Friday, October 4, 2019

Meeting Solara Antara Amaa-Ra in 1993 totally blew me away! (revisited)

Some of you may have noticed the recent appearance of Solara Anani - a vast and magnificent winged being - on my Facebook Wall. Who is this irresistible starpriestess? You'd probably have to read all her books and attend a few master classes to figure that out.

Solara and I are fused in Pure Heart Love. Of that I am absolutely certain. Sometimes I feel I'm her father, Sanat Kumara. Other times, she's just a spectacular guide who triggered my own shift from the 3D-bound social ego known as "Kit Leee" to the current User ID I favor - Antares. I don't need to know what's what. I simply adore Solara.

The story below was written as a personal narrative of a multidimensional pilgrimage called Star-Borne Reunion #8 - at an off-season ski-resort in Falls Creek, Victoria (a few hours north of Melbourne, Australia) sometime in March 1993. It was never given much publicity or promotion because there are already people out there who call me "woolly-headed." Not that I give a shit what I'm called. These are some of my shamanic initiations that I feel like sharing with you. It's as simple as that...

'Antarion Conversion' by Antares
A True Love Story

Antares Numi*0n
Magick River
44000 Kuala Kubu Bharu
Dearest One:

Please don't be disappointed that this is a general bulletin and not a personal letter. Ten days ago I returned from the greatest adventure - and the most important initiation - in my experience so far (so fa mi re do?): there's much to tell and many to touch feelers with and it seems the only way is to try and put it all down in words and trust that the profound joy and delicious sense of perfection I feel will be magically transmitted to you.

The alternative would be to remain in blissful Silence for another Eternity... but let's keep the postman in work. And now I take a very deep breath (I hope you're comfortable and totally relaxed) and may each word that issues forth be impregnated with the essence of True Love.

Between the 13th and 21st March I attended STAR-BORNE REUNION #8 at Falls Creek (a ski resort in Victoria, Australia) and was completely reintegrated. It was a close encounter with beings from a dazzling diversity of worlds - and yet there was an instant recognition and remembrance of our total unity of purpose; no personal biographies were exchanged but on the transpersonal level it seemed impossible that we had ever been unaware of one another's existence. Elven kings and queens, fairy-tale princesses and princes, veterans of intergalactic battles, wayward priestesses from the Temple of Isis, Atlantean technocrats and Mayan sorcerers, gnomes and whales and turtles and dolphins and used flying-saucer salesmen...

Gods and Goddesses from every pantheon sat together at breakfast; Sirians smiled at Pleiadian jokes; randy cherubs and retired dark lords, paranoid androids and conscientious coneheads, overweight angels and pandimensional tricksters, hierophants and elephants and mutant ninja Nubian nuns... we were all ONE and always had been! And of course the totally irresistible Solara was there in her full undeniable Presence: the moment I made eye contact with her I knew we had waited aeons for this meeting. At the very beginning of our long and terrifying adventure into physical form we had agreed to reconnect at the End of Time - and there she was, magnificent as ever, and here I was, and this was definitely IT!

Each day, each moment of the Reunion brought forth indescribable feelings and epiphanies. My emotional body was thoroughly cleansed by the spontaneous outpourings of joyous tears; my heart expanded like a balloon - no, like a planet - and fused ecstatically into the One Heart. Love at its purest, in its full-spectrum Totality, shone forth like the Sun of Suns, the Source of All Being. Layers of congealed experience peeled off like so much ancient snake skin and I was left shining, beaming and bouncing in the Beam. Details of what we actually did are irrelevant: the rituals were sacred, inspiring and altogether REAL. I was completely myself, absolutely relaxed, and blissed out beyond words from start to finish. Finish? But this will never end. I know for sure now how Eternity feels - and how spectacularly vast and glorious we are in our Essential Oneness.

Subjectively speaking, I was finally transmuted from a being frustrated by limitations to a Divine Limitlessness. All myths were satisfactorily resolved within me: I experienced the alchemical wedding of Isis and Osiris, Jesus and Mary, Tammuz and Inanna, Rama and Sita; the vindication of Set and Lucifer; the rejuvenation of Sanat Kumara, the Ancient of Days; the magickal birthing of the Star Child.

In seven days Goddess created the world - and in seven days the entire universe was reborn and transfigured. My molecules expanded, my chromosomes repatterned themselves, and I took my first steps on the New Road, having jumped the Abyss beyond the Doorway of the 11:11.

A few years ago I read an excerpt from José Argüelles' book, The Mayan Factor, in which he announced the arrival of an "extraterrestrial technical team" on Earth in 1992. Naturally I had been very curious and excited to see how this epochal event would unfold. On the second day of the Star-Borne Reunion at Falls Creek, I suddenly realized that the "technical team" Argüelles mentioned was right here - and that WE WERE IT! All it took was a fearless and indefatigable Messenger named Solara Antara Amaa-Ra to shake us all out of our deep sleep.

AN-NUT-TA-RA-HU! Total Surrender to our Divine Mission on Earth, the Completion of our Evolutionary Efforts, the Unification of our Polarities, the Transcendence of Duality, the Realization of a New Heaven and a New Earth, the Ushering In of the Golden Dawn in the Long-Awaited Aeon of Horus... and at last, at long and weary last, the Crystal Vision of HOME!

It's only a matter of Time; but considering that the Mayan Calendar ends on 21st December 2012 it's really NO-TIME at all. Anchored in the Template of Oneness, Giddy in the Heights of True Love, Floating on Rainbow Clouds of No-Mind, No-Problem, No-Worries, Mate... and transported by Gleaming Starspangled Trekset Magical Mystery Tour Bus, I arrived back in Melbourne on the 21st March high on Soluntra's marvelous Star Essence.

That's When The Loony Lords Of The Labyrinth Took Over

Bear in mind it was the Fall Equinox in the Wonderful Land of Oz, and the Wizard was ready for some Real Fun. I took a cab with Aku Ek Tara back to her little house in St Kilda (where I'd left the rest of my 3D baggage). As soon as we entered I sensed a powerful magnetic field of despair and isolation: it was emanating from Aku's nomadic house guest, a Swiss visionary painter, musician and mystic named Christian Camenzind. Aku announced that she needed some head space and disappeared into her room. I made tea and had it in the garden with Christian, who began to unburden his soul to me. After a while it dawned on me that I was face-to-face with the Phantom of the Unfinished Opera of Duality. Christian had taken on my own former experience of Unrequited Love and Tragic Romance - which was the meaning of my earlier name "Tamaares" and on the last day of the Falls Creek Reunion I had edited out that name, having played out the painful cycle of separation and loneliness that has been the lot of all passionate lovers during the Time of Duality.

Christian finally let me in on a "secret": he was actually St Germain. Well, he could have been Count Dracula for all I cared. I felt compelled to try and heal him, to fill the vacuum in his heart; and so we went out and had a Chinese meal together. Afterwards we walked along the esplanade and sat for a long time in silence under the Sentinel Palms near Luna Park. A couple of new stars appeared in the clear sky; there was a tangible atmosphere of transformation, of the swirling together of realities, all the kingdoms were alive and alert to the impending change of Evolutionary Spirals. Inexplicably I knew the Antarion Conversion would activate for me on the 22nd March - and it was now nearly 11 p.m. on the 21st.

A shadowy figure staggered out of the darkness and approached us. It was a battered-looking slip of a girl who seemed to me a Starchild that had crashlanded. She had just been punched in the face and blood was drying on her nose. I offered her my place on the bench and asked what had happened. She said she was in agony from heroin withdrawal. She needed money to score a fix, just for the night, because she was going to undergo rehab the next day. Her name was Michelle, she was 15 years old, and she was willing to offer her sexual services in exchange for some cash. I told her to calm down and I'd try and help. "I don't need love," she said, "all I need is money."

I looked into her eyes and said: "You need both money and love." She planted a kiss on my lips and started telling us she was a good person, but someone had stolen her crystal and now she couldn't believe in anything. She needed $50 she said. I checked my wallet and found $30 in it. "All right, you can have this, Michelle." Christian took out $20 from his wallet and added it to my donation. Michelle shivered and nearly burst into tears: "I don't believe there are people like you! This isn't happening!" she sobbed. Then she wrote her phone number on a piece of card and thrust it at me, beseeching me to call her the next day, because she really wanted to be my friend. "Well, tell your friends you met a couple of angels." Michelle hugged us both and disappeared towards the sleazy part of St Kilda.

I asked Christian to follow me through the Antarion Conversion, and we walked briskly to a lighted pavilion in the middle of a park where we found two parallel benches. Nearby a group of pilgrims was gathered: they looked like Jehovah's Witnesses, and possums were running about, very much alive. At 11:11 p.m. I felt a change of frequencies in the night sounds and thought for a moment that the pavilion was a concealed time machine or maybe a flying saucer! We sat in silence for what might have been 11 minutes and then I felt the urge to walk out of the pavilion in the opposite direction. Reality felt different. Christian came slowly towards me and stared at me for a long time. Then he smiled and said: "Ankhenaton... you are Ankhenaton." I returned his smile and nodded. "That was another story a long time ago."

I led Christian towards the sea. It was the fulfillment of every promise. Quetzalcoatl stood on the ramparts and surveyed the gentle surf; he went to the water's edge and addressed the elements; bade farewell to the past and greeted the future on this brand-new midnight before the Golden Dawn. A streetlight flashed on and off, keeping pace with Christian's internal struggle between doubt and certainty. "Hello, Iaoh!" I said, smiling at the thought that good old Metatron was such a wonderful pinion holding all the realities aligned (Metatron had attended Star-Borne Reunion #8 disguised as a comical character named Iaoh). Christian wanted to head back to Aku's and so I obliged, though I really felt like swapping stories with every stone and every bush and every tree and lamppost and garbage bin in sight.

Everything spoke to me, every atom, every molecule sang its remembrance of the Source. I wanted to dance forever through the streets of paradise. But I let Christian lead me back to the confines of 42 Fawkner Street, where he showed me his visionary paintings. They were brilliant, truly inspired works, but they belonged in a different universe: nothing connected in Christian's images, all forms existed in a perpetual limbo, devoid of continuity; I recognized him as a messiah of Oblivion, of hedawa, of the Pause between Creations. Then he showed me a bracelet he had bought recently: it was the Zuni map of the Universe and it corresponded with the shape of the Starburst on the Star-Borne Unlimited logo - instead of a Central Sun it featured an abstract face in blue and brown with eight turquoise feathers radiating from each side. I knew by this sign that Christian was himself a Manu - an Adamic manifestation - but of which Cycle? This one, the next, or the one beyond? Was I being shown an Alternate Universe, a parallel reality? Was this a vision of an Antimatter Probability? I was spaced out (and in) enough already and bade Christian sweet rest.

I felt wide awake. Glancing at the blanket on my bed I realized that the colorful ethnic patterns on the printed fabric made perfect sense: they were in fact the hieroglyphic chronicle of the evolution of Consciousness through all the dimensions! So this is the Fabric of Oneness, I thought... and it shall be keeping me warm! Everything made perfect sense, everything was perfect and had always been so. Mistakes did not really exist as such - but were programmed into our histories to produce the necessary aberrations leading to complexity - and the eternal possibility of regeneration and spontaneous creation. How could I sleep? I found myself traveling at the speed of thought through the strands of my DNA, as all genetic memories became accessible. The Mystery of Being revealed herself to me and I relived the First Moment of Creation. The Aeon Sophia smiled and quivered and gave birth to me and the Male Principle wriggled into being in all its serpentine virility. The Adventure of Immaculate Conception, starring the Original Cosmic Sperm!

A wise woman and healer living in Chelsea had presented me with a seven sided quartz crystal the day before I left for Falls Creek. She said it was given to her - but she knew it wasn't meant for her and when she saw me, she suddenly felt compelled to pass it on. A tiny equilateral triangle marked one facet of the quartz - and I knew it was the key to the crystal's teachings. Now I held the mineral being in my hands and was given the information that it had been awaiting my arrival since Hyperborean times. The Crystal... Kristos! Pleiadian memories activated. The Tribe of Benjamin, expelled from Palestine, had resettled in Greece, in Arcadia, sometimes called Elysium. One of the "lost tribes of Israel" - was I Benjamin?

Now it reconnected: all Mystery Plays and Rites of Initiation had been designed to screen candidates for divine rulership. The Perfect One was the Master Genetic Coding from which all subsequent lifeforms were generated - and through the Ages of Devolution Into Form, the Original Essence had maintained its absolute integrity by losing itself in the stormy seas of Relativity. The Creatrix was the Spirit of Innovation, activated by Total Love (not merely "Pure Love" but TOTAL LOVE!)

But what about Benjamin? Yes, the Arcadians had perpetrated the worship of Pan the All-in-One, the Everything-Out-of-Nothing - which subsequently devolved into the veneration of Priapus, symbol of Fertility and Resurrection. During the darkest phase of Kali yuga, at the height of the Patriarchal Era (which began approximately 7,200 years ago), Pan had vanished into the Unseen - become one with Mother Nature, the Goddess Gaia-Sophia, who took on the role of Scapegoat for the Fall. The Spirit of Civilization, of patriarchal control, equated the Female with Darkness and Sin, and Pan became the Devil Incarnate. Gilgamesh ruled the Cities while Enkidu roamed the Wilderness. Having contrived to kidnap Enkidu through the services of a temple prostitute, Gilgamesh developed a fear and loathing of the Goddess, blaming her for the enfeeblement of Manhood.

Duality produced the concept of the Shadow Self, the Doppelgänger, the Jekyll and Hyde Syndrome. In Palestine it resulted in the confusion of the Jewish tribes, torn between spiritual and secular polarities. The Jesus Mythos left a legacy of schizophrenia dividing Christian aspirations down the middle: Redemption or Punishment of the Wicked? Satan was set against Jesus in an adversarial role: Benjamin versus Joshua, Loki versus Thor, Cain versus Abel, and so on. Now in the Advent of Oneness, the polarities unified, the Mystery of the Ages can be revealed. We are One. The Great Beast 666, Panthera, To Mega Therion, Baphomet, Prometheus, Ahriman, Set... redeemed and honored as the Male Aspect of the Female; the Aboriginal Wisdom long suppressed by the Colonizers of the Earth.

My phallus rose from the dead like Osiris - and was reverently attended to by the priestess power in my left hand. The One Eye twinkled at me and I beheld the Holy of Holies, the vesica piscis: the Female Within the Male, the Male Within the Female, hosanna! The Hole in One.

The Whole In One!

Serpent energy coursed through Creation, through the Body of Christ, and the Aeon of Horus dawned like the blush of a Virgin. Not since 1969 had I felt so completely AWAKE, so AWARE, so ALIVE, so COMPLETE. Solara and I were fused and I could locate her in the left half of my physical being - but she was no longer Solara, she was my adventurous anima made flesh, the Isis of my Isness, the Perfect Wisdom of my cells. Happy Birthday! sang Creation - and I felt like the bubbliest one-day-old in the entire Universe.

Christian burst into the room pulsating with pain and anger. Aku had just woken up and requested that he move his gear and himself out of the house. She wanted time and space alone with her ex-lover, Mr Love, and he had trouble dealing with Christian's powerful energy field. I felt Christian's distress like a hammer blow in the heart and tried to calm him - but he snarled spitefully at me and I felt a surge of irritation rise. Oh no, not on the first Morning of the New Reality! Not a slap in the face from the last vestiges of Duality! I offered him a tremendous hug to try and heal his heart chakra - but it was useless, or so it seemed at the time. Christian fled from the scene like Eternal Despair. It was then that I noticed the polystyrene surfboard leaning against one wall of the bedroom. "Ah, surf's up!" I remembered the advice we'd all been given at the end of the Reunion: Go out there and Ride That Surf! Okay, I shall... but where's my magick crystal!? Gone... surely Christian wouldn't ... no, no suspicious thoughts, no unkind feelings! The other possibility was that the crystal had gone through the Doorway back into the Unseen... or maybe I was now the Crystal?

Into my shoulder bag went my flutes, the Essence of Betelgeuse, Canes Venatici and Vega, Solara's 11:11 book - and a rock I'd picked up from Falls Creek. I floated around St Kilda, relishing the vastness of my new expanded starry body. I stopped at a bookshop and rejoiced at the greater truths now available to all who can read.

Antarion Conversion symbols appeared everywhere: on manhole covers, on the sides of old buildings, on sidewalks. The Mind of God has always been expressed through the works of Man - but remains invisible until one is awake! The 11:11 was everywhere I looked - in the tramlines, represented by pillars, depicted by trees. I blew on my flute and wind vortices swirled, arresting seagulls in mid-flight. Faces on the street were sometimes bewildered, sometimes jubilant, sometimes sphinxlike. I met a council of ancient kings sitting in a circle in a park. One introduced himself as Montezuma. They were the reincarnations of ancient brigand chiefs and aboriginal sages. I offered them all cigarettes and told them the long wait was over.

All day long I walked and danced through Melbourne, glorying in the new freedom of my multi-dimensional being. A barefoot puck, pilgrim, Prince of Peace. I walked up to church doors and was turned away without so much as a welcome or a cup of tea. Deformities scurried along the pavement, creatures out of the fevered imagination of Hieronymus Bosch. Angels waved at me and held up the victory sign. Starbabies and children flashed joyous greetings at me, fully cognizant of my Presence. I walked through residential streets, stopping to peer through closed gates, hoping to be invited in for a drink or snack. Doors stayed fearfully shut - except where youth played. A kind stranger gave me a bottle of water: I drank deeply and the half empty bottle turned into a spirit compass, tilting merrily up each time it detected love and lightness in a passing body and dipping leadenly when confronted with the gravity of humorless, dehydrated souls. I felt like the Assessor of Souls on Judgement Day - yet wherefore judge? It was merely a game - albeit an educational game - to demonstrate the profound importance of love and laughter as the keys to the Kingdom and Queendom of Heaven on Earth.

The shirt of many colors I was wearing had been a gift from the saucer-eyed goddess Marilia: it showed the Empress, the King of Pentacles, the Knight of Swords, the Ace of Swords, the Ace of Cups, Temperance and the Fleur-de-lis amidst a field of 8-pointed stars. For those familiar with the tarot, I was the embodiment of the Hermit and the Fool, the 9 and the 0 - the perfect marriage of Wisdom and Folly!

I needed no food, only water and star essence. Essence sustained me: the essence of trees and flowers and animals and humans with a lively sense of humor. I was aware of the mineral kingdom as I had never been before - buildings were awake in a way I had hitherto never experienced. Everything acknowledged me even as I acknowledged it: electrical entities hummed in heightened consciousness; inanimate structures suddenly seemed more alive than many humans I passed in the street! The principle of the Seven was in full operation: indeed all numbers conspired towards mathematical perfection, I was the living Kaballah. I saw the Unseen in the Spaces In Between: the ghosts of yesteryear gawped at me from every window and those that recognized me were released from limbo. Sitting on a rock on a quiet street corner, I remembered the rock I was carrying in my pouch and placed it on one of the larger stones whereupon word quickly spread about the mass awakening Star-Borne had engineered at Falls Creek.

By now I had no idea where I was. I only knew I needed rest and shelter; twilight was approaching and the photon supply was swiftly decreasing. But I had no money on me and felt no desire to contact Aku Ek Tara. All I wanted was for a stranger to approach me and offer friendship or help; and the faces I saw were mostly locked in the habit of suspicion and wariness - ah, the curse of Machinetime and Survival in the Modern City! My address book was not on me, so I couldn't call Azuriel for advice; besides, I knew this was an adventure I had to see through on my own.

In the growing darkness I found myself walking along Alma Road. I needed a bath to cleanse my etheric body - but the best I could manage was to wash my feet at a standpipe below an apartment block. I was attracted to the garden next door - it felt hospitable. So I rang the doorbell.

A well-groomed man in his 50s opened the door. I asked for a glass of water and the use of his telephone. He was gracious enough to let me in but said I had to hurry because he was about to have dinner with some friends. He asked me what was happening to me and I said I wasn't quite sure; I had been reborn only a few hours ago and was finding it hard to feel at home in Melbourne. Then he asked me if I knew the names of the Magi who witnessed the birth of the Infant Christ. I said I'd recognize them if I saw them but I didn't know their names. Then he said if I were genuine I could tell him him the names of the Magi. Never mind, I said, just let me use the phone.

I managed to get through to Yvonne Bource Teoh, the healer who had given me the magick crystal. 1 told her where I was and she said to wait there and she'd drive over and pick me up. I sat under a tree and waited by the curb. Shadowy beings shuffled about in a macabre pageant of the lost and lonely. I felt like one of them. Nothing around me seemed familiar or welcoming. This was not the same reality I had stepped into this morning! I've lost my way home, I thought. I tried playing my flute; it sounded feeble. I softly sang the starry song we had learned at the Reunion: Ina kevoke, ina ke vive... At least the tune was intact but it felt remote - it didn't belong in this immediate reality, which was definitely some sort of dead-end in the labyrinth.

What happened to Oneness? I was back in Duality - and this was a lot more like Hell than Heaven. Paranoid notions crept into my mind: Christian was a Black Mentalist, a vampire! My starry essence had been siphoned away through treachery! It was with tremendous effort that I forced myself to let go of these negative fantasies. Finally a car pulled up in front of the curb. Yvonne was resplendent in her Star Commander's outfit which bore the insignia of Neptune and the Pleiades. I got into her car with tremendous relief, feeling like the minutest fragment of my being. She didn't say much, but the tape she was playing sounded like one of Christian's paintings - the ghostly sighs and grumbles of pulsars in transit. "If you don't mind, Yvonne, that music doesn't comfort me at all." She turned it off and I listened to the sound of Melbourne traffic for a while. Right then I could have used a therapeutic blast of Etherium's cosmic soul symphonies or even Matisha's peroxide angel Barry Gibberish!

Inside Out Again

Yvonne, her beautiful priestess daughter Lina, and her friend Lincoln helped me earth my attenuated fragment. I was given a hot cup of tea and some buttered toast and led into the sea where Lina and Lincoln formed a triad with me - but everything looked alien somehow, even the few visible stars. Was I in a different dimensional universe? Everything was dreamlike, vaguely ominous, and I was too tiny to understand anything. From omnipotence to total impotence within 12 hours! Could I even trust these strange beings enough to surrender myself to their ministrations? Lina's energy felt Piscean - so this was the final dissolution of my ego, I thought; this was utter humility. I had been so exultant in my earlier vastness, I had been indestructible, absolutely immortal, the perfect Manifestation of the One. Now I felt all was lost, irrevocably lost, this was Oblivion. Where was Solara? Could she locate me? Wiped out! Did Antares Numi*On still exist?

What was my name now? I didn't know, but I needed a hot shower and a quiet space to rest. Back in the house Yvonne had prepared a scented bath for me. I soaked myself for a while but felt uncleansed. I stepped into the shower and ran hot and cold water over my body. Finally I excused myself and went into the bedroom I had been shown: it was Lina's 8-year-old brother Travis's room and he was sleeping downstairs in the lounge. I switched off the light and felt a cold wind shuddering at the blinds; this was impossible! I thought I had anchored myself in the Template of Oneness - so where was this nightmare coming from? This spooky sense of psychic attack and a hostile universe? Nonetheless it was too real to ignore. I turned on the light and looked around: Travis's room was in total disarray. He had a bizarre assortment of warlike toys - killer robots and broken dolls and sad-eyed figurines all a-tumble around the room. Feverishly I began tidying his room, restoring the playful element in his collection of playthings.

Then I had an idea: I had to turn myself inside out again! I went into a series of complex yoga maneuvers designed to completely rewire my circuitry. When I'd finished I felt whole again and went back to bed. Very early in the morning I was awake and ready to continue. Lina got up and made me a cup of tea and I ate some fruit. Then I thanked her and left (Yvonne returned from taking Travis to school just as I was leaving). I felt good. The Teoh family had rescued me and somehow I felt I had returned the favor by exorcizing the spirit of sadness and incoherence I'd found in Travis’s room. But before I left Chelsea I returned to the beach and greeted the ocean, thanking her for her service through the eons and welcoming her to the New Octave. The gulls celebrated my release from the darkness of Duality.

The train ride to Spencer Street was uneventful, apart from the fact that every child who got on noticed my presence and beamed joy at me. Truly, I thought, you can't enter the Kingdom of Heaven unless you become like a child. I had no ticket for the train ride but the guard just shook his head and shrugged me past the turnstile. Outside the station I thought about how to make my way back to St Kilda. No money for the tram but enough for a phone call (I still had some coins in my wallet, I discovered).

In front of the tram stop I noticed a huge imposing building that was coming awake. I saluted it with the Annuttara-hu mudra, whereupon I felt a tug of magnetic force emanating from a fat gentleman seated nearby. I sat down beside him and recognized his essence as that of Ra: we were like father and son, the Old and the New Road sharing a cigarette and a few swigs from his bottle of beer. Then I honored him and went off to wait for the tram - but an urge to play the flute came upon me, so I sat atop the railing and blew on the instrument. A beautiful young angel came over to me and we began talking. I showed him Solara's book and he was very excited; he knew something was happening but he hadn't been clear what. We pooled our limited cash resources and shared a cup of coffee and a Coke; then I gave him instructions to contact Beylara Ra when he arrived in Adelaide (he was waiting to board a long-distance express).

Outside the bus station I passed a bookstand and saw a paperback with the crest of the CIA, the KGB and the Sword of Islam on its cover. The world of interplanetary espionage and the age-old battle for control of dear old Earth... so there were these games still raging in the Template of Duality! Winners and losers: but surely they must be aware that it was now possible to create a Win-Win Scenario?

I went into a drugstore and tried to borrow 40 cents for a phonecall but was rebuffed with a "No way, mate!" So Money was still God in some realities. But this was a necessary pilgrimage: barefoot and broke in a vast concrete desert!  I remembered my Essene training and the collective experience of all saddhus since the dawn of Kali yuga. Momentarily I forgot about trying to catch a free tram ride and wandered down another street, simply trusting to serendipity.

Serendipity made radio contact with me at 12:12 p.m. on 23rd March, 1993. It was Ra all right: he beamed in on my brainwaves like the Ra-Dio he's always been. In the Beginning was the Word, and there he was, a regular Wizard with Words, Author of Every Book Ever Published, etc. And of course - the Master of Mind Games.

Meet Thy Maker, The Mad Molecule

It was good to be online again with Perfect Intelligence. J. Edgar Hoover, high priest of the Order of Melchizedek; Robert Anton Wilson, Illuminatus Supremus; J.P. Donleavy, J.D. Salinger, Jim Joyce, former Jaycees, Rotarians, honorable fraters of the Lions Club, the Elks; 0! Grand Panjandrum of the Conundrum, and the Ultimate Grand Poobah too. A Real Joker, used to drive his wife round the bend. Kerouac, Casady, Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti, Fariña... yup and yessiree, I was one of the Boys from Brazil. Not one of your prissy poetasters, mind you! This was the Inner Sanctum of the Playwrights and Authors Guild... just leave the dialogue to us, Son.

I sat myself down on a grail-like stone in front of a high-rise office complex. Someone had given me a newspaper and I just wanted to sit down and read it, just to touch base with 3D reality. No way, José. The bloody Elohim had turned on a low-intensity laser and caught me in the Beam: all I could do was relax, trust their sense of poetic and dramatic irony, and go with the flow. Sure I could squirm my way out of the spotlight if I really wanted to; my will was still totally free. But why not have a little fun? This cosmic consciousness stuff gets too serious and airy-fairy in the hands of the priestesses. Don't get me wrong: I LOVE THE HIGH PRIESTESSHOOD! No one adores the Goddess more than I do - but bad old Nobodaddy's spirit lives in me; and since he thinks I'm a Chip off the old Block (which makes even better sense in the Age of Computers), I'm rather fond of the Old Man too. No more fussing and fighting: Male, Female, Whatever... Unify Your Polarities!

What Happened Next...

... is well nigh impossible to narrate in linear terms. It may have been a Reality Insert within a Dream (or vice versa); trying to recall the episode and record it in language seems foolhardy, but the least I can do is give it my best shot. Let's put it this way: here I was on the New Road and this was the perfect moment to introduce a New Dynamic into the Status Quo. This also felt like a test of my responsability: my ability and willingness to respond spontaneously to the dramatic requirements of a multidimensional experiment in a New Theater of Illumination. On one level I had to allow myself to behave like a perfectly designed remote-control robot, while witnessing the entire performance from a completely conscious, detached and trusting perspective. In other words, I surrendered totally to my new rôle as an Instrument of Divine Intervention.

The lunch-hour scene around me was the soundstage; technical crew had been stationed strategically nearby to ensure that nothing went amiss. Akashic cameras were ready to roll. This was the movie I'd been writing, directing and acting in since the beginning of my earthly embodiments! In charge of the production were an experienced team of walk-ins operated by the Elohim. The logistic support network was being coordinated by radio. This was holographic film magic at its best: a New Age Eleusinian Mystery in Glorious 4D sponsored by Orion, Sirius and the Pleiadian Playhouse...

Scene Three: JESUS THE JOKERMAN - BORN IN BEDLAM, REBORN IN MELBOURNE. Roll cameras. Stand by. Action! My head swiveled round and I tracked a man wearing shades and a business suit as he walked briskly across the street with his black attaché case. Two bars of "Stars & Stripes Forever" came whistling out of my mouth: the man looked at me, nodded, and grinned wryly: "Okay, you got me, that's right, folks, CIA."

A magnetic tug put me in contact with another pedestrian's frequency: a high-pitched snatch of Italian opera came sailing out of my larynx. Spot on... local Mafioso! Now I was humming "God Save The Queen" - which elicited a feeble smile from the next passer-by, MI6, I presume. Nice game, but what was it in aid of? Ah, a demonstration of a newly activated faculty: under certain conditions, a sensitive can conduct narrow-beam scans in the field to identify specific agents of patriarchal intelligence. No more cover-ups, boys. I became aware of the need to eat. The question was: could I transmute this situation into a free lunch? A group of office girls had just come out of the building across the road. They appeared to be heading towards their midday meal. I promptly hailed them and asked if they'd like to do a good deed by inviting me to lunch. They giggled and shook their heads. Oh well. Two young males were leaning against a pillar watching me; one of them was emanating hostility. Let's see if I can transmute his antagonism into altruism...

When I approached the two males, the aggressive one scowled and told me to bugger off. I quickly scanned his field and got a very low reading on his emotional resonance. This young man was in grave danger of being totally consumed by the null field that had taken possession of him: it was akin to a terminal condition, let's call it spiritual AIDS, wherein the victim's feeling center atrophies and caves in on itself, causing the constriction of emotional experience. This often leads to violent tendencies - unless discharged ritually. Maybe then the victim's empathy circuits could be cleared and reactivated.

I took off my watch and showed it to him: "Would you like to buy a watch real cheap?" I asked. The fellow sneered and waved me away. "Well, then you can have it for free, I don't need it anymore." He crossed his arms and shook his head menacingly. I offered the watch to another passerby who hurried away without a word. "That's Melbourne for you," I thought, "typically Victorian!"

The aggressive chap was saying something nasty about me (I don't remember exactly what) - so I went up to him and offered him an enormous grin. "Get away from me... fuck off!" he shrieked. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," I said, "I'm only trying to get through to you, why are you so unfriendly?" At this he snarled: "You're full of shit!" So I turned round and farted in his direction. "You're a gas," I said, bowing and letting out another one in the opposite direction, "and so am I!”

"You're a fucking basket case!" the bloke hissed - at which point I was inspired to prance elegantly onto the roof-rack of a car parked along the kerb and perform a balletic maneuver. "Hey, I'm a basket case!" I shouted gleefully. "Now let's see YOU do it!" I leapt off the roof-rack and walked back to him, smiling broadly. He let out a snort of rage and punched me in the nose, whereupon I executed a series of amazing backward rolls that took me the edge of the kerb, right against a parking meter. I felt no pain but was aware that some liquid was running down my cheek: make-up blood! Wow! How did they arrange that? I wondered. "Great stuff, Son!" I heard the Director say... sounded like Sam Peckinpah himself.

I slid slowly down the parking meter and appeared to collapse with a thud on the road. For half a minute I stopped breathing - but no one came to check if I was all right. I found myself wondering why I ever picked this town to manifest. I opened one eye and waited for some sort of response from the crowd of onlookers which had grown since the performance began. Nobody made a move to help. I sat up and looked round: "What the fuck's wrong with all of you? Don't I get some applause at least?" With a soul-weary sigh I got up off the road and dusted the seat of my pants. My watch was still in my hands, so I held it up and walked slowly towards my assailant who seemed to be quivering uncontrollably.

"Look, the offer's still good. You want this watch? It's in perfect working condition." The guy began to retreat. I held up the watch and shouted: "Ladies and gentlemen, it's now 1:11 p.m. and as far as I'm concerned... it's the End of Time! So who wants this watch? It's free!" I turned round to see where the violent onlooker had gone and saw him running away from the scene. "Oh well, here's to Eternity!" I said and hurled the watch as high in the air as I could. I didn’t wait to see where it landed because a police car had just arrived and suddenly I found myself being roughly pushed against a paddy wagon and frisked.

"Hey, hey, what's going on here? Take it easy, okay?" I said but the young policeman with Aryan blond hair and cold blue eyes kept manhandling me as if I were a dangerous criminal he'd just caught. After a while he shoved me inside the paddy wagon and rummaged through my shoulder bag. "You got any identification on you?" he asked. I shook my head.

"What's your name?" he demanded. "What's yours?" I responded, "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." He took out a notebook and pointed a warning finger at me: "Shut up and tell me your name."

Yeshua Benjamin Panthera

"How do you spell that?" he asked, pen poised against notebook. "Y-E-S-H-U-A..." The policeman wrote down each letter scrupulously. "Yeshua... is that an Indian name?"

"Nope, Aramaic," I said and continued: "Benjamin Panthera, P-A-N-T-H-E-R-A." I'd waited two thousand years for this.

"Now, you tell me yours," I said gently. The young policeman was silent for a few moments while some internal conflict raged within his soul. Finally he said grudgingly: "David."

"David. That's a good strong name," I said, studying him intently. "Tell me, David... why are you behaving like some kind of machine? Why can't you respond spontaneously, from your heart? You've got a good heart, I can see that." David's head was kind of dead - but I didn't tell him that.

"Whaddaya mean?" He frowned. I was about to elaborate when a woman came up to him and exchanged a few words with him. As she started walking away, I asked David what the woman had said. "Oh, she just gave me her name and address - in case you needed help." I looked out the paddy wagon window and waved at the woman, who nodded and continued across the street. I gave her the thumbs-up sign and said: "Well, the first helpful person I've met all day!" Another policeman came up to David and they slammed the door shut and we drove off to the Melbourne Police Headquarters. I subsequently learned that the police estimated the crowd watching my spontaneous street theater to be around 150. Funny, I never did notice the size of my audience. I would have put it at 30 or 40 people.

The Temple Invisible

I was taken into a plywood-walled room marked AUDIO RECORDING. Interestingly, the atmosphere in the police headquarters seemed very calm and neutral to me, no negative fields. Another cop named Robert came in and began asking me questions which I answered truthfully. I was aware that some sort of official record of this event was being processed. I explained why the name in my address book (strange, up to this point I had forgotten it WAS in my shoulder bag all along!) read "Tamaares Antares Numi*On" - and that "Yeshua Benjamin Panthera" had been my name 2,000 years ago and I didn't need to use it anymore. Robert's face remained impassive and business-like; however he had a very pleasant and wholesome aura.

At some point I noticed the molecules shifting in the plywood walls: it was just a subtle shimmering in the texture of the wood that could have been a subsurface stain effect. A familiar geometry became apparent: I recognized it from the pattern of teeth in a plastic comb I had picked up from the floor on the last night of the Star-Borne Reunion. I had called it the Comb of Isis and had seriously thought of showing it to Solara as it seemed to be the perfect temple form for her Island of Light. I was amazed when she gave me a goodbye hug to see her wearing exactly the same kind of comb in her hair, only it was purple, not transparent. I remember saying to Solara: "Guess I don't need to tell you anything, do I?" - whereupon she'd given me one of her mischievous all-knowing smiles. Wait... that was a slight error in recall... the purple comb hadn't actually been in Solara’s hair, it had appeared before me on a shelf just as I was thinking about showing her my Isis comb fragment! Trying to reconstruct these experiences in coherent, sequential form makes me aware how much detail has been left out - otherwise nobody could possibly read this account.

Anyway... here I was, suddenly in the Temple Invisible - superimposed on the 3D reality of the Melbourne Police Headquarters. The Elohim Council were in session (not that I could SEE any specific beings, but I could definitely sense the incredible dignity and beauty of the occasion). On one level I was being interrogated by a good-natured policeman named Robert; while on another I was being congratulated and thanked by the Highest Administrative Body in the Milky Way Galaxy! I suddenly remembered that the 11:11 Doorway WAS the link between the Visible and the Invisible... "Goodonya, Robert," I heard myself saying, "One of these days you'll be the Commissioner of Police in Victoria!"

"Thank you," Robert said, looking for a moment like a very young Gregory Peck. Stars! Can't help seeing stars everywhere! Earlier on Spencer Street I had been exposed to hologram encounters with a few of them: James Joyce (aged about 45, dapper in a tweed jacket and fancy brown shoes; he’d beamed at me and winked; I'd been overjoyed to meet him) and James Mason (another Jim, very shy, hurrying along the street with a faintly ironic grin) and then I'd been alerted to a pretty unique frequency - not exactly a "star" but he’d written a book about his encounters with the Elohim - enigmatic character named Claude Rael (who had telepathically warned me not to get too close to him, something about interference patterns or radiation).

In the next room I was aware of the presence of several telepathic entities who had been monitoring the interview. They were still scanning my brainwaves to try and figure out how all this had happened: for aeons they'd been tracking the evolution of Intelligence on Earth but had never really believed that the moment would come when a primate gene would prove more adept at self-reprogramming than the Makers themselves! I was a unique phenomenon to them: the end-product of more than 20 billion earthyears of gene-jumping between terrestrial and celestial influences. It was like Tarzan's apes suddenly taking over and telling him he wasn't really smart enough to give the orders around here. But the most significant feature was that I had been able to embody Universal Love in ways that would allow all evolutionary streams to finally integrate.

In short, the idea of the Enemy Within was no longer valid - and the path was clear for the total demilitarization of the Universe, beginning with Earth. Somewhere in another department of my awareness I knew that the dualistic melodrama being enacted in Waco, Texas, between the Branch Davidians and Uncle Sam was the completion of a story cycle that began on the plains of Kurukshetra nearly 6,000 years ago. Belief systems engaged in deadly warfare, each condemning the other as Evil...

I also knew that each individual had to experience the Ultimate Reconciliation in his-and-her own terms, since Male and Female Intelligence are complementary but not similar. For instance, females aren't particularly good at generalizing - while males have a tendency to flee from the claustrophobia of particularities. The triangulation of these vectors is achieved through Innocence, which is the union of Wisdom and Folly.

Someone in the next room transmitted a cue for me to make visual contact with them. So I stood on a chair and peeked over the plywood partition into some sort of operations room in which several policemen were busy doing their jobs. One of them waved cheerfully at me. Right, contact established beyond all possibility of error. Good work... we are the Elohim assigned to guardianship of planetary evolution; think of us as Pillars holding up the Temple. We are the active agency of the Silent Watchers and our task has ever been to serve the integrity of the One. This planet has been a difficult assignment owing to the distortion factors inherent in the geodetic fields. However, we are now in the process of realigning and restructuring our work to eliminate the possibility of perceptual contamination and aberration. Thank you for assisting us in our Mission. Over and out.

The Illuminati, the Knights of Malta, the Masonic Lodges, all Intelligence Agents and Agencies - collectively constitute the Nova Police (thanks, Bill Burroughs) which had been infiltrated and discombobulated for centuries on this planet. So this is what all the spycatcher business has been about: thanks for re-establishing the Bond, James! There was a commotion outside in the corridor and two or three high-rankihg cops walked in, grinning happily.

"So you're the one who built the Bridge for us! I just want to shake your hand." I obliged and quipped that he looked like Tom Cruise. The cop accompanying him looked a lot like Erik Estrada. "Ho, the Highway Patrol!" I thought and suddenly understood why all these movies had been coming out of Hollywood like Robocop and Terminator and Blade Runner. This is mindblowing stuff - but I stayed cool and took it all one step at a time. "Tom Cruise" or his brother grew serious and said:

"Okay, we're not going to charge you with anything, so you're free to go. But we're handing you over to a couple of community workers who are on their way over. They'll give you a ride to wherever you want to go." I left the building with Vlado and Tina and got into their car. They told me they were community health workers and that if I liked they would look in on me later that evening to see if everything was fine. They dropped me off at St Kilda and I walked the short distance back to 42 Fawkner Street.

A Trying Triad

Geoffrey Love was the first person I saw. He looks like a younger version of Michael Caine. "Are you all right? We were very worried about you," he said.

"Everything's perfectly okay," I said and headed for the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "Would you like a cup of tea, Michael?" Geoffrey winced. "Sorry... Geoffrey, my dear Mr Love?"

Aku Ek Tara was somewhere about but I was getting a strange reading from her field: it felt like acute annoyance or anger. "Are you all right?" I asked as she came up to me.

"The police have been calling me," she said. "I didn't know what was happening or what you'd done." She seemed very upset - but it didn't feel like concern, perhaps she was miffed that I had put her through such an embarrassment. I looked closely at her and immediately understood the problem. Her right brain was severely dysfunctional and the left had been implanted long ago by the dark lords (when they were still the dark lords). Then I realized that her black-framed spectacles were doing all the talking, not her! At the Reunion I had opened my eyes after undergoing a fantastically dramatic psychic surgery (performed by Solara and a team of angelic healers) only to see a pair of black-framed spectacles monitoring me. "Please take off those stupid glasses," I had whispered - but she had refused.

Aku and I had had numerous incarnational links. She had been an Assyrian king, my father; and my daughter Meritaton in 18th Dynasty Egypt. We were indeed family in the truest sense of the word. But she had also been a powerful warrior - and the target of repeated assassination attempts. I could see the extent of the psychic injuries she had sustained over many lifetimes. I knew I could heal her very easily - but first she'd have to trust me enough to remove her glasses, which were interfering with the functioning of her intuitive centers. Only when she was swimming could she feel childlike or playful - yes, she had been a dolphin too! If only she'd take off her glasses for ten or fifteen minutes, I could heal her pineal gland and then she'd be an incredibly effective clairvoyant ... a Seer trained by her mother Nefertiti in the highest tradition of the Isis Temple!

But right now all I could see was a frozen rage affecting all her thought processes. Her damaged right brain and injured womb had distorted the maternal instincts in her - and the left brain was not aligned with any organic reality. I made a move to establish physical contact with her - but was repelled by the high-pitched frequency of her voice which uttered a vehement stream of primordial curses concealed beneath a babble of mundanities. The same thing had happened to my own mother - who was incapable of aesthetic experience and therefore reduced to being completely superficial in her relationships with other humans. There was a great deal of unprocessed FEAR trapped behind those thick glasses. Fear, resentment, disappointment and complete egocentricity...

"I've made the tea," Geoffrey announced and took two cups into the tiny backyard. I sat down opposite him and locked in immediately to his brainwaves. Definitely a telepath - in fact he was in perfect resonance with me, though he favored using his logic circuits and had a deep-seated mistrust of his intuition. I spent a few moments trying to communicate with him non-verbally - but he grew uncomfortable and insisted that I spoke my thoughts aloud. "I'm tired," I said, and made a gesture with my finger to show him how much easier it was to talk mind-to-mind.

Finally I said: "It’s amazing! You look so much like Michael Caine I'm beginning to think this is a scene right out of the movie, Sleuth!" But where or who was Laurence Olivier? I certainly didn't look or feel the part. Aku - or, rather, her black-framed spectacles - came out and joined us and, instantly, Geoffrey broke his mental connection with me. There's no way I can reconstruct what happened over the next hour or two. It seemed as if the triad we now formed could have so easily been one of pure ecstatic harmony - or its complete opposite. As it turned out, the psychodynamics of the situation quickly escalated into a cartoon soap opera.

Aku assumed the role of the Heartless Queen/Wicked Stepmother; Geoffrey played the Well-Meaning Woodcutter/Ineffectual King; and I was Snow White/God Almighty in a chimpanzee suit. Trying to relate to the other two humans was exhausting; I kept having to hold onto the trees in the garden just to recharge my cells.

To summarize the verbal and non-verbal interchange: it struck me that Aku was suddenly resentful of my presence (being obsessively jealous of her head space) and was angry that I showed no remorse for getting myself "into trouble with the police" - how could I take her hospitality for granted, expect her to feed me and do the laundry, and then go around giving my money away to strangers, and so forth? I was in such an expanded state that such ridiculous pettiness made absolutely no sense to me; in fact I was amazed to find her so utterly blind to what was actually happening, and totally convinced she was no more than a faulty robot running a frustrated nag program.

Geoffrey appeared to drift in and out of comprehension: at moments he seemed absolutely aware, a true king endowed with divine qualities, and the next moment he would take on the rôle of sensible parent and attempt to exercise control over my actions. My need to spring up from the table and climb a tree (to escape from the negative vibrations emanating from these humans and to calm my nerves with the benevolent essence of the plant kingdom) seemed to irk Geoffrey. Suddenly he seemed like a stuffy old colonial master expressing indignation at the impertinence of a wayward pickaninny. How exquisitely middle-class! But don't forget all this was taking place in Victoria in the prudish heart of Melbourne. I longed to be rescued from this horrible and mean-minded reality. Watching the sunset from a tree, listening to the birds, learning about other dimensions from humble household implements - now these were infinitely delightful activities. I suppose it was like dropping acid and then attending a sermon in a suburban church.

I didn't think of it at the time - but it's perfectly clear why both Aku and Geoffrey were convinced I was crazy. After all, they are both believers in psychiatry: Aku still sees a $65-an-hour shrink twice a week and Geoffrey spent quite a few years in therapy himself. There was no way I could extricate myself from this claustrophobic scenario tonight. I was too vast to deal with the petty logistics of moving to another friend's house where the energies might be more supportive. So I tried quieting myself in front of the telly - but that didn't help because the programming reflected my internal exuberance and joy (not to mention the millennial excitement I was feeling).

Every atom in Creation was celebrating my return to full consciousness, so why shouldn't I just relax and make myself at home? But that seemed impossible - either Aku’s or Geoffrey's or both their energy fields kept slipping into disequilibrium with my own, and this would produce interference patterns that hit me like waves, causing me to move around in extreme agitation. It was so exasperating: they seemed utterly unreceptive to the higher cosmic frequencies I was trying to connect them with. Finally I had to get up and leave the house - just to breathe in some neutral space - but there was Geoffrey Love running after me, ordering me back to the house.

"Don't worry, Geoffrey, I'll be fine. Just leave me alone!" I hollered and kept on walking along the pavement. He caught up with me and grabbed my arm roughly, trying to drag me back towards the house. "Let go of me," I said, "I just want to walk around the area. I'll come home in a few minutes."

He began putting more pressure on my arm, almost hurting me. I could sense his repressed violence erupting. He was an angry man, his wife and kids had abandoned him and so on. I thought for a moment he was going to beat me up, so I hopped onto the back of a pickup and begged the driver to help me escape from my pursuer. Instead the driver cursed and swore and ordered me off his precious pickup; he was vile! There's so much repressed violence in the Australian male. Convict genes?

Anyway, I agreed to go back to the house with Geoffrey if he’d let go of my arm. His grip relaxed a little but he refused to trust me. By the time we reached the house I could feel his anger had reached eruption point. I felt like a 3-year-old having to put up with the red-faced rage of a drunken father. I broke free of Mr Love and ran into the house whereupon things got a little confused. Later he complained that I had hit him in the face - but as far as I know nothing of the sort happened! I'm inclined to believe that he ran smack into an invisible protective forcefield around me, but who can be sure of anything except that I definitely had no thought of hitting anyone at any time.

Enter Doctor Vlado (And His Assistant Tina)

Right on cue the doorbell rang and in came Vlado and Tina (I didn't know he was a psychiatrist; only found out later when I was allowed to read my case file). It must have been after 8:30 p.m.
They sat in the lounge and Vlado asked me a few chatty questions about how I was feeling. I told them I was really blissed out and everything was wonderful - apart from the fact that my expanded energy field seemed to be causing Aku and Geoffrey a degree of distress. Vlado asked if I would prefer to spend the night somewhere else and I said it would be an excellent idea.

At this point Tina opened up her briefcase and took out some pills. She handed me an assortment of three. "What's that for?" I asked. They said it would calm me down. I asked them to identify the prescription and Vlado mumbled something about Largactil (later I noted that the admission form in my case file indicated I had been dosed with 100 mg Chlorpromazine, 10 mg Diapezam, and 25 mg Thioridazine). "Largactil is a brain poison," I protested. Dr Vlado smiled professionally: "We'd rather you take the medicine." I looked at both of them. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," Dr Vlado said quite seriously and then smiled reassuringly. I looked at Tina who was holding the pills and sighed: "I suppose I'll just have to trust you." I popped them in my mouth and drank the water Tina had set on the table. "There's really no need for all this," I said. "You don't have to drug me, I'm ready to go with you... I just need somewhere to chill out for a couple of days... shit! this stuff works fast, I'm about to lose consciousness... look, there's no way I can handle packing my stuff... please..." I tried to stand up and walk towards the bedroom... then I blacked out.

Shanghaied! - Or, Rather, Bundooraed!

Bundoora - which means "Windy Plains" in the aboriginal dialect - is where Larundel Psychiatric Hospital is located. I awoke in the dead of night with a monumental thirst. Somehow I found a door and opened it: I was in a long corridor. As I stood there wondering where I was, a woman came up to me. I asked for a glass of water and she brought me one. "What time is it?" About four, she said, and steered me back to my room. I must have fallen asleep again almost instantly. I have no recollection of the next 48 hours. Somewhere during this period of unreality and unconsciousness I became an Involuntary Patient at Larundel under Section 12 of the Mental Health Act 1986!

The name "Kit Panthera" had been tagged onto Room B3 of Ward North 5. It was cozy and fairly comfortable; my belongings were haphazardly stuffed into my bags - but my Swiss knife, collapsible scissors, razor, passport and air ticket were missing.

When I ventured forth from my room the first human I encountered was Ernie Mathews, who introduced himself to me as Cochis - "I'm Robert De Niro," he kept saying, "I'm the best!" It was then that I started to relax and really have a good time.

Cochis was definitely an escapee from the realm of Adventure Comics. He showed me his leopardskin-print underpants. "You're the Jaguar!" I'd exclaim and he’d nod and say, "Right!" He flashed his Zippo with the Stars & Stripes. "You're Uncle Sam!" Right... Hawkman! No, the Condor! "I rescued you," Cochis would say conspiratorially. "Thanks, Cochis!" I'd reply. "That's your job, isn't it?" Right. He called me Scarface - Al Pacino - but since he was Robert De Niro he deserved the bigger fan club. I really liked Cochis; I liked his wonderful swagger; talk about walking your godlike magnificence! He kept offering me cigarettes and snippets of funky music from his $37 walkman. Cochis saw me as a Navajo, as a Hopi, Cheyenne, Arapaho - he knew his Indians. He’d show me a tattoo on his chest: "Inca," he’d say enigmatically. We were fast friends from multiple realities. Hell's Angel without his Harley.

And there was Daniel. "Friends call me Toohey," he’d grin through his russet beard. "Toohey Red!" Former saddhu, very strong Indian-Indian flavor; closet holy man. Toohey had the true understanding and very quickly began spreading my gospel. Within three days he was going round giving light and quiet healing. Sharing tobacco was our sacred ritual. You have to remember your Indian soul to appreciate the magic of tobacco.

Lovely friends all round: Constantinos Zotos ("I used to be able to talk to thunder!"), Dionysian spirit; William Shane Turner (who kept borrowing my yellow John Lennon glasses,so he could look like Professor "Indiana Jones" Turner) formed a beautiful George-and-Lenny partnership with me; he was full of hugs and holiness; Toan Vo (young Vietnamese dancer who was admitted after a car smash-up) kept lending me his guitar and beaming me true love, sweet angelic soul; Liz Greenhill (vaudeville performer and wonderful songwriter) snapped out of her 11-year catatonia and pursued me relentlessly - and no wonder, for she was the embodiment of Tamaara Antara Numi*Ora, my twin flame from the beginning of Time!

And there was Malcolm Smith who came in during my second week there: shaggy young highland warrior who rolled half-inch thick ciggies and would have been right at home in a Pict cave somewhere up in the Grampians. A loyal soulmate, forever seeking a true king to serve. "You are yourself a king, Malcolm," I told him; and he nodded shyly but insisted he would be happy just being a carpenter.

The food was superb - or so I thought - and the surroundings very pleasant indeed. I felt the presence of Dante Alighieri who inspired me to think of this institution as Hotel Paradiso. Precisely what the Doctor ordered! Which doctor, witch doctor? Imagine: after the heavenly time I had shared with my starry family at Falls Creek in what, by my standards, can only be described as luxurious circumstances... here's yet another holiday, completely unplanned and unscheduled, sponsored by the taxpayers of Victoria (I had been informed that my "visit" would be gratis!) It was the perfect place to carry out my internship, practise my newly remembered skills in healing by feeling. Anyway, this was the moment long awaited: the Activation of the Grail, when all our needs are magickally fulfilled... and they were (at least mine were!)

I could feel and heal trees - something never before experienced in my present embodiment. My etheric body in its resensitized form was a perfect gyroscope, gliding and dancing and weaving its way across an ocean of hitherto hidden energy fields. The Spaces In Between were now available to me ("My Father's House has many Mansions" - or Dimensions!)

The nurses, male and female, were generally lovable people. One or two of them were definitely on the Path and began seeking discreet instruction and inspiration from me. Once in a while a sneaky thought would creep in: beware of putting on Spiritual Airs! You're getting Bigheaded about your Powers! See what you get when you go around believing yourself to be the Kristos - you get put away in an asylum! If you want to get out, you'd better act Normal! But after a quiet moment of deep introspection, I'd understand that there was truly nothing to fear - not even the possibility that I was the living embodiment of All That Is. This was not an ego trip. This was the wholehearted fulfillment of my essential being. This was the act of transmutation required of all awakened entities: to spiritualize Matter and materialize the Spirit. This was the Path of Oneness, Wholeness/Holiness through Healing.

And truly I had everything I needed. An almost new hi-fi system where I could listen to music (everyone enjoyed hearing Etherium's Sacred Spiral Dance and a girl from North 4, Lorena, even participated in the True Love & One Heart meditation with me); a video player where I could watch the Star-Borne videos I'd purchased at the Reunion; beautiful trees and birds I could converse with; and a sacred grove guarded by nine half-wild horses, or brundies - which I discovered one afternoon.

It turned out to be an aboriginal burial site - and before that, during the time of Mu, the location of a stone circle. With my magic flute I reactivated the site and befriended the horses, whose leader was a noble white stallion I named Pegasus. I was conscious of having once been a powerful priest-king-magician  named Ktolo (commonly spelt Cthulhu). So this was why I HAD to visit Bundoora!

There were tai-chi sessions, free art supplies in a lovely workshop called Arts Access where I met a beautiful creature named Maria Filipow and did my very first acrylic painting (it was titled "Antarion Conversion"). And extremely liberating dance sessions in the music room where I finally realized my secret desire to be a ballet dancer!

Every morning I performed my mudra in the glorious warmth of the sun, and learned (or relearned) little magickal secrets from the numerous brujos and shamans disguised as inmates. Each time a connection was made I'd find a feather on the ground. I must have collected enough to fashion a headdress! And I had delightful visits from other Star-Borne initiates.

Aumanarius, Kimuela, Omra, Ratma Ra and I did a ritual in the courtyard; and Omra presented me with some flower essence which I shared with a few other friends (they all turned into enthusiastic gardeners and compost-heap makers). I*AN dropped in on me with Aku and Geoffrey - and it was good to see healing all round, for there was never any question of blame for whatever "happened" - all of it was an unfolding of higher truth and an opportunity for me to complete all previous cycles of work.

Azuriel and Altazar and Azarkia and Sora stayed in touch by phone. I even managed a long chat with Iaoh and Beylara Ra. Iaoh was very excited about a large tract of land in Western Australia going at a very reasonable price (he’d just got a job in a properties firm and was ideally placed for the task): "I'm going up there this weekend to photograph the site, and then I'm going to send all the information to Solara by courier!" I could see myself spending time in Western Australia. Or at least some No-Time...

All this while I had been talking to two doctors: Albert Baily, born in Bangalore, and Ng Chee Hong, born in Malaysia. They were obviously keen to impress upon me that I was mentally ill. Hypomania, they called my particular condition. What does that mean, I asked them. It means you're not totally manic, but nearly so. Oh, I see... then I suppose I'd better get all my friends committed - they're all complete maniacs! It was fun talking with them - but they also kept insisting that I swallow the stuff they had prescribed, viz. Thioridazine - no, that was scratched - it was Melleriol or something like that, I couldn't even pronounce it. Later they insisted I take Lithium carbonate. I resisted their efforts for the most part - because the few times I complied made me regret I'd swallowed the chemicals.

Listen to me, I kept telling them, your brain drugs are going out of style. There are so many more intelligent and effective ways to help your patients reintegrate and reharmonize themselves with society. Dr Baily asked if he could tape my lectures and I said it was okay with me, provided he paid me royalties if he ever used them professionally.

It was clear that the entire mindset of psychiatry needs immediate revisioning. Consciousness encompasses inner and outer space - and whomsoever is assigned the power to determine its parameters must eventually develop some sort of vertigo or professional egotism. As a de facto Priesthood of the Mind, it's very easy to view psychiatrists as a pseudo-scientific Sanhedrin, a New Inquisition authorized by the State to declare individuals insane and keep them zombified with brain drugs.

Most of the inmates at Larundel were perfectly wonderful beings trying to heal themselves from childhood traumas or meaningless routines. What they needed was a serene and enlightened environment where they could decondition themselves from inherited or acquired negative inputs through discussion and meditation and music and dance. Here was where the new therapies would truly be useful: Bach Flower Remedies, flower essences, star essences, massage, color therapy, aromatherapy, crystal healing, and so on.

I couldn't help visualizing a New Reality where truly divine teachers and healers like Solara would be entrusted with the coordination of large-scale detoxification and transformation. How I wished I could see Solara on global TV, not just on the Star-Borne videos. And it didn't have to be just Solara: there are so many of us doing the Great Work on the planet right now who are ready to move in quietly and efficiently. But first things first: I was pleased to hear on the news that the new Victorian Commissioner of Police was embarked on a massive clean-up of the police force.

Some people, however, are deadly afraid of losing their jobs. Bill Burroughs once said, very penetratingly, that anyone who's really doing his job is making himself obsolete. What's so terrible about Intentional Obsolescence? When I'm obsolete, it would mean the end of a tedious cycle of work and the start of a brand-new cycle of play. With any luck, I may already be obsolete.

Anyway, it was the younger doctor (whose name proved unpronounceable to most Australians and so was changed to Angie) who decided to play the heavy by insisting that I was too unwell to catch a flight home unescorted. My dear friend Mary Maguire volunteered to fly all the way to Oz to rescue me - but Doctor Angie declared that the escort had to be fully qualified, for heaven's sake. I was getting a little exasperated with their game of ego gratification at my expense.

At the end of my second week as a prisoner/guest of the EMPS (Eastern Metropolitan Psychiatric Services), I informed Drs Baily and Ng that much as I loved them as human beings I no longer had any use for them as doctors. All through the past days I had played along with their silly bureaucratic charade; I had even faxed a friend of mine who happens to be chairman of Malaysian Airlines to intervene on my behalf and offer my medical escort free return passage (after all, it would be no skin off his back) but no response came. I shrugged it off: perhaps he was, as usual, out of town; or convinced it was an April Fool prank (the letter was dated 1st April) despite my declaration that this wasn't a joke; or else he was simply part of the Old Reality and therefore irrelevant to my experience. It got to the point where my friends were talking about passing the hat round to buy me out of the madhouse!

This Was An Unacceptable Reality!

That's more or less what I told the good doctors. I have work to do back at Magick River, friends I'm starting to miss, and whatever I needed to do here has been done. In the most solemn and majestic voice at my command, I said: "You have been laboring under the delusion that all this while you have been assessing my mental condition. The truth is, my dear doctors, it was I who was busy assessing you! I'm sorry to say you didn't quite make the grade, but don't worry, you'll be given another chance. Better luck next time."

The look on their faces was worth recording for posterity. "I'm very disappointed in you," Dr.Baily said in passable avuncular. I smiled and said: "Perhaps the disappointment is mutual."

The next day I informed the doctors that I had submitted an appeal to the Mental Health Review Board against my continued detention as an "involuntary patient." Just to spice things up, I added that I was seriously considering suing Larundel Hospital for defamation and abduction. But I reiterated that I bore them no personal ill will and even asked if Baily would be kind enough to donate one of his old neckties to me. I also requested that they grant me day leave from the hospital as I had things to do in town and films I wanted to see.

It was a great feeling catching the tram into town (I was supposed to meet Aku and Geoffrey for a cappuccino). At the Theosophical Society bookshop I caught sight of Matthew Fox's The Coming of the Cosmic Christ and bought it even though it made a dent in my budget at $25. At our rendezvous point only Geoffrey was present; Aku had had to go to her office at the Herald-Sun. So we did the Melbournian thing and ordered coffees at Pellegrini’s. Geoffrey was still convinced that I had struck him in the face but said he wasn't angry about that. I said I was still pretty positive I didn't hit him but apologized anyway for his experience of having been struck by me. Before we parted I reminded him that he was of royal lineage and would do well to embody his true majesty. He thanked me and we went our separate ways; but I can't get over how much like Michael Caine he looks.

While scanning the Cosmic Christ book I was struck by the absolute relevance of two of the chapters in view of my case against psychiatry. I marked out the chapters and suggested that Dr Baily photocopy them for his personal reference. He obliged, which indicates beyond all doubt that the man is essentially high-minded and a fair-player. He even remembered to bring me an old tie of his, modest paisley motifs and all. Meanwhile, various other friends from Melbourne and Sydney had been ringing for me and one of them, a feisty pint-sized journalist formerly residing in Malaysia, expressed the desire to do a feature on my case. This had poor Dr Angie really worried. He handed me a copy of a letter from the Mental Health Review Board notifying me of the date set for my hearing. Unfortunately this was the Easter holidays - which meant I'd have to wait a whole week...

Happy Resurrection!

Drs Baily and Ng were hurt that I had shown no confidence in their professional competence. In fact, they had earlier arranged for me to see another psychiatrist at St Vincent's Medical Centre - a Dr Tan (who also happened to be a lapsed Malaysian), professorial associate and highly respected in psychiatric circles. Tan only had seven minutes for me. But that was enough for him to endorse the diagnosis of hypomania. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried to sell him a copy of my book. "What's it called?" Dr Tan had asked. I showed him a copy (I'd been hawking it around, trying to raise cigarette money). "Adoi!" he said. "I already have a copy which I picked up in Kuala Lumpur the last time I went back."

"Well, for five bucks you can have a personally autographed copy," I ventured, but Dr Tan Eng Siong wasn't a charitable institution. "Eh, Doc, are you from Penang?" I asked as I was leaving his office. "That's right," he said, raising an eyebrow, "why do you ask?" I grinned at the Napoleonic gnome who had already decided I was a very sick man: "That's where all the Scrooges come from!"

Albert Baily, bless his soul, had been a philanthropist compared to E.S. Tan. Not only had he forked out $5 for a copy of Adoi!... he’d also paid the same for one of my cassettes (I'd made a special compilation of music from my second album, 2nd Coming, and it also included a pirate dub of one of Solara’s meditations, the one to bring in your Solar Angel; so let's see what happens!) All in all, I must have sold about 8 copies of my book. A few I traded for cigarettes (can't live without that wonderful magick smoke!)

Yahoo Serious had made a second film called Reckless Kelly and it was premiering on April 8th. I made a date with Aku Ek Tara to see it and was generally tickled by the movie. Afterwards I phoned in to the airline and booked myself a flight to Sydney on the 16th. The hearing had been set for the 14th. On the 12th Dr Baily passed me a couple of his own reference books - one was called Moodswing and the other was Melancholia: Disease of the Learned.

I promised to scan them and enquired if he’d read the Cosmic Christ chapters I'd shown him. "Halfway through," he beamed. "I'm savoring the words!" Then he told me he was going on vacation to Philip Island (his kids wanted to see the penguins) and that he was discharging me immediately. "What about the hearing?" I had been all keyed up to do a Portia before the Review Board. "I've already told them you've been transferred to Section 7, which means you're now a voluntary patient and are free to leave."

There were two conditions though: (i) the doctors weren't too happy about my wanting to stopover in Sydney and (ii) they wanted me to stop spitting out my medication. What could I do? I conceded graciously, since it was only a couple of days more. But it all depended on whether I could get a flight out on the 14th. Dr Angie had expressed pessimism about the availability of seats. I told him I was going to the airline office right away. I did and got my ticket confirmed. Before he bade me farewell, Dr Angie confessed that I had been a very difficult case.

"Me? Difficult? In what way, pray tell," I said. "We didn't know what to do with you. After all, you're a fairly intelligent person..."

"Come on, Doc, be honest... you mean I'm a highly intelligent person, don't you?" Over the decades I've learned that false modesty can be more dangerous than plain honest pride; anyway, as Dizzy Dean, whoever he is, once said: "It ain't braggin' if you really done it!"

"All right... you're a highly intelligent person and you seem to know a great deal about psychiatry... in fact you managed to make me doubt my profession."

"Good! There's hope for you yet!" I said and shook his hand. "I've thoroughly enjoyed my stay here and I've learned a lot from you. I hope you can say the same."

I had said goodbye to the horses, to the spirits of Bundoora, the Windy Plains. Most of my friends had already been discharged or were waiting to be discharged or else they were on weekend leave. At least six people had undergone "miraculous" turns for the better since my arrival. But new faces kept appearing. A reflection, no doubt, of the confusion of the changing times. Many of the nurses told me how much they had enjoyed my visit. One of them, Philip Swensson, had in fact resigned to start a new career in alternative healing. He had shown the greatest receptivity to my being and to Solara’s teachings.

Altazar had invited me to spend a couple of days at the Oasis, his personal kingdom of heaven on Earth, located 40km out of Melbourne. My new flight arrangements left me no opportunity for that. On one of my day-trips into town I had connected with Antara Ge, who bought me dinner at the very same Chinese restaurant where I had dined with Christian Camenzind (the secretive mystic with a broken heart which, I pray, is now on its way to wholeness). He also lent me $50 for the road, bless his angelic soul. Money money money, money padme hum! The Fairy Stork... I think that's what the restaurant was called.

Om Is Where The Art Is

The night I arrived in Kuala Lumpur and was greeted at the airport by Mary Maguire, Jesse Eaglefeather and Akmar... what a trip! It had been a very sweet flight. In front of me was Sabine, a lovely Dutch girl who had really got off on Soluntra’s star essence: she had recognized me right away as another aspect of her True Love but... "No, no, no! I promised my father I would go back to Amsterdam to help him with his puppet theater!" The inflight movie was one of the films I had missed seeing in Melbourne (Toys, starring Robin Williams, delightful stuff).

Mary anointed me with fragrant oil (who else but Mary could undertake such a significant labor of love) and watched me fall asleep. She had been the most active agitator for my safe return. I told her how amazed I had been at Solara's resemblance to her. While I was at the Reunion she had received her starry name: Amaa-Real Bororealis - but just call me REAL, she quipped. The very stuff of True Love!

Back at Magick River three days later... I was reunited with my vision of Paradise ("Two waterfalls flowing through a stream to the blessed valley far below..." from Matisha’s song, inspired perhaps by Revelations Chapter 22!) And also with Xenaeon (Shelley Isler, ex-Sydney) who took me under her edible wings and whispered: "I'm a priestess and I've been sent to ground you."

"Ground, ground, ground! Everybody wants to ground me! How much more grounded can I be?" I protested. "I'd much rather be ROOTED!" And so I was.

No Doubt About It

I'm hooked on Angel Dust. Late September 1993 Star-Borne Reunion #9 will be coordinated by Tzaris and Ailea in Sweden. No worries... there are only three more Reunions scheduled for this planet (that's what Solara says) - so the addiction won't last forever. But who's willing to bet? Not me... one can never have enough of Oneness! (Digression: why does a Frenchman usually have only one egg at breakfast? Because in France one egg is un oeuf. Pardonnez moi.)

Meanwhile, back in the Gaslit Kitchen, I'm relieved that this document is almost done. It was getting in the way of my correspondence. Give me a brief aeon or two to get back in the swing of writing to people as if they weren’t actually me.

My XONIX (or XINOX if you're upside down) says it's now 11:28 pm on the 9th of May. It's taken me two whole weeks to complete this - with a few days’ break in between to see my dear old dad on his 77th birthday; and to pay tribute to Wahab the Axis of All Being, but that's another story...

Binashk-kinashk keyollina ve kaa ne hoon ina! That's Starspeak for: I intend to fuse with you in No-Time!

Antares, Larundel, April 1993

Antares © 1993, 2004, 2010, 2019

[First published in Skoob Esoterica Anthology, London, 1995. Posted 8 January 2010]

Thursday, October 3, 2019

In Celebration of Love’s Labors Lost (Part 1)

As I lean back now and look back on the life path I have taken since I first stepped out into the world, two recurring motifs dominate the pattern of events.

The first is a hardwired impulse to be free – free of all external compulsions (which is well nigh impossible when you happen to be part of a family, and all of us are). But as one whose birthdate adds up to a 5, numerologists say I’m “one of those people who is always striving to find answers to the many questions that life poses; [that I] want to be totally unrestrained, as this is the sign of freedom and independence.” So I’m only being true to my core nature in cherishing my freedom.

Freedom from debt, for a start. I don’t have a credit card, no overdraft, and I have never once applied for a bank loan. The house I’m living in is in my wife’s name and it was given to her when her entire village was relocated several hundred yards upstream on account of the Selangor Dam. So, no mortgage either - although the fine print says the land the house stands on is on a 99-year lease. We have until the year 2106 to worry about having to move.

The second motif happens to be my susceptibility to love. Some live to work, some to eat, some to make money – I live for love.

My first love was at the tender age of 4, when I shared a bathtub with a neighbor’s daughter, who arrived on earth 11 days ahead of me, and later found myself sitting beside her at kindergarten. I remember how we shared little secrets in class. She was curious to know if boys and girls had similar genitals, and neither of us had a clue – so I drew a simple diagram to show her what mine looked like, and she reciprocated, very demurely, by handing me a piece of paper on which she had written the letter V. I wasn’t satisfied with her response, suspecting there had to be more to it, that she was holding back. Then we got separated in primary school – there were no co-ed schools when I was a kid – and didn’t meet again until we were in our early teens, and I was smitten by her luminous beauty which I noticed for the first time.

When I learnt she was in the habit of roller-skating along the corridors of a school opposite my house most afternoons, I decided to take up roller-skating too – and soon became quite adept at it. But we were both too shy to go beyond smiling at each other and I felt totally tongue-tied when face-to-face with her.

So nothing at all transpired until fate brought us together again when we reached fourth form. I was appointed to the editorial board of a science magazine jointly published by my all-boys school and a nearby girls’ school. At our first informal meeting to discuss the magazine, I was astounded by how mature the girls were compared to me at 15. She and her best buddy, my co-editor, were smoking real cigarettes (not the chocolate ones I was familiar with as a kid) and even driving around without a license.

That’s how I began smoking, and soon I was borrowing my dad’s car to drive – at first up and down the compound, then increasingly further around the neighborhood. Working together on the science magazine project gave me a good excuse to start visiting her in the afternoons after classes. She lived conveniently around the corner from my house, within a 3-minute walk, even less on my bicycle.

Several times a week, I’d perch my cockatoo on the handle bar and ride over to her place. She was usually home. We would sit around her airy front porch and chat till twilight. Each time I saw her she grew more beautiful in my eyes. But I just didn’t know how to shift gears from being her childhood playmate to being her beau. 

So things drifted along for a while sweetly enough, but neither of us wanted to make the first move into adulthood, although I occasionally detected a flirtatious or teasing tone in her glances. I just wanted everything to be perfect between us. The thought of doing something clumsy or saying something inappropriate paralyzed me. Much later in life I realized that the abstract notion of “perfection” itself could be the #1 Killjoy Factor in the human universe…

Anyway, many other events intruded that weren’t part of the pattern of “perfect love” and I took them all in my stride as part of love’s learning curve. As my mind drifts slowly backwards in time, scanning for precious memory fragments to rescue from analog oblivion, I become acutely aware of the many-layered nature of experience: in so many instances, I can’t draw a linear timeline marking one event without then wondering when some other event occurred.

For instance, during the years I didn’t see my first love, I enjoyed quite a few other romantic fantasies. I vaguely recall an alphabetic crush I had for a pig-tailed cutie who played the letter M in some kiddie concert I witnessed around 10. I remember a couple of stiffy-inducing dreams with me playing the letter K and somehow showing up the loutish low-class L who stood between us. I never found out her name, but I bet it began with the letter M...

Then there was WW, baby sister of one of my best buddies in whose home I used to hang out all day after school. My own siblings were much older than I, so I never felt the same sort of intense kinship with them. In this household there was a great deal of family interaction. It was an ideal atmosphere for innocent fun and puppy love to flourish: the stirrings of juicy adolescence, the brief but intense thrill of her foot brushing against mine during a game of Monopoly. I was present when her first period arrived, her face flushed as she hurried towards the bathroom.

I knew nothing about hormones and pheromones then. But I enjoyed the undercurrent of irrational desires and the heady sensation of erotic impulses. These weren’t exactly romantic – primal, more likely. Electromagnetic and biochemical, at least. No guilt was attached to these prurient fantasies; nor were they focused on any specific person. Non-specific lust is what I call this syndrome.

Girls were lovely to dream about, but my everyday reality was populated with boys. Since girls were sexually unavailable, we resorted to making lewd jokes about them; but among ourselves, we were comfortable showing off our erections and competing to see who could shoot his load the furthest. There was ample opportunity for experimentation. Staying over at male friends’ houses presented no problems with parents and it seemed natural for us to have temporary crushes on each other without their becoming full-blown affairs.

Being single-minded about anything has never been a habit of mine - which may explain why I never became a virtuoso in any specific endeavor. Looking back, if I had kept my focus on winning the heart of my first love, ignoring other distractions and settling for nobody else, perhaps we would have ended up as a couple. I can’t imagine what married life would have been like for us – but I’m fairly certain she would have compelled me to become a high flyer in the upper income bracket, since it’s clear she had set her sights on a comfortable lifestyle, being what people would consider a trophy wife. As it turned out, she subsequently dated and married a fellow who became an accountant – while I drifted in the opposite direction, devoting my energies to the arts, after a short-lived stint in the glossy advertising game.

Clark Kent look @ 1968
But I’m getting ahead of my narrative. While all this was going on, I began to visit a couple of pretty sisters – one shy and demure, the other outgoing and vivacious – both of whom eventually became integral parts of my life.

When you’re a teenager it’s very important to appear cool – and to visit a young lady on a rickety bicycle is fairly uncool (especially with a cockatoo perched on the handlebar). Since I had convinced my father that I could drive competently, he rarely protested whenever I asked to borrow his car. I had a schoolmate named Johnny who was always on the lookout for hot chicks. He didn’t have access to a car, so he would sometimes tell me about some nice girl he knew who happened to have good-looking sisters – and we’d go visit them in my dad’s car.

That’s how I got to meet Annie, my French kiss instructor only a year younger than I but slightly more experienced. It was because of Annie I decided to quit wearing glasses (which, prior to my first kissing lesson, I had believed to be a requisite accessory since they made one look smarter and older). We were both wearing glasses when the serious smooching began one sultry afternoon – and the collision of our spectacles almost turned the experience into an episode out of some Woody Allen movie.  Anyway, thank you, Annie – for your wonderful coaching which has served me well through the decades.

(In 2011 Annie tracked me down on facebook. Imagine the great joy I felt to be reconnected with her after 46 years. She's moved on from kissing coach to tai-chi instructor.)

[To be continued...]

Originally posted 1 April 2012, reposted 6 May 2016