My Epitaph

If you don't question everything, you will know nothing and believe anything!

Friday, April 13, 2018

More memories

But this time, let me recall the life I was living 10 years ago in another one of the few places I have felt truly at home: the motorhome I purchased with what remained of an insurance settlement for having received 5 fractures to my spine.  When I was finally able to get on the road it was winter of 2008 (late January-ish?) and I went south, all the way down to Key West.  I think that trip was almost 2 months, then I returned inside the Event Horizon to attend a wedding of cousin (once removed to be precise).  During that trip south I began perfecting what I hinted to before: trusting my intuition to being my navigator.  An example of using my intuition in Florida should suffice to where and what this post will be about.

I had spent some time in the Crystal River area because swimming with the manatees is one of my favorite activities I have ever done.
Across the river from the park where I was launching my inflatable kayak to go swim with the manatees was the Crystal River Archaeological State Park, and I had driven by the sign to turn to go to there multiple times, knowing that I had every intention of going there before leaving Florida that winter some time ... whenever my intuition told me that the time was right to go.

When I finally felt that intuitive voice calling me to go to that archaeological state park, I pulled in about 4 PM.  When I went to honesty box to pay my admission, there were no envelopes and a sign about not needing to pay that day.  When I enquired inside about the admission I was informed that admission that day was free because it was the monthly full moon presentation which included rangers and archaeologists to present the best the experts understand about the people and culture that lived there.  So, I went out and explored the site for a few minutes before sunset, then went to lie down in the motorhome until the program was supposed to start around 8.  I do not know if they still have those programs, but it used to be the Friday after the full moon.  I still have the coozie I won as a door prize that night.  Anyway, I suppose I could have been inquisitive enough to have discovered online about the full moon program (if it was listed online), but I knew I could trust whatever and where ever that intuitive voice originated to tell me when it would be optimal to go to that park.

I had gotten the best road atlas I have ever seen for that motorhome; it was for RVs and included information about every national park, every state park and had listings for many of the private campgrounds throughout the United States.  However, what made it such a great atlas was it had red squares listing points of interest.  The wedding was in mid-March and I rested a few weeks before getting back on the road, with the eventual destination being Dana Point/San Clemente area of South Orange County, with the only plans along the way to meet my parents in Utah and spend my birthday week going to the national parks of the canyon lands (Bryce, Zion and Grand Canyons).  When I escaped the Black Hole for the rest of 2008 in late March/early April, one of the first parts of that journey I hope to someday make elsewhere in the world.

Maybe someday I can make the pilgrimage from Cairo to Memphis where the Nile connects the two cities (and hopefully on top the Nile the entire trip), but I did my best to drive from Cairo, Illinois (where the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers converge) to Memphis, Tennessee with the Mississippi in view as much as possible [with the side trip to New Madrid because I remember an earthquake on the fault line bearing its name in 1987 (I was visiting my father in the hospital because he had just had a goiter removed about two days before the quake and I was almost asleep with my feet propped on his bed when I felt movement and first thought it might have been Dad having convulsions until I saw the TVs swinging from their mounts on the wall)].  This was one of the few drives I planned to drive between the Black Hole and Southern California.  I ended this intended part of the drive turning around at the Pyramid in Memphis, then headed towards Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Among the things I did in Hot Springs was make a man's day.  Walking the trail from the "downtown" strip in Hot Springs back to the campground, I started talking to a tall man.  I never bothered to ask what it was that he's been convicted of, but he was from Germany and was, according to him, literally living in a cave while finishing up his parole so he could leave the country and go back to Germany.  I ended up giving him some brick weed from Mexico I had as well as couple of grams of dried mushrooms so he could have some form of entertainment in that cave.

All things are relative, and that includes people's heights.  I suppose I have always been tall enough (and muscular if I'm not wearing a belly) to intimidate some people on the sidewalk when I try to make eye contact and say hello (and this was years before cell phones) which I have rationalized as a generation growing up being conditioned to not talk to strangers.  Years ago I found the only people in downtown Indianapolis that I could pass on the sidewalk and get them to say hello back seemed to be the non-whites.  My fellow crackers sometimes would literally pick up their pace like my trying to share my happiness with just saying "Hi" while passing on the sidewalk was a literal threat to their person, but those with more pigmentation than I have (even when my hair is bleached blonde from the sun) didn't seem to have the same terror of being addressed on the sidewalk by a stranger with a smile and simple greeting in passing.  However, my six foot frame felt tiny when this man bent down to give me a hug for sharing some of nature's sanity with him that I could spare (I thought about the short girls I had kissed because I felt petite when he gave me a hug!)

I wanted to drive through Mena, but was warned that my long hair and beard would likely be reason to end up locked up in Mena because those locals said that nothing had really changed in Mena, so I decided to not risk it.  As I crossed into Oklahoma, I wasn't intending on stopping, but just passing through.  I was on my way to get a steak
in Amarillo.  I ended up sleeping on my sofa in the motorhome that night at The Big Texan (out back among the semis) because I was too lazy to fire up the generator to reset my Sleep Number bed at 45 and the elevation had changed enough since I had adjusted it in Hot Springs that the bed was far too hard for my bad back to sleep upon, so I took the easy way and just slept on the fold down sofa that was pretty comfortable, too.  The next day was another segment of the drive west that I had intended on taking.

I left Amarillo and drove southwest.  I was driving to go to the UFO Museum in Roswell, New Mexico, but I was planning on making a stop before Roswell at something around Clovis.  I am glad I made my drive 10 years ago, because I wouldn't have seen the museum today that I visited in 2008.  I can't even find a photo of the old museum to upload because they must not be public photos, and in 2017 the Blackwater Draw Museum moved from the side of US 70 in the middle of nowhere to the campus of Eastern New Mexico University's campus.  At least it seems to have more public friendly hours today because in late March/early April 2008, when the museum was located along US 70, the man working (who was a few weeks away from graduating with a Master's Degree in archaeology) told me that it was only open on Saturday's, and only open until 12 noon.  Obviously, it was a Saturday, and not something I would have been able to really plan on visiting from the time I had achieved escape velocity, and I had about an hour because it was right around 11 AM when I arrived.

I had a great conversation with the young man about a month away from graduation.  I had someone to talk to about some of the archaeologists that remain heretical today, such as Arthur Posnansky's excavations on the Altiplano, and even retrieved Secrets of the Exodus from my library in the motorhome for him peruse.  As we were discussing archaeology, he admitted to having been on at least one dig where, upon unearthing something from a layer the lead on the dig couldn't explain under the current acceptable paradigm of the lead on the project, this young man had seen things that were too old to be explained be buried so they don't have to be explained!  It was something that had greatly impacted upon him to see the lead on a dig bury something that was too old for their paradigm to accept, let alone explain.

Mind you this was all occurring in the final hour this museum was open on the one day a week it was open, something that I couldn't have planned better.

It was not the first time in that wandering in the motorhome that I had recalled from statistics how to calculate the odds-against-chance of my intuition leading me to an experience that wouldn't have happened if I had been trying to plan my drive across the country with a fixed itinerary.  Leaving to head to my next destination: the UFO Museum in Roswell, I was to again try to calculate odds-against-chance in about another hour.

Of course my timing was perfect to arrive in Roswell because there were two open parking spaces in front of the UFO Museum and my motorhome took up both of them.  Before I had left in the motorhome, one of my friends gave me a Jerry Garcia doll

so that I would always have someone traveling with me.  I used to set him in the corner of the windshield just to the left of the driver's seat so he could get a good view of So Many Roads, especially when we were Going Down the Road Feeling Bad.  Something tells me Jerry would have found it hilarious that the first time across the country I encountered another Jerry doll was outside the UFO Museum in Roswell!  Mine was in his normal position in my windshield, and he was staring at himself on the back of a motorcycle!

I was leaving a message on my friend's voicemail and writing a note to the fellow Heads on the bike
when they came out to leave.  I hopped out of the rig and compliment them on their doll.  "Thanks, our first one burned up in a hot air balloon."  Then I finally got to inform them to look in my windshield, and tell them that I thought Jerry would have found it appropriate that the first time I saw another doll it would be staring back at mine outside the UFO Museum!  (Too bad they were in a hurry I really wanted to hear the hot air balloon story.)

Leaving Roswell to head towards Carlsbad (Carlsbad Caverns was another of the few places I knew I wanted to visit among that wandering) I see a sign for a head shop advertising free glass pipes that day, so of course I had to stop and get a free pipe!  The next day I would again be trying to calculate the odds-against-chance once again on that single trip west, but it was not becoming even more and more probable odds because each day I was beating/creating extraordinary odds by heeding my intuitive voice.

I had such a great time at Carlsbad Caverns the first day that I returned the next day (the admission was good for three days).  Just before I had reached Escape Velocity, I got some jars that were growing mushrooms and until the heat of Vegas killed them in June, I was making a fresh mushroom fruit smoothie (my favorite way other than brewed into beer of consuming freshies!) once a week.  In the first attempt to get on the road in the rig I went underground at Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, again under the influence of psilocybin mushrooms, so I had to repeat for Carlsbad Caverns.  Needless to say by the time I was informed on the tour that no one knows how some of the spectacular geologic formations were made
Twin Domes, Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico, USA
I was having an idea or two about how they were formed, but that might have just been the mushrooms talking.  Anyways, I was convinced these huge formations, and by huge I mean that these Twin Domes are probably 13-15 meters (45-50 feet) tall and probably about the same for a circumference and they aren't even the largest formation that's Giant Dome and it's about 62 ft/19 m high, were obviously the troll/dwarf sculptures (whichever appellation you prefer applying to those living underground, Tolkien used the dwarves as being the race underground)!  I know my mind's eye was clearly seeing these amazing geologic mysteries having been quite literally carved by a race long forgotten in the crooks and crannies of both time and the depths of the Hollow Earth (I know the world's not flat from personal observations from traveling, but I cannot refute the Hollow Earth hypothesis because I have been in some of those hollow spaces that I cannot deny exist, sure in every cave/cavern I've been in as an adult I have been on mushrooms, but why not?)

As I was coming down, it was time for the Bat Show.  Again, maybe it was the mushrooms communicating to me, but when the ranger admitted that no one knew why the bats fly three circles on their way out of the cavern's mouth I certainly knew that the poor bats thought they were flying in a straight line, but that there were two air currents creating a vortex above the mouth that the few ounces the bats weigh wasn't enough to reach escape velocity immediately, but they were caught in this wind vortex that they couldn't break free until after the third circle out of the cavern's mouth.  I still want/need to return to Carlsbad Caverns in October (instead of April) so that I can witness over a million bats exit at dusk; the first night I was there in April 2008 there were about 100,000 bats leaving to a rising blood red full moon.  Of course the bats saw the blood red full moon rise before I did because I still had land blocking the view until I got back to the parking lot and saw the beauty of another blood red full moon rising (and I was atop a mountain so it likely hadn't risen at the plateau level below me).  I watched the moon completely free itself of the horizon and began my descent to the plateau, with only the ranger being the other person I knew was still atop the hollow mountain.

By the time I had finally gotten back down the switchbacks and made the final turn to leave the canyon where the road was built the full moon had lost its red and was perfectly in between the two canyon walls in the middle of my vision bright and beautiful to cap off another day that I had declared to be the greatest/best day of my life!  As I cleared the canyon walls back to the flat plateau with this beautiful moon in the center of my vision, I made the decision to return the next day since I wouldn't have to pay admission.  Again, I made a smoothie before making the descent.  I knew my evening wasn't going to have the same moon rise time, and I would estimate that about 90% of the bats I had seen the night before had migrated further because if there had been about 100,000 the first night I was there, the second night would have been about 10,000.  Sure, it wasn't as great as the day before, but both days were the best days I could have had on those days.

When I was finally ready to move on from Carlsbad (I did see another sight or two and had to rest a day or two before moving on, I probably spent 4 or 5 days in Carlsbad area), I had been debating which way to go.  I was tempted to go through El Paso, but when it came down to it, that song wasn't a good enough reason to drive that direction.  Again let me emphasize that the first decision I made everyday 10 years ago right now was while getting my wake-n-bake I would listen for that intuitive voice as to whether I was going to look for the most interesting point of interest on my atlas that would be in that day's drive, or whether I was just going to get on the road and listen for when that intuitive voice screamed to go visit a sign that I would see for a point of interest.  I was told to look at my atlas and I ended up choosing to go through the mountains, to the National Solar Observatory, in Sunspot, New Mexico.

I believe it was in a truck stop in either Arkansas or Oklahoma that I saw a cassette of Synchronicity by The Police.  Having worn out a copy or two of the cassette I had from its release in the US in 1983/4 (when I was in my pre-pubescent 12/13 years), I made that impulse purchase in large part because I still consider myself a King of Pain.  So, I had been driving since then adding in one of the few albums from the 1980s that I would listen to today in with silence and live Grateful Dead concerts on cassette, especially loving to sing along with King of Pain since I was just beginning on my life as a sufferer of chronic back pains (and still with money from the settlement to allow me to live for the day).  So, you see dear reader, my choice that morning was which song was going to be more important to me that morning, Bobby singing an old country song, or going to see if there were any spots on the sun that day, just like Sting sings in a song that had come to have far greater meaning to me 25 years after first hearing it.

I finally arrived at the elevation of Sunspot, NM find the NSO, park (get high before going out, of course, in case this wasn't implied) and go exploring.  There are multiple buildings there, including a gift shop, and by the time I had finally gotten to where there were scientists actually observing the sun I see, and state in a singsong way (but not quite singing as Sting) with pleasurable excitement
"Hey!  There's a little black spot on the sun today, it's the..."
before changing my tone from the singsong to an inquisitive one to finish with
"was it there yesterday?"
The scientist responds that the sunspot had just shown up that morning, and that there hadn't been any sunspots for a few months.

Since it was a scientist I was speaking with, maybe I should have had him help me try to calculate the odds against chance that, for the first time in a quite a while, a spot was seen on the sun the day I happened to have my intuition tell me to go to Sunspot, NM to the National Solar Observatory and listen to Synchronicity a few times on the way up the mountains, in particular King of Pain.  However, as I walked away in a state of almost total bewilderment I began thinking of all the days I had given thought to all the factors that would be taken into account in determining the odds-against-chance of me experiencing something that would make me contemplate the calculation of odds-against-chance knowing that I was the 1 out of X, no matter how large X was in an meta-analysis.  In particular, I wondered if I was to add all those previous odds, or whether they were to be multiplied in determining the adds-against-chance that I would arrive at the NSO on the first day in a while that a sunspot appeared.

I answered my own contemplating of adding or multiplying the odds I had estimated before that day (approximately every other day, since I knew the odds-against-chance that I would be basically bedridden from a 4 hour drive, or from a day of playing after the day's resting) with accepting the thought that my intuitive voice told me to go to the NSO the approximate 8 minutes before the sunspot appeared at the NSO monitors (i.e. I was told by said intuition to go to the NSO at the exact moment the sunspot appeared on the sun, about 8 minutes before that spot would be detected by equipment on, or orbiting the Earth).

R A Schwaller de Lubicz discusses the "intelligence of the heart" as being a key to understanding ancient Egyptian culture, yet he doesn't seem to attribute this to the organic pump circulating our blood, but more likely the "gut-feeling" of the Solar Plexus because of the bundling of the nerves.  I had encountered his idea of this intelligence of the heart before that trip, although I wouldn't read his major tome The Temple of Man until I arrived at the coast in either late summer or early fall - and I figured it took about 6 weeks of reading about 60 hours a week to finish it but it was so worth it!

In the decade since, I have accepted the Solar Plexus nerve bundle as being the source of the intuitive voice I have allowed to lead me to so many of the greatest days of my life, but I have also come to accept that the Solar Plexus may be the primary interface between the non-human DNA that constitutes about half the DNA we consider as our physical body: our micro-biomes (I don't distinguish my skin ending before the skin bacteria begins, do you, can you even look at your skin and believe you can demarcate where you end and the bacteria colonies begin?).  Especially since we seem to have so many bacteria colonies in our digestive systems, maybe "they" can communicate to their meat machines, if their meat machines are tuned into their nervous system so finely that they don't, at the brain, disregard and/or overrule the data from the nervous center closest to these symbiotic colonists?

I really don't know of a much better way to describe or define what or where that intuitive voice originates than to make this correlation between ancient Egyptian science, as explained by the Schwaller de Lubicz's (I agree wholeheartedly with Michael Aquino that Isha's two Her-Bak novels would be the ideal foundation for a right-hand path completely dissociated with Judeo-Christian influences) and the modern sciences associated with the human microbiome as being the source of how and why that intuitive voice I have heard for decades (it told me to get a job on a cruise ship on my 25th birthday) seems to know things beyond my brain's interpretations of my senses.  Nor do I really know how I can help anyone else develop the same ability to actually listen to a voice that can so easily be rationalized away by the brain, but I can't imagine the life I would have led if I hadn't learned to heed the advice of this intuitive voice when I can hear it speak to me because that voice has been the paraphernalia to feed my life's greatest addiction: to living in such a fashion as to be declaring so many days as being the best day in my life.
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