Saturday, January 15, 2011

Grandfather David and the Holy Man Jam, 1970

 The year, I believe,  was  1970. My kids and I and several other hippies were living in an old mining cabin in the Tahoe National Forest when my friend “Pooh” showed up, inviting us on a trip with her to Boulder, Colorado, to a “Holy Man Jam.” This was to be a several-day event, with spiritual teachers from many disciplines giving talks and leading prayers and meditations. There had been a similar event at the Family Dog in San Francisco, maybe a year earlier, but I had gotten there late, just in time to participate with a huge crowd, all chanting “Hare Krishna” with Swami Bhaktivedanta. That was a very high experience, and I liked the idea of attending a few days’ worth of similar vibes. Pooh had a car and seventy dollars. I threw in whatever money I had – probably not much. We put it all in one pouch for everyone’s expenses on the trip and headed for Hotevilla, an Indian reservation in Arizona, where Pooh wanted to visit an old Indian she knew, Grandfather David Monongye of the Hopi, and invite him to come with us to speak at the Boulder Holy Man Jam. After a brief stop in LA for dinner with Pooh’s parents, we hit the road again.

We drove on across the desert in the cool of the night and on to Hotevilla, Arizona, in the Hopi Indian Reservation. I didn’t know much about the Hopi at that time, so Pooh filled me in on some details. She told me that the name “Hopi” means “Peace,” that the Hopi were famous for their Prophecy, and that part of that prophecy spoke of the coming of a generation of white-eyes’ children, who would paint their faces and bodies, wear beads, speak of Peace, and seek out the wisdom of the Native elders. And this generation would be called a name that sounded something like "Hopi."  Hm-m-m-m, I thought, hippies paint their bodies and face - albeit with day-glo body-paint - and they wear Indian-style beads, and they do seek Native wisdom. And the term “hippie” certainly sounds something like Hopi. Hm-m-m-m.

This was my first visit to an Indian reservation, and I had never really had a conversation with a Native American before. My own grandfather, Rufus Moody, was an Indian, but I had never known him, and he was rarely even spoken of in our family. So I looked forward to meeting some real Hopi people, expecting to find a red-skinned version of hippies.

But Pooh had been there before so she was able to drive down the main road of Hotevilla, turn right onto a smaller road, and stop in front of an adobe house with a flat roof on the left-hand side of the road. We all went in, Pooh first. Grandfather David remembered Pooh from the last time she was there, and he greeted us all cordially. He was a small, thin, frail old Indian man, with a wrinkled face, thick glasses, a big smile, and graying black hair that came down over his ears. His wife, Nora, a heavier woman, sat in a corner. Pooh called her “Grandmother,” so we followed suit. There was also a middle-aged Indian man sitting in the corner but at this point I don’t remember his name or relationship to David and Nora. One of the first things I noticed was the poverty. The adobe home was humble – no electricity, no running water, simple wooden furniture, and not much of that. Pooh had stopped in town and bought some cornmeal, lard, bacon and a few other items, which she gave to Grandmother Nora, who seemed very pleased by it. We hippies were among the materially poorest people in American society, but these Hopi were even poorer than hippies!

Another thing I noticed immediately was that although these folks were very cordial to us, they sure didn’t vibe like hippies. Grandfather David spoke to us in English, of course, but Nora and the other family member spoke only Hopi. They spoke their traditional language, which sounded rather guttural and abrupt to me. The vibes were not really mellow or joyous. I think I was feeling the struggling consciousness of a highly spiritual but seriously oppressed people – something I had never experienced before. How naive of me to expect them to vibe like hippies!

Pooh told Grandfather David about the Holy Man Jam in Boulder and invited him to come along with us to speak about the Hopi Prophecy. He agreed to go with us, and Pooh was sure she could get him onto the program. But the Hopi were holding their “Home Dance” the following weekend, and he would need to be back home for that. Before leaving he would have to go over to Old Oraibi and talk to Thomas Banyaca, another traditional Hopi elder, to finalize details for the dance.

Grandfather David invited us to stay for a day or two, so he could get his responsibilities taken care of before he left.

That evening, after dinner, I sat at the wooden table by the light of a kerosene lamp and talked with Grandfather David. Having had prophetic visions of my own, I was very interested in hearing about Hopi Prophecy, and we talked for several hours. I certainly can’t reproduce the dialogue verbatim for these pages – wish I could! - but here’s what I do remember.

Grandfather David explained that the Hopi didn’t have a written language – it was against the Original Instructions they got from the Creator when they first arrived in this “world” – what they called the “Fourth World.” He said the Creator had appeared to the people in human form at some time in the distant past and  had interacted with the Hopi on a material level. I listened intently. To Grandfather David, this “Creator” being seemed to be a real person of some kind, not the Great “Allness of the All” that I had considered “The Creator” since my awakening in Haight-Ashbury a few years earlier.  Hm-m-m-m. Interesting. I wonder what that’s all about.

Without a written language, the Prophecy had to be passed down by word of mouth, from father to son, in the family line designated long ago to be the carriers of the Prophecy. Grandfather David was of that family. As the oldest son, his father had repeated the Prophecy to him, over and over again since childhood until he knew it by heart, and he had taught it to his oldest son in the same way. And part of the job was that he was supposed to tell it to anyone who asked him about it.

I asked Grandfather David how old he was. He said he didn’t really know. He was born before the U.S. government started making the Hopi write down birth dates and other tribal information. The writing down started in the year we call 1874 (I think), so Grandfather David knew he was at least 96 by now – maybe older. He went on to tell me how the government had come in and forced the Hopi people to send their kids to white man’s school to learn to read and write, even though it was against the Hopi religion. The government would surround the village and go house-to-house, hunting for school-age children. Fathers who refused were arrested and taken off to jail, and their children taken to school by force. (This was beginning to sound very familiar to me. I definitely knew what it was like to be hassled for practicing my spiritual beliefs, and to have my child hunted by the government to force him into their indoctrination factories called “schools.” I had not wanted to send Todd to public school and had hid him out in our forest cabin, even when local cops came by looking for him. These were the days before the term or concept of “home schooling” was around.)

Grandfather David laughed a thin, almost sad laugh when he spoke of his people’s misfortunes—a  testament to his own high consciousness—but behind that laugh were the tears of severe hardship born by a tribe of humble people trying to follow the Original Instructions of the Creator.

He told me how his people came up into this world from another world – the “Third World” - beneath this current world, which he called the “Fourth World.” Okay, I think, levels of consciousness, right? From a lower one into a higher one. I was into catching the symbolism here—to listen with expanded ears. (As of this writing in December 2010, I have a different understanding of  what the Hopi call “worlds.” At that time I related to them as headspaces, but now I understand them more as long periods of human life on Earth, punctuated by periods of cataclysmic transition.)

Grandfather David’s next story was about some ears of corn, of many different sizes and colors, which Great Spirit and Spider Woman laid out before the leaders of the various groups who had come up into this Fourth World. The leaders were told to pick one ear of corn to be their food in this world. One by one the leaders choose the longest and fullest looking ears of corn until only the smallest ear of corn was left. This smallest ear of corn was picked by the Hopi leader, who had humbly waited till last to take hiss turn. Great Spirit said, “You have shown me you are wise and humble. For this reason you will be called Hopi, which means a peaceful, kind, gentle, truthful people.”

Next Grandfather told me about two brothers—grandsons of Spider Woman—who were given stone tablets into which the Great Spirit had breathed instructions and prophecies and warnings. The older brother—the “True White Brother”—was told to go immediately to the east, to the rising sun, and as soon as he got there he was to touch his head to the Earth, then return to the younger brother, the Hopi. The younger brother, the Hopi, was instructed to continue searching for Great Spirit and to settle where they found Him.

The Hopi found Great Spirit—“the Spirit who owns this world”—living at Old Oraibi over 1,000 years ago. He appeared to them in the form of a man. They asked him if they could live there with him. The Great Spirit said, “It’s up to you. All I have is my planting stick and my corn. If you are willing to live as I do and follow my instructions, you may live here with me and take care of my land.”

The Hopi people said, “Yes, we are willing to live your way.” And they settled in the desert at Old Oraibi to be close to Great Spirit. And that’s how the Hopi lived for many, many years—simply and  peacefully, true to the Original Instructions of the Creator.

Grandfather David said that part of the Prophecy given to the Hopi by Great Spirit was that another race of people would come to this land and claim it as their own. These people would be very clever and would invent many things, but the Hopi were told not to accept anything these people would offer, even though it would be hard to resist. The people were told that these invaders would come in something with spinning wheels, pulled by animals. This turned out to be the covered wagons. The people were told that the land would be crossed by long rivers of stone that would make pictures in the sun, and on these stone rivers would be little boxes on wheels. Grandfather David said he thought this was the highways that produce shimmering mirages on hot, sunny days. The prophecy also said the land would be crossed by snakes of iron—railroad tracks to Grandfather David. The people were also told that the land would be criss-crossed by a giant spider’s web that people could talk across, and this “talking web”, Grandfather said, was the web of telephone lines that crisscross this land at that time. (And now, in 2010, the “world-wide web” criss-crosses the entire planet.)

Then Grandfather David told me about how the prophecy spoke of a Great Purification that would take place when the True White Brother returned. There would be three phases of life during which the whole Earth would be shaken up by the True White Brother and his two helpers, and that after each shaking, the people of Earth would have a chance to come together in a circle that would bring peace to the Earth. Grandfather told me about an ancient gourd rattle that the Hopi people use in their sacred Kachina ceremonies that is marked with the symbols of the two helpers who would shake the world. Those symbols are the swastika and the sun. The Hopi elders recognized the flags of Germany and Japan as the symbols on their ancient rattle, and they understand World War I and World War II to be the first and second shaking of the Earth by the True White Brother and his helpers. The third shaking of the Earth is yet to come. Survivors of the Purification will enter the Fifth World of Peace.

Grandfather David next spoke of a “gourd of ashes” that the Prophecy said would “fall from the air” and boil everything for miles and miles around, and nothing would grow on that land for a long, long time. The elders believe that the atomic bomb, dropped near the end of WWII, is that gourd of ashes and, according to the Prophecy, that would be a sign to them that they needed to go to a “Great House of Mica” and warn all the peoples of the need to come together in peace. So in 1948 (or maybe 1949) Grandfather David and three other Hopi elders drove to New York City and right up to the front door of the “Great House of Mica”—the tall, glass United Nations building—but they were not allowed to speak.

There were more signs that the time of the third shaking of the Earth was coming soon. All over the world there would be great winds, fires, earthquakes, droughts and floods, changes in the weather and in the seasons, the disappearance of wildlife, and many famines. Everything would be speeded up. Thhey referred to it as “The Quickening.” Women would start dressing like men. Nature would be out of balance. World leaders would be corrupt, and the people would not know who to look to for direction. When these conditions occur on Earth, the Hopi are to recognize that the Day of the Great Purification is near.

While listening to Grandfather David in his simple home in Hotevilla, I was remembering the visions I had seen on the wall of my Shrader Street kitchen in 1966—earthquakes, tidal waves, fires. I knew then that it was a purification, a cleansing—to be followed by a new beginning. But I didn’t interrupt. I wanted to hear more of the Hopi Prophecy from this humble, down-to-earth Native elder.

When the True White Brother or Purifier returns, Grandfather David said, he will be very powerful and large in population. He will belong to no religion but his very own, he will be symbolized by the color red, and the people will wear red caps or red robes. Grandfather David told me he thought this would be the Red Chinese, and that the final shaking would be World War III.

The Prophecy went on to say that when the True White Brother comes back, if there are any Hopi—even only one, two or three—who have remained true to the Original Instructions, the Great Spirit will appear before all, and our world will be saved. The Earth will be restored, flowers will bloom again, all who survive the Purification will share everything equally, they will all recognize the Great Spirit, and they will all speak one language again, as the first people had done. There will be abundance for everyone and peace on Mother Earth.

Then Grandfather David told me that we could go,  tomorrow, over to Old Oraibi, where he would show me a rock on which the Prophecy was drawn.

It was late. I thanked Grandfather for sharing so much with me. Then Grandfather David insisted that Todd, Gentle and I sleep in their home-made double bed, while he and Grandmother Nora rolled out a thin straw mat on the adobe kitchen floor, where they would sleep themselves. I protested to no avail. They insisted they would be fine, that the kids and I should have the only bed in the house. I was overwhelmed by their generosity. Spiritual people, for sure! The smallest ear of corn in action!

The next day we did go over to Old Oraibi, in Pooh’s car, where Grandfather David dropped in on Thomas Banyaca, who talked with David for a while in the Hopi tongue. Grandfather David was telling Thomas about his upcoming trip to Boulder, and they were discussing when to hold the Home Dance.

When they were done talking, we drove out to the Prophecy Rock, which was actually the side of a cliff. Carved into the side of the cliff was a diagram of sorts – a line drawing starting with a swastika inside a sun symbol—a circle with rays coming out of it. There was a large stick figure representing Great Spirit, according to Grandfather David, and this figure stood beside two lines or paths—the lower one was the path Great Spirit had given the Hopi people to follow. This path ended with pictures of corn plants, symbolizing abundance. The top line or path showed the journey of the white man (not to be confused with the “Great White Brother”) and his clever inventions—the path of technology. This path ended in a very jagged line, representing the ups and down of turmoil and earth changes. Before the very jagged line starts, there is a vertical line going from the white man’s path down to the Hopi path, indicating that those who had chosen the path of technology could at that point return to the Original Instructions of the Creator, avoid the turmoil, and share in the abundance.

I was amazed to see the swastika and the rising sun symbols carved in this ancient rock. How could the ancient Hopi have know this? Does this mean that prophecy really is true? I remembered early experience of clairvoyance and my own visions, and I pondered the meaning of all these things.

            Later that day we left for Boulder. When we got into Pooh’s car, Grandfather David, sitting in the front passenger’s seat, took a pinch of cornmeal out of a pouch on his belt and sprinkled it out the open window and onto the ground beside the car, saying a short prayer in the Hopi language for our safe travels. He continued this practice every time we started traveling again after stopping throughout the whole trip.

We spent the first night sleeping on the side of the road in our sleeping bags or blankets, under the desert stars. In the morning the arthritis in Grandfather David’s hands was bothering him, so Pooh massaged his hands for him. He laughed about his pain. He was such a high traveling companion!

            We stopped to visit drummer Richard and his band, the Anonymous Artists of America, on a piece of land they had bought in the southwest corner of Colorado, near the tiny town of Redwing. Then we continued on to Boulder. The Holy Man Jam had been going for a day or two by the time we arrived. Admission was free. There was lots of grass, a few booths, and many blankets spread with craft items, a stage, lots of earth-loving people, and gurus galore. Spiritual teachers from all over the world were pouring into the United States at that time, hearing there was a whole generation of spiritual seekers here. Some were enlightened; some were charlatans. We wanted to hear them all and decide for ourselves. (This was before the powers-that-be co-opted the hip movement and the concept of a new age into the commercial, materialistic, “New Age”, over-the-counter culture so prevalent today, where people pay hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars for a weekend conference where wanna-be teachers sell their teachings, books, and videos. Tradition says that Henry Kissinger was in charge of derailing the hippies, and this is how he decided to do it—make it a business and thereby seduce many of the newly awakened back into materialistic values, while espousing spiritual truths. And it worked for a few decades. But now there’s a new generation of awakened individuals who can see through that hypocrisy and are looking for something more real and more truly spiritual. Sorry, Henry. Your time is up. You can’t fool all of the people all of the time.)

Pooh knew some of the organizers and spoke to them about arranging for Grandfather David to speak. The program was full. The only way he could get any time was if another speaker would give up some of his. A Buddhist monk offered to share his time with Grandfather David. Grandfather spoke for just a few minutes, but later I heard several people say that he was the one they liked best of all the holy men—that he had the most humble vibes and the most sincere message.

Stephen Gaskin and a bunch of his students were there. Seems there had been some kind of raggedy vibes the evening before—a candlelight march or something had been planned, but Stephen was not in agreement with the timing or something, so he and some of his students refused to participate.

Stephen and Yogi Bhajan, a burly turbaned Sikh teacher from India, were sharing the same stage the afternoon that we arrived, with one microphone between them. Each gave a short pitch for his chosen path. Stephen spoke of the psychedelic path and what he was learning from it. Yogi Bhajan pitched Kundalini Yoga and a breathing technique called “Breath of Fire.” He insisted that psychedelics were not a valid spiritual path. His vibes were self-righteous and disdainful toward Stephen.

 The two holy men decided to answer questions from the crowd. For a while each questioner addressed his question to one teacher or the other, and the teachers passed the mike back and forth between them. Then someone asked a general question about vibrations. Yogi Bhajan grabbed the mike away from Stephen and said haughtily, “I’ll answer that. Vibrations are my specialty.”

Stephen looked at the crowd, shrugged, and said to the Yogi, “I vibrate, too.”

Egos bristled. I think they each eventually took a shot at answering the vibes question, but for me it had been answered a long time before the actual words came out. It was obvious from the exchange that Stephen knew a whole lot more about vibes than Yogi Bhajan did.

There was a question about sex. Yogi Bajan, manicured and vain, said if you do it “right” you only have to do it once a month. Stephen, informal and unpretentious, talked about Tantric love-making as a tool to cleanse one’s energy field and expand one’s consciousness.

The next morning Stephen and Yogi Bhajan were on a smaller stage together again, but this time there was a Fair Witness between them, mediating the discussion. Seems Stephen was trying to “get straight” with the Yogi about things he had said about the psychedelic path the day before. Both holy men sat cross-legged on the stage with the long-haired moderator between them. I don’t think this smaller stage was wired for sound, and the crowd was much smaller than the day before. I don’t remember the details of the conversation, except that Stephen was trying to get Yogi Bhajan to concede the validity of the psychedelic path, but the Yogi wouldn’t budge from his original position. Nor would he cop to being condescending toward Stephen. Stephen seemed truly to be in a humble, peace-making headspace, but Yogi Bhajan remained haughty and holier-than-thou. At one point Stephen crawled across the stage to hug Yogi B., but the proud Yogi did not welcome the embrace. It was pretty weird, but Stephen came out looking to me like he was carrying a higher consciousness than the Sikh holy man.

Later that day I attended the showing of a film of Sathya Sai Baba, another holy man in India with a big Afro, who appeared to be able to manifest a Shiva Lingam inside his mouth and then spit it out into a white handkerchief or napkin, which he held in his left hand. In the film he did this in front of a huge crowd. His vibes, at least on film, seemed open and loving, and the “miracle” was amazing to behold. This is the first time I had ever heard of Sai Baba, and I was impressed. Could he really be doing this? I remembered the instructions from Spalding’s Life and Teachings of the Masters of the Far East, and my own successful experiments in manifesting what I needed. I marveled at the powers of human consciousness, but still I wondered about Sai Baba—was it real or was it all a trick?

I didn’t get to hear very many of the holy men. I was busy keeping track of my two little kids, but I fully enjoyed our few days there. Soon it was time to pile back into Pooh’s car and return to Hotevilla for the Hopi Home Dance, which Grandfather David had invited us to attend.

When we arrived, Hotevilla was alive with preparations for the Dance. An eagle had been captured for the ceremony and was chained to the roof of one of the adobe houses. Folks were busy making corn husk dolls for all the little girls of the village and toy bows and arrows for all the little boys.

The Hopi Home Dance was held in the Plaza. No photographs were allowed to be taken on the Hopi reservation (Hopi’s believed that taking someone’s photograph stole their soul, which I interpreted to mean that a photo of someone was a dead image—that soul or spirit existed only in the Here-and-Now, the present, living  moment.) Very few outsiders were ever invited to the Home Dance.

We stood at one end of the rectangular plaza and watched as Kachina Dancers in elaborate costumes danced before the people. We were told that they personified spirits that lived in nearby mountains. The Kachinas filed into the Plaza. Masks, feathers, rattles, drumming, dancing—sounds that first resembled frogs, then rain, then a full thunderstorm. They were calling in the rain so their crops would grow, so their people would be fed, so their Home would be safe. It was an amazing spectacle—the real thing, not just some Indians dancing for the entertainment of white men. We scraggly hippies were truly honored to get to attend.

After the Dance Grandfather David kept looking at the sky and pointing out the small clouds that were beginning to gather. We left without ever knowing if the rain actually came, but we carried the memory of that very special experience with us as we headed back to California.

Sunday, January 2, 2011


Happy New Year! Today I want to share an excerpt from a book I published in 2008.  It’s about two siblings, Luke and Lucy, who take a trip to the high country and find themselves in a strange land called “Symbolia”, where they have to walk the Sacred Path to get back Home. In this episode, Luke and Lucy have become separated at the Gulf of SimonSez, and Lucy is trying to find her way back to the Path:

            Lucy walked along the trail that Brownoze had insisted that she take, but she still wasn’t sure it was the one she wanted. Even though she was sick of having Luke boss her around, she didn’t like being all alone in this strange world, either. She knew it wasn’t safe for her to go back to the Gulf of SimonSez, where Luke was. Those bullies would get me for sure! she thought. Oh, dear! What am I going to do now?

After a while she noticed that the terrain was changing. It wasn’t so much like a dessert any more. There were more plants now, and even a few small trees. Soon Lucy came to a crossroads. There were no signs, and she had no idea which way to go – maybe straight, maybe the path to the right. Then she saw three figures approaching on the path to her right. They wore long dark robes, tied around the waist with a rope. They seemed to be chanting something, but Lucy couldn’t quite make out the words.

As they got closer, Lucy could hear the words of the chant.

“U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah,
U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay.
U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah,
U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay-Tu-Du,”

the three robed men droned on in unison. Funny words,  Lucy thought to herself. Must be in some foreign language. Wonder what they mean

One of these chanters was very tall and thin, with a stern, narrow face, thick, dark eyebrows, and intense eyes. He was carrying what seemed to be a piece of wood in one arm. Another was medium height but with a massive physique, a squarish jaw, and a rather forlorn expression on his face. The third was short and rather pudgy and almost bald. A ring of short brown hair encircled his shiny dome, above a round, shiny face and big, wide, blue eyes. He smiled blissfully as he chanted, “U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, U-Shuud-Doo-Wah-Ty-Zay-Tu-Doo.…”

All three of the chanters looked harmless enough – and this pudgy one even looked friendly. Lucy decided to ask directions.

“Excuse me,” she said politely to the wide-eyed chanter. He stopped walking and chanting. His two companions stopped walking, too, but they continued to chant:  “U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah….”

“Can I help you?” the wide-eyed chanter asked. His voice was soft and kind.

 “I think I’m lost,” explained Lucy, feeling she could trust him. “I was trying to get away from some power trippers at the Gulf of SimonSez, and I seem to have lost my way. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get back on the Sacred Path?”

 “Just follow us,” U-Shuud Sayer Gul continued. “We will show you the way. May The Roolz be with you, my child,” he replied. “Let us introduce ourselves. We are the U-Shuud Sayers of Dogmapolis. I am U-Shuud Gul. This is U-Shuud Matt and U-Shuud Ritt.” The other two men nodded pleasantly enough at Lucy but never stopped chanting. “But what’s a U-Shuud Sayer?” asked Lucy.

“A U-Shuud Sayer,” began Gul, “is one who has dedicated his life to serving The Roolz. We are protected by The Roolz. We are taught how to live by The Roolz. We worship The Roolz!”

 “What’s The Roolz? A person or a god or what?” Lucy wanted to understand, but U-Shuud Sayer Gul had already turned toward the other two U-Shuud Sayers and joined them in their chant. I guess I’ll find out later, Lucy thought as the three men began walking again, away from her, through the crossroads and on to the left. “U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay-Tu-Du. U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Ty-Zay-Tu-Du…”

Lucy followed them, glad to have someone guiding her, but she didn’t feel really settled inside. Cheer up, she told herself. You’ll be back on the Sacred Path soon.

They were walking out of desert terrain now, and through fields of growing crops and small farms. Occasionally a farmer with a horse-drawn cart full of vegetables would pass them, travelling in the same direction. The farmers always waved a greeting to the U-Shuud Sayers and Lucy. Lucy always waved back. The U-Shuud Sayers nodded devoutly to each farmer as he passed, but they never stopped chanting their U-Shuud-Doo-Wha chant.

Before long Lucy could see a huge form glistening in the distance, towering above the rest of the landscape. It seemed to be some kind of very large building, far taller than any of the trees that they occasionally passed. As they drew closer, Lucy could see that the form was a massive stone pyramid, nine stories high. Each story was smaller than the one below it, giving the appearance, from a distance, of huge steps, each about ten feet tall, leading up to a temple-like structure on the very top.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, pointing at the imposing structure rising before them.

“That, my dear, is the blessed City of Dogmapolis,” Gul answered, pausing briefly in his chanting. “That is where we are going.”

“Why are we going there?” asked Lucy. “Is Dogmapolis on the Sacred Path?”

“Oh, yes!” U-Shuud Sayer Gul answered. “Not only is Dogmapolis on the Sacred Path; Dogmapolis is the Sacred Path.”

“But it looks like a pyramid!”

“It is a pyramid,” the U-Shuud Sayer replied. “It’s a step pyramid. A ziggurat, to be exact.” Then he resumed his U-Shuud chant, and Lucy sensed that he didn’t want to answer any more questions.

Hm-m-m-m, she thought, that doesn’t exactly sound like the Sacred Path that Morningstar was talking about, but these guys seem pretty sure about knowing the way. I’d be lost without them. So she kept following the U-Shuud Sayers toward the layered structure in the distance.

The closer Lucy got to the City of Dogmapolis, the more details she could make out. She could see that each story or level of the step pyramid had evenly spaced, square windows or doorways all along it, leading out to a walled walkway that appeared to go all the way around each level.  The whole thing seemed to be built with large slabs of cut stone, each with a shiny surface that reflected the sunlight. She noticed that the bottom level itself was surrounded by a very high wall, also  made from gigantic rock slabs.

As Lucy got closer still to the step-pyramid city of Dogmapolis, she began to notice that at each corner of each level there were stone statues of some kind, looking out over the Desert of Avariss and the Pink Mountains in the distance. These statues appeared to be only half a person—from the hips up, as if it were growing right out of the stone. Then Lucy could see that they weren’t really people either. They had heads and faces and ears and eyes and arm and bodies, but they weren’t really people. At least not like any people Lucy had ever known. Some of them had large, pointy ears, or horns, or fangs, or tails, or scales, or claws. When Lucy got close enough to see the expressions on the statues’ faces, she noticed that they were not very friendly. In fact, they looked downright nasty.  That’s weird, she thought, but she kept right on following the U-Shuud Sayers toward the great walled city of Dogmapolis.

Eventually the three U-Shuud Sayers led Lucy up to the main gate of the walled, pyramid-shaped city. The gate was guarded by two tall guards dressed in black-and-white spotted jumpsuits. They looked really silly to Lucy, and she almost giggled the minute she saw them. They look like Dalmatians, she thought to herself. But then she noticed the very serious expression on their faces, and even though that, too, looked funny to Lucy, she could tell that it definitely would not be okay to laugh at them.

Lucy and the U-Shuud Sayers paused just before they got to the gate. Matt, the massive, square-jawed  U-Shuud Sayer, stopped chanting, and turned to Lucy.  “Before entering our glorious city of Dogmapolis,” he said, “you must put these on.” He pulled a cloth bag out from under his robe. He took two items out of the bag and handed them to Lucy, one at a time.

The first item was a pair of goggles. The second was a sheepskin coat with an attached sheepskin hood. “Put them on,” U-Shuud Sayer Matt ordered.

The other two U-Shuud Sayers were chanting, “U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay-Tu-Du….”

By now Lucy was somewhat mesmerized by the continuous  chanting. She took the goggles and put them on first. The band that went around her head and held the goggles in place was extremely tight and uncomfortable.

“No thanks,” Lucy said politely, handing the goggles back toward the massive U-Shuud Sayer. “I don’t want to wear these.”

At this point it was the tall, thin U-Shuud Sayer Ritt, who stopped chanting and took a step toward Lucy. He was now holding the piece of wood on his left arm, and Lucy could see that there were lines of carved symbols on it. His narrow eyes blazed as he shouted at her. “According to The Roolz,” his voice boomed, as he pounded the piece of wood with his right fist, “everyone residing on Level One must wear these goggles at all times. You are new here, therefore you must reside on Level One. And if you do not obey the Almighty Roolz, you cannot enter the safety of the City of Dogmapolis. Do you want to remain at the mercy of the barbarians, or do you agree to obey The Roolz?”

“Who are the barbarians?” asked Lucy.

“The barbarians are those who do not follow The Roolz,” replied Sayer Ritt, sharply.  “We learn the One and Only Truth from The Roolz. Those who do not follow the Roolz do not know the One and Only Truth. They are barbarians.”

“U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah,
U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay.
U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah,
U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay-Tu-Du,”

chanted U-Shuud Gul and U-Shuud Matt.

“Okay, okay,” said Lucy to the U-Shuud Sayers, somewhat dejected. “I do want to be safe from the barbarians. I’ll wear your stupid goggles.” And she pulled the mask-like goggles over her head. Suddenly she felt like her brain was in a vice. She pulled them off immediately. “I need a bigger size,” she said. “These are too tight.”

“They are the correct size,” U-Shuud Sayer Ritt replied, sternly. “It’s supposed to be tight.”

Reluctantly Lucy once again put on the tight-fitting goggles. They really squeezed her head uncomfortably, but she figured she could stand it for a while. She could see that there was no arguing with the U-Shuud Sayers, and besides, she really wanted to follow them and get back on the Sacred Path again.

When the goggles were securely covering her eyes, Lucy noticed something peculiar. Hm-m-m-m, she thought, looking around. This is strange. These goggles take all the color out of everything. Everything is black and white, like it’s all a really old movie.  And I can’t see anything on either side. But I guess I’ll get used to it. And it’s better than being lost and alone.

Then Lucy put on the hooded sheepskin coat. She felt really silly in it. “I don’t want to wear this coat either,” Lucy said. “It will make me look like a sheep.”

“You’re supposed to look like a sheep,” Sayer Ritt replied sternly.

“Why?” asked Lucy.

“To show your place, of course,” answered the uptight U-Shuud Sayer. “In Dogmapolis everyone has a place and stays in it. Your place will be here on Level One of Dogmapolis as a sheeple.”

“What if I don’t want to be a sheeple?” Lucy asked. “What are my other choices?”

“You have no other choices,” replied U-Shuud Sayer Ritt Thumper. “According to The Roolz...” His voice was starting to boom again.

“I know,” Lucy interrupted. “According to The Roolz, I have to be a Level One sheeple.”

“Exactly,” beamed Ritt. “You’re beginning to catch on. And you do want to be here, don’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Lucy weakly. “I do want to be here. I’ll be a sheeple.” She really wanted to get back on the Sacred Path again, and the U-Shuud Sayers said they knew the way. Reluctantly she pulled the hooded sheepskin coat around her.

As soon as Lucy had the goggles and the sheeple coat on, with the hood up around her head, the three robed U-Shuud Sayers, still chanting, moved up to one of the Blakkenwite gate guards. “A new sheeple,” U-Shuud Sayer Gul said to one of the jump-suited guards, nodding toward Lucy in her goggles and hooded sheepskin coat.

The guard looked Lucy over and then nodded solemnly to Gul. The three chanters and Lucy moved forward, past the guards, through the gate, and into the city of Dogmapolis. U-Shuud Gul Abull motioned for Lucy to follow them, which she did, grateful to be inside the walled City of Dogmapolis, safe from the dictators at the Gulf of SimonSez.

‘U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay-Tu-Doo,” chanted the U-Shuud Sayers.
Lucy was now inside Dogmapolis, and the heavy gate slammed shut behind her. The tight-fitting, goggles that U-Shuud Sayer Ritt Thumper insisted she wear, made everything look black and white, without even any shades of gray. And it took her a while to get used to the tunnel vision imposed by the goggles, which forced her to look straight ahead, unable to see anything on either side of her, or above, or below. But she could see a line of people directly in front of her, all wearing goggles and hooded sheepskin coats, and all carrying bags of something over their shoulders. Lucy couldn’t see what was in the bags, but the sheeple carried them as if they were quite heavy.

“This is your level,” U-Shuud Sayer Matt Terbound told Lucy, somewhat gruffly. “Get in line over here.” He pointed to a space in the carrying line, behind a short, rather stocky sheeple.

“What do I have to get in line for?” asked Lucy.

“In Dogmapolis everyone has to get in line,” Matt explained, and his voice sounded like he was losing patience with Lucy. “And see that you stay in line!” he added, harshly.

“U-Shuud Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, Doo-Wah, U-Shuud Doo-Wah Ty-Zay-Tu-Doo,” droned the chanters, and they walked through one of the square doorways in the bottom level of the pyramid, turned a corner inside, and were out of Lucy’s sight.

Lucy took her place in line, as ordered, behind the indicated sheeple. Another sheeple, wearing goggles and a sheepskin coat but no hood, handed Lucy one of the large, heavy sacks. “Welcome to Dogmapolis,” he said. “Your job is to carry this burdenbag.”

Lucy hoisted the bulging sack over her right shoulder. She still carried the fire kit and canteen on her left. The burdenbag was heavy, and Lucy had to hold it firmly with both hands. “What’s in these sacks, anyhow?” she asked the sheeple in front of her.

The short, stocky sheeple had to turn all the way around in order to see Lucy, due to the restrictions of the hood and goggles. The sheeple did this very carefully, being sure not to step out of line. “You must be new here,” the sheeple said.

“Yes, I am. I just arrived here in Dogmapolis. My name is Lucy.”

“Hi,” said the sheeple. “I’m Patsy.”

Lucy was surprised to discover that the sheeple in front of here was a girl.

“There’s mostly gold in these burdenbags,” Patsy continued. “And sometimes jewels.”

“Who does it belong to?” asked Lucy in surprise.

“Oh, it’s all for the Grand Nimroodi and the Grand Kolumbooti,” the stocky sheeple answered.

“Who are they?” asked Lucy, but just then one of the Blakkenwite guards bounded up to Lucy and Patsy. “Stop talking, turn around, and carry your burdenbags quietly!” he barked.

Lucy wanted to giggle again, but again she knew that it wouldn’t be appropriate. Besides, that bark was pretty scary. Sheeple Patsy turned back around quickly, and Lucy couldn’t tell if she was also amused. Lucy had many more questions for Patsy, but for now they would have to go unanswered. She stayed in line, silently carrying the heavy burdenbag, contributing to somebody else’s wealth, like all the other sheeple in line in front and in back of her. But at least I’m safe here, she told herself, as she shuffled along, shifting the burdenbag from one shoulder to the other to avoid pain.


Please let me know how this grabs you and if you want more.

Peace and Love,

Monday, December 20, 2010

Return of the Light

This convergence of Winter Solstice, Full Moon, and Lunar Eclipse is a powerful time for creating the world we want. The energy around solstices and equinoxes is always potent for about three days before and three days after the calendar moment itself. The Winter Solstice celebrates that moment in Earth’s orbit when greatest darkness of the year is over and the light is starting to return—a time to seed the incoming light with our highest intention for ourselves, our species, and our planet.

The full moon and eclipse add even more creative energy to the 3D field that we experience and participate in. It’s my understanding that during a lunar eclipse, as Earth’s shadow covers the moon, our moon-driven, reflective, subconscious dumps all its previous programming and comes out the other side of the eclipse as a clean disk, cosmically formatted and ready to be reprogrammed. Consciously. Intentionally. By you and me.

In addition to the Whirling Rainbow Prophecy (previous post), Jamie Sams also presents the Cradleboard Prophecy, in which she says, “Those who cannot accept the new Cradleboard of Creation will be removed to the body-double of  the Earth Mother, which will house the memory of the devastation of her scarred and abused body.” When I first read that, in the early 1990’s, it didn’t make any sense to me. How could there be a body-double of Earth? That just didn’t fit into my understanding at the time.

Then I read some channeled teachings saying that the earth would “split” into two Earths, one housing those who were into peace and the other housing those who were into war. Hmm-m-m. Interesting concept, but still beyond what I could honestly believe.

Years later I learned that there are quantum physicists who theorize that this quantum field that we live in is like a great ocean of conscious energy, with areas of “quantum foam” or bubbles of energy called “probable worlds” (PrahBubbles in Symbolia). It seems that what we experience as third-dimensional reality is simply the most probable—the most likely to happen--of the probable worlds in the surrounding quantum foam. And the degree of probability is dictated by the frequency and amplitude of human consciousness—the wavelengths and emotional intensity of our thoughts. That means that if enough of us feel strongly enough about creating a new probable world that we agree on, and focus out intentions and efforts on that new PrahBubble, we can energize it to manifest in our lives. We don’t have to worry or even think about how it’s going to manifest. The Field of Oneness will take care of that. All we have to do is energize what we want and become the world we want to live in.

I use this understanding in my daily life. Most mornings I sit quietly for a few minutes and tune my consciousness in to the Great Ocean of Awareness. When I’m in that expanded space of unity with all life I say, silently, “I now step into the PrahBubble  world where everything in my life goes smoothly and gently and playfully today, for my highest good and for the highest good of all life everywhere. Thank you. I know this can happen.” If I’m having a problem, I get more specific. Then I forget about it and go on with my day.

And miracles happen. Circumstances in my life shuffle themselves around in ways I couldn’t even have imagined to bring about exactly what I intended. (Sometimes I get caught up in the daily swirl and forget to start the day by choosing the PrahBubble I want to step into. Those days don’t go so well until I remember to tune in and drop my intentions into the Cosmic Ocean.)

So let’s use this magnificent window of opportunity to co-create the world we want to live in. Let’s see if e can connect the InnerNet via the internet, and have a virtual Ritual of Evolving Light. Right here, right now.

Imagine us sitting in a Circle, in the darkness, but  around a small fire. A tree branch is being passed from person to person around the circle. The branch has many smaller branches or twigs growing out of it, and it is being used in this ritual as a Talking Stick. As each of us in turn holds the Talking Stick, we tell the group about our Heart Dream—our vision for the world we want to create and inhabit. The rest of the Circle listens intently. When each of us finishes telling our Heart Dream, we break off one of the twiggy branches on the Talking Stick and toss it onto the small central fire. Others in the Circle shout or murmur their agreement and the fire blazes up with this new Heart-Dream fuel. In this way our Circle of Awareness adds its energy to the New PrahBubble, and the Talking Stick is passed to the next person.

You are sitting in the Circle. The Talking Stick (comment space) is now being passed to you. It’s your turn to tell us your Heart Dream and add your fuel to our InnerNet Fire of Creation. What is your vision for a New PrahBubble world and your personal role in it?

Happy Return of the Light! Peace on Earth. Good will to All.

Whirling Rainbow Prophecy

You guys have probably heard a lot of prophecies by now, but you might have missed this one. It talks about the Flower Children and the generation following the Flower Children. It’s from a book by Wolf Clan member, Jamie Sams. This is Jamie Sam’s story as she tells it:
“The Whirling Rainbow is the promise of peace among all National and all people. The Rainbow Race stresses equality and opposes the idea of a superior race that would control or conquer other races. The Rainbow Race brings peace through the understanding that all races are one. The unity of all colors, all creeds working together for the good of the whole, is the idea that is embodied in the Whirling Rainbow. When all pathways to wholeness are respected by all cultures, the prophecy of the Whirling Rainbow will be completed.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Living On God's Land part two

[continuing from God’s Land Part 1]

Gentle learned to walk at Wheeler’s Ranch. I remember her taking her first tentative steps on our uneven, grassy, floor of our tent home, and how frustrating it was for her. But she had a god sense of humor, and we laughed a lot.

Todd was thriving on the freedom at Wheeler’s. He loved back with his pals Josh and Ellie again, and in the country, where he could roam the land to his heart’s content.

These were the early days at Wheeler’s Ranch, and other than tolerating each others’ trips, and individual acts of sharing, there wasn’t much community happening there. There was a community garden. Only a few people worked in it, but many wanted to eat out of it, including people who just came to visit and didn’t even live there. There were no agreements about who could harvest the veggies – everyone just took what they wanted. Often those who had worked hardest in the garden all season didn’t get much of the produce. (I later learned that making strong agreements as a group is a real necessity for community living. But none of us knew that then. We were the pioneers, blazing the trail and making plenty of mistakes along the way.)

Living On God's Land part one

 [Continuing from previous posts]

Summer, 1968: My children and I had spent several months in the LA area. Todd was five-and-a-half now, still wild, bright, and inquisitive. Gentle was ten months old, a beautiful and mellow baby. We were on the road – just the three of us and Morning Glory, our heavenly blue van, now painted to look like a telephone truck– heading for a piece of “open land.”

At this point I was dedicated to group living. It was obvious that people needed to get together and learn to share and look out for each other, and I really wanted to raise my children in a situation where that was happening, a situation where the implications of our Oneness were being lived on a daily basis. I believed it would be good for Todd and Gentle to grow up in an environment of very high consciousness. To me that was way more important that providing them with material goodies and the competitive, fear-based, dog-eat-dog, brain-washed consciousness of square America. But the concept of “open land” was new to me.

It made immediate sense—land that belonged to no one and to everyone – land where anyone who wanted to could go and live—for free and to be free—a material manifestation of the spiritual truth that no one can really own a piece of the Earth – that we all have to learn to share it, to live on it together, in peace and harmony.

Josh and Ellie, part of our Haight Street extended family, had sent directions to Wheeler’s Ranch and had told me that everything we needed would be there, thus reinforcing another of my spiritual beliefs: if your heart is pure and you are trying to live your life for the good of the All, your needs will be covered.

Flashback Download: Giving Birth on LSD (1967)

 Disclaimer: These blogs are simply a sharing of my personal experiences and are not meant as recommendations for anyone else to follow. Please do not use me as a role model. Consult your own Teacher Within.

[Continuing from previous posts] It was the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend, September 3, my due date, and I was awakened about 9 a.m. by a contraction. Labor was starting, right on schedule! I waited for a couple more contractions to be sure this was for real. When I was convinced that I was really in labor, I ate the purple wedge with a simple prayer for a holy delivery.

Then Richard-the-drummer stopped by, knowing it was my due date. When I told him I was in labor, he offered to take Todd to the park for a while. I told him to give it to bring him back home in a couple of hours so he could watch his sister be born.

Yes, his sister. I knew the baby was a girl. These were the days before ultrasound. How did I know? I just knew she was a girl, and I had already picked out her name. It would be “Gentle” – eldest daughter of the I Ching family of trigrams. The eldest son in that family was “Chen” – Thunder – and I figured I had already done that one with Todd, who could be very thunderous at times.

Richard and Todd left for the park. Josh and Ellie, the two family members I felt closest to, sat with me in my bedroom, smoking joints, as my labor progressed. Things were moving along fine. The contractions were pretty regular and getting stronger and more frequent, and Ellie had gone to the laundromat across the street and done laundry the night before, so we had plenty of clean sheets and towels.

Pat, the landlord upstairs who had bailed me out of jail, had been a medic in the army and had once delivered a baby. A few days before the birth he had told me how to tie off and cut the umbilical cord. I felt ready. The acid was coming on, and I was starting to feel loose and groovy.
The contractions were getting stronger, however, and my style of baby-having is to make a lot of noise in the process. It just feels good to yell. So I yelled with a couple of contractions, and this freaked Josh out. He was nervous about this unattended home birth anyhow, and after my second hearty yell, he rushed off to the Haight Street Free Clinic to get a doctor.