The BORN-AGAIN experience 1969

CONCERTPARK.US  RECYCLED SYROFOAM EAGLENEST.US ....AQUAPONICS CHRISTIAN SCIENCE SECRET POPE JOHN PAUL II - story The BORN-AGAIN experience 1969 IT WAS WRITTEN DEWITT'S VICTORY GARDENS LETTER TO CHAVEZ 2004

BORN-AGAIN CHRISTIAN BECOMES CATHOLIC W/POPE JOHN PAUL II

Returning from a year in the desert of Tolteca @ the University of the Americas in Cholula, Mexico... as an off-campus student of Carlos Castaneda in "A Separate Reality" and the Sorcerers Apprentice I wrote this. 

IT IS A POEM SPOKEN TO ME IN THE SIMILITUDE OF AN EXPERIENTIAL DREAM

THE SUMMA IS THE TRINITY OF HEBREW + GREEK + LATIN. IT IS STRATIGRAPHIC. THERE ARE ALSO THREE METAPHYSICAL PLANES. OR HORIZONS . THESE ARE PROGRESSIONAL. THE FIRST IS THE PASSAGEWAY OF THE TEMPLE THAT IS FORMED BY THE INTERSECTION OF 2 RIGHT TRIANGLES. THIS IS CALLED VITAL SPACE WHICH RELATES TO THE FUNCTION OF SACRAMENTS. ABOVE THIS THE CROSS COMES TO FORM THE NEXT LEVEL. THEN THE CROSS BECOMES METAPHYSICAL. THIS SPACE AND ALL THE RELATED SPACES DEFINE THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Great Dream

the Dream of Promised Joy

Written in 1969 in the similitude of a dream 'Born-Again' after returning from a year of university in Mexico in a virtual

reality with Carlos Castaneda.... in a Separate Reality- Way of the Warrior and the Sorcerers Apprentice.

1969- Dallas, Texas

 

So here are Autumn's gifts to me- which I share with you

I hope you find them pleasing to your best tastes,

Good nourishment for your body and a refreshment to your Soul.

 

It was a wild Autumn evening as I sat with solitude... looking and longing for the ark of my dreams to carry me to the Promised Land...

A night were owls flew on silent wings and trees hidden by shadows, creapt out to dance like dervishes upon fires of cackling leaves- when the winds began to sing

the dirge of the dying year...

As I look through the mists of time

like it were an impassable river... the winds to me did say:

 

Have you not heard of Man and Man's great dream- the dream that fills the sails of travelers and builds in Eternity a destiny for all?" And I looked again at time and saw a veil of illusion and beyond that veil was but oblivion so I turned from the river of mists to find this Great Dream.. and laughed at my folly that had bound me so... but turned to see standing before me

an Old Hermit with a fierce face

glaring through thick shaggy brows.

And I said, "Oh noble Hermit, friend of few

and foe to the many... I have come in search of Man's house, a

traveler who bears good will as his token of welcome. An outcast

of fortune, a stranger to most and yet a friend to none.

My only contemporary has been time.. from whose shores I have

just parted.

Beside that river, I sat till I grew dizzy with it's mirages. Now, I have

heard the Winds say that Man's heart is noble and his soul is like the most distant skies. So if you will, please direct me to this great

beginning.

And the hermit with a hollow rasping voice said, "Know you -

Friend of Fortune - what journey you long to take? Through those

gloomy gates I have seen pass, souls more numerous than stars,

and more distant in their journeys- those seekers of Man's House.

No sooner should you enter than your faith will begin to flicker

like a candle weary with the night... and you will slide into an abyss

of doubt ... to sink forever!"

I LISTENED to those well-tempered words, yet found them too hard

and brittle, and said- "Too wise hermit, whose wisdom have you

borrowed- the owls or the blackbirds? The House of Man may be an abyss- but no more timeless than Time itself...

So give me no ill-fated omens, but direct me to this great beginning."

Then suddenly, as if by magic, the Hermit disappeared and the side of the mountain began to open like the jaws of a hungry lion...

And into those depths, I slowly ventured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOW there upon the walls of this dark cave were the shapes

and figures of Man's beginning.. graven into stone.

Strange haunched creatures inflamed with hair... grimmacing

through long yellow teeth. "Oh strange is this darkness in which

man begins", I whispered.

Wide-eyed, I crept through this tunnel, waiting any moment for a

phantom to reach out and draw my life upon those grim walls.

 

But there- amidst my doubts and fears, I saw a LIGHT approaching

and as it drew near, a VOICE called out, "Behold you who venture

through these depths I AM REASON- the Son of Thought, the Light and the Liberty of Man." And there He stood with a fire burning in his right hand.

So slowly I walked to him and said, " I am a young traveler- born- from the womb of time.

Long have I stood upon the shores of my beginning, until one day the winds did say to me, "Have you not heard of Man, . and Man's Great Dream?

The Dream that fills the sails of travelers and builds in Eternity a destiny for all"?

And when I looked again at time, I saw through it's mists- a veil

of illusion... and beyond that veil was but oblivion. So I crossed the River of Mists to find my fortune with Man's Great Dream.

 

When I had finished speaking Reason looked long into my eyes

and said: " Come my young traveler and read the signs written

upon these walls: the Beginning... and the End... and the Beginning again. He who reads the Signs knows the Path of the Dream and the fate and fortune of Man."

 

So thus we began our journey - into the past and into the future. As we walked among the life-like images, Reason began: "Man is an animal- as you see, was, is and will always be. He rose among the animals as a victor who conquered and mastered each and all of their best arts.

 

He first became sly and cautious like the snake, then grew cunning like the wolf, and with a sly cunning conquered the mightiest and the strongest.

And with their great strengths grew proud as the Eagle and noble as the Lion.

Yet there rose Faces that his pride and his strength could not conquer.

And these were: the Songs of Sweetness, the Face of Beauty and the highest art- the art of the Dove and the Lamb.

Over these his strength and pride would not rule."

 

Now, at this point in our journey Reason grew silent and stopped to look ahead.

And there... before us was a large cavern filled with fire and smoke. In the middle was a pit of groaning embers tended by robed men crying out, "Never let the fire go out!" And their voices set the cave to shaking till the walls began to ripple like the ribs of a whale.

And I turned to Reason and said: "Oh Reason, what is this darkened pit that we have entered?" And Reason replied, "Here... is the sun-less land of thought's beginning... the land of images fed by fire - magic - sorcery - and moonlit dreams dwell here.

The beginning of Man's thought, the realm of superstition - lorded by the God of Fear. In the realm of these skies, Man first opened his mind's eyes.

It was a great beginning for some- yet many could not deny this God of Fear that ruled their earliest passions. "Fear and death, into the abyss..." the voice still echoes in their hearts.

 

Now my young friend!

Take my hand and we will run like small children through this darkness and chase the phantoms away - with our folly!"

 

While we ran through the fire and smoke, I saw a Light approaching and as it grew close Reason halted.

And pointing to the door in the distance said: "There lies the seed of your becoming and the fortunes of your children- through those gates you must pass."

But I turned to Reason, looking hard into his eyes said: "Oh Reason, I cannot leave without you- and surely neither Man nor his Dream would be where you are not!"

 

 

Reason only laughed and replied: " My young friend, I go with all men and all men go with me- for all men share the same destiny.

Now here, take of this fire of mine- for never will it go out. And hold it close to your heart to know it well- for some day it will be the light and the lantern for your most distant journey."

 

So I looked once more upon Reason glowing in the darkened realm of superstition and turned and leaped through the well-lit door.

 

 

Now the EARTH so sweet and fair, opened like a wilderness with life growing wild and wontant, fields and forests stretched without end and above all hung a sapphire bell tolling in shades of white and blue. As I was walking through these new lands, I saw an old woman sitting by the wayside.

Her hair was grey like ashes from a well-burnt fire and draped about her was a robe of tattered rags. I slowly approached her- as she sat so still- looking upon her face and saw the lines of the Ages worn like granite cliffs before the Sea.

And I said: "I come in search of Man's House and the children of his Great Dream- the dream that fills the sails of travelers and builds in Eternity a destiny for all."

And she raised two eyes that shone like two flasks of heavy dark wine and said: "Young traveler, many have come to this forest in search of the Great Dream.... yet few have left it.. and fewer still returned to say which way that Dream had went.

In this forest, all thoughts are orphans and wander like hunters in search of a home of prey.

A dark grey fog has settled upon this land... and all...

are lost to it's shapeless Will.

The cold wet fog where trees and shadows become one...

A flood that sweeps the land like a tidal wave swallowing

the highest peaks... and casting into its depths even

the heaviest stones.

Condemning to oblivion the sweetest and the best.. and there

upon the surface swarms the hollow debris of multitudity.

The sweet dreams of youth hurriedly flee from this awesome face.

The water-logged procession of the fog-bearers... whose off-beat

rhythms will drown your very own.

Better to die in youth... than live as a man without dreams.

Thought without dreams grows wontant and fills even the

commonest vessels- laying its eggs upon the very ground

easy prey for every creature that crawls, slides, slithers and squirms.

It falls into the market place shorn of its flowers

Only the thorns remain- a snare for unwary prey.

There, mean-handed hawkers but and sell it's charms

to the lowest bidder- strangling from it the last song of innocence.

Street-corner sorcerers turn even its fine gold into straw

catching youthful imaginations with their sweet-tooth spells.

Where thought becomes fodder for innocent minds....

And from this fodder-fed mentality, no new dreams will grow.

In this fog-laden night the Pharasees rule and rob

every truth born to Man.... condemning them to die

in their hierarchy animal kingdom.

 

Now these ghosts... gather together beneath the Earth

trembling like an earthquake

Waiting to break the soil in wild profusion

Now, who can dare look into the fierce eyes

.... of COLD HEARTED truth?

Neither Thought, Wisdom or Religion can give shelter

from the awesome Face of the Beast of condemnation.

Superstition.... and priest-craft rule today... the ancient

blood sacrifice with a modern twist.

Every man shall have his pyramid

and all shall be Pharoahs- even women.

Subtle, subtle slavery slides like a snake

into the very nest of Freedom

Stealing it's eggs before they hatch.

 

 

Here the Earth is a garden flowing with abundance. Yet few are the fruits of sweetness, for bitter and gall are as many as the hands that pick them.

In this forest, most cling to their tree- while others wander. Yet some choose and out of chaos find fingers to touch and hands to reach... one another."

 

With this she closed her eyes and tilted her face into the sky... and I began again my wandering.

Each day I ventured through forest and field, finding scant trace of previous passing. Until one evening I came upon a meadow where a vineyard was growing.

And the fruit trees were waving in the wind- proud of their heavy branches. And I knew what this valley was and called out, " Knowledge- first Child of Thought, what might you give me in my passing as a gift to the Great Dream?''

When suddenly, a strong wind swept down from the hills and pulled from the branches a bounty of fruit- tossing them to the ground before me. But when I began to gather them, I saw that most were yet hard and thick of shell... and few were soft and agreeable.

Yet, I gathered them all- the bitter and the sweet.

 

THE DAYS grew long and the nights grew longer until one morning I awoke to see a great Oak standing on a hillside- whose limbs, majestic and proud hung to the ground like long graceful skirts.

When I approached this tree, I saw in the top a well-woven nest.

And perched about it were many different birds- each singing to it as if it were their own.

 

 

So I climbed up through the branches to the very top and looking into the nest saw that it was Wisdom's very own. Yet with a close scrutiny, saw that the nest was empty. And at that very moment- all the birds grew silent and turned to me to see if I too would start to sing.

But I only laughed (amidst my tears) and said: "My friends, here is a nest each of you calls his own .... but lo... it is empty."

 

So, I climbed down from Wisdom's high nest... and as I did... saw in the distance what seemed to be a large lake nestled in the mountains- sparkling like an Emerald, iridescent and blue.

"There ! I said to the silent birds... are the living waters of Man's joy where his children may rise upon the wings of promise". So into the mountains I went.

One evening I stopped to lie beside a fallen tree where a thick pillow of grass had grown. And as I fell asleep, I saw the last fingers of the sun touch a gleam of silver and gold deep in the twilight woods.

So I rose quietly and walked from tree to tree- afraid perhaps of what I might see. But there in the woods was a Temple hewn of cedar and oak, in-layed with precious jewel- silver and gold.

When I walked to the archway, a woman suddenly appeared - young and lovely - with eyes of fire and lips like red ripe plums.

 

And her smile made my heart jump like a caged bird.

But I looked from her to the temple when whence she came and asked: " Lady Religion, most Promised child of thought, I have come in search of the Great Dream - the Dream that fills the sails of travelers and builds in Eternity a destiny for all. "

And she stood silent. And with eyes so ever soft and deep said: "Here is the beginning- and the end of your Great Dream... and the beginning again... so come with me oh wayward one".

AND I DID.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Father,

I have remembered this work of yours that you once shared with me when I was a young traveler- just setting out into the world. For reasons unbeknown to me, I withdrew this scroll for the last 45 years- perhaps for posterity's sake. Yet, the message you spoke to me 'upon the winds' is as real today as when first spoken.

The seasons have now passed full circle and those matters of the Spirit and Soul move like the constellations. But those original words spoken in the 'similitude of a dream' are in everything that I hear and see... on the lips of poets, minstrels, saints and theo-logicans - like the words given to me such a season ago.

Only now have I come to understand what visage the words reveal.

Half the book was lost and half remains... in the vision there was such that I could not write- only walk and see.

Yet all these years, I could remember and recall the spoken passage from Reason that was written upon my mind- but not in my memory no- in some aura that I would look inside for. But all those things nevertheless have come to pass as revealed to me in the dream- almost to the letter- especially the words from the woman of most Ancient of Days.

That portion of the of the book was like holding burning coals in my hand and at that time mine were not seasoned enough to retain them in writing but I can remember the energy of the field.

Your book has instructed me upon two horizons: that of Angels and that of Spirits.

 

You remember the days of the medicine men and the desert of Mexico where I returned from and the world here was like a painting from Van Gogh's starry night... and how nature simply became a willing subject to the ruling mood. The sands of the desert stretched like dust and dirvishes into the night sky

bidding all who had ventured to come.... but I only waited.

 

Spirits I found are of two kinds- those from Heaven and those from Hell. Angels are of a different Nature and Place. We know that Ontology is the recapitulation of Phylogeny- as Paul of the Testimony said: the 1st Adam is a Natural Man and the 2nd Adam is the Spiritual Man.

Like one of your saints who by genre is a good spirit. Saints deal with the problems of the world while Angels deal with the solutions- like St. George slaying the Dragon.

But what and where are the Dragons today?

I know of two personal Dragons in thinking and they are (1) 'You cannot take it with you. (2) 'We come into this world alone and leave it alone'. The 1st Dragon is false because we know that every good thing that you store in Love and Wisdom is never lost.

 

The second Dragon that we "leave the world alone" is the most revealing for it deals with the substance and nature of Angels.

 

Look at any animal or human being and what do you see?

That which Plato described : 2 halves combined into 1 whole.

Two eyes and ears. Two arms and legs. Two lungs and heart and two brains joined by the medulla and the corpus colloseum. Any higher animal is just that- half his father and half his mother joined

together.

As that vessel is brought and joined together, the Spirit - like wine- pours in upon it. Like Jacobs ladder, the staircase we know from science called chromosomes join the winding ribbons of DNA all the way to Heaven- through the Spirit... like water made wine.

It is the same principle by which Angels are born.

I know this now after these fourty years because the scroll was given to me by an Angel called 'Reason' and this book that I have is on that account. All the pages were 'spoken' into my mind. The journey that I 'saw' was the prelude to the life that I lived.

Now I have arrived at the 4th quarter and the last plays of the game and all the good within the walk has come to pass... but also the Omen which is frightening now ... as then.

Thankfully you gave me Pope John Paul II as my personal guide and the ability to see through the mists of Time without the clouds.

That added 'Grace' was given to me (unknowingly) in Dallas when my Dad took me to sit for an hour and listen to him talk to the Greek Archbishop.

 

After a few weeks, I had the 'inspiration' to go to Greece and follow the trail of one of my mentors Arnold Toynbee- the historian who sailed an old yacht across the Pontus to follow the course of Odysseus before he ventured to write about Greek history.

Well, to make a long story short- I got a letter (in Greek) from Father Bithos attesting to my supposed (who really knows!) good character to whom it may concern and set off to the Islands. Well,

I found a reasonable boat in Corfu but didn't find the work that I needed to sustain myself for the year of travel- so I just bought an Italian Vespa and spent the summer there.

Now, how it concerns Pope John Paul II and the introduction to him in N.Z. a few year later is that I had rode the bike up to Pristina, Bosnia but the snows were un-plowed in the spring. So I got involved playing pool with the Russians at the officers corps - because I could beat them at pool- being an ol' (young) pool player from Old East Dallas where half the soldiers who fought in WWII drank beer and played pool on sawdust floors.

So there I was stranded in Pristina. Little did I know down the road aways they had planned an assasination attempt in Rome.

In the government hotel where I stayed with lots of KGB types they had TV programming that was preparing the public for the assasination with really derogatory comic scripts about John Paul.

Well... naturally, being from Texas I told them what I thought of it... and they ran me out of the country. No, it was not the pool games.

Kindly enough, the Orthodox helped me with a special jacket they had for the football team. We went to the school and they got it out of the box. It was a white nylon windbreaker with the word:

NORTON written on the back.

That was a political coin if you know what I mean. So I put all my other clothes on and socks on my hands and drove and pushed my Vespa over the pass through the snow.

I say this just to give some backgound for the spiritual affinity the act of 'defense' (or defiance) gave me for standing up for the Pope.

So that was the intro of how I met Pope John Paul II in Christchurch N.Z. in November (23-24th) in 1986.

It all began when I had gone to search for gold in the deserts of Australia with my new degree in Geology and my rock hammer. But the land was more vast than my imagination so I bought an old truck and my lady friend in Sydney gave me a boxer puppy for my companion and I set out north to Darwin.

Then straight down to Alice Springs to a place beneath and named after the Southern Cross. I had heard of it before and wanted to know the significance of that particular window in the constellations.

But my mind was still numb from the enchantment or spell put on my traveling through the Aboriginal lands that I lost track of time or distance.

 

I stopped my truck at the crossroads and got out to look at the sky where the Southern Cross is ... but it was so dark that I held my hand in front of my face and could not see my fingers. At that moment a great meteor fell across the sky to the West., so without any delay I just followed the meteor.

Driving, I remembered Somerset Maugham who said that Money is like a 6th sense... without which you cannot make a complete use of the other 5 senses.

This is the way it is with the Dreamtime. Without it the literal interpretation of life is nothing more than mechanics. There were aboriginals I communicated with because I spent a month enrolling at the University of Sydney in the Masters program in Anthropology and studied the Master's thesis works of the original pioneers who interacted with the peoples of the Arnheim Land when they were regular occupants of the outback. Today, well it was just stopping at every roadhouse along the way to chat with the peoples, and there are quite a few on a 6 thousand mile journey.

Distance of course is an 'apparent' reality. But strangely at the time Scientific American (American Physical Society) at the time helped out with a little clue to the 'appearance' of distance.

They said communication between higher forms of animals is conducted by 'throwing' superstrings. And these superstrings are a physical phenomena from energy in the mind- yet still physical properties as the study goes. So the challenge is how to separate Light from Darkness in the mind.

 

 

I remembered this when Dundee got his Bowie knife and talked to his friends with a 'telephone' on a string. In the similitude of the Dreamtime, I realized that this type of inter-spacial communication was possible because of two things: 1st. Vacancy. That is to say... the quietest place on mother earth. 2nd. No ill-will. A rare facimile........ but true because noise interfers with the vibration of superstrings and creates disharmony. Something that even Pythagoras on Samos said and warned his Greeks about the disharmony that was being generated by the incursions of the Mongol hords of horsemen into Lydia that introduced Medea/Persia.

Aboriginals were able to talk 'over the mountains' because they had no ill-will to one another. Why is a subject matter important?

 

Forget the esoteric- let's stay with physics.

 

Dennis Conners was in Fremantle poised to recover the America's Cup from the Kookaburans from N.Z. who had won it from the Auzzies. I worked and watched from the bar because they were too far off the coast to see.

After the race, I left Perth and drove across Australia- back to Sydney and sold my truck and got a flight to Wellington. I had a ticket that was good for anywhere and Wellington on the South Island seemed like a good direction.

 

The entire journey was something like a dream because the way across Australia following the meteor was rife with the Great Dreamtime causing me to throw my Stone-made bowie knife (made in Dallas by the best) into a lake outside of Perth. This was the origin of Crocodile Dundee (he picked up the Bowie knife). But that is a subject for another story.

I arrived at Christchurch in the last week of November '86 and ventured into a museum where three terracotta soldiers were on display from the first Chinese emperor. But the lady talking about the three soldiers who had been recessed in a cavity below the floor was psychic so I had to walk out.

When I did, I saw a lovely lady standing across the street. So I walked to her and asked if she was American. She only replied with: "Are you here to see the Pope?"

I answered with, "Not really, is he in town?" I really did not know if she was joking. But it turned out that she was the personal secretary to the senator from Alexandria, Virginia and quite serious and quite Protestant.

So, I said: "yes where would we find him"? And she said 'follow me'... and I did.

Now there in Christchurch, south of the city about one mile is a little Catholic church out in the country beneath green hills where sheep dot like snow.

 

John Paul II has spoken to a crowd there the day or so before and was waiting to cross over to Australia and then to Perth and South Africa. We walked the mile and arrived about half past noon to discover the small soccer field was empty. All that was there was a small stage two feet off the ground painted black, which looked like it had been put together with 4-sheets of plywood. So, we just sat down in front of it, propped our feet up and enjoyed the warm South Seas air and sky.

I had no idea if any of this was real. But it didn't matter, she was very educated about Catholics and told me all about them. And sure enough after a while they began to arrive. We took up our position a few feet away from the stage. And they came with picnic baskets and table cloths- a few hundred a most.

As I understand, John Paul was taking an unofficial break from public shows to great crowds and making a visit to a little church in the countryside.

So there we sat. And here he came in a black Mercedes with a fellow priest (Bishop of Christchurch no doubt) and their driver. A funny thing happened. The driver was a look-alike of sorts and walked out on the stage like PJP and thrust his chest out challenging anyone. But all were quiet and PJP took the center stage. He talked. I can't remember what he said. I can't remember if there was even a micphone- I think not.

 

It was all such an existential event, kinda unreal. We could have reached out and touched his robe since the stage was only 2ft high (but we didn't). We just listened to an enjoyable homily until the real existential event happened.

She and I saw it first- because Catholics are like the sheep on the hills who see nothing. It came from the other direction. At the bay on the coast is a large volcanic cone. A row of small black clouds came one by one towards us. In formation, they reminded me of pictures of the Black Ships that plied the Pacific collecting gold from South America and trade in Japan.

Across a clear blue summer sky they came- one by one. Eventually PJP looked in the distance and the people sitting in the grass now turned too. When the first little cloud in this loco-motion drew overhead a literal flood fell from the sky. It was like sitting on the grass and someone pouring a large bucket of water on you.

The driver ran to the car and brought a large black umbrella for the three of them. PJP didn't move. And neither did we (my Protestant friend would never have allowed it anyway).

Up to this point I had been raised in most all the denominations as a Sunday church-goer like William James in the Variety of Religious Experience. But, my father raised me on Greek and Latin.

The next event of memorabilia was recovering from water gushing from the sky and sitting in several inches of water in no time.

 

And then looking around to see that every single person had disappeared. There has only been a grass path to the church from the country road and no cars were in sight and every single person was gone. That was extraordinarily strange. So there we sat the Protestant and the Greek (sorta) looking at the Pope and the Bishop.

At first we were just experiencing the event. It was summer. The rain was not cold. There was no wind blowing. It was just a symbolic baptism from the sky. We were in jeans and T-shirts and sandals- so what?

Then we began to focus on the man. Studying his eyes and composure. What was he thinking? He had no judgement or opinions before him. He was just looking intently at us. What we were thinking and doing as we sat there patiently in the torrent at his feet.

Then the thought came to me... perhaps they were standing there in the rain under the large umbrella because we had not walked off.

So I turned to my host and said, "perhaps it would look better if we did not outlast the Pope?" And she said yes. So we got up and without any adeau took our eyes from him and just walked away.

I never saw her again. She was a politician. I just continued my flight over the Antarctic to Buenas Aires. The Pope was going one way and I was going another.

 

But strangely our paths would meet again- but not directly. It all goes back to the Great Dream... and the DreamTime... and a witness to hope in the Promise of joy.

Something happened on the way to Perth after the meteor fell over the Southern Cross. I had picked up to roadhouse hitch-hikers entering Western Australia. There was about 8 hours of night driving to reach the coast.

What happened was my Bowie knife had slide from under my seat to the floor behind where the worst of the other was sitting. And the idea came to him to kill me and take the truck et al.

Normally, I would have discerned the danger from the conversation going between the two and found a good place in one of the towns to stop and eject them.

I think of an outback story of an American named Carolyn Myss who is a medical intuitive telling the story of being trapped in a riot in Watts with gangs turning over cars... but when they got to her car... they just looked and her and her friend and passed it over.

Edgar Allen Poe made a poor analogy, but it is like the Spirit comes and makes a choice over us- Judgment or Salvation.

Judgment does not necessarily mean you are bad. It means that an Angel is doing the picking and calling back- not a random at of Mother Nature.

Near death experiences are a special phenomena. Not re-living you life like now. No. It is like Angels and Spirits crossing a common ground where the Soul looks in their mirror and sees them.. or itself. So, like it or not, in this situation you die. But, like the cat with nine lives you continue on. A near-death experience extended over a period of time is not a joke. At least not when you wake up to the reality of it.

That is what happened a week later when I was working in Fremantle watching the games. I recalled the event of carrying these killers to dark street in Perth and finally delivering them to their destination.. when Mr. Hyde- the one in the back who had held on my Bowie knife all the time trying to talk his Dr. Jeckle into murder got out and they both just looked at me in amazement.. and walked away in the darkness.

Those events do matter. Even if for no other reason than to help Crocodile Dundee make a movie by donating a famous Bowie knife from Texas. Strangely after Australia making that movie about the famous Bowie knife... 20 years later they made a movie that told the rest of the story named 'Almost an Angel'. And Dundee tells the story of what actually happened in the 'dream-time'. Very interesting the interaction of flesh becoming spirit and spirit becoming flesh.

This segment of the long journey relates to the actual Born-Again experience back in 1969 going on a 'walkabout' in the spirit to meet Reason in the flesh. And the ensuing conversations heard between the Old Hermit and the Mountain Stream.... which when like this:

Suddenly,..... I saw a Hermit sitting with a mountain stream

and each were laughing and reminiscing about the distance

and nature of their journeys. The Hermit began saying to the stream:

"I am like these proud pines- bent by the wind

... a sword tempered by time...

... wisdom is my voice...

... and experience my song..."

And the stream was chuckling all the while till it said"

"Too wise Hermet, I saw you in your youth

and you were wiser then than now.

You flew about the valleys like a lark

filling the skies with song and laughter.

Now you old lion-heated goat

You climb to these peaks and fill the valleys

with your grumbling roars- solitude you call

Your best friend and loneliness your best art."

And the Hermit replied: "Indeed you know me well my little friend, but I came into the mountains long ago

to find a wider vision of the valleys below.

Climbing to the highest peaks to find them

blushing behind multi-colored gowns.

And when we were distant, I learned to love them best.

Yes, I left the gentle joys of children- whose voices

scurry through wistful breezes,

To breathe the deep strong breath of knurled pines

and hear their voices rasp through jagged

teeth of granite..

Here my heart rants and raves with their storms

and I become a seaman- lost in their fury.

Yet, once I fell asleep in the Great Timepiece

and moments of time and place fell layer by layer

like geologic strata- burying me beneath their

historic superimpositions... till a gong struck noon, and I

awoke from their dream.. and fled from the great timepiece

back into life.

The life where I weighed too many philosophers in the scales

only to find them to be like so many different clocks, each

set to motion by their own ticking... counting their thoughts

in each passing moment- weighing each carefully to discern

the time of day.

But now- they have all stopped...and hang suspended

on threads of frozen expression.

 

 

And I had walked through literature like a jailer

laden with a heavy ring of keys.. stopping to wind each clock

hoping to find the right time... but all I found was an orchestra

of inconsistent meter. But I like the sound of clocks ticking away-

they pace along with such an indomitable spirit... until

their springs unwind. So yes, little stream- these mountains are my Ark, where angry waves dash against the sides.

Yet I sail on... through unknown skies

and across uncharted seas.

But.... the rivers are my beloved friends

who eagerly run to these mountain tops-

those artists of patient gesture who slowly sculpt

by the will of the stone.

And when summer marches up these hills- proud and daring,

they cast their lines into the sea and bring the Ark to bay."

"Fear and deathe are my aging gods, may they fall to the earth and their bones rest in peace.

May their marrow be a delight to earthworms

and their flesh given to catepillars

drying into many colored wings-

filling the sky with aimless wonder, fluttering

wildly in azure ecstasy - intoxicated with the song

and laughter of freedome.

Old and weary are these gods of feare and deathe

May their souls burn eternally in the hearts of man

A fire for his passions and a forge for his dreams. "

 

Yes, it all is part and partial to the Great Dream and when in Australia- the Dreamtime. I would never have chosen the path and the timing from Fremantle to Christchurch to arrive the day PJP happened to take a cruise with his buddy to a little country church with a yard-full of people... if it had not been in the Dreamtime.

Moreover... the memory of having lost a cat's life did not go after meeting the Pope. No, I was on a mission to South America to find a healer. And after a stint with good Gauchos in Argentina, I finally made my way up to Bolivia.

There, finally I found the host I was looking for - a young man whose father was the village sorcerer. I would say 'Shaman' but most people do not know that a Sorcerer is like unto White Magic and a (Mongol) Shaman is like unto Black Magic.

So I went home and stayed the night with the family and had dinner and great conversation and the next day the curse of the Outback had been removed.

I was happy and back to normal and even ventured to Ascuncion- the capital of Paraguay where the President (General Strossner) had one met my dad and grandfather on a Pullman train across Ohio and said come visit some time.

So I did. At least made it down Embassy row to the old hotel where they ran the goverment from called the Colorado Party Hdqts. and walked in and asked if the President was in. He wasn't. But his Colonel bought me a drink at the front bar.

Contrast is always important. I flew up to McGill University out of Ontario and stayed and studied with some very interesting people to learn about who the original Americans were (Europeans- not Mongolians) but the paintings of the first "Indians". Then a long bus trip across Canada to British Columbia allowed the entire 'round the world trip' to settle in.

Connecting the dots is important. It is like a Rosary of beads.. and each event is a bead on the strandline.

The challenge is to interpret events as a medicine man would the beads like a toss of turtle shells but still all intact. I was able to do this in B.C. But not then. It was a few years later in Vancouver when I was invited to "How to Save the Oceans and the Seas" by Senator Dan Swecker co-chair of the salmon recovery effort. And my friend Dr. Kenneth Chew director of fisheries at UW.

Now, to undertand what I am going to say, you have to think of 'Spirit' in a scientific sense like Jet Stream. Or the high latitude air currents that control a good measure of our climate.

Strangely, the person in charge of the assembly of 1,000 top marine scientists and fisheries persons was from Ontario because the Canadians were concerned about their Atlantic fisheries too. The conference cost $500 for those 2 days and I elected to work instead of paying so they gave me the microphone to carry across the audience until noon the second day when all questions had been taken.

Then they asked, "Does anyone have a LAST comment?" I am standing at the base of the stage where a dozen of top speakers sat looking out at the audience holding the microphone. Then I spoke up and said, "Yes, I do." Crowley who had hired me knew I was a trout farmer and knew the subject matter. But no-one else did- they thought I was just another coffee-server.

But they were not shocked by what I said- I was.

 

 

You see.. "out of the night a voice said to me" - say something.

What? I asked the voice? I don't have anything to say to these scientists. "Sure you do, say something", the voice repeated. Now at this time I was really sweating and my knees beginning to shake a little. It was like one of those near-death experiences- I was afraid of the Judgement and not trusting in the Salvation.

So, I said OK and walked out upon the water. (The memory of the Christchurch flood with PJP would come to me later). I forgot what I talked about... Jules Verne, Archimedes (give me a lever and I will move the world.... etc...). But it was success and everyone got it and laughed and applauded.

It was later that I would realize the significance of following the 'Voice' and walking on water when told (or invited to). In fact, this was the beginning of the Michelangelo Code which would be a corrolary to the DaVinci Code that I would speak of for 10 years at my Toastmaster International Club until finally carrying it (after state competitions) to Gredos, Spain at EnglishTown University school of TESL and delivering it complete.

What was it? I didn't know. I was only guessing. I had to think back to Christchurch and then to Pristina, Bosnia. Then I had to make the same-day correlation with them to the same-day correlation to November 23rd (23 years before) when I had the experience of being a kid in Dallas and running down Commerce St to get ahead of the Kennedy motorcade and going up the steps of the Old Sandstone courthouse across from the Book Depository building to ask the Judge if I could sit on the wide window ledge to watch the president drive by. Naturally in the Dreamtime- they have a correlation. But what was it?

Remember we started with Carlos Castaneda with the Separate Reality and his insight into what he called the Second Attention.

Think of it like navigating through the Super Strings which are physical reality but not known to the senses quite exactly. It wasn't until I found the 'Key' to his 'message' - the message of the meeting and the 'flood' in NZ, that I began to put the meanings together. The Key was his book: The Poetry of Pope John Paul, Roman Triptych Meditations. I always liked the 'Triptych' notation.

But the book was more than a 'Key' , it was the door to Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.

The Meditations on the Book of Genesis at the Threshold of the Sistine Chapel got my attention. Why? Because from Geology and Anthropology in 1996 we (friends of my Geology Dept) and Jim Chatters who led the discovery of the Kennewick Man began the hunt for the First Americans. And that has everything to do with Genesis... for a nation as well as a species.

I found the books at the Bishops conference in Yakima for sale on a table- one box in Spanish and one box in English. I bought them both.

 

This began the real discovery of the Michelangelo 'Code which as the picture shows takes 'Keys' of Michelangelo's thought and organizes them in the context of 'associated' meaning. In other words, why I AM is categorically different from You Are. The hermaneutics is relatively clear once you associate the structure with the persons. This was the key to eventually solving the enigma and arriving at the Summa, with the help of Pope Benedict's insight that explained the Trinity in the Code.. and why.

Remember, this segment of the 'journey' began when my father and I visiting the Greek Archbishop which put me in Bosnia in May of 1981- my last contact with Dallas before moving to the Northwest. In the Northwest I encountered the Great Oak which actually was the giant maple tree in front of the home I bought. Strangely, I can parked under the tree one night to visit Central Washington University the next day. Sleeping in my car, I woke up and recognized it from the Great Dream vision and walked to the house where it was at and bought it. But the travels in between, I believe were all contained in the rather dire omen-talk of the old woman with hair like well-burnt ashes.

Obviously the content of the narrative later concerned the university and all that followed it in terms of Wisdom's empty nest.

 

 

But back to PJP. In his poetry, he opens the door to science and rational inquiry so Genesis is in part explained by the renditions of Michelangelo. I knew it all fit together... from Kennedy in Dallas, to John Paul in 1981. to John Paul in 1986 and finally to Archbishop Cisneros in Ecuador who had met John Paul also when he was on his return trip through South America later in 1987.

I guess the idea is the notion that 'patron saints' do exist and this book is an illustration of the idea.

The Michelangelo Code was shared as a competition speech that I wove in with the 10,000 yo Kennewick Man study/adventure. A very old term from long ago would be "Sacred Science". Not just information formatting but what Lamark said about evolution as the corollary to Darwin. Lamark said that 'thinking' can make it so (adaptation). Along the way, I added a teaching doc from University of Seattle in TESL which opened another door to travel and study.

This ultimately got the ball rolling towards the Catholic Church and solving the Michelangelo Code with the Summa of the Trinity.

I must refer back to the importance of "walking on water" in Vancouver. Doing that really put me out there- into what Carlos Castaneda (in Mexico) would have called joining the Death Defiers in the Second Attention. Those were the ancient Toltecs he was in cahoots with as the sorcerer's apprentice.

So a Mexican who was president of Toastmasters in Spain invited me to teach a session in Gredos. This served two purposes. First, I could really put the Michelangelo Code together for a university group that had direct cultural contact with the Sistine Chapel and I could go to Rome and tell John Paul he should not be forced to hobble out in front of crowds when he was so old. Besides, I wanted to ask if he still remembered the Fatima event in N.Z. That is what I called it... because of the miracle of the rain and clouds.

So I did. I made the prop-picture and wrote the Code speech and gave it. There were a few nuances added like the history of Amerigo Vespucci (co-named America) being taught his astrology/astronomy by the Michelangelo family in Florence and how that translated into the thinking of Christopher Columbus.

But it was a great success.

Most interesting was the patron saint connection with PJP. I had a contact in Venezuela (a lady) and was thinking of bringing Toastmasters International speaking clubs to her country. As I was thinking of leaving Spain for Rome... the voice (PJP related) said No.

Go to Caracas on ash Wednesday to St. Peters there. OK. So, I did.

And she was there (who I married the next month) exactly as it was specified in the "going to Caracas".

Unfortunately, she was not Christian or Catholic and was a TV Pranic healer in the arts of Arevuda. So, I did not make any progress towards the direction of solving the Michelangelo Code.. which it turns out was my Great Commisssion. But it was part of the course and very interesting learning about the people of Venezuela... and a lot of fun.

But the Commission was what had the greatest import. And like a train on an invisible track... it was go on.

Remember our thesis is that the Great Dream- the Dream of Promised Joy was in many ways like a fortune telling. Although it wasn't, it did have an application. My grandmother was an advanced Mason and a Christian Science educator who lived one hundred years without delay. I spent a good part of my youth with her and attended a lot of groups from the 1800's (she was born in 1882) who spoke of spiritual agencies. So, it was true to course that one of my high school era groups was ARE, the research association for enlightenment from Edgar Cayce. And most of the related people were Rosicrucians. The groups that met were actually very well educated people- even though they could and would on occasion tell fortunes.

I suppose it is all connected somehow. Especially in the context of Castaneda's sorcery. But, I had elected to turn from all that cosmology in 1969 after that year in Mexico living in the desert with an Indian family atttending the University of de Las Americas in Cholula, Puebla. I reached a point that I did not want to go further into the esoteric experience.

So you may ask what the difference is? Well, that is a good question. For most of a year I spent living in my fathers little garage apt- something like Thoreau's Walden Pond. I had amassed a group of books that I read in the genre of Edgar Cayce doing a seance. For instance I would study in a mediation the History of the English Speaking People by Winston Churchill. And study and read until I would make spiritual contact with Winston. At that point, I would mark the book and close it and put in on the table. Then I would go to the next book and do the same. It was all the poets and philosophers and historians of sort to get to know kinda.

I heard one of my educators Tommy Robbins say he did the same thing.. but, I had never heard of it done before.

Consequently, I think it was a case of physical chemistry- calling all those people into a 'presence'. The critical mass was reached on that wild Autumn night when the dead leaves were falling thick and the winds began to sing the dirge of the dying year. What actually happened now that I remember it, was that Autumn passed across the land, not as a season- but as a Spirit. Something that the Homeric Greeks would have expected in their realm of contacts.

 

 

 

 

So when this Spirit passed, I was drawn into that personal energy field and went into the similitude of a dream and was lead into what I consider the "Born Again Experience" and took a walk with Reason through the Netherworld and out through the tunnel of re-birth. This may confuse some 'believers' today because there is not a great emphasis on certain 'first names'. But there is a reason for that which will go unsaid.

So, this journey was symbolically leaving behind all the other-world of the esoteric and moving towards what eventually would become "a Temple hewn of cedar and oak, in-layed with precious jewel- silver and gold." Which of course is the Cathedral Church.

That part of the journey in the oracle-verse phased in when I began the official march to being consecrated and baptized with the 6 months of cateceumen classes.

At the end of the session the opportunity came to be consecrated by the Bishop. I asked if this was done at every Bishops church and they said yes if there were cateceumens. Then I asked if I went to the Bishop of Rome to be consecrated, would I be. They said possibly but rather doubtful.

So, I got a letter from the top Father from Paul Tillich's neighborhood of Chicago seminary (Father Michael- my friend) and took off for the Archbishop of Ecuador in Cuenca.

 

Did I know he was a personal friend of Pope John Paul? Well, not then- but who knows such things? Duran Cisneros was also a personal friend to the Archbishop of Spokane. So I went. But the reason again like in Venezuela was of course Ariadne who weaves a golden string from her hair to lead travelers through the labrynths of life. Mine was an engagement to Miss Ecuador, the grand-daughter of President Vinueza. But life got real complicated when I got there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lucia (runner-up Miss Universe) had a Martha Stewart cooking show on Uncion TV. But the station owner who lived almost across the field (with his wife) was an Evangelical of the Baptist extraction. And they were there to pick up where the Catholic Church had left off. So, missing those finer details in the threads of gold... I spent a grand time with the presidental family at their yearly retreat on the coast.. but when it came to my secondary (or primary) purpose- to enter the Temple of Catholicism, I discovered that my host did not know the way. And her Evangelical boss was none too helpful either. So, I found myself in a quandary. The timeline was only one week away and I had to find the Archbishop (who does not live or have an office at the Cathedral) and get an introduction. And give him my letter from Father Michael. And ask if I could waltz down the center of the Cathedral and be called up to the altar and be consecrated for baptism.

As it turned out, I happened over to the Catholic Radio station with a fellow Indian from the rooming house I ended up in. And there at the station met Mary Magdaline (as I will call her). When I told her my purpose she took my hand and led me to the Archbishop's office and a tour of every interesting place in the city.

 

Including the newspaper across the street from the Cathedral. Then I discovered that the Archbishop had met with Pope John Paul II a few months after I had.. so then it all made sense!

 

 

 

The actual confirmation was also typically "out of this world". She and I and her 10yr old daughter and mother had gone to Mass that special Sunday in February. And we had sat almost at the back of the cathedral. I suppose they probably didn't really think he would do it. Of course the cathedral was packed (mostly Indians) and many in traditional costume dress. The Eucharist travels end to end... and near then end of that I hear this voice call out, "Rance DeWitt from St. Andrews of the Yakima Diocese from the United States of America come forward for consecration."

 

 

 

 

 

To be honest I wasn't expecting this and nearly looked for the door, but instead took her hand, and she took her daughter's hand and the three of us made the journey the length of the cathedral. Actually it was billed as the largest cathedral in South America.

Anyway... we approached the three levels of the altar and they two turned right along the front and walked up and knelt on my left knee (protocol- I don't know- it seemed natural) and then the Bishop called me up with a gesture of his hand.

I didn't really understand what he was saying to the people and the radio station but I do remember looking up into a solid column of gold. So, at least I knew I was in the right place.

It was a little dizzying... and when he finished the ceremony, I turned and walked to center stage but couldn't think what was next.

Suddenly Janeth and Sophia walked across the stage and took my hand and we walked down the stairs silently all the way to the end as these thousands of Indians were probably wondering what this Americano was doing with their Pocahontas.

But is was great fun. I never saw Miss Ecuador again.

So, this began my official walk with the Catholic Church with the baptism back at St. Andrews.