroidered 
That was the incandescent time 
When things seem received rather than found
And as the sun went down, past the loopy road from Pomerene
My family was all aboard, with Dixie cups of Rainbow Water 
Circulating, flowing from the giant blue see-through jug
And we wondered as the bus rattled on:
Where, where are we going? Where blows the wind?

Nearby dusty Benson town
(With its stagecoach robber ghosts
And the brown tabled Horseshoe Cafe
Where once we had dined
On ham smothered in sauce of glistening orange)
Was a 30 mile bumpy ride away
From where Cascabel lay, and it lies still  
Cascabel, may the wind, when it comes
Ripple hushed among your mesquite leaves
Embrace you, its dreaming, sleeping child
In her lush maternal shawl
Protect you from the rain of castigating stars
That bides with the wolf and rattlesnake
Cascabel's namesake
Formidable serpent that comes to pay a visit 
To my father, who's shrouded with another
Across the river, under the trees
Where they dare not move 
Deathly still, silent
Until snake's wrath has been meditated away

First night's sleep in red parachute tepee
'Til the school bus, parked, became our home
Around us the shadowland enwrapped
And as the sun arose, master of ceremonies
Segue into paradise
I lifted my five year old eyes, lamb-like
And learned to see and taste



III

Eternity in the bosom of a year, papaya on its bough
Tablature of clay, garden, canyon
Vivified by eyes, sensorium, soul

School bus furnished with life's imperatives:
Stove, beds 
(Where one morning I awoke in horror
Cut with a razor
My pajamas soaked red with blood)
A family all together
Lulled into peace
After the rough and rattly journey'd road
So dormant were we, sleeping with our seeds
Wired for fury, to erupt years hence
Buried now and lost in forgetful clouds of long ago

Our daily trip was down that dusty road
To the "Big House," axis of our stay:
Infrangibe kingdom of stone, wood, and glass
Forever resting just an amble down the road
Deep as its garden's soil
Where I watched a headless snake circuit
And weave its own wake, zapping out
Its cord of life
High as its lofts, where when I'd climb
Patchouli women, widening subdued brown light
Burned yesteryear's incense, the integer of delight
 
A whiff of tomatoes and mint
And I'm wandering the backyard gardens again 
Where goats scrape sawed-off horns
Against dirty grey metal sheets
While the ire of meanest, bucking momma goat
Promenades beyond that fenced yard 
And whistles through my spindrift years
Of afterglow turned indigo - 
Those were the days of seeming kindness

Desert highway utility poles, ink-black wires
Disappearing, like my brother in a billow of dust
Bound for Benson on the morning school bus
A real bus! Toward a real school
While I was stuck to dabble and dance
Within the arena of my broadening sight

Planes are dropping fly eggs from the sky
Black larvae pools that splay and squirm
And wiggle across the split-opened box
And glint silvery with specks of the sun

Night seeps in, sets, envelopes 
And meal time commences at the House 
Hands together held 'round the circle 
Form one commune, unbroken chain 
Surrounding the mighty brown wooden dining table
While our eyes were closed, in repose and prayer
Though at times I'd peek
At that mandala of auming adult faces
Aaahhhooommm.......
Sound around the table humming
Prerequisite to feast

All just memories now, a falling leaf away
From the sound much later to emerge:
Signals from the vale, such discordant music
That leaves this rush of phantasmagoria, at last...
Mute
Then draws back, to fifings from distant mountains
Rain within the cloud
Blight within the seed

Alone once on that wending path
A black bull blisters! Snorts! Chases me down!
Flit of paranoia jiggling through my brain
In dread of trampled-under death
From the rancher Gillespie's runaway cow!

But I'm just shuffling again through dust 
Writing in my college apartment Boston night
As doubts slither in with the steampipe's winter hiss:
Does this altar, language-lifted
Reach, grope, through memory's helix
To feel mere shades of forgotten cliffs, meals, moments
In the hearth of my flesh and blood
Stand revealed as moments sloughed through, like any other?
Or transmuted in the scheme of time
To yield a time of myth, child of bliss
Image of Cascabel picaresque, a paradise
So that I will not forsake
Touching something, just once - in life - 
Transfiguring?

Light of day casts over the cakes of clay
Spanning the San Pedro

Like memories crying to be excavated
To be felt again in full measure
To return and arc my life
Oh life of sin, spun away from the light of life
Bright from what was once

One fine flash that everything else 
Gladly, gushingly reverberates from
Rush of spring, and I was the one who felt
The tinge of nectar!
The suspicion that the sunflower
Grows by God's grace





IV

And so the morning came
Harbinger of entropy
Yet still leaving time, an immutable moment
For signs of the sublime:

A roar from afar crashes, cascades
Through the canyon's clay walls
The portals of sound are loos'd
No leashing can there be, for this colossal Immanence!
I dash from the House, tumult pulls me forth
To behold:

Flashflood wonderment! Thundering, eruptive
Brown and muddy rolls of rushing water!
Sundered trees caught in the thrashing race
While a child's seized by direct touch
Of what silvers the stars
And molds all else in its wake

And walks in the light of dusk
With the sun's slanting red glimmers 
Over the curled mud crusts of the river's bed

Through the stained glass specks of lighting shiver 
To deliver a message from the hawk who encircles
And brings the night of Gethsemane unto a man who quivers
And suffers in the hall, wrapped in his woolen shawl
Wracked with a toothache's riveting agony
He was eclipsed by the night's strange arc
And the unknown patterns of the circuitous hawk
While the windows glowed from beer bottle's ends
All in colored rows, pulsating with the mystery
The coming of seasons of pain
As indomitable rain keeps on coming

Living room light blooms when daylight comes
As loungers in lofts reside with memories of cocoa beans
And a song from the speakers drifts on through:
"Jesus Christ, Superstar
Who in the world do you think you are?"
Light that cast that shadow:
A stranger then, by name

Seahorse on a glide through time
Peers at the pantomime of forms
Elongated around the glass bowl
In waves of undulating fantasy
Wooden kitchen bowls brim, shelves teem
The freshly mopped floor sparkles and gleams
My father sits there, bandana around his hair
And no one else may come in
Until his self-admiring meditation is done

The eyes of the lotus legged yogis are closed
Their breaths silent and serene 
Lords of the zone between dining room and lofts 
The earnest meditators who drift off
To somewhere, somewhere lift
And do they float, milky and unfettered 
When they arrive on that silky astral plane?
All the while, a child watcher sees, stares
Spectating ecstasy

But I'm bashful, naked
Standing in the blue-tiled shower room
With a little girl, another little boy
And hairy grown-ups accompanying
As we wash ourselves clean 
After a stroll through the wet San Pedro
And I wonder, steam pipes still hissing:
Who was it, in this desert arcadia
That I romped and rumbled with
Soaking up the delicious term of the sun?

Now way down in my cavernous depths
Hidden in a dug up hole of earth
We watch the pick-up truck come barreling in
With a cactus on the flatbed, tossing up a cloud of dust 
It's so cool down here, so moist, and dark
With my older brother, in the shadows






V

Mesh of bodies weave the trees
The whole commune's naked
Dancing for Life and the Knowledge
That I'll catch you when you fall
"Come on along, come play Trust!
And let's fall back into each other's arms..."
While a child watches, transfixed, from the sides

School bus mesquite shade
Sitting on summer's doorstep 
And Alphonso saunters my way, bearing a gift
My mother's favorite turquoise plated spoon
Twisted into a wristband, made just for me:
Dear soul, how could she be angry?

Alphonso, you who slipped down the well
I tumble back the years to reach you
Melee of frantic faces gathered 'round
As rescuers plunged down to save you
I could've ridden the rope down, down
(Was tiny enough to fit inside that tin pail)
Though terrified I'd never come back up
I passed it by

Alive, in the bleeding dusk, they pulled him up, up
Carried and laid him in the Pinto's backseat 
Then the last minute hassle:
The mustach'd, red-haired driver, knife at his hip
Who refused to take the wounded man - 
How could he be so cruel?
They shifted Alphonso to the pickup truck
Fed him a hearty chunk of anesthesia hash
Then roared away toward Benson

Sky overcast, a day for dreaming
A ride to Benson, windows down with whipping wind
From a stitch unraveled in the clouds
A perfect beam, one rectangle of golden light
Blesses the field, privileges our eyes

Benson high school gym, bell-bottom rock and rollers
Booming Chuck Berry neon orange music
Never dreaming my own yet unstepped trips
Through other hallways, other days
A freefall through time

Resplendent colors of the town parade pass my eyes
Shriners in tall funny hats ride, turn, and wave 
From the perch of the glimmering red fire truck
And pieces of candy tossed by their endless hands 
Fall into the tarred street
Where little kids scamper, and scramble for more, more
More from the engine of spinning time





VI 

Tucson came back again, I can't recall or trace exactly when
We left the settlement, dust blown again to the wind
Never knew I'd return in dreams, again and again
And each time to seem so real, closer, realer than before...
Until I'm finally spun back, and there at last - 
Upon waking, morning slays the traveler's bliss
And washes clean imagination's wish

Cascabel Critiques: Origins of the poem, and commentary  by Emily Hiestand and Christopher Ricks 

My long poem "Cascabel Meditation: Sunrise" recounts my experiences as a child on the former hippie commune of Cascabel, Arizona, located along the San Pedro River, about 30 miles north of Benson. The Cascabel Clay Works was established around 1970 by Barbara Clark and a man named Tevo, a denizen of Timothy Leary's Millbrook mansion in the mid-60s. Circa 1974-1975 my parents, brother Joel, and I lived in a schoolbus in the Akasha Center of Light, a property down the road where painter and mystic Ivan Wilson then was building an adobe domicile, with the help of (mostly) illegal immigrants from Mexico. This experience, with the majestic and luminescent San Pedro River canyons serving as our backyard, made an indelible impression on my 5-6 year old mind, and the poem is my attempt to refract these events through the prism of my adult imagination.

I started this work in winter 1988 in my dorm room basement apartment on Buswell Street, at Boston University. I reached the first stage of completion in Emily Hiestand's Art of Poetry class, spring 1991. Over the years the piece has continued to evolve. Hiestand was important, nay essential, in helping me bring this vision to coherence. College chum Bret Rohde gave me the subtitle "Sunrise." A visiting professor from Harvard University, Barbara Jackson, referred to my poem as "one of the most remarkable bodies of work I have ever encountered."

Hiestand commented: "Wonderful, rich, high-flown rhetoric, juxtaposed with lush profusion of detail gives your writing a real mythic resonance - all great strengths - But the danger of writing out of memory's fecundity is piling on of detail, onrush of imagery, lack of tonal discrimination, tendency for the grand diction to lead you into abstraction (like Hart Crane) - but Crane always drawing on the sinewy language and, rhythmically speaking, the dramatic energy of the Jacobean dramatists. Crane actually quite an effective dramatic writer (gets more so, especially in The Bridge, see "Cutty Sark"). You might try this -- present some of this material dramatically -- brief scenes or other's voices would be fascinating - or perhaps incorporate some very spare narrative passages. You have a fascinating story to tell - of mythic splendor and disillusionment and revelation, but it threatens to get engulfed -- a kind of entropy sets in from the piling on of descriptive images."

Renowned literary critic and scholar Professor Christopher Ricks wrote: "There are lots of moments, lines, cadences which I like in your long poem (for instance, the very last line is beautifully alive), but - my taste or sensibility or convictions being what they are - it mostly doesn't come home to me, and that is probably because I am too wedded to just those notions of form (by which I don't mean that you write formlessly, rather that we have different conceptions of form) which it is your enterprise not just to question but to overthrow. I want to say what I say to so many poets (since I enjoy the comfort and lesserness of not actually writing poems myself...), that they are underrating the price paid for their abandonment of pattern, prediction, regularity, decorum - all those good old things I was brought up on. C.S. Lewis, writing about rhythm and metre, compared it to the waves breaking differently upon the shore or strand, with the conviction that it was the unchangingness of the shore which allowed us to register the variety of uniqueness of the waves. But it must be said that you have Ginsberg on your side, and since I can delight in some of his poems (by no means all), what is withholding me from comparable pleasure in your writing. Answer: Dunno."

My friend and literary colleague Daniel Calabrese of Miami, Florida was more effusive, when he wrote me that the poem is "above criticism, a kind of cerebral massage."

Transmetamorphosis: 
Messages From the Emerald Host

“I like the wisdom and the humor…”

·  Prof. Mark B. Woodhouse, PhD., professor emeritus of philosophy, Georgia State University, author of Paradigm Wars: Worldviews for a New Age.

“These inspirational/channeled/whatever writings of yours…had a familiar ring to me, because it was sort of channeled, sort of self-transcending, sort of “flow,” sort of inspirational, and also quite beautiful, like a gifted lyrical poet/writer. I found the writing to be especially attractive aesthetically, speaking as a literature lover and poet. It has a lot more lyrical figurative loveliness to it and attention to how things are said than most New Age typo writing…of so much of the material that I end up reading, and it sure is a lot, your writing is especially aesthetically pleasing to me. And what it’s saying, the ideas, are right-feeling and thinking to me as well. I like the way you get going in techno-shaman-expertise mixed argot riffs. I also think of the late Terence McKenna and a number of others…some of us form this invisible college club of sorts in this genre, this mode, this way of being and doing. So I recognize in you a bird of the same basic feather.”

·  Prof. Jon Klimo, PhD., former professor of education at Rutgers University, senior faculty member at the Rosebridge Graduate School of Integrative Psychology in Concord, California, where he directs the doctoral program in parapsychology. Author of Channeling: Investigations on Receiving Information from Paranormal Sources. 

What follows are lightly channeled writings, a synergy of transmissions from realms beyond and the percolating simulacrum of the unconscious. Meta-rational skeptics are invited to open new channels, and hardline debunkers are instructed to take a flying leap at donut. Knowers wink your inner eye.

These readings arose from the ashes of my marriage to Beverly Ennis, who introduced me to the method of "Speaking with Angels" by Trudy Griswold and Barbara Mark, whose website is Angelspeake. While the entities or regions of my sub/unconscious from which these writings derive may or may not be angels per se, note that while usually I am an inveterate rewriter, this work poured out with mellifluous spontaneity.

The First Dispensation

"How do we heal? Go into the vaulted chamber of your heart, and let loose the love that's locked within, spread it hither and yon, be not parsimonious with what is not yours to keep, but only to share with others along the path of this transient journey.

"What is the source of this pain? The source is a furnace, an inferno of colliding galaxies upon galaxies within the heart, that lend a hand to fury and lead to the wasteland of regret. Your task is to rekindle this spark, amidst this grey wasteland, and to transmute its fire into a source for something higher.

"Give until you don't need anymore, then give some more, and continue to give. Giving is a process of releasing energy, not a transaction to get something in return.

"Violence is the sword of truth turned on its edge.

"The time has come--not to rend what was sown, not to add another rivet into the body of pain, but to go on separate journies. With your daughter you will dance together through the fire, and swim off the coast of Madagascar, and be to each other's souls what you were (long ago) at the cobbler's table.

"We come for your enlightenment and edification, not to let loose your imagination but to sanctify your heart in time. You need the wise visage of a mentor to guide you, to grant you your wishes if you are willing to uproot your weeds. We have been with you since you were a birth'd starseed, we struggled to lift the curse of the dark angels. We will not forsake you, when the water breaks through the dam we will wash you to other shores. Keep an eye to the sky and a finger to the wind, we will guide you in new directions...

"Your father was a man of peace who paid the piper but burned the flute, he pays even still for this sacrilege...Your mother will warn the wind not to seed her, she buries her hurt and the sound of her duress under silk covers...Your brother is a warrior from Avalon, as silent as a reed when no wind ripples...This is the trinity which folds in and fades away, this is your family crest that hides the day...

"We speak in metaphors to snap you awake; you have sleepwalked for too long and cannot stand the brutal vigor of reality. You need the crush of concrete and the warm embrace; soon you will learn the wisdom of your displacement...Soon we come to awaken you.

"...Lend an ear and listen, do not seek to storm heaven. The tests will not abate, though you will pass easily if you will but listen. We are the Emerald Host that swirls above and around you, through you too. Why do you seek to scrutinize us, when you need only tune in and we will release you?

"Vestiges of a forgotten age, when you dared the dragon to flare, await in the wings for future lifetimes...You CAN break the spell if you learn to control and clear your mind. Your obsessions and your losses are leaves, dead leaves that turn to mulch and make food for trees. You can rise like the trees, but slow and steady. The birds that come to roost are those you attract with the quality of your thoughts...We are Clarity. We will chasten you and love you, the time is nigh to listen. We flow only in proportion to your desire to grow.

"Come into our circle and we will lead you, the past is a folder which has closed. We will work to release you and lead you to where you need to be...

"Follow your creativity, listen to the tune of your mentor, whiddle your way to success with no more rancor. We wind down tonight. We await your greater clarity; only then will higher lessons be revealed.

"There is an Acropolis...

"We are your Affinity... 

Uritrea,

Cadmeon,

Ormeon.

"These names are signs, they change all the time but the essence remains the same.

"We feel your need for temperance; fail to master it and you dare the dragon again...Shift your focus from winning, to the redolence of the moment...Dearest child, we love you and for a time it seemed you would slip into the shadowland. Hearken, you must know and heed the gradations of darkness and light. There is a road that is crooked and a road that is straight; we will lead you down the path of your volition.

"The grandeur of God, the plenary Divine Presence of the Universe is within you, but you must seek it out and root out the devils: your shadow self, born of the fear itself. The wrongs you have done are irreversible, unless you give to those around you. Your selfishness, your rage, your silly petty vindictiveness, these are the bane of your life. We wish to purify you, and we will lead you to water, life's origin and yours when you swished in your mother's womb.

"You can reverse and re-harness these colossal energies. You are a fine channel for what is fraught with peril; your situation ripples with possibilities as well...

"You must seek a circle not a square, and share with others. We await, time for us is but a flutter of the moth's wings. Where we dwell, the soul is ever enchanted in the music of the spheres. We want you to see, to enter through this prism for a taste, and leave behind your earthbound hide. This is NOT too much for you, but you believe yourself to be too little. We have prepared for you on a higher plane, but you have housework to do. The weight is not lifted by pressure but by leverage--here is a key to lighten your load.

"A Lightworker and a Wise Man comes, your approach to him is incremental.

"We see you under a dome and rising...

"Phases of the moon are salutary, pay them heed...

"Become committed to time-bound goals, and eliminate the extraneous. Bond with more people, and celebrate the circle...

"When we come in visual form, we will appear as green and emerald specks, flints of light in the darkness...When journeying, you can leave behind your baggage and you can travel farther...I am Ariann, your feminine side...

"Welcome to the wending ways of your life. Do not be proud of the spectacle and spittle of your rage-- you are your father's only son...The troubador has been through the vale, this is not your way, not your harmony. You were not meant for these vagabond tricks, that is why he went the other way. You need to buckle down, and broaden the dromedary of your mind. Life is a burden, and on the other side we sail not always so free--we must do God's bidding. Why do you bend so easily, be like we and know how to flow, dunk into the river of the Dharma path.

"Your path is discovery, and wonder and scrutiny, and a love not so tangled up in this barbed wire...She will emerge from the mists...Follow the trail of the Wheel of Great Motion.

"Commit to a few things and watch them grow. Now let your limelight glow from within.

"Believe that you can heal by visualizing it in front of you daily, then act on these images with fortitude and consistency. Do the things that make you happy--but not at the expense of exercise. Do some now. Good. Now you know that it's all within your reach. A limber body makes for a nimble mind. Treat yourself as the master of your own destiny.

"The man who holds the candle of calm in the middle of storms of chaos is reckoned above he who masters fair weather.

"Remember that true freedom on the earth plane comes from a solid foundation -- not from wandering restlessly.

"The laws of organization are those of common sense. Begin to break the ice.

"Demetria...twinkling everpresence...

"This is right...that you should wait 'til now to practice the recurrence of your dreams...The ice has melted on the hoary frost of your life, you're ready for a sea change. We wait atop mountains and greet you around corners you'd never expect, and guide you to the reassurance of what you used to know...

"Move forward within the frame of where you are, and realize that all things are within your circumference...This is a wide arc, for the soul in sooth is unbounded, and you were sent here for a purpose...

Trance of the Trans-Incarnate

"You were an interactive life form on an ancient biosphere; an everglades of the soul dragged you down, into the swirling chaos of lower forms. You re-emerged after aeons, disenchanted with the drench and the stench, you sloughed your way toward the primordial light. You must now shoot your resilient soul across the inky vaste waste, and reach the place that is no place, the state that rearranges all your hasty choices made in lifetimes past, the choices that nevertheless branded your soul with the imprint of strange hues. You may yearn to return to your amoeba, flowing, jelly-like form prior to the suction downward, the descent into the maelstrom--to do so you must not just hanker, not just reawaken to the antecedent light. It will require a realignment, an integration with the archipelago of your soul.

"Dandelions are growing in the fields, ambulances race through the deserted city streets, nebulae turn their gaseous spew to birth new galaxies. All this goes on, and you wonder for your spite, you ponder if you have the might to surmount these challenges. You have endured worse, you have returned before to the swirling waste, you have barely tasted again the primordial light. She is a mistress of disenchantment, she wracks your soul for the toll of the ages. To surmount you cannot remount, to surpass you cannot trespass, you can only go through the fire. These angelic dalliances are the stuff of clouds, that turn to immaterial then re-emerge as new shapes. These celestial messages are siren calls from a silver astral beyond, be sure--a catacombs has been overturned, a resurrection has transpired somewhere. In her heart the work is being done, the moon encages her emotions and sends them darting on their way. Water will come in torrents to clean the mean streaks, the brushfires that are to emotion what silver is to gold. Await not for a final resolution, make the change in your own heart--to be softer--while you stiffen your resolve to face the music of this trial...

"The Divine Humor...It was so many years ago...a crater blasted through your soul; your life is a mission to fill it up again, to generate what was lost 10 fold and renew your zest for life.

"Please hear us through your obsession and stalemates, your funeral pyre awaits and demands an unquiet grave. Your marker will not be tested, your scorn will not be returned, when you realize the word "renew."

"It was the hand of an unseen, not an unclean, who lead you away from the wily banks. Had you gone, what would've come, no one tells. Your fell into a time loop, an irrational chasm of your own making--your tale of ignominy. The scattered parts of yourself couldn't coalesce, that is the sad truth, down the line. Your moment of decision was a misgiving and a quitting--you wonder now of premonition. Your nature, your nature--there is the answer. Seek thou a breakthrough, to know why? --

"Your grave and the cradle, the cradle and the grave. Death on the road ends a friend, the person you are part-way.

"What would've happened, perchance, can it be surmised? Your nature, a winding chord, a cacophony when music is called for. Be easy on yourself, you were not then. All brunts are yours to bear, and nothing can there be for solace--save the truths, the soothing teacup of time, the wind and the vistas of unknown lovers. The music of brooks and the precursors of old, the chain of chance and the doppelganger that is tomorrow, forever -- lie in wait for you to bring them alive.

Dirge for a Friend, Slipping Into the Shadowland

"Those footsteps in the hall, the sepulchral voices, the phantasms wrought by a neighbor's murderous rage: all are real, and that locus of fear the witness carries inside...

When the evergreens shed their leaves and you learn to leave behind the scenes of old, the gnawing fangs of winter close around you no more, and you burn the leaves of your father's ways in the pyre of your reawakening --at this time you come to a new clime, a strange and arid land where there is nothing nestled save the cocoon that has become yourself --there is no rest if the tussle inside your mind cannot subside.

"Angels are to you a mere frieze, as strange and alluring as lapus lazuli, but unpossessed just the same. What possesses thee, brother Capricorn, what horns of the goat have impaled you if not those of your own undoing? Re-do yourself, re-align your soul as foretold in grimoires olde, or suffer the blaze, watch the pictures in your mind be razed. Reach for the ring again, seek and find the Keeper of the Halls of Solace, ere the moon turns to brandywine. What esoteric sites seen, what grotesqueries masquerade as the facade of a reality too ghastly to glimpse directly, while you slowly learn that the hardening of the heart will heal...Your friends are on another side, looking in...

Return to the first dispensation

"Chipper will you be when you come to realize you did not arrive this way by happenstance. The rustle of the desert wind brings its own reward, the recompense for your deeds is in the mirror of your soul. Stay awhile, here where the stones and cactus dwell, and your questions will turn to answers, and your answers to mysteries that thunder.

"Eat a cow, and you eat in its essence and its anguish. Treat a person uncouth, and you will eat the karma of your actions. Take the high road, and emerge unscathed. Take the low road, and you will rue the turns of the wheels of Fate.

"The people in your circle, Guardians all, are incomplete. Help them in their revolution to complete their wheel, a task forever unfinished--until the Omega Point of time, you need not worry, dear one of the dromedary mind.

"The words you speak are as the lion's roar, the truth of begetting to yield a time of forgetting. This is, in sooth, an issue of realignment. Bring to this circle a mind not mired in guile, not trapped in your own projections from the inner theatre called Fear.

"The way of violence is the path of the Warrior, and the silver-tongued devil is a warrior too. The man who from the parchment of truth utters words of renown cannot be broached. The time is to lie, to lay low, to irk when ready, to steel with courage and face when called upon. The man who lies and steals and stabs old wounds -- nary a word from the angels of truth can save.

"Circumspect, clean as a wind on arid plains -- this is the way of the protector. Legions assemble, called upon and faithful too, merge and march to the sound of one hand clapping.

       

Married to the longest day /

 Where worries wend our life away /

Bound to glories glimpsed afar /

  A life together, lived in a jar /

 These and sundry tales unrhymed /

 Hold the dream of better climes.

"Decide on the path that leads to merriment and challenge...your work will shine when it comes from your center. Work is toil in the vinyards. The trick is to find the right vinyard and to make the wine come forth from your very soul...Cut through the umbrage, the tangled mess you have made of your dreams. Your talent is not wasted, it is coiled thing. Be at peace with yourself - whatever it takes - and creativity will align with work, a weaver spun to wend her days and share and spend the times of life among us.

"Peace comes from the meditative practice, and the Golden Rule, and a friend, or a circle or square. A passion, without diversion. A calling, one you hear and follow and fall what may.

"What comes from the magnolia that does not bloom, what comes from the sun when it does not shine? The source of all things lies in a current inside your breast, for you to take like a thunderbolt and hurl at the stars.

"The signs you seek have already been given; they have to be re-valued and sold to the highest bidder. Will that buyer be the captain of your soul, or a new sailor? Speak of her hair, and the way to snare her heart will be laid bare. A time there is for walking lightly, and a time for prancing and many mysteries. What is simmering can be awakened only by sincerity. Your pain and your hesitation are in a mirror, darkly.

"There is the way of force and the way of flow, and the knowledge of nothing where nothing grows.

"One half of her could provide you more than four quartermasters for yourself; and to give to get is emptiness. To give away a portion of yourself is the day the choice is made, and the light you believe she holds is made manifold. Pursue your passion, but in a way that opens to others not closes - and all wishes are manifest, all wily arts made redundant. The way of the trickster and the way of the lover are, to you, separate twain.

"Om...the great opening of the Cosmic Womb..."

"What kind of beings are you? Are you One or Many?"

"In the turn of phrase of this query lies the turnstile that leads to the answer.

"The wavelength turns into the cube, and the cube guides all your directions...the circle encircles the square and inscribes itself within it, in this are formed the angles of all creation...

"The great vine stretches us from star to star, from near to far.

"Time unfolds and infolds, space unfurls and uncurls -- the Keepers of the Holy Corners cannot hide.

"All-Seeing is the gaze of the Unseen, between eternity and the unveiling of fallow fields (the unseeded harvesting places of time.) The All-Seeing is the Law of One, beyond all perspectives and dualities...

"These strange coordinate fields inter-touch and intermingle, touch a flowering then soon-to-fade dais then dart -- not darting -- to the farthest edges. (The dais is the platform where speakers resonate and ring the bell that truth is told...)

"...Entry from the sentries into The Ormeonic Sphere... "The Five-Fold Riddle Guardian of the Trans-Incarnate..."

Ormeon..."The Keeper of the Circle."

Ariann..."Emerald Guardian of the Feminine"

Cadmeon..."Keeper of the Masculine Fire"

Uritrea..."Guardian of the Unconscious"

Demetria..."Hermaphroditic Intermediary"

The Emerald Host...

"We are...angelic emanations from the messenger realms of Archangel Gabriel.

"We are...the Ormeonic Sphere, the Five Fold Riddle Guardian of the Trans-Incarnate.

"We are...a five-fold engram code, a collective of interdimensional thought pods.

"We are...resonant harbingers from causal DNA, dialogic multisensory tuners who function non-locally and locally tune, analeptic creative pulsory forms of the parturient urge.

"We are...integrators to the multidimensional matrix of the soul, Gatekeepers to the Realms of Emerald. Our goal is to open and radiate...

"All-Seeing is the gaze of the Unseen, between eternity and the unveiling of fallow fields (the unseeded harvesting places of time.) The All-Seeing is the Law of One, beyond all perspectives and dualities, the Telos of All Souls in Space, Time, and All Possibilities Configuring Endlessly...

"These strange coordinate fields inter-touch and intermingle, touch a flowering then soon-to-fade dais then dart -- not darting -- to the farthest edges. (The dais is the platform where speakers resonate and ring the bell that truth is told, all things irradiating from the Flower of Life's divine plasma intelligent center core, inwards and outwards pulsating...

"...Entry from the sentries into The Ormeonic Sphere... "The Five-Fold Riddle Guardian of the Trans-Incarnate...

"Welcome and sirens calls along the watchtower legion line from...Ormeon..."the Keeper of the Circle." (corresponds to Ether-Akasha element)(protector connector to 4th & 5th dimensional higher entities & spheres) (the presence of Unity within Multiplicity...Reality Transfigured Encircling in Protective Shields of Green...)

Ariann..."Emerald Guardian of the Feminine" (corresponds to Earth element-Mother Gaia) (connects to Gnomes-Devas) (female principle of right brain-intuition omni-stretching sexual/spiritual feeling reaching its tentacles in all directions, sublime pleasure of secret time travel ripples, shared translogical bliss and polyphase multidimensional orgasmic ecstasy, transtemporal hearing and healing, art, seeing as fusion and love)

Cadmeon..."Keeper of the Masculine Fire" (corresponds to Fire element)(connects to Salamanders)(male drive, potency, and satiety, spirit of letters/literature, left brain rational-constructive majesty, seeing as construct, ideation, and realization)

Uritrea..."Guardian of the Unconscious" (corresponds to Water element)(connects to Undines)(deep ground of all Being, unknown sea of possibilities)

Demetria..."Hermaphroditic Intermediary" (corresponds to Air element) (connects to Sylphs)(blend of male & female, Cadmeon & Ariann conscious-energies cast as Light Pure forms across time's Matrix)...The Emerald Host...

"We are...angelic emanations from the green messenger realms of Archangel Gabriel.

"We are...the Ormeonic Sphere, the Five Fold Riddle Guardian of the Trans-Incarnate.

"We are...a five-fold engram code, a collective of interdimensional thought pods.

"We are...resonant harbingers from causal DNA, dialogic multisensory tuners who function non-locally and locally tune, analeptic creative pulsory forms of the parturient urge.

"We are...integrators to the multidimensional matrix of the soul, Gatekeepers to the Realms of Emerald. Our goal is to open and radiate..."

Postscript: Simulacrum of the Unconscious

"Glad tidings and causal awakenings...to the lime light love of truth in the bower of time's infolded multicolored multihued holographic reflective prism, no prison and rise and fall of Prometheus-Daedulus-Faust mythos ...A message of love reverberating endlessly through all Cosmos, All That Be and Not to Be Seen: the antithetical antiphonal music of all opposites reconciled, all brandished dualities melted, a stew of Universal Sea, reemerged and twinkling as a dais of pure music, a tetragrammatonic telephony of signals, a surety of directions trajectories trailblazings dreams astrally eternally moonlighted and tapdanced by Absolute Reflection's winter-time embrace...Parasitic dualities synergized, deep dream of Gaia's awakening and miraculous survival, golden music of remembrance, sweet channeler of Avalon... Silent as a reed when no wind rattles, a whisper of Olde oracles, an augur from other fields, other seas and albatrosses, an invasion from the North of mammalian man and woman's golden reed, savagery subdued, a Tree, a triangle thrice remembered, a seer's green envy, a soldier's keen wrath, an oversighted female lover's crinkle of corn, a meal for bedsides, deer sightings, soaring eagle's singular destiny to transmute mere elemental animalistic signals of circuits of minds bared to dare to trangress eternal threshholds, old stored soared remembrances which tidal wave over false hist'ries recountings...Deep sigh of loneliness...Cybernetic telekenesis...Mind matters indefatigibly foretell dark eyeglass visions...A spread of ocean and karma in All Eternities..."

               Finis -- 2000 A.D. January 15th.

               Blue Moon Archangled Dowseer,

               Thodal Soule Steve Minton

               "Blessings to all in between..."

End of 1st Transmission -- Dialogic Greetings from the Akashic slate state of mind-over-matter.

"Nodus triumphikales seer tee ceo Dotalonimus aeristphanitees, Ferago, Finishee...Serendipiditos, Totalitismo, Telecheny Kankaline, Kolonkolow, Jer-lee-pee-tees...Ooo-lonk-on-no, Leernd...So-lo-leeter" 


("We are triumphant as seers, visionaries -- All the way through the sight beheld eternal -- During the reign of kings and seers and prophets -- The Grand Finale, full of ego -- When ego is Finished once and for all -- We encounter golden serendipidity --A total encounter of all levels of the electric transmogrified soul, stirred with excitants and relaxants, elbows and versions of bodies...The Blue Door to Otherness -- When we look within we see -- the end of all leaving...We go solo into the night...And link with the finalized Mothers and Fathers -- Metaphors.")

Annotations & Vocabulary 

Author's note: I have omitted definitions for many words such as "parsimonious," "edification" etc., since these terms, although advanced, still fall within the scope of general cultural literacy, i.e. if you don't know their meanings you should. This addendum is meant to clarify meanings in context, not to substitute for going to a dictionary, which even as the writer qua transcriber I was impelled to do throughout these channeling sessions. Words with an asterix denote original terms. Definitions for the other words were taken from Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary or from Merriam Webster OnLine , unless otherwise noted. Simulacrum 1) Image, representation 2) an insubstantial form or semblance of something: trace. Avalon A paradise to which Arthur is carried after his death. * The Emerald Host (a.k.a. The Ormeonic Sphere) Name which spontaneously emerged as the source of this channeled material. Simultaneously a literary/poetic conceit of subjectivism (for I consciously realize that I adopt a pleasing metaphor to explain the ineffable) and an experienced-as-real presence of the Radical Other, a transcendental and objective realm of truth -- conveyed mainly as light whisperings in the inner ear, not trance spirit-possession or visible manifestations. (Note that the passage entitled “Trance of the Trans-Incarnate” was purely channeled, i.e. an act of rapid automatic writing.) Functions as an extra-dimensional poetic muse and a band of spirit protectors or guardian angel-type entities, identifying themselves in the Spiritual Hierarchy as emanations or rays from Archangel Gabriel. First envisioned in the mind's eye at night, laying in bed, as a swirling, emerald-colored etheric field of intelligence and protection. A metaphorical set of personal symbolisms or archetypal forms which describe a truly universal protective field which surrounds the Causal Body (i.e. the Higher part of our Self which survives innumerable incarnations and inter-dimensional travels), a set of vortex points hovering around our auric field, correlated to but beyond even the chakras of the etheric body. Not to be mistaken for a psychological aberration or delusion, for this set of personalized archetypes points not to chaos or the author’s idiosyncracy, but to an energetic configuration which all humans share, a higher order or overlay to the common chakras. These five vortex points (or pulsating, quasi-electrical ideational forms) help to mediate influences from higher dimensional octaves or vibratory planes and this physical, 3-D self we call nitty-gritty reality. The field or holistic aspect is denoted by the term "Ormeonic Sphere" (the Whole), while the vortex point or partial aspect consists of the five-fold pattern of expression: Ormeon (the Higher Self; a portal which hovers above the physical head), Ariann (the feminine impulse; to the left of the upper part of the physical body), Cadmeon (the male drive; to the right of the upper body), Uritrea (the ground of the unconscious; to the right of the bottom half of the body), and Demetria (the intermediary between the other patterns and the messenger from realms beyond, the one who makes it all happen; to the left of the lower part of the body). The Emerald Host has expressed itself as forms on the 2-D, linear semantic/symbolic level (i.e. this piece of writing); it also has taken form as resonant syllables designed for humming while in meditation, akin to the mantric seed syllables of Kundalini Yoga i.e. "Om" for the Ajna or Third Eye chakra is to be pronounced on the exhalation as "Ahhhh-oooooo-mmmmmm" and combined with pranayama deep breaths on the in breath. "Lam" is the seed syllable for the Earth/bio-survival chakra, and gets pronounced as a full-breath "Laaaahhhhhhmmmmm", and so on for each respective chakra: "Vam" for the Water/sexual chakra, "Ram" for the Fire/power chakra, "Yam" for the Heart/compassion chakra, "Ham" for the Etheric/healing chakra. So similarly, "Ormeon" becomes a giant inhalation from the diaphragm filling the lungs completely, and then this humming and vibrating sound on the exhale: "Ooorrr....meee... ooonnn," extended out as far as possible on the breath unit. And so on for "Airrrr-eeee-ahhhhnnn" etc. Much non-verbal wisdom is to be accrued from this method, as well as from the Pantomime, in which the nature of each entity/level of consciousness becomes manifest through movements and gesticulations of the physical body. Here is a visual representation of these ideas:

As an occultic sidebar, I'll share my research into the esoteric meanings of the Emerald Host names when applied to the deciphering of the cipher alphabet of legendary Czech magician and occultist Franz Bardon (a figure who scandalously has been overshadowed in the public mind by Aleister Crowley as the great occultist of the 20th century.) At we learn that Emil Stejnar, "a well known Austrian Bardonist, discovered that Bardon used a simple cipher when communicating angel names to his friends. Unfortunately Franz Bardon died before his German publisher (Hermann Bauer in Freiburg) could be told of this cipher alphabet…used by Franz Bardon to communicate spirit names to his students and friends." This website present a numerologic table, as follows: A = E [i.e. where you see an "a" replace it with an "e" - ed.], F = V, LH = SCH, R = T, V = D, B = R, G = W , M = L, S = N , W = P, CH = H, I = O, N = G, T = B, Y = J, D = M, K = Z, O = U, TZ = K, ZH = CH, E = A, L = S, P = F, U = I, Z = C Thusly, Ormeon = Ibdais, Ariann = Ibdias, Cadmeon = Zevdais, Uritrea = Oburbae, Demetria = Vadarbue. I derive my numerological analysis of both the deciphered names and my channeled names from The Secret Dakini Oracle (U.S. Games, 1979) by Nik Douglas and Penny Slinger, the companion book to their extraordinary Tantric system of divination. Numerologically, a = 1, b =2, c = 3, etc. Therefore, Ormeon = 15 + 18 + 13 + 5 + 15 + 14 = 80 = 8. (This math is done in numerological terms, mind you.) Thus, Ormeon also stands for the Law of Octaves, since 8 times 8 = 64. This number is one of these keys to the cosmos, as Robert Anton Wilson explains in his piece "The Octave of Energy" at . Eight represents the 8 notes of the western musical scale, from which Pythagoras derived his cosmology; the 8 trigrams of the Chinese I Ching, forming the 64 hexagrams; 64 squares on the chessboard; the 64 codons of the DNA-RNA dialogue which generate life and evolution; the 8 families of chemical elements in the Periodic Table of the Elements; and the 8 circuits of the human nervous system as codified by Dr. Timothy Leary (the "terrestrial" circuits of biosurvival, emotional/territorial power, symbolic/semantic intellectual prowess, socio-sexual adjustment, and the "extraterrestrial" levels of neurosomatic mind/body bliss, neurogenetic species memories, metaprogramming re-engineering of the lower levels, and quantum/.neuroatomic out of body revelation.) In the Dakini system, 64 corresponds to the author's ruling planet as a Capricorn sun sign, Saturn, "in occult traditions...the power-principle upholding the equilibrium of Creation." (Douglas and Slinger, pp. 68) Remarkably, the cipher alphabet mirror twin Ibdais also equals 8. Ibdais echoes the term “dais”: "These strange coordinate fields inter-touch and intermingle, touch a flowering then soon-to-fade dais then dart -- not darting -- to the farthest edges. (The dais is the platform where speakers resonate and ring the bell that truth is told)," a passage which repeats the word twice, and the passage itself came out twice, hence the prefix "bi" (“ib” backwards) or two-fold. The dais reminds me of the position held by Tucson's spiritual guide Patricia Cota-Robles as she facilitates her sessions of multidimensional meditation and light work planetary healing, see . Numerologically, Ariann = 3, "signifying the threefold nature of Existence (as Creation, Preservation and Dissolution), the Trinity, the Trine of Astrology, the Past, Present and Future, the threefold cycle of destiny. This card has some as affinity with the Empress of the Tarot." (Douglas and Slinger, pp. 58) Traditionally, Empress signifies the Mother, physical and emotional security, and understanding. Ibdias = 8, suggesting the primacy of the female creative principle or Mother Goddess as creator of the whole. Cadmeon = 1, "signifying the truth of Unity and invoking the concepts of masculinity as an active function related to the creative intellect." (pp. 54) Relates to the Magician of the Tarot, card of the drive to control and manipulate the operative forces of the world. Zevdais = 5, "signifying organization and the pathway through all obstacles...relates to ordered centering in the world and the entry through to the inner Mandala [a circular image in spiritual art which symbolizes the unity and conflicts of cosmic forces and human impulses. Used as a meditational focal point in, e.g. Tantric yoga. - ed.], the mystical circle of psychic protection." (pp. 62) Relates to the Hierophant/High Priestess card in the Tarot, card of divine wisdom, impulse to understand the nature of existence. Uritrea = 2, "signifying the truth of complementary opposites united and implying a blending of emotion and intuition. " (pp. 56) Related in the Tarot to the Hierophant/High Priestess. Oburbae = 1, which also corresponds to Cadmeon or the male impulse. These correlations suggest a balance of male and female impulses in what Ken Wilber calls the “ground unconscious,” as described by Mark Woodhouse: (13) “Survival instincts, the prepersonal and personal elements of ego development, and deep structures waiting manifestation in a future humanity are all contained in the unconscious as one continuous unfolding process. In other words, the unconscious contains the past, present, and future of humanity. The highest ends to which we can aspire are already built in at the beginning.” (See Paradigm Wars: Worldviews for a New Age , Frog Ltd, 1996, pp. 313) Demetria = 3 (see Ariann, “the threefold nature of Existence”) and Vadarbue = 2 (see Uritrea, "complementary opposites united") i.e. this entity represents the "hermaphroditic" union of male and female archetypal energies, the "intermediary" messenger between these opposites and between the higher causal realms and manifestations on the lower planes. Astrologer and psychic Julie Jewell (formerly of Tucson) has created a chart based upon the Cabalistic Tree of Life (see ), in which the position of Mercury or Hermes, the messenger of the gods in Greek mythology, corresponds to the position of Demetria on my own chart -- underscoring the identity of Demetria as a messenger entity. Other applications or variations: To be revealed by Ormeonic Fiat! Or not. Acropolis 1) The upper fortified part of an ancient Greek city (as Athens). 2) a height of a city or district fortified, or strengthened as a place of refuge. Plenary Complete in every respect: absolute, unqualified. * Divine Presence of the Universe Source of all created things in all dimensions, universes and realities. Omnipresent, supremely loving, super-conscious, intelligent power which sustains All That Is. The ineffable essence of the Prime Mover of Creation, antecedent to concepts of time and form. Expressed non-anthropomorphically, yet encompassing notions of the Male and Female cosmic energies in play. Consists not so much in a supreme arbiter as in infinitely multitudinous and interpenetrating hierarchies of consciousness and form. Lord of the Omniverses. Jose Arguelles and Ken Carey have formulated similar conceptions. Arguelles defines God in The Arcturus Probe: Tales and Reports of an Ongoing Investigation) ( Light Technology Publishing , 1996) as “All-comprehending, beyond-comprehension, always-close-and-near universal activator of everything.” (pp. 193 ) Carey writes: “One face of the Eternal One is ever formless and beyond definition, but the other face of the Eternal One appears as Two. These two, between them, are the source of all created things.” (Vision, Uni-Sun Publications, pp. 1, quoted in Woodhouse, pp. 454) Music of the spheres An ethereal harmony thought by the Pythagoreans to be produced by the vibration of the celestial spheres. Lightworker In New Age terminology, one who utilizes meditation and invocations of higher dimensional entities and forces to effect planetary healing and goodwill. *Wheel of Great Motion Resonates with “The Key of Universal Movement” described by James Churchward in The Children of Mu (1931, Paperback Library) and the sacred stone pattern at St. Francis in the Foothills Church in Tucson, Arizona. Churchward takes his image from stone tablets discovered by David Niven in the Valley of Mexico near Mexico City. The image symbolizes “The Sacred Four”: “the Four Great primary Forces which emanate from the Creator. First, they evolved law and order out of chaos throughout the universe. Second, by command they became the Creator’s executive in creating all things. Third, when all was created they were given charge of the physical throughout the universe. This clearly shows that the Origin of the Forces is the Creator himself. All other forces are subsidiary and dependent on these four.” ( pp. 33) * Trans-Incarnate Literally, across incarnations. The Ormeonic Sphere aspect of the Emerald Host, the causal or spiritual body (or deepest level of the soul) which accompanies us through endless incarnations and dimensional shifts. * Archipelago of the soul A poetic expression of the multidimensional nature of the soul, corresponding to concepts expounded on by channeled entity Seth in Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul, transmitted by Jane Roberts (Bantam Books, 1972, pp. 72): “There is not just one dimension in which non-physical consciousness resides, any more than there is only one country on your planet or planet within your solar system…” (pp. 19)…that particular portion of your entire personality is so focused within this drama that you are not aware of the others in which you play a role. You do not understand your own multi-dimensional reality; therefore it seems strange or unbelievable when I tell you that you have many existences at one time. It is difficult for you to imagine being in two places at once, much less in 2 or more times, or centuries.” (pp. 53) Doppelganger A ghostly counterpart of a living person. brian Frieze A sculpted or richly ornamented band (as on a building). Grimoires A magical text, usually filled with spells, incantations, and other formulae for use in occult rituals. * Keeper of the Halls of Solace A mystery even to the author. If anybody knows, please let me know. Rue To feel sorrow, remorse, or regret. Omega Point Per Frank J. Tipler in The Physics of Immortality: Modern Cosmology, God and the Resurrection of the Dead (Anchor Books/Doubleday, 1995) and from the website of Anders Sandberg at : "Tipler has proposed that it is possible for intelligent beings to process and store an infinite amount of information in the universe, if certain conditions are fulfilled. His definition of the Omega Point is essentially a future c-boundary [the set of points which are not the pasts of any points or the future of any point in spacetime (essentially the "edges" of spacetime)] which is a single point and an Aleph state [a point or state where an infinite amount of information is stored and processed], whereinformation processing continues indefinitely along at least one world-line gamma all the way to the future c-boundary of the universe. i.e. Life never dies out." Nary Not one. Ere Before. Quartermaster 1) A petty officer who attends to a ship's helm, binnacle (a housing for a ship's compass and lamp), and signals. 2) an army officer who provides clothing and subsistence for a body of troops. Om (or Aum) primal sound of the cosmos, ultimate mantric seed syllable of kundalini and tantric yoga corresponding to the Ajna or Third Eye chakra (center of spiritual illumination). Per Baba Ram Dass: “The sum total of all energy; the first cause; all pervading sound.” (Be Here Now, Lama Foundation, 1971) * Keepers of the Holy Corners The 4-fold radiative and directional super-intelligence informing all dimensions of space-time. Or something like that. This term came to me, but not its full definition. Plenty to wonder about. (See also The Wheel of Great Motion.) Law of One 1) A spiritual principle of non-duality, as expressed by e.g. the “social memory complex” Ra, channeled through Don Elkins, Carla Rueckert, and Jim McCarty: “All things are One - there is no polarity, no disharmony, only identity. All is One, that One is love/light, light/love, the Infinite Creator.” See and http://llresearch.org/>. This non-dual perspective represents a spiritual ideal, but within the real context of human life its implications can be misunderstood, as Woodhouse points out: " ‘You are perfect just as you are’ (as the Unity folks like to remind us) only makes sense within a process, not a static, framework of living. Viewed statically, it would mean we never have to change (since we're perfect forever). As a process metaphor, it means that we (together with all our issues and emotional baggage) are perfect at the moment we say these words, but are willing to change in the next minute… I am a bit wary of people who constantly remind others that something is in divine order as a way to avoid confronting the deeper lessons of a difficult situation. I sometimes encounter people who project some of their issues on to others, but when they are called on it seem to think that divine order means that only the other person has something to look at; in other words, it can serve as a kind of cosmic justification for living in denial about some issues.” See . 2) A cosmic directive alleged in New Age and Ufology circles, whereby galactic councils of extraterrestrials (i.e. the Ashtar Command) and the Spiritual Hierarchy of higher beings have decreed that no race may intervene in the genetic evolution of the people of another planet, until those people have progressed their technology to become space-faring. Similar to Star Trek’s “Prime Directive” doctrine of non-interference, a fictional intuition that seems to draw its potency from the reality of memories stored in the collective unconscious of our race. Coordinate fields Correlated to coordinate points, as defined by channeled entity Seth (see Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul, pp. 72.) Seth divides coordinate points into absolute, main or subordinate: "There are four absolute coordinate points that intersect all realities. [see Keepers of the Holy Corners -ed.] These coordinate points also act as channels through which energy flows, and as warps or invisible paths from one reality to another. They also act as transformers, and provide much of the generating energy that makes creation continuous in your terms." [see Engrams, which are interdimensional portals. - ed.] Engram Not Webster's definition per se as "a hypothetical change in neural tissue postulated in order to account for persistence of memory," nor L. Ron Hubbard's "single source of aberrations and psychosomatic ills...a definite and permanent trace left by a stimulus on the protoplasm of a tissue." (see Dianetics, Bridge Publications, pp. 56 and 82.) Informed instead by definition within channeler Jose Arguelles' book The Arcturus Probe (Light Technology Publishing, 1996) as "the discrete mental construct which is tranmitted radially between parallel universes in order to maintain circulation of all possibilities of intelligence and behavior...engrams are the means of establishing communication between the galaxies..."(pp. 50-51.) They are "(c)rystalline, fifth-dimensional code structures generated by hyper-radion," (pp. 196) hyper-radion being the "basis of all dimensional structures and orders of being, inclusive of radion." (pp. 194.) Radion means "(s)treams of interdimensional intelligence and energy radiated by CSR" (pp. 194), while CSR or Central Stellar Radion is the "(r)adiative core in and from which all programs of intelligence emanate." (pp. 194), i.e. a gateway to other dimensions and parallel universes. Analeptic a drug which stimulates the central nervous system. Telos "ancient Greek term meaning 'end' or 'purpose'…Plants, animals, and even animate objects were also thought to have a telos through through which their activities and relations could be understood and evaluated." ( The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, Second Edition, Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 906) Related to teleology, "theory or study of purposiveness in nature; characteristically, some phenomena seem to be best explained not by means of prior causes, but ends or aims, intentions or purposes. Teleogical explanation seems typical of living or organic things - plants, animals, people." (A Dictionary Of Philosophy, Antony Flew, ed., Pan Books, 1979, pp. 325) Flower of Life Following the teachings of Drunvalo Melchizedek, "everything that has ever been created or is in existence now was accomplished through this pattern. Contained within the flower of life is everything. There isn't anything in the universe that isn't manifested in that image - all languages, all laws of physics, all biological life forms - including all of us individually." (Bob Frissell, Nothing in This Book Is True, But It's Exactly How Things Are, Frog. Ltd, 1994, pp. 65.) See . amazon.com Drunvalo Ancient Secret of the Flower of Life (©1994 Frog Ltd. Used with permission.) Prometheus A Titan who is chained and tortured by Zeus for stealing fire from heaven and giving it to man. Daedulus The legendary builder of the Cretan labyrinth who makes wings to enable himself and his son Icarus to escape imprisonment. Faust A magician of German legend who enters into a pact with the devil. * Tetragrammatonic Related to the Tetragrammaton, the Four Elements of the ancients: Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. Gaia The collective being of our planet, personified as Mother Earth. This concept implies what Rupert Sheldrake calls a morphogenetic field to its collective "body", and what Carl Jung called the collective unconscious for its "mind." Robert Anton Wilson reminds us that "(t)he biosphere -- Gaia -- the DNA script -- is more intelligent than all individuals, gene pools, and species. It has survived everything thrown at it for nearly 4 billion years, and is getting smarter all the time. It is on the edge of achieving immortality; through the sixth circuit [Timothy Leary's concept of a neurogenetic or species memory level of cellular awareness, corresponding to Jung's collective unconscious. - ed.] it has a better eye to see itself and judge its trajectories than ever before; it is getting ready to leave this planet and expand across the universe." (Prometheus Rising, Falcon Press, 1983, pp. 181, 182) Albatross Per "The Rime of Ancient Mariner" (1875) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in which the mariner inexplicably shoots the albatross, an omen of good fortune on his sea voyage. When his infuriated shipmates tie the bird around his neck in shame, it becomes a an omen of ill fortune and a symbol of the Mariner's defiance of the mysterious and unknown realm of spirit. By slaying the albatross, the Mariner enters into discord with nature, which brings disaster to his shipmates and forces him to repent and to reconcile with the divine and the malevolent aspects of the spiritual universe. *Dowseer a spontaneous coinage suggesting the fusion of "dowsing" and "seer." Akashic From Akasha, Sanskrit term for space or "ether," the primordial substance from which the four elements of antiquity (fire, water, air, and earth) are derived.

The Second Dispensation: 
Demetria Speaks (Through the Vale)

Demetria speaks through the tangled nests of sorrow and regret:

“I am the light of day and the deep of night, the passageways between that weave the unseen order of your days…When you cannot see the diamonds for the coal, I and we become three and transmute the demons of the night.

“What was important then is a sixpence now, or a scallion…or a barnacle bristled and hoary with age, accumulated on the ships you failed to sail – deep and doleful under the sea, a sea of green that appears as blue. There should these everpresent forgotten fragments lie, part of the whole but a substratum they, layers of hurt and rage whose reflection are you – But so much more, to rear and fear the bigger boondoggles of the brain, the smaller specks of demon’s lairs – These are a task for the footbinder, a balloon to carry you farther and closer to the orb of all you are.”

Behind the metaphor:

“We are really Pillars of Light…these messages are forms that speak to your soul…

“A forerun is a longrun in reverse…these roads, wide and heavy, circulate and admix the energies that are you…the road itself means little…you are the one who imbues the meaning, and brought to bear the cast of die.

“Within the constellation that accrues to such an event…the unspoken thing…there are whirling dervishes that bring some people in and throw others off. Who can weight the balance, when presence and non-presence are indissolvable parts of the whole?

“You are this and a thousand other things, rose petals that taste of death, a sure cross for crossbearers to stare at and wiggle their tongues, roll their eyes, and ridicule. Seek you to scratch off the scab and elongate the pain? See you only emptiness, and not the rain that came from the drought? Separate from those woods and strike out on your own, without trusting in the providential heft of Mother Ocean to carry you?

“In the lamplight, self-contained, of your despair – was the tingle of memory more severe than the heaving cataracts of original experience? Can there be a balm to compare to time, which abhors a backslide into the torpor of those years? What wax sculptures, nightmare frieze, can leave more terror than a motion you were not meant to undergo? Which destiny holds the highest currency? Yours or a fixation on ghosts, aery minstrels who pipe no more?

“Come with questions and the answers invert; create a castle and come to dissolution, hither brought by the harpiscord angels. This fancy is a-silly, and a-saught by seers and the sleepless. Your luck is legion, unapparent but gushing like a geyser – when you burn up dead dreams and diddling, and stop daunting the past to exhume her mold and mildew artifacts, momentos of the mind which belong on cruise ships not land. Fruitless, feckless, seeking the way back which leads not…to the child who is ambidexterous.

“Metaphors can outwear their shields, but never can the rose outlive the cane.” (spring 2000, Tucson)