TWO HORSES

Theodore Dana Hall

1996

A Change of Worlds

Almost fifty years have passed since that late summer afternoon when
Michael told me he was going to die. It seems like yesterday...

We were playing catch under the willows behind Michael's house. I was
feeling envious because Michael had a brand-new glove and I had only an old
falling-apart first baseman's mitt that my cousin R.C. had given me. We threw
for awhile. The envy passed, and I became curious. "Hey, Mike, how
come you got a new glove?--it's not your birthday or anything." The only
presents I ever saw came on my birthday, or Christmas.

"My mom gave it to be 'cause I'm dying," Michael said, matter-of-factly.

"She gives me whatever I want." He threw the ball hard.

The ball went over my head and hit a tree. Bonk. It rolled under a bush.
I ran after it, yelling as I ran .."Hey!--not so hard."

"Sorrr-ry."

We threw for a few more minutes before I could ask the question that was
pounding in my head. "What do you mean you're ... dying?"

"Dying. You know ... not living. In the ground. Cold and dead."

I looked hard at Michael. I saw the kid I'd like to look like ... blond,
blue-eyed, handsome as they come. "Come on, Michael," I said, you're only
seven years old. You're not going to die."

"You ever hear of leukemia?" he asked.

"No," I said. "What is it?"

 "It 's a blood disease. There's no cure."

"Now I know you're really lying, Michael. If you had this whatever you call it,
you wouldn't be out here playing! You'd be sick in bed."

It was then I saw the tear slide down Michael's cheek, and I knew he wasn't
lying. He turned his head away. "Guess I'd better go in," he said quietly.

"No, let's throw some more," I said. He wiped his eye and turned his face
back toward me, trying to smile. I will never forget that trying-to-smile look he
gave me. It said so many things. I never figured out half of things
he was saying with that smile. Over forty years ago ....

I remember my last words to him. "Michael Savage, you are not going to
die!"

Michael died a few months later. Death was not something I was ready to
confront. My father had died a few years earlier. Now Michael. In my mind I
created the idea that Michael had gone to a different country, and the idea
became so real for me, I had no trouble in convincing others.

"Why don't you play with Michael any more?" my mother asked once.
"Did you have a fight or something?"

"Oh no," I replied. "Michael moved."

"Really? Where did he go?"

Michael had told me his mother was from Sweden. "Sweden," I replied.
"He went to Sweden."

In the same year, shortly after my eighth birthday, I got to play with Michael
one last time. It was in a dream. In the dream, I came from behind some trees
and there,--there was Michael, beaming, smiling from ear to ear. He wore only a
loincloth, and he had Indian feathers in his hair. He reached out a hand toward
me, and I drew back. "It's okay," he said, "I'm alright now."
 We sat down near a campfire. "Look," he said, "drums." Indian drums.
We became to pound them, chanting "Hey, heya, hey, hey...."

I felt very happy pounding those drums. I felt as it I could pound them
forever! Then ... in a moment, Michael changed ... changed into a white sea gull!
Up he flew!--up and up....

When I looked down again, an old Indian stood where Michael had been.
He was made of sparkling light, it seemed, and he was covered with a blanket of
light. I was in shock. Then our eyes met ... and we spoke silently
with our eyes.

"There is no death," the old one said, "only a change of worlds."

"I am afraid," I said.

"The reason you are afraid, Two Horses, is that you now live among a fearful
people. They are fearful because they do not know the truth."

"Why is it the whites don't know the truth?" I asked. It never occurred
to me to ask why he called me "Two Horses."

"That is what you went to Earth to find out."

"I don't understand," I said. "What are you talking about?"

"In time, Two Horses, you will remember all. In time.... Old friend, I am here
to say good-bye. We will not speak this way again, not for a long time in your
counting. May the Great Spirit be with you always."

"Why do you call me 'old friend.' I do not know you," I said. "What have
you done with Michael?"

The old one just smiled. "One day you will know. But now, Two Horses ...
you are about to enter the Valley of Forgetfulness.

"I am afraid," I said.

"It is a new feeling for you. You will get used to it. And one day, if you
succeed in your quest, you will banish it not only from your heart, but from the
hearts of many others." This said, the old one disappeared in a whirl of light.
Terrified that I been left in the woods alone, I began to wail....

"Teddy!" the voice said, "Teddy ... wake up."

Suddenly, my eyes opened in another world. I was looking up into the face
of my mother. "It's only a nightmare," she said. "Only a nightmare."

"I was afraid, I saw Michael, I ...."

"I know, I know," she said soothingly. "The bad dream's gone now. You are
safe with us."

Forty One Years Later ...

There was a great celebration in my heart as I looked out the window of the
descending plane and saw, for the first time, the lights of Seattle. How
strange, I thought to myself ... where is all this joy coming from?

1991 and '92 were no joyful years for me. My marriage disintegrated as the
result of endless financial stress. My wife went west with her children (my step-
children). I remained in upstate New York to sell our house and a large tract of
land. I managed to do so, with the help of a good realtor friend from
Connecticut, but both were sold at a loss. End of a dream.

Before leaving Upstate, I drove to one of my sacred spots--Glimmerglass

Lake at Cooperstown. I and the wife, and children, had spent many happy hours
by the lake, playing and picnicing, feeding the inland sea gulls and the geese and
ducks. It was the ragged end of winter, when I walked there last.
A cold cold wind came off the lake. I felt an immense sadness.
 One last time, I drove by the Basehall Hall of Fame. One last time, I drove by
the museum in which hangs the famous portrait of Joseph Brant, last war chief
of the Iroquois Confederacy. One last time ... by the lakeside hotel and the
magnificent maples.

It was no easy thing for me to extricate myself from Upstate New York.
Upstate had been been an important part of life ever since I was a pup. The
break had to happen on a cold, gray day. One last time....

Thank you for flying American," the stewardess said as I "deplaned" at

SeaTac Airport. The airport was built between Seattle and Tacoma, and thus
the name SeaTac. A mid-way city grew up around the airport, and this city is
now, officially, the City of SeaTac.

I made my way to the home of my wife in McKenna, east of Olympia. It was

nothing like the old brick Federal we had left. Indeed, it was little more than a
crackerbox on the prairie. I say "was" because it was destroyed in the McKenna
flood of February 1996.

I was happy to back with T'shura and the foot-taller kids, but the old
emotions were no longer there. They'd been washed away, I suppose, in a
flood of unfortunate circumstances....

I stayed awhile in the little house on the prairie. I will always remember it
with affection, for it was the place where I remembered who I was.

The remembering occurred in a lucid dream. In this dream, I glided like an

owl over a meadow and flew inside an old rotten barn. I perched on a beam.

Inside the barn were two white horses. I studied the eyes of the horses and
felt what they felt. They felt trapped. They felt sick and disheartened. Their
only diversion was gazing out through a window-hole at the dancing world of
nature .... rolling green hills, trees swaying in the wind, swallows swooping
through the air.

"Why do you come into this place of sadness?" the horses asked me. "Go
away and let us die."

"Don't you know what you are?" I asked them.

 "What do you mean?"

"You are the sacred powers that carry the shaman into other worlds."

"How do you know this?" they asked.

"I cannot say in words. I simply know this."

"Then you must be the shaman we have been waiting for this long, long
time."

"Why do you say this?"

"You have the wisdom to 'simply know.'"

Tears formed in my eyes when they said this. When the horses saw this,
they began to stir themselves. Suddenly, one gave a loud neigh and kicked its
back legs. Boards of the barn went flying. The other did the same, and then
the two together.... In a matter of a minute or two, the barn collapsed,
and the three of us went flying over the meadows!

This was a talisman dream. It told me about myself and my situation. I was
a natural being pent up in a shed called "Western civilization." The shed
seemed strong, but it was not. Indeed, it was ready to collapse.

The dream told me that getting what I really want--freedom and joy--is not
so difficult. All I have to do is kick ... some habits, some habitual beliefs.

As I thought this in the dream, suddenly everything got still. A presence

came near, a powerful being. I and the horses stood still, as if frozen to the
spot. The presence gathered itself over us. Then it spoke: "Who are you?"

"We are two horses," we said.

"So be it," the presence replied. Then, in a moment, it disappeared.

The Invisible People

On the first morning of my life in the West, I arose to the sound of children
laughing and yelling out in the back yard. I got up from the couch, wrapped a
blanket around me, and went to the window that overlooked the back. Indeed,
half a dozen children were having the time of their lives on a
large trampoline. One by one, two by two, up and down ... squeals of delight,
yells of triumph, oooowws of agony.

My attention was caught by a white sea gull in the distance. The gull landed
on an old railroad trestle about an eighth of a mile away, and then it dropped
into the glitter of a stream or river.

In a few minutes, I was out in the back yard myself, jumping up and down--
when the children let me have a chance!

Later, I was escorted by my step-son Dustin and a friend through the

thick Scotch broom of the prairie to the glittering river I had seen from the
window.

"What river is this?"

"The Nisqually," Dustin replied. "It comes from the mountain." He meant
Mt. Rainier, which is about thirty miles east of McKenna. The natives' name for
Rainier is "Takhoma," which means "Spirit Home."

Later in the day, equipped with a blanket and a jug of water, I wandered
along the Nisqually until I found a place where I could sit comfortably in the
sun. When I found the spot, I bundled my blanket into a thick seat and sat,
leaning back against a warm bolder. How different the Western winter from the
Eastern! This isn't winter at all, I thought to myself,--it's mid-spring!
 The Nisqually was swollen with the winter run-off. The river originates at the
Nisqually glacier on Mt. Takhoma. I breathed deep,--the mist of the river, the
cedar scent of the forests. I closed my eyes ... listened. The words
of W.H. Auden came to mind ... "The oldest of man's joys, the water noise."

I felt an energy, a tremendous life force in this country that I never felt in
the East, or felt only briefly, from time to time, in the mountains called the
Adirondacks. Mountains, that was it.... There is a divinity in mountains that
even Western man respects.

Joseph S. Hall, the brother of my great grandfather, built the first road up
Mount Washington. After the Civil War, he went west with his family, all the
way to Oakland, California. There he built a road up Mount Diablo. Why this
passion for building roads up mountains? It wasn't that he wanted to "tame the
mountains" or anything like that. Hall just liked the high views, and he enjoyed
sharing them with others....

"Our house is located on the Mt. Diablo Summit road I built," he writes on
August 2nd, 1874. "It is surrounded by large oak trees and is located very
favorably to accommodate visitors to the mountain.... The view from Mt. Diablo
is the best and most extensive in the United States if not in the world
overlooking as it does 25,000 square miles unobstructed...."

"Yes," I thought to myself as I dozed off in my sunny nook, "soon ... I must
go to the mountain...."

I slipped into dream, as into a warm river. For a long time, so it seemed in
the dream, I flowed with the river. Then, suddenly, I was emerging from
the waters of a cove that lay at the feet of a great palace made of cedar and
fir. Totem poles ... my mind whirred ... what is this place? Where am I?

For many years, I had practiced what is called "directed dreaming." If I go to

sleep with a question,--"What is the nature of my relationship with Jane?" for
instance, the dream processes work on the question and present me with an
answer--in the symbolism of dream. Sometimes, the answer comes right away.
Sometimes, I wait for days, or weeks. It helps things along to give yourself
permission to remember the dreams after you wake up!

By the time I went west, I was an experienced dreamwalker. I came to trust

my dreams, more than the opinions of any guru, more than anything written in
books. It is in the dreamworld that it is easiest to find Spirit, to talk with Spirit
directly.

My "Indian connections" began to surface some twenty years ago, after

asking Dream-maker, before going to sleep, "If I was an Indian in a former life, I
would like to see again, with the eyes of the Indian I was, the most wonderful
thing I saw in that life." The answer to my request came in the early morning,
not long before my usual time for awakening. In the dream,
I was sitting high on a mountain. I had been there a long time, and I was weary
with cold and waiting. Then suddenly the sun was before my eyes,
looking like a great orange shield. Then from the shield there arose a great
eagle, and the eagle flew right toward me. Sparks flew from its wings as it
came to me, and its eyes burned. Looking into its eyes, I remembered that my
name in that long ago life was a name that meant "Sun Eagle."

After that dream, I never doubted that I had lived as an Amerindian.

In that I did not doubt the dreamwork, many more dreams came to me which
gave me pictures of former Indian lives. I had so many dreams, in fact, I came
to feel I was in this lifetime a "Ghostshirt,"--a Turtle Islander who is in a white
body!

Slowly, I walked out of the shallow waters of the cove toward the great
wooden palace with its many tall totems. As I advanced, the palace seemed to
age, right before my eyes. The paints on the totem faces, that were bright
when I emerged from the water, grew duller and duller as I approached....

About thirty feet from the structure I stopped, knowing that if I took just
another few steps, the whole palace would disappear. "Is there anybody here?"
I asked quietly. A large gull alighted on top of the tallest totem.

"Welcome home, Two Horses," the gull said.

"Why do call me 'Two Horses'?"

"This is a name you will choose for yourself,--when you will learn to be the
chief of your own self, when you have learned to command yourself."

"Where are the people?" I asked.

"They are invisible," the gull said.

 "Why are they so?" I asked.

"Remember the words of the chief of all teachers, Sea-at-lee...." At this the
gull took flight.

"Less, Less, Less"--the waters seemed to say as I awoke from my dream.

I looked to the trees across the river. Here and there, presences seemed to flit.
I arose, acknowledging the presences with a nod of my head. Then, it was time
to return ... to the visible people.

Months passed. Then one day, while glancing through a white woman's wah-
wah tzum (talk picture) of Chief Seattle, my attention was riveted by the
following words, spoken by Seattle prior to treaty-making with the U.S.
government:

"When the last red man has perished--when the memory of my people
is just a story to the white men,--these shores will swarm with the invisible dead
.... When your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store,
the shop, upon the road, on in the silence of the woods, they will not be alone.
At night--when the streets of your cities and villages seem to be deserted, they
will throng with the returning spirits who loved, and still love, this beautiful
land.... Let the white man be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead
are not powerless."

Trail's End

In the fiftieth year of my time in this lifetime, 1993, I experienced an

awakening to the meaning of my journey--and man's journey in this reality.
The "awakening" was for the most part a remembering process. I came to see
the relationships of the important people and events in my lifetime,--as if ... it
was as if these people and events were pieces of puzzle, the puzzle of Life.

At a certain point in the making of a puzzle, a key piece is inserted, and

around this piece others fall into place, and still others. Soon, the puzzle is
completed. In 1993, I found the key piece to the puzzle of existence. Once I
had this piece, this understanding, everything else seemed to make sense.

I would like to share this "piece" with you....

The time we are in now is a time of trail's end. The time of trail's end is
unlike other times, for now it is required that people make some sense of their
life experiences ... and gather the wisdom of those experiences.

This time has been called by some the "time of harvest." It is true, there is
a kind of harvest that's taking place. The people who have the knowledge of
who and what they are--these people are finished with the story of the Dark
Ages of Earth, and they are ready for a brilliant new beginning.

At trail's end, I have found the certainty that our planet Earth is a one
thing--a very big version of a biological cell. There is a new, true theory of
evolution that explains this. The theory is called "Fractal Evolution." What the
theory says, basically, is that the physical universe is computer modeled by the
spirit universe.

This new theory says that same as the aboriginals have said all along. In
the knowingness of the first peoples, the creator of everything is the Great
Spirit. Great Spirit created Mother Earth and Father Sky. Together
Sky and Earth created everything else. This is a great truth, something that
Western humanity forgot--until now. It was okay to forget. To learn new
things, sometimes you have to "forget" old things, to leave them behind ...
along the trail.

From the Fractal theory I learned that the evolution of organisms is a two-
step process. First there is the building of a base, a camp. Then there is the
going forth, the hunting for new things.

In the case of the biological cell, the setting up of camp is the forming of
the basic membrane by molecules which self-assemble into a spherical form.
These molecules look like Gumby people. Here's a picture of one ...
 These Gumby people have fatty legs, and these fatty legs naturally don't
like water. When a bunch of these Gumby people are thrown in water, what
happens is that they all put their legs together so that their heads form a
barrier against the water. The following sketch shows what they look like when
they all get together.

After the Gumby people set up the basic two-layer membrane, and then
special proteins join them and make their home between the layers. These
proteins are called "integral membrane proteins," or "IMPs." These IMPs are the
hunter-gatherers of the cell. Whatever it is that the cell needs from the
environment, these IMPs capture. Let's say the cell needs some sodium ions.
There are IMPs which have the specific job of detecting sodium ions as they
float by, capturing them, and getting them through the membrane barrier.
 Here's a sketch of an IMP sodium-ion hunter:

Together, the Gumby people and the IMP people make up the "living
membrane." So, if you want to talk evolution, you can start by saying,
"In the beginning, the Gumby people and the IMP people got together and
formed the first organism--the single cell. This cell provided the pattern for
all subsequent organic life forms." All life forms have got to have a way of
separating themselves from environment, which is called "individuation," and at
the same time they need to be able to get from the environment all the
chemicals and energy they require to sustain their lives.

Now let's take a jump from the life form called single cell to the life form
called humankind, or Homo sapiens if you want to be technical. Let's say that
humankind is a one thing, which it is according to Fractal Evolution. Is
humankind patterned, in some sense, on the single cell? Yes, it is. The
people in the species who do the Gumby job, who establish a stable base, are
the native peoples, or aboriginals as I prefer to call them.

Aboriginal means very close to original state of being. It is the work of the
aboriginals to remember the great truth that all life comes from the Great Spirit
and that all of us two-leggeds are children of Father Sky and Mother Earth. The
aboriginal vision is similar to the vision of New Physics.

The people who do the IMP job are the so-called "civilized" peoples. In the
case of humankind, the IMP work is, specifically, the finding out of new things.
Aboriginals always keep the Great Truth in their view, and for this reason they
do not focus much on finding new things. For the humankind organism to find
new things, it had to designate a part of itself that would forget all about the
Great Truth and go looking for some new stuff. That part of humankind which
has gone farthest looking for new stuff is what we call Western civilization.
The Western civilization people are the big hunters of new stuff.
 The evolution of the human species required that there be both keepers and
hunters. I'll be talking about this more later. The main thing I want to say now
is that at the end of the trail of human evolution there is a blending of
aboriginal consciousness and the consciousness of the Western scientific
people. Thus it is that the end-people will come to know the Great Truth in both
their hearts and their heads.

Once I had the idea that human evolution has a specific end point, what I call
the "blending," I desired to understand this end point better, to turn the
understanding into wisdom, into "medicine," and maybe help others to see
what I see, feel what I feel. How could I do this?

The answer out of own knowingness ... "If you wish others to really know
what you've experienced and what you've concluded, then share your vision
quest with them. Tell them the story, from the beginning. Let them walk in
your moccasins.

So, here it is, as best I can tell it ... the vision quest of Two Horses. It is
not in a chronological format, as you'll notice. Rather, it's a record of insights
and understandings, and a few stories given to me by my dream guides.

There's a lot of wah-wah (talk) about religion and science. This must be so
because what we call "religion" and "science" are visions of existence that
lie at the basis of Western civilization and all its institutions. If we can make our
foundations better, all the institutions built on them will become better.

Is it not time for us to change? Many many years ago, great words were
spoken by Seattle, chief of the Duwampsh Confederacy, near where I am
writing now. "Your religions," he spoke to the whites, "are written on tables of
stone by the iron finger of your God so you could not forget. The red man
could never comprehend nor remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our
ancestors--the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night
by Great Spirit. The vision of our sachems is written in our hearts."

"To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred. Their burial place is sacred
ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors, and seemingly
without regret. Your dead are soon forgotten, and never return. Our dead
never forget the beautiful world that gave them being."
 "Every bit of soil is sacred in the understanding of my people. The very
dust upon which you stand is more loving to their footsteps than to yours. It is
rich with the blood of our ancestors,--and with our bare feet, we feel their
compassionate touch."

Seattle was the last of the great Amerindian Teachers to speak directly to
the whites,--to address the fact that whites are deracinated, uprooted from
both physical-nature and spirit-nature. Another such Teacher did not come
along until the 1930s, when the Sioux holy man Black Elk spoke through a book
to twentieth century America and to all the world.

Is it not time that all of us listened?--with all our heart.

II
Heaven

Many wonderful guides have appeared in my life. My father was one. He

was the "tall, dark and handsome" sort of fellow. He liked to joke, and he had a
good heart.

During the Depression Father was a painter. One day the boss dropped
Father and two other painters off at the Jewish temple in town. "Your paint
and ladders are inside," the boss said. Then he drove off. My Father walked up,
opened the door and held it open for the others. They refused to go in. They
were Italian boys, "good Catholics." They crossed themselves and shook their
heads. No way would they go in. My father didn't say anything. He just went
in and got to work. Pretty soon those Italian boys went in, too. They figured if
God didn't strike Father dead, He wouldn't hurt them.

Mother used to say that Father was always more an Indian than a white man.
She was righter than she knew. Father was never at home in a white body. He
had serious problems with his back, and in the space of one year his hair went
from black to white. In 1947, he grew very tired of carrying his body around.
Not long before Christmas of that year, he passed away.

"Your father is with his Father in Heaven now," an uncle told me. I was
just four. My feelings were hurt because Father preferred to be in Heaven,
wherever that was, than right here with us. My mother and sisters grieved for a
long, long time.

With all that grieving around, I couldn't help but grieve myself. I told
Mother I was sure Father would change his mind about wanting to be in Heaven
and come back to us here, but that only made her grieve more.

I took to spending more and more of my time in the woods. There was a
special place I had, in the arms of an old gnarled beech tree. I felt very good
when I was sitting up that beech tree. I remember that beech tree far better
than I remember Father. It was a wonderful friend to me.

One afternoon while I was sitting in my tree, a crow landed nearby and
began talking to me. The idea came to me that Heaven must be like a great
tree. That's why angels have wings. They are the birds in the tree of Heaven.

After having that thought, I felt okay about Father being in Heaven. I
could understand why he had wanted to climb up there.

The Secret of Effective Evangelism

The father of my father had been a big important person in religion. He was
president of the American Tract Society and vice president of the American
Bible Society.

In one of his tracts, "The Secret of Effective Evangelism," Grandfather

wrote, "God calls now more loudly than ever for real evangelistic preachers for
men and women whose hearts and souls have been touched with a live coal
from off God's altar! Men and women who are 'all on fire' with the Holy Spirit--
men and women who are 'all aflame' with an all–consuming enthusiasm for the
salvation of precious souls."

Grandfather passed away before I was born, but I always felt I knew him
pretty well. He left behind a great many pamphlets and a book called A
Remarkable Biblical Discovery. In this book, Grandfather proved that God the
Father and Christ are one.

By "one," Grandfather didn't mean "God and Christ are members of the
same family--Father and Son." He meant that Christ is God. That was a hard
one for me to grasp--a real hard one. It was like saying Mickey Mouse is Walt
Disney.
 At about the same time Grandfather published his theory that Christ is God,
Albert Einstein published his theory that E = mc2. Energy equals mass times
the velocity of light squared. That means if you take an arrow and
shoot it at a very great speed (the speed of light times the speed of light), the
arrow will turn into energy.

I don't think Grandfather knew about Albert Einstein. If he did, he would

have written a tract declaring that modern science had proved him right. God
equals Christ times the velocity of light squared. Grandfather figured it out on
his own. Christ had said to people, "You will do greater things than I." From
this Grandfather reasoned that human beings
have the Godpower in them. If humans have the Godpower in them,
they must be--slowed-down Christs!

How do you speed up a human? Light a divine fire under him.

When Grandfather realized he was a slowed-down Christ, he became very

excited. "God lit a great fire under my seat," Grandfather told his children,
"and I jumped up and started preaching!" The children all laughed at the
thought of Grandfather preaching with his pants smoking.

Grandfather started walking the evangelist path himself not because he was
inspired by the hot air of men and women all aflame with the enthusiasm for
saving precious souls, but because of a wondrous thing that happened to him at
the turn of the century.

I'll let him tell the story in his own words....

"One night, near the end of the year 1900, I retired about eleven o'clock. I
immediately fell into a deep sleep. About one hour later I suddenly awoke, with
the impression that somebody was in the room, and was shining the light of a
bull's eye lantern in my face. Fearing an attack if I revealed the fact that I was
awake, I feigned sleep, and did not at first open my eyes. The suspense
becoming greater than I could bear, I finally opened my eyes, and this is what I
saw. First: a brilliant light; second: a man stood by my bedside in the midst of
the light."

"He was, I judged, about five feet eight or nine inches in height. His
shoulders, while not broad, were quite square. His figure, or such of it as I could
see, was slight--almost womanly. His hair seemed to be long and wavy. He had
a beard and moustache. His clothing appeared to be one garment--a gown--and
it was brilliantly luminous, as, in fact, was his whole person."

"The room was illuminated by the light of the Presence. I was terrifed
beyond all expression. My heart beat tumultuously. My strength seemed to
depart from me. I could not keep my eyes off his face. His face was the face
of a man whom I had never seen in person or in picture. At first it seemed to
be marked with the marks of great age; but a moment afterwards it seemed
that those marks constituted an awful disfigurement. I have never seen such a
face before. It was benignant, but terrifying. I feared that he would speak to
me."

"He spoke not; but to my great astonishment, vanished out of my sight.

Third: to my still greater astonishment, an exact replica of the man, in the
Spirit, stood right in the place where the man had stood. He appeared to be of
a white, or bluish white, color; and I could see the window curtains and shade
right through his body. Then the man in the Spirit turned his body part way
round ... and vanished."

After a time, Grandfather fully persuaded himself that he had witnessed

none other than the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who revealed himself,
Grandfather believed, for the purpose of "making himself know to me as 'the
Holy One' incarnate, who, in his essential Being, is the Eternal 'I AM.'"

Grandfather never saw the I AM incarnate again, not in life anyway; but that
radiant man was the real "secret" of Grandfather's effective evangelism.
Why the White Race Was Invented

In the very first days, all humans were the colors of earth. The reason is
simple. They were all made from earth.

Back in those days, all humans knew they were brothers and sisters, the
children of Father Sky and Mother Earth. Like all brothers and sisters, they
squabbled from time to time. But their squabbling never turned into war. They
never murdered each other.

Things went along from year to year pretty much the same. Everybody had
plenty to eat. All had plenty of time to do what they liked to do. Everyone
lived to be pretty old because there was no stress. Stress is the great killer.

All the people of the world have stories about those times. "In the
beginning" stories. "In the beginning, the Great Spirit created Father Sky and
Mother Earth.... " Those were great times. Holistic times. Everybody operated
on knowingness, and one thing everybody knew is ... everything that exists is a
part of Great Spirit's dream.

This was before the time of belief. "I believe this, I believe that." After
belief came into the world, then humans had something to argue about. Then
they found reasons to go to war.

Just wait a minute. Let's go back to the first times. In those first times,
human beings just existed. Live and let live -- that was the attitude. Enjoy life.
Have a good time.

After a long, long time -- maybe a million years, a young chief by the name
of Degandawidah had a thought, a thought that no-one else had ever had. The
thought hit him like a lightning bolt. It hit him so hard he had to sit down.
"Hey, what's the matter, Degandawidah?" his friends asked.

Degandawidah went into a trance. After a while, he came out of the trance
and stood up, looking very serious. He looked at his friends, and then he gave a
little speech. "Just now, the Great Spirit had a thing to say to me. And I don't
know what to make of it."
 "What did Great Spirit say?" his friends asked.

"Great Spirit said we're all having a wonderful time here and that's great, but
we humans aren't getting anywhere. We're just going in circles."

"What's wrong with going in circles?" his friends asked.

"Spirit says we're on a great journey, and the journey doesn't end until we
know everything there is to know."

"But don't we already know everything there is to know?" the friends

asked.

"I asked Spirit that same question," Degandawidah said. "Spirit said that if
we knew everything there is to know, then we would be the Great Spirit."

That stopped his friends. They didn't know what to say to that. All they
knew is that something big was going on. But they didn't know what it was.
"Well what now, Degandawidah? What are we supposed to do now?"

Degandawidah didn't know the answer, and so he went to the top of a great
hill, to be closer to the Great Spirit. He came down a few days later. His friends
were waiting for him. They were a little nervous. The look on Degandawidah's
face didn't make them less nervous. "Well," they asked, "what did the Great
Spirit say?"

Degandawidah didn't answer right away. He was great at creating suspense.

He merely looked around and scowled at his friends. After a good meal, though,
he got to laughing. Everyone thought he was crazy. In fact, he loved being
dramatic. He was just milking the moment. When he stood to give another
speech, everything went still. Even the insects in the woods. Everyone wanted
to hear what it was that the Great Spirit was saying to Degandawidah.

"Brothers and sisters," Degandawidah said, "my name is Degandawidah."

"We know who you are, Degandawidah," his friends said. "Get on with it."

"What the Great Spirit says," Degandawidah said, "is that in order for us to
find our way we must lose our way."
 "That doesn't make any sense," his friends said.

"Spirit says there is a broad path that runs along the river, and all the
humans are running back and forth on this path. There's another path, Spirit
says, a path that runs along the stars, and way out beyond the stars, into the
Unknown."

Degandawidah grew very silent, as if gazing into the Unknown.

"Degandawidah," the friends asked, "why would anyone want to go beyond the
stars and into this Unknown you're talking about?"

Degandawidah looked this way and that, for dramatic effect, and then he
said, very quietly, "Because that is where the Great Spirit wants us to go."

"Why does Great Spirit want us to go there?"

Degandawidah paused for a minute. And then he answered the question in

this way: "Why does Great Spirit want us to go there?"

Everyone went to sleep very confused that night. A lot of people had
strange dreams.

News traveled fast. In a couple of weeks, just about half the people on
Turtle Island arrived at the village of Degandawidah. A lot of people were
having strange dreams. Everyone wanted to know what was going on.
Degandawidah called a council of the wisest persons he could find, and the
council met for many weeks. At long last, a decision was reached.

All eyes were on Degandawidah as he jumped up on a great rock and spoke

to the people. "Listen, brothers and sisters . . . ."

"We're listening...."

"We've looked at the question this way and that. A hundred ways. We
deliberated and deliberated . . . ."

"Get on with it!" the people shouted. "What did you decide is the meaning
of the words of the Great Spirit?"
 "Well it's like this," Degandawidah replied, "we need some volunteers."

"Volunteers for what?!"

"We need some people who are willing to forget about everything they
know."

"But why?!"

"So they can learn new things," Degandawidah said. "Things that just
wouldn't occur to us -- because we're perfectly happy with what we know and
how we know it. The only way we can learn about the path to the stars is if
some of us get themselves lost, and forget about the good old path along the
river we all know and love."

It took a lot of talking, but after a week or so, Degandawidah had a dozen
men and women who were willing to forget all they knew. "Look,
Degandawidah," they said, "we'll do this thing for you. We'll forget everything
we know. But if we ever get in real trouble because we don't know anything,
then we expect you'll help us out." Degandawidah agreed to do this. And he
kept his word. He kept it when in later times he went with Hiawatha among the
peoples of the Eastern gate and taught them the way of peace. But that's
another story.

It wasn't so easy for the volunteers to forget everything they knew. After a
time, Degandawidah had to have another talk with the Great Spirit. The Great
Spirit gave him some advice. This is what he told Degandawidah: "To help the
volunteers forget they're the children of Mother Earth, I'm going to take away
the earth color from their skins. I'll make their skin white like clouds, or maybe
sort of pink. And I'll make their eyes blue like the sky. And, of course, they'll
have to go away--far from their people on Turtle Island...."

There was a big party when it came time to say good-bye. Degandawidah
made a big speech. "Our wonderful brother and sister volunteers are going to a
new land, the Great Spirit told me. This land will be called Europe. There, in
Europe, they'll experience a lot of change." Degandawidah didn't tell them that
they'd turn white. "They'll be thinking up new things, things that would never
occur to us because we're very grounded, we're very sane."
 Everyone laughed. "A lot of things they think up," Degandawidah continued,
"will be really stupid. Stuff a Turtle Islander couldn't ever imagine, not if he
stood on his head for ten years. But among the thousands of new things our
relatives in Europe come up with, a few things will be really worthwhile. These
few things will be the things that will teach us the path to the stars.... and the
path beyond the stars into the great Unknown."

The next morning, the volunteers left Turtle Island in great canoes. There
were three big canoes, each formed by lashing together seven ordinary canoes.
That was Degandawidah's idea. Seven or eight volunteers decided at the last
minute not to go, but Degandawidah made them go anyway.

The volunteers left from a place that is now called Asbury Park, New Jersey.
"One day, their descendants will return to Turtle Island," Degandawidah said. "I
wonder what new and interesting things they'll bring back from Europe."
Remembering my Oneida Life
and Joseph Brant

For many hundreds of years, the Six Nations stood at the Eastern Gate. The
Six Nations is sometimes called the "Iroquois Confederacy." It was started
many hundreds of years ago by two great chiefs--Hiawatha and Degandawidah.
Long before the Europeans came to Turtle Island, Hiawatha and Degandawidah
were telling the red men to get ready ... "Your brothers and sisters with white
skin will be arriving any century now, and they're going to need a lot of
education. Better get your act together."

The Confederacy was the ally of the British, and if the British didn't have
this ally, today New England would probably be "New France."

The last war chief of the Six Nations was "Joseph Brant." Joseph was much
trusted by the British in the days before the Revolution. Joseph was smart. He
pretended he wanted to study the Bible, and the British were happy to send him
to England to learn all about it. What he really wanted was to find out was how
to make gunpowder!

Joseph knew what was in the hearts of the whites, and he believed the red
peoples would be rubbed out if they didn't find a way to make their own
gunpowder. He believed the only way to stop the whites--the termite people--
from eating up all Turtle Island was to create a strong nation of red nations in
the place now called Ohio and Indiana. It was not his destiny to fulfill this
dream. In London, he studied the making of gunpowder as best he could. He
came to the sad conclusion that the Indians didn't have all the stuff that was
needed to make it.

The American Revolution split the Six Nations. Joseph fought with the Red
Coats. He was a great chief. If the British had asked Joseph to lead their war
party, he would have won the war for them! They didn't do this, however.
They were too stupid, too blinded by all their medals.
 I loved Joseph, but I could not follow him. The old teachings were close to
my heart. I believed it was the mission of the Six Nations to help the termite
people to become real human beings. Many of my people thought I was a
ridiculous old man. My head was in the clouds, they thought. "You can't teach
the white man anything!--as everyone knows."

There came a time, however, when the idea the whites could be educated
didn't seem quite so ridiculous. The whites had a great sachem called Franklin.
In the time of the writing of the Constitution, I and other Confederacy leaders
were called upon to give our advice. I felt very happy, for this was the first
proof I had that the termites were willing to learn!

I'll tell you that story, but first I want to say this, knowing the thought will
be carried to our beloved brother Joseph on many winds. In this time, the
present moment, Joseph wears a ghostshirt and lives a simple life not far from
the old castles of the Mohawk. There is great grief in his heart. The man who
was Joseph feels that he failed his peoples, that he alone could have stopped
the westward movement of the whites--had he moved more quickly.

Joseph.... Your dream was great, the dream of a warrior, but it was not as
great as the dream of Hiawatha and Degandawidah. Do not be in anguish any
longer, brother. The dream of Hiawatha is about to be realized.

In Wisconsin, the white buffalo calf has been born. This is the sign that the
great coming together of the peoples of the world is at hand. Soon all humans
will understand that they are members of one tribe.
Ben Franklin and "Your Rope"

I first met the great Ben Franklin in 1754. Even then, more than twenty
years before the American Revolution, Franklin was looking for new ways of
running things. He and a lot of others were sick and tired of the Europe way.
"Your Rope" he called Europe. "Give a man enough Your Rope, he'll want to
hang himself."

The Europe way of running things was called monarchy. Monarchy means
one chief. The big chief has all the power and what he says goes. Whether the
king is smart or stupid doesn't matter. Whether the people like him or not
doesn't matter. Whether they trust him or not doesn't matter. Once a person
becomes a king, he is king for life. When I heard this from Ben, I understood
right away what was wrong with the Your Rope system. It was against nature--
against the natural way of doing things.

Now it's interesting to look inside a biological cell. Inside you see what is
called the genome. This is a place like a factory. In the genome are all the
plans for the organism,--the DNA. Nearby are the workers who take the plans
and make new things. The workers are called proteins. It's easy to understand
where the ant people learned the wisdom to live the way they do. They learned
it from the cell. The cell is a great teacher. The red tribes also learned from
the cell.

Now, in the case of the ant people, the queen is something like the DNA in
the cell. The queen is the treasure of the people--the future. She is not the
ruler. The ruler of the ants--the giver of order--is instinct. Every ant knows
just what to do. In contrast, in the Your Rope system of government, the
monarch is the ruler and what he says goes, even if what he says is real stupid.
This is very far from natural government.

The way of the Six Nations was very close to the natural way, and that is
why Ben Franklin was interested in us. The government of the Six Nations was
a government of the people, by the people, for the people. This is the main
thing Ben learned from us. The great power--the sovereignty--
is something that belongs to all the people and not just the big chief or a few
powerful people.

Ben had an idea called the "Albany Plan of Union." It was a step in the
direction of our kind of government. "One General Government may be formed
in America," he wrote, "administered by a president General.... and
a grand Council to be chosen by the representatives of the people of the
several colonies."

What Ben Franklin didn't learn so well was the importance of women in our
culture. We never forgot the teachings of the cell. The most important thing in
the life of an organism, whether a cell or a nation, is the source of new life. So
it was in our system that the women had the final say. Women decided who
would be our political and religious leaders.

Also, women got rid of any leader who failed to serve the best interests of
the people. If they didn't like what a leader was doing, they would give him
three warnings to change his ways. If he failed to respond, the leader was too
dumb to remain part of the tribe. He was stripped of power and made an
outcast.

What good is a man who refuses to listen to the voice of his people? Such a
man needs to live alone and to listen to the voices of nature--for a long, long
time.

I have seen many many efforts to reform the American political system.
Most of these reforms, it seems, only made things worse. Some day maybe the
American public will smarten up and vote only for women!
Beat the Clock

For most of my life, I looked on people who believed in God as people in

need of crutches. Cosmic crutches.

"When mortal helpers fail and comforts flee.... O Lord, abide with me." That
about said it all. Mortals can't be depended on. Got a really troubling question?
Christ is the answer. Got a really big problem? God has the solution.

For me, God was just a fiction. I never met anybody who had seen God, and
I knew only one person who had ever heard Him. I believed this person who
said he heard Him was telling the truth. This person was my Sunday school
teacher. That's not why I believed him. I believed him because he was on
television. He was the host of a popular television game show, "Beat the
Clock."

Clayton "Bud" Collier was one of the most charismatic men I ever met. He
was also one of those Christians who had gotten the message of Christ, the "do
unto others as you would have them do unto you" message. He helped
a lot of people, and he helped me on my journey more than once....

Bud told us a story once that made a lasting impression. "It was in 1933,"
he said, "in the depths of the Depression." Bud and his family were living in
New York City. If I recall the story right, Bud's father had been one of the
suicides of the Great Crash. The responsibility for feeding the family fell on
Bud.

"One night," Bud said, "I went to the roof of our tenement in New York and
beseeched God to help me find work. Then, from the darkness above me ... a
voice spoke to me, spoke to me as clearly as I'm speaking to you now, and the
voice said...." We were all hanging on his every word. "The voice said, 'You will
have work Wednesday.'"

The following Wednesday, Bud had work. Not only did he have work, he had
the best job in New York! He was the first radio voice of Superman.
 A few years later, when I was in the third semester of my first year at the
University of Michigan, I got my last message from Bud. It came as a big
surprise to me. Just two weeks before, I had been out walking in the
Arboretum near the women's dormitories, worried about how I would pay the
final semester and occasionally shaking my fist at the sky. "If You exist, God,
show Your face, show anything, a wing, a pinky! God! if You exist, it's time You
did something for me! I went to Your church for ten years of my life!--and now I
could use some of my quarters back! I need to pay for my final semester!"

God didn't show His face, wings or pinky--at least not to my view. But
shortly thereafter, I got a little "good wishes" note from Bud and a check for
$300.

I was so shocked by that money coming "out of the blue" I never wrote Bud
a thank-you note. Well, the truth is I wrote notes, but I just couldn't find the
right words. Before I could summon up the humility to simply thank him for his
gift, "Thank you, Mr. Collier, for your kind gift which came at a time I really
needed it" ... Clayton Collier died.

I heard the service was very beautiful. There were tears in the eyes of old
John Bates, the minister, as he said, "Our Bud has bloomed into a rose of
Heaven...."

Twenty years of skepticism would pass before I myself experienced an

encounter of the God kind. It was 1982, and I was madly in love with a very
bewitching blue-eyed blonde by the name of Mary. If you can imagine
"Madonna" as a crystal-carrying New Ager, you have a pretty good idea of Mary.
When I looked at Mary, I thought of only one thing, and it wasn't God. Little did
I suspect that Mary would be the means by which I experienced.... the Creator.

Mary had a passion, too, but it wasn't for me. Her passion was for
Scientology. She saw L. Ron Hubbard as the greatest guru ever. For many
years, Dianetics and Scientology were her one true love.

Mary was a Dianetics auditor, which is a person who listens to other people's
problems--again and again and again. Hubbard's idea was that the reason for
people's dysfunctional characteristics are dysfunctional cellular programs,
programs he called "engrams."
 If you keep looking at "engramic" experiences long enough, over and over,
Hubbard said, then sooner or later you'll uncover the basic trouble–makers,
which are usually verbal "commands" that operate, when restimulated, as
hypnotic commands.

At any rate, Mary volunteered to give me some auditing, and I went along. I
started out by looking at a recurring nightmare I had when a child of six and
seven. I went over and over this incident until, much to my surprise, I found
myself looking at a very different scene--a wintry night in Paris around 1887...

I was a well-known pianist and composer. I was dying of tuberculosis,

and I was late to my engagement. When I arrived, I saw that the doctor who
had hired me to entertain his guests was playing an ugly joke on me ... "You're
so late!" he laughed "we had to find a replacement!" At the piano he had
propped up a skeleton. I was infuriated. With my cane I knocked that skeleton
to pieces. I scared the devil out of all of them!

After going through the incident many times in auditing, my composure

returned. Mary asked me if I could recall an earlier similar incident. No sooner
did she say this than I experienced something I never experienced before or
after. It was as if I was moving at fantastic speeds through some kind of
tunnel. I could hear sounds--like the sounds of subway trains. My body was
jolted around. Then I saw it ... the face of God.

What I experienced as God was a blinding white light ... convulsing rivers of
light that exploded into great cascades of beingness.

I experienced myself as a beam of light shot forth from God. I became

aware of other beams of light, like me, who were side by side with me. I looked
at one of these beams by me and saw the face of Mary. In my thought, I called
these beams my "fellow travelers."

It's interesting to me that I didn't find God through any church, or any bible,
or by praying months on end. I found God by looking at pictures of my past.
Call it imagination. Call it whatever you like. But from that time, I had the
knowingness God exists. I didn't need belief, I didn't need sermons. I had
gnosis. Personal knowing.

Do you remember the old Quaker Oats ads? "Quaker oats are shot from
guns!" I believed that when I was a kid, Quaker oats were shot from cannons.
What a great way to make breakfast! That was nonsense, of course ... but
that's the very first thing I thought of when I came out of the God-encounter
Dianetics session. "Yes!" I told Mary, "Now I know! Humans ... all of us ...
we're shot from God! Like Quaker oats!!"
Why the Whites Lie So Much

There's a part of me that really loves to figure things out. I call this part of
me "Puzzle Man."

Several years ago, Puzzle Man developed a strong desire to figure out why
it was the white people lied so much. One day the whites say one thing, the
next day they say something else.

"Hey, Two Horses," Puzzle Man said, "we gotta figure out why the whites lie
so much!"

"Forget about it," I said. "Let's go fishing."

Puzzle Man just couldn't forget about it, however. He can't relax when he's
got a big question in his head. He keeps figure-figuring until he gets some kind
of sensible answer. This is the understanding he came to....

Now for the Indian, your word is your wand. It's important to speak only
truth. It's expected of an Indian that he speak only truth. As Eagle Man says,
"To lie is the worst crime." Indians have a lot of tolerance for anti-social
behavior, but they have no tolerance for lying.

Indian society requires truth, and expects truth from its members. Does
white society? No. What the white society seems to want is conformity. Just
go along with what the authorities say. Also, in white society, everybody is out
for himself. They've all been Darwinized. That's another story.

What is truth? For the Indian, it's what you see and experience. All
spiritual truth is based on common experience. In white culture, historically,
truth means a different thing. It means what's in the Bible. Experience is a big
illusion. Truth is in the Bible.
 Now not all the whites went along with this idea that the truth is in the
Bible, and that's the only truth there is. Back a few hundred years, many
started to think that the Bible was the illusion and the truth was in nature. The
people who thought truth was in nature called themselves scientists. The early
scientists had the same idea as the Indians.

Also there were a lot of Bible-followers who began to see things in a new
way. This was after a lot of different bibles started popping up. Which was the
real truth Bible? Many of these confused people just threw up their hands and
said, "We don't know what's what in Bibles, the only way to truth that makes
sense to us is to follow nature. One thing we can be sure about is that God
created nature. Nobody disputes that. The Bible says that, and 'God created
the heaven and the earth.' So if we study not the words of the Maker but the
works of the Maker, then maybe we can find out more about Him."

People who believed this way were called Deists. Some Deists were
Christian. Others had a lot of doubts about Christianity and decided to just be
honest, like the Indians, and say only what they see. So they said, "We see
nature. We agree there was something that made nature. Let's call that
something the Creator. Let's see if we can find out something about the
Creator by studying His creation."

There are a lot of Christians who believe that the United States was founded
on the principles of Christianity. In fact, the big founders were Deists. Franklin,
Jefferson, Washington, Paine. When Jefferson wrote the Declaration of
Independence, what he said was "according to the laws of nature and nature's
God." Notice those words. "Nature and nature's God." Jefferson wasn't
talking about the Bible God.

The fact is that among the countries born from Mother Europe, the United
States was the most divine. It was most divine because it was most allowing of
differences in religious belief. If the Creator really believed all the Catholics
were right and all the Protestants wrong, do you think there would be any
Protestants around today? No. The Creator, thank God, doesn't think like man
. . . "This is good, this is bad."

Let's get back to the subject of whites lying. Now the whites who are raised
according to the Bible.... the first thing they're asked to do is lie. They've got
to say they believe in God and Christ and angels and devils, when in fact they
haven't seen them. Now if you start out a kid by
programming him to believe lying is the truth, do you think that kid is going to
grow up to be a truth–sayer or a liar? As the sapling is bent, so grows the tree.

The Christians can be really amazing. They can believe about anything.
They can believe two opposite things at the same time. They can believe that
following the example of Christ, the great peacemaker, is the way to God. Turn
the other cheek. Then at the same time, they believe that going on the
warpath is following the will of God.

In the Northwest I see many signs nailed on trees. The signs say "CHRIST
DIED FOR YOUR SINS." Unless I'm very misinformed, the Bible says Christ didn't
die. Well what's the truth? Did he die? Or didn't he die? I asked a Christian
friend about this. "Both," he said. "Christ died and then he was resurrected."

In other words, Christ's death was just a temporary death. Now what is
death if it isn't permanent? It's not death. It's near–death maybe, but not
death. "CHRIST HAD A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE FOR YOUR SINS." Maybe
that's the message that should be nailed on the trees.
Alvin

In 1962, I was struggling along in the School of Natural resources at the

University of Michigan. I lived at the Michigan Co–op just a few blocks from the
Huron River. Hiawatha had been a Huron chief. I didn't know that in 1962.
Even if I had, it wouldn't have mattered much. The Six Nations.... just a phrase
from my childhood. Just a memory from the summer of 1952.... Cousin Bill
stopped the car so I could take a pee. I ran behind a tree near an historical
marker saying "Tribes of the Six Nations, or Iroquois Confederacy, Once Met on
This Hill."

That first year in Ann Arbor was an important one for me. A great guide
helped me find my trail. He was a black man from Toledo by the name of Alvin
Henry. Alvin was the most intelligent man I ever met. I learned more about
nature from Alvin than I learned in all my physics, chemistry, botany and biology
courses rolled into one.

Alvin learned to look at nature through the eyes of William Wordsworth and
D. H. Lawrence. Wordsworth and Lawrence were both seers. They were getting
back to the aboriginal understanding of things. They knew that nature is not
just a backdrop against which the human drama--the really important thing!--is
played out. They felt the planet was a great god.

What the aboriginal knows instinctively, "civilized" man has had to

rediscover.

In the aboriginal wisdom, there is the Great Spirit, who is the source of all
that is. Then there are the children of the Great Spirit . . . Father Sky and
Mother Earth. From these great gods come the humans and everything else
that lives upon the Earth. In 1979, the English scientist James Lovelock
published a book called Gaia--A New Look at Life on Earth. What Lovelock says
is, "the biosphere is a self-regulating entity with the capacity to keep our
planet healthy by controlling the chemical and physical environment...."
 Lovelock also says it looks like our planet is a giant organism. "Gaia," he
calls her. The idea that the Earth is a big Mother was not new news for the
aboriginals. What was news was the fact the white man was beginning to catch
on!

In Greek mythology, "Gaia" is the original Earth goddess. When Lovelock

first suggested the Gaia hypothesis, he says, it was "condemned as telelogical
by my peers and the journals, Nature and Science, would not publish papers on
the subject...." "Teleological" refers to purpose. "Telos" is from the Greek. It
means "ultimate end," or goal, or purpose. In the vision (or lack-of-vision) of
the orthodox biologists, life has no purpose. It's a haphazard sort of thing, the
product of a lot of random genetic changes.

Back in '62, only the way-out poets were talking about Earth as a kind of
superorganism. And Alvin. Alvin wanted to experience the "godhood of Earth,"
as he called it.

Alvin didn't want to live in the cages of conventional Western thought, or

"leading edge" thought for that matter. He wanted to make himself a pure
channel of the primordial god-force. There were two things he did to purify
himself, to make himself ready to receive the Great Spirit. First, he learned to
master fear. Second, he learned to sit still.

Alvin knew that fear is the great crippler of humans. When he felt afraid of
a thing, why then he would experience that thing until he was no longer afraid
of it. One thing he was afraid of was the police. So he went down to the police
station and just sat there. He sat there every day for three weeks. When Alvin
walked away, finally, he wasn't afraid any longer. Some of the police had
become afraid of him, however. Alvin had a wonderful laugh. He laughed a lot
about scaring the police.

The second thing Alvin did was learn to meditate. Alvin found out that when
he quieted himself, when he let go every thought and was perfectly still, then
understandings would come to him. For a short time, Alvin was a professor at
Howard University. Then he quit his position and went home so that he could
just sit and meditate. After a while, he ran out of money. I suggested he
return to the university, and he looked at me and said, very matter-of-factly, "I
am the university."
 In the winter of '79, Alvin went down into the basement of his parents'
home and sat by the furnace. He sat there for forty days. Sipping a little juice
now and then, and that's all.

After forty days, his parents had him committed to a mental institution.
After Alvin got out, he left home. No forwarding address.

There are Christians and there are Christians. The ones who follow the
teachings of Christ are few and far between. "Do unto others as you would
have them do unto you." If you take that teaching seriously, you don't go out
and kill people--even if the state says you must. Most who call themselves
Christians don't follow the teachings. What they follow is the church. The
doctrines of the church. The right name for these people is "Churchers."

Alvin never had a good opinion of Christianity. For him it was just a box of
words. Historically, when the chiefs of the Churcher nations wanted to murder
and steal from their brothers, they had their priests rattle the box of words.
"Onward Christian Soldiers." Then all the people would follow the box of words
into battle. When I was at the University of Michigan, I had many friends who
couldn't wait to "jump the puddle," as they called the Pacific, and "kill Commies
for Christ."

I have known few great Christians. But the person I knew who was most like
Christ himself was not Christian. He was a black man from Palmwood Street in
Toledo, Ohio. Alvin mastered the little fears of life. Then he
mastered the great fears. In time, he was not afraid of anything--not even of
being a Christ.

On this planet, it's a dangerous thing to be a bringer of light. The powers-

that-be have a lot of tolerance for criminals, but they have no tolerance for
Christs--not living ones anyway.
A Talk With Will Rogers

"We're all Indians now." That is something Will Rogers said in 1935, shortly
before he died. Will Rogers was a great medicine man. The whites called him a
"humorist"--someone who makes people laugh. Nobody laughed, however,
when he said, "We're all Indians now." Nobody knew what he meant.

Let's go back to 1935 and have a talk with Will Rogers. "What is it you
mean, Will Rogers, by that 'we're all Indians' remark?

"It ain't hard to figure out, son. Take our Indian cousins.... They used to be
free-roaming. Now they all live in little boxes called 'reservations.' Hope you
don't mind if I have reservations about reservations. Well, cousin, as you no
doubt know, one of the basic laws of life is 'what you put out is what you get
back.' For a long time now, us Euro-peons have been building boxes
--boxes for the Indians. And with every box we build it's us we're boxin' in! It's
just a matter of time before we get ourselves totally boxed in."

"In case you ain't noticed, cousin," Will Rogers continued, "this New Deal
thing Mr. Roosevelt has come up with is a pretty fancy box. Why I guess most
of the Amero-peons are going to be just tickled pink to live in it.... let the
Government take care of everything. You know, cousin, that's what the
undertakers always seem to say. 'You just let us take care of everything.'"

"So what you mean, Will Rogers, is that we're all gettin' in the box, we're all
Indians."

"That's about it, son. We're all wards of the state."

"But that's not what the American system is all about! Our system's based
on the idea that the power belongs to the people. Those in government are
only representatives--representatives, not the rulers! If
we threw out the king-is-big-boss idea, why would we want to buy into
the state-is-big-boss idea?"

"Cousin, you're talking ideas, theories, I'm talkin' life. If a man builds cages
for his cousins, why one day he's going to find himself in a cage."
 "Something went wrong, Will." I said. "Maybe right from the start. Maybe
the Constitution wasn't clear enough about who holds the sovereignty in the
American system."

"The ol' Constitution begins, 'We, the People of the United States.... do
ordain and establish this Constitution.' Hard to be clearer than that.
You're right, of course. The U.S. Constitution's based on people power, not on
king-power or might-makes-right, or state power, or any other power. Cousin, I
guess the sad fact of the matter is the American people don't understand they
have got the sovereignty. And if they don't know it's theirs, then they're not
gonna mind much when it gets stolen, right?"

"I'm afraid it has been stolen, Will. Stolen in 1913, when Congress gave
away control of the money system to a bunch of banking tycoons."

"Yeah, son, I know all about it. Federal Reserve Act of '13. Like they say, a
fool and his money are soon parted."

"It was a big conspiracy, Will!--and it's gone from bad to worse!"

"Wouldn't get too upset about it, son. It's just the whites getting around to
boxing up other whites. When enough people get sick and tired of being boxed
up, then things will change--overnight."

"Will, if they don't catch on soon, most of the people in the U.S. are going
to wind up as debt slaves!--owned by the banks!"

"Sure. I could see it comin' back in '29, when the Fed caused the big crash.
The citizens were weeping and wailing, killing themselves right and left, all while
the insiders were celebrating in the back rooms. The 'Undertakers' I called
them. The Undertakers had the pick of the crop. They bought themselves
great industries for pennies on the dollar. Those days sure opened my eyes...."

"It's wrong, Will, Something must be done!"

"Son, something is being done. All the people are gettin' into boxes. That
goes for the Undertakers as well. Now one of these days some of these cousins
are going to open their eyes and see the situation. 'Hey, we're being buried
alive in dark little boxes! Hey, we don't gotta be here.... we're being buried by
ourselves!"
 "Are we that blind?

"Son, the white race is mighty ignorant about the things that matter. But
one day they'll wake up. Wake up and get out of their coffins. One day the
whites will realize they, too, are Indians. Boxed up for the convenience of the
Undertakers."

"Wish there was something I could do...."

"This country's a bird that was hatched long ago. Maybe if you went back
to the time it was an egg .... Maybe you could have a good influence. But I.... I
wouldn't waste my time."
The Black Road--Beginning and End

One reason I came into my present life was to find out why the whites are so
murderous. Who are these people who can destroy aboriginal peoples and call it
"settlement" and "civilization?"

When the Europeans first landed at the Eastern Gate, they were welcomed
as brothers and sisters. We natives gave them what they needed to survive.
When they were small in numbers, the whites welcomed our friendship. They
invited us to Thanksgiving feasts. When the whites grew large in numbers, it
was a different story. Suddenly we were unworthy of life. "The only good
Indian is a dead Indian." In a short time, the whites almost exterminated us.

In Guilford, Connecticut there is a point of land going into Long Island Sound
that is called "Sachem's Head." In the colonial days, white settlers cut off the
head of a Pequot chief and put it on a stake. For ten days the eyes of the
sachem looked out over the Sound. Today the Sound itself is near death. Is
there no connection between the sachem and the Sound?

In my present life, I came to understand where genocide comes from. It

comes from the idea that there is some life that is unworthy of life. This is an
idea that followed the old "chosen people" idea. The chosen people are the
people God likes. All the others, the unchosen people, aren't worth anything.
God doesn't like them.

Now this chosen people idea never make much sense to me. The Great
Spirit created everything that exists, right? The very fact something exists
means it's been chosen to exist. Does Great Spirit create anything that it
doesn't want to exist?

Where in history did this "life unworthy of life" idea begin? I gave the
question to Puzzle Man, and he puzzled it out in this way:

The first chosen people were the men. "It was in the time of the Hittite
nation, which was a big power in the Middle East a thousand years before Christ.
There was a priest in this nation who was disappointed in love. He was very
crazy for this woman. He would give anything to have this woman. But the
woman didn't want him. She turned him down flat.

The priest was very angry about that, and so he started a rumor that this
woman didn't have a soul. Now the relatives of this woman didn't like to hear
this, and so they came knocking on the priest's door with heavy sticks. The
priest was real scared.

"What's this like you're saying about my daughter?" screamed an old man.
"You are dishonoring me by saying I have brought into the world a girl without a
soul!"

The relatives began breaking down the priest's door, and the priest had to
think fast. "Wait!--let me explain!" he cried. "What I've said has been
misunderstood!"

The relatives stopped pounding away. "Come on out," they said. "We
won't kill you until we've hear your side of the story."

The priest opened the door nervously. When he wasn't hit by flying stones
and sticks, he relaxed a bit and went out. "Look," he said to the father, "I
didn't mean to dishonor you. When I suggested your daughter doesn't have a
soul, I wasn't referring to just your daughter. I was referring to all women."

The relatives scratched their heads. "Women don't have souls?"

"Do women have beards?" the priest asked. "No," he answered himself.
"And why not?.... It's a great mystery."

When he had their agreement, the priest added, "All we can know for sure is
that the soul in in the beard."

Pretty soon, the deception of the priest became the "accepted wisdom."
Men stopped cutting their beards, for fear of losing their souls. What about
women? They have no beards. Soon ... everybody came to believe that
because women don't have beards, they don't have souls.

This dishonoring of woman came into Western culture through the

Hittites, and later the Hebrew peoples. It also went, like a poison, into the
bloodstreams of peoples of the East.
 This dishonoring of woman was the beginning of the black road the
Western peoples have built over the past 3,500 years. The Catholics and
Protestants continued the dishonoring. Indeed, they heaped even more
dishonor on woman by saying that the first woman, Eve, is the reason for the
downfall of man. The reason for the downfall of man is that he dishonored
woman. He destroyed the balance that exists, naturally, between man and
woman.

Once out of balance with woman, man began to get even more crazy. He
dishonored the primitive peoples of the planet, and he made war on them,
slaughtering all those he could not make into slaves. The Churchmakers had a
lot to do with this. For the sake of power, they dishonored all those who did
not believe in the doctrines they invented.

The black road of the Western peoples led to many terrible places. It led to
the death camps of the Nazis, and of the Soviets. It led to Wounded Knee, and
it led to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Many beautiful peoples and cultures have
been crushed under the black road.

Christ tried to stop the black road, by showing people the road to God. His
teachings were crushed and churned into the black road.

Science arose to speak the truth.... "The trouble with man is he is separated
from nature," said Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, the inventor of the science of
evolution. Lamarck was publicly insulted by the Emperor Napoleon, who loved
the Bible vision of life.

Lamarck died in 1829, and not long after, his true science understandings
were ridiculed by powerful enemies. The sachem's head was put on a pike. A
great wisdom was lost.

Darwinism might as well be called "Blackroadism," for that is what it is. It

teaches that everything is fighting everything else. Life is war. With Darwinism,
science became part of the black road--the biology part of science anyway. The
New Physics is true understanding.

Between May and August of 1994, I spent some time with a biologist who
knows the truth--and speaks it. His name is Bruce Lipton.
 "We wonder why the world today seems insane," Bruce says. "We believe in
an evolutionary theory that tells us life is unworthy of life!--life is a den of
murder. The logic of Darwinism takes us finally to the point of view that
success in life is shooting everything else around ... and what's left standing
wins!"

Today, all the death machinery, all the black road building machinery of the
West, is slowing down. People are beginning to wise up, to use their common
sense. They are sick and tired of the old dog-eat-dog black road
philosophy. They are beginning to see where it ends--in extinction. Not the
extinction of the planet. The planet will survive and re-create itself. The
extinction of man.

As I've said, there are few laws underlying existence, and one of them is ....
what you put out is what you get back. If you deal out death, you get back
death.
My Brief Visit to the Western Gate

In most of my incarnations, I have been a male, but in some I chose to

explore the idea of female. In 1690, I popped into the world as a female
member of the Hopi tribe.

The Hopi have played--and play--a very important role in the evolution of the
human species. After the falling apart of the Iroquois Confederacy, the Hopi
became the principal "keepers" of the Truth about the the human story and our
destiny. Long before the whites landed at the Eastern Gate their coming was
known to the Hopi. Long before there was a United Nations the Hopi knew that
the longhouse of the world peoples of the future would be a great house of
"mica."

In my dreams, I remember that my brief stay among the Hopi was very warm
and wonderful. "Little Storm" I was called, as I was a loud baby.

I remember loving my father very dearly. Father became an elder of the

tribe when I was ten. I was very proud of him. I was the last and the favorite
child of Father. My mother would frown on him sometimes because of his
preference for me, but he would only laugh and joke, "I love her so much
because she is the last. No more worries!"

From the time I was seven, Father would sometimes take me with him when
he went "to talk with the stars." I think he sensed that I was a male energy
expressing through a female form, and he respected this. Or perhaps he knew
that I was destined to live to live only a short time among the Hopi.

I died in childbirth. I was very grateful for the opportunity to have lived as
Hopi. "Hopi" means "peaceful people," and everyone who passes through the
gate of the Hopi nation becomes a peace warrior.

It is not a contradiction in terms to speak of "peace" and "warrior" in one

phrase. For the Hopi, the "warrior" is the person who does for the tribe
whatever is necessary at the moment. If the tribe needs food, then the person
who finds the food is the warrior. If it's a four-year-old child who finds the
food, then that child is the warrior.

Always when I think of the Hopi, a great sense of peace comes to me. A
few years ago, I wrote a song about peace-making. These are the words:

Peace is created
By loving peace
Not by hating war
Peace is created
By loving peace
That's what love is for ...
Love is for peace
Peace now, and for evermore
Peace now, and for everyone
Peace now, and for evermore

In a dream I had when a young man in my present lifetime, I was back in that
long-ago time, floating nearby, like a cloud, as Little Storm and her father sat
upon a great rock and contemplated the night sky.

"All those lights you see are the campfires of faraway tribes," the father
said. "For them, we human beings are just children. Once in a while, they visit
us. One day, when we're a little more grown up, we'll see more of them. And
they will teach us many wonderful things."
Why The Bluebloods Stole Science

The Indians don't have a Satan, but they do have "Blue Man." Blue Man is a
living dead person. Why "blue?" When a person is healthy, the blood runs
through his veins and he looks reddish. When he dies, he turns blue.

Now the old Europeans had a similar idea. They called the people who made
their life hell the "bluebloods."

My old friend "Hubcap Man" calls these people the "kissmyaristocracy."

When the founders created the United States of America, one of the first
things they did was abolish aristocracy--the blueblood class. Aristocracy was
thrown out the window. When the people in France tried to do the same thing,
they failed. They had too many aristocrats living right next door. In the
eighteenth century, America was way out the way, and that's why it had a real
chance to start off with a new system.

Among the Indian peoples, there never was any aristocracy. We have
leaders, of course. But no aristocrats, no bunch of people who think the tribe
should kiss their rears and give them whatever they want.

We Indians never had an aristocracy because we never believed that people

could be owners of the land and natural resources. You've probably noticed
that the bluebloods in Western civilization have a lot of things ... property,
possessions. To be a blueblood, all you need to have is a lot of things.

The French Revolution taught the bluebloods they were losing control.
People no longer believed that God had made the bluebloods rulers of the
common people. The new science was very dangerous. Science and Deism.
These were similar ideas. Science was saying, "To find the truth start with the
facts." Deism was saying, "Nature is the real bible. If you want to find God
start with nature."
 The biology and evolution theory of Jean Lamarck was a big problem for the
bluebloods. This is why the bluebloods crucified Lamarck and ridiculed his work.
It is really amazing, the hatred of the bluebloods. Even today, they attack him.
See, for instance, a book called The Blind Watchmaker. This is a blueblood book
that says that evolution is the result of blind forces and blind chance. Richard
Dawkins is the author. This Dawkins, who teaches at Cambridge in England, is
the big chief of the Neo-Darwinists. He is a big idiot. Read his book and see for
yourself.

Lamarck had said that nature was a wise and wonderful teacher. The
power and word of God dwell within nature, Lamarck said, and this really upset
the bluebloods. For a long long time, the bluebloods had bamboozled the
people by convincing them that the priests were the only authorized
representatives of God. Now Lamarck and others were telling people that the
word of God is in nature, not in the mouths of the priests.

The new science and Deism were dangerous, the bluebloods knew. If they
were to maintain their control, their positions and their castles, they had to
control science ... they had to say what was the truth or life and what was not.

When Darwinism came along in 1859, the bluebloods loved it. This was the
answer to their dream .... a science vision that not only justified them in being
the way they were, it gave them the green light to do all they could do to
maintain their control of society. In the Darwinism vision, the bluebloods are on
top because they deserve to be on top ... they are the big winners in the
struggle for existence. And what is nature in the Darwinism? Nature is a
dangerous place, a jungle red in tooth and claw. There is no God in existence,
there is only combat ... winning and losing. The common people are not more
divine because they're closer to nature, they're more like beasts. In fact,
they're not so different from the wild apes. Like the wild apes, they need to be
caged.

The bluebloods were quick to tell all the world "Darwinism is the Truth of
existence!" This was not a difficult thing to do, for the people believed that
the Royal Society was a true science society. When the Royal Society said
"Yes, Darwinism is the truth we've been waiting for so long," the people went
along ... first just a few, and then the masses. In fact, the Royal Society is
what its name says it is ... an agent of the Crown, which is to say, an agent of
the Biggest Blueblood of all.
 Practically overnight, the bluebloods switched from saying "The Bible is the
one and only truth of existence and what it says is obey your betters"
to saying "Darwinism is the one and only truth of existence and what it says is
that we are your betters ... and you better obey us!"

It's only today that the common people in Western civilization are waking up
and seeing what's what.

Of course most of them want to go right back to sleep! "What can I do

about it? I'm only one individual," they say. "You can't fight City Hall." This is
just the old programming of the priests and the pseudo-scientists ... "You are a
degenerate form of life, incapable of making wise decisions. Do what's good for
you, and put your life in the hands of the experts ... us."

The first and most important step in getting back what's yours, control of
your destiny, is not protesting in the streets ... it is simply opening your eyes
and seeing through those eyes.

When the common people start looking at life through their own eyes, rather
than the eyes of the blueblood scientists, they will begin to see the world that
Lamarck once saw, the world that the aboriginals see ... a playful and peaceable
kingdom.

The Zanesville Kid

In 1971, it looked like I was destined for a solid middle-class existence.

I was married to a beautiful and brilliant girl from the Jersey Shore, and I was
teaching English at a United Presbyterian college in southeastern Ohio,
near Zanesville.

Roberta and I had met at Syracuse, in graduate school. The university is not
far from Lake Onondaga, which was the site of the Longhouse for the Six
Nations. Once, Roberta and I visited the cemetery of the Onondagan tribe. It
was strange to see plastic flowers on the graves of Amerindians. Some of the
graves were over-grown. In returning to our car, three Onondagan children,
heading home from school, passed us. I said "hello" to them, but they did not
respond. They stared straight ahead, ignoring us.

The White Buffalo Calf

August 20, 1994 ... this was a very sacred day in the history of our Homo
sapiens species. This is the day on which the white buffalo calf was born,
fulfilling an old Amerindian prophecy.

According to the prophecy, the birth of the white buffalo calf signals the
beginning of a time of reunification of the peoples of the planet. Peoples
everywhere, the prophecy says, will remember that they are all relatives ... they
will put down their weapons of war, and start walking the peace path.

The white calf, born on a farm south of Janesville, Wisconsin, was given the
name "Miracle." A very good name. The chances of a buffalo calf being born
white are, I am told, about one in six billion.

In sacred legend, a powerful spirit woman who was later called Ptesan Win,
"White Buffalo Calf Woman," appeared to the Lakota people over six centuries
ago. She was first seen by two buffalo hunters. She wore white buckskin, and
had long flowing hair.

The first hunter, taken by her beauty, was consumed by lust. When he
reached out to touch her, he was covered instantly in a white mist. When the
mist dissipated, all that was left of him was a skeleton. The skull was
full of snakes.
 Ptesan Win told the other hunter to go his people and tell them to make
a great lodge out of several tipis, to prepare for her visit. This he did, and
when it was done Ptesan Win entered into the village, singing. From her satchel
she took a sacred pipe, the bowl of which was fashioned out of red stone. On
the stem of the pipe was a carving of a buffalo figure, and twelve Eagle
feathers.

Then from the satchel she brought forth a stone inscribed with seven rings,
one ring for each of seven rites in which the pipe would be used.

As she was leaving, Ptesan Win said that after four ages had passed, she
would return. She began walking toward the horizon. After going a short
distance, she kneeled and turned into a red buffalo. After another short
distance, she kneeled down and turned into a brown buffalo. Then, after
walking another short distance, she lay in the dust and rolled over. When she
arose, she was a white buffalo calf.

I was drawn to Minneapolis in the winter of 1994, and it was there I first
heard about the birth of the white buffalo calf. When I learned the date of
Miracle's birth, I had to sit and release some tears.

On the same date, I left behind the beautiful Santa Cruz mountains south of
San Francisco and began my journey back home to the Nisqually Valley. For
four months in the golden mountains, I had worked on a book about how our
species can avoid extinction, if it wants to. By mid-August, my work on the first
draft of the book was about done. In the process of the writing, I had
discovered what are the "four ages" mentioned by White Buffalo Calf Woman.

The first age is the "Age of the Separatist Horse." This is the time when
a part of our species separated itself from the aboriginal wisdom. The second
age is called Greco-Roman. The great theme of this time was warfaring. The
third age is the Judeo-Christian age. This is an age in which the Western
people came to believe that warfaring as holy. The Churchers of Europe went
to war against all peoples of the world who didn't believe the things they
believed.

The fourth age is the present one, and this age is based on a vision of
existence which sees everything as warfare. Everything is fighting everything
else. This vision is called Darwinism. Darwinism was invented back in the middle
of the last century, and it became the orthodox science of evolution in a matter
of twenty years. It is still the orthodoxy, believe it or not. The high priest of
the orthodoxy is Richard Dawkins. What Dawkins tells people is that the DNA,
the genes, want to fight all the time for dominance. Bodies are nothing more
than war machines that the genes use for fighting.

From the Charles Darwinism came Social Darwinism, a better name for which
would be "Antisocial Darwinism." This Darwinism is the application of the ideas
of Charles Darwin to human societies. Social Darwinism, the basis for all the
state socialisms, says that human beings are dangerous sex machines and must
be controlled by strong governments. The governments must be guided by ...
guess who. Yes,--scientists. In our time scientists are the priests.

From 1947 on, the new name for Darwinism is "Neo-Darwinism." This
pseudo-science says that all human behavior, including the highest forms of
consciousness, comes from the genes; and in order to create a peaceful world,
we need to genetically engineer a new peaceful species.

All the Darwinisms are false science, and the people are beginning to awake
and see this truth.

The "fourth age," the Age of the Darwinisms, is over. The beginning of
the end was the coming of the New Physics. "Classical" physics, also called
Newtonian physics, is best understood as "compartmental physics." In the old
physics, all the big realities--space and time, energy and matter, object and
observer--are considered to be separate. In contrast, the New Physics is
holistic. It proves the truth of the aboriginal wisdom ... our world is a holistic
reality, a beautiful basket woven of energy, light and thought.

The birth of the white buffalo calf closes the fourth age. What is coming
next? Floyd Hand, a spiritual leader from Pine Ridge, says there is a period of
purification that is beginning now--a period that will end with unification of the
nations. I believe this is a true understanding.

The unification will be accelerated as people come to know the scientific

truth of existence--that the planet is one organism, a very big version of the
biological cell, and that everything biological is part of the nervous system of
the planet.

For me, the birth of the white calf meant that the four ages of ignorance,
including the Darwin Dark Ages, are finished. Let August 20 be forever a day
of great celebration, signifying the dawn of enlightenment. On this day in
1994, the Black Road came to an end ... and the Red Road began.

White Buffalo Calf Woman came long ago to teach us that what seems to be
just material is in fact spiritual. This is a truth that didn't even begin to dawn in
the minds of the white peoples until Albert Einstein and his relativity theories.
Also, Ptesan Win taught some very simple ways by which people can show they
know and respect the divinity at the heart of things.

Divinity cannot be embraced, or even touched, by the reptile brain. Thus it

was that the buffalo hunter who reached out in lust to touch Ptesan Win was
destroyed. Always, the first step in approaching the divine is knowing that it
is divine. If you have the idea that something or someone is divine, then
naturally you show great respect.

War, Peace, and the Naming of Earth

Over the past several decades, the idea of Rainbow Tribe has caught
the imagination of people of all races and colors. The goal of those who
support the Rainbow Tribe idea is the uniting of the peoples of the planet into
one big tribe, which is to say one family.

This goal seems unrealistic to most Westerners, who are "Darwinized," which
is to say ... who are programmed into thinking that life is war. The Darwinisms
define all organisms, from littlest to biggest, as sex-and-violence machines.

If the Darwinists had to think up a new name for the planet, the name they
would come up with might be "Hodgepodge," which means everything this way
and that. "Biological evolution is a haphazard sort of thing," the Darwinists
say. "There is no plan, no purpose, no goal. Change just happens, and those
changes which give organisms a certain military advantage are those most
likely to be incorporated in the genetic pool." Where does Change come from?
From haphazard genetic mutations, the Darwinists say.
 There is a a new concept of Earth going around these days which says that
the planet is not Hodgepodge at all, but a very well-organized biosystem that
resembles an individual. James Lovelock, an English scientist, invented this idea
(according to the whites), and he told all about it in a book titled Gaia--A New
Look at Life on Earth.

Finally, at long last, the whites are getting around to looking at Earth in an
Amerindian way. The Amerindians have always said that Earth is a great
individual. "Mother Earth" we call her.

The key to the creation of a peaceful planet is not genetic engineering, as

the Darwinists maintain, but convincing the peoples that the planet is in fact a
great individual, a wonderful mother, and we are all her children. When this
understanding is accepted as the truth of existence, then people will not be so
inclined to go to war. They will see others not as threats, but as family.

The Darwinists will tell you that Darwinism, or "Life-is-War," is the truth of
existence, and the proof is that it has stood the test of time. It has been
around a long time and no-one has shot it down. In fact, it has been refuted
many times, but the refutations didn't have any effect ... didn't sway the gang
of Darwinists who took over in the field of biology.

Also, the Darwinists say that whatever its faults, Darwinism is the best
evolutionary theory around because there are no other theories. This is not
true. The science of evolution was invented by the great French naturalist
Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, and Lamarck's theory, called "Transformism," was first
published in 1809. This "other theory" of evolution is usually referred to as
Lamarckism.

The idea that species come from other species originated with Lamarck, not
with Darwin. This idea of "species from species" is the bottomline basis of all
modern evolutionary theory. It replaced the idea that all species were created
"in the beginning" by God.

Transformism was true science, but because it did not agree with the
doctrines of the Churchers, it was not welcomed. Indeed, it was very much
attacked. Napoleon loved his Bible vision of creation and detested Lamarckism.
Baron Georges Cuvier, the biggest science figure in France at the time
Lamarck's theory was published, detested Lamarckism and went out of his way
to destroy Lamarck's reputation. Charles Darwin detested Lamarckism. Today,
the Darwinists still detest Lamarkism, as a matter of policy.

In the not so distant future, Jean-Baptiste Lamarck will have the recognition
he deserves, as the grand-father of New Biology. New Biology is just emerging
now as the sister discipline of the New Physics.

The true science theory of evolution that will replace the Darwinisms is
called "Fractal Evolution." This is a theory of evolution that provides the proof
of the Gaia hypothesis. The visible world is computer modeled by the invisible
realm, this theory says. There is nothing "accidental" about Earth and life on
Earth.

Today, some people are calling Earth "Gaia," or "Lady Gaia." If I were
naming the planet, which is our greater self, I would prefer to call her by the old
name-- Mother Earth.

However, I do not presume to give a name to our world. To me it is not a

hypothesis that the world is a great individual-- it is a truth. This individual has
a name for itself. If we want to find out the name, let us ask the planet politely,
"What is your name?"

I would not be surprised to learn that Mother has a name for herself she
much prefers to Gaia. Perhaps Ptesan Win ... White Buffalo Calf Woman. Or
perhaps a name one of my Christian friends thought up ... Mary-Christmas.
Peacemaking, the Old Way and the New

The idea that "as you define, so you create" is great truth. In the last
century, the Darwinists convinced the people of the world that life is incessant
warfare, a big battle. In the twentieth century, what did life become? It became
incessant warfare ... one big battle, from beginning to end.

The Bible tells people that the peacemakers are blessed, that God thinks
very highly of peacemakers. Historically, however, the peoples of the West
have not done very well in the work of peacemaking. They have been very
successful at warmaking, but not at peacemaking. They have been sincere in
wanting peace perhaps, but they havn't been effective in creating peace.
What went wrong? What's the problem?

The problem is at bottom a matter of definition. Peace is defined by the

whites in a very limited way, as the "cessation of war." Now if you start off
with this as your definition of peace, then being a peacemaker can involve
anything that stops warfaring. For instance, if you drop a nuclear bomb on
people who are making war, then you are a peacemaker!

In the Old West, handguns were called "peacemakers." In the New West, the
peacemakers are more sophisticated, but weapons nevertheless ... most of
them in the chemical weapons category, from refined sugar to the latest
designer drug. In the Old West, whites used to say, "the only good Indian is a
dead Indian." In the New West, the whites are themselves targets of their own
foolish science. "The only good human being is a drugged human being,"
say their Darwinized leaders.

The Darwinist scientists are even more radical. "Human beings are by
nature sex-crazed and violent," these people believe. "If we want peace on our
planet, the only way we can get it is through re-engineering the species
genetically." Crazy stuff, but a lot of important people believe it. Check out
B.F. Skinner's Beyond Freedom and Dignity, for instance.
 As we define, so we create. We defined peace as the cessation of war, and
starting from that definition, we marched off to war with the goal of ending
war. We defined peacemaking as "anything that stops war," and so we
committed ourselves to creating big wars that would "end all wars." It has
been said that there have been many civilizations in the history of this planet
that were far more intelligent than Western civilization. I find this very easy to
believe.

If we change our definition of peace, perhaps that will allow us to become

more productive in the peacemaking business. Let us define peace in positive
terms, as, for instance, "a state of harmony in which individuals experience
themselves as fully aligned with the principle of Love, which is the idea of being
fully allowing."

If you don't like this sort of dry, abstract definition, I understand. Often,
pictures and symbols are far more meaningful than abstract words. If I
were to define peace in pictures, I would say, "Peace is the experience of
floating on a mountain lake in the warmth of the summer sun and hearing
angelic music coming from the clouds."

Come up with your own picture of peace, your own definition. When you
create your own definition, you create your own reality. Make a story about
your new definition. Create a song about it. Dance the definition! The more
you turn your definition into art, the more beautiful and powerful it becomes.
The more beautiful it becomes, the more it contributes to the lives, and
definitions, of others.

The Amerindians are very good at this sort of definition of things. Read
Black Elk Speaks. In this book, Black Elk talks about how his people turned his
great vision of reality into tribal theater. All the members of the tribe
participated in Black Elk's vision.

I call myself a "peace warrior." There is no contradiction in terms here, for I

define "warrior" in the Hopi way, as one who provides the tribe with what it
really needs. If the tribe needs rain, then he or she who can cause the rain to
come is the warrior. Western civilization is a tribe that really need peace. To
the degree I am successful in creating peace in my own life, and in sharing my
peacemaking with others, to that degree I am a peace warrior.
 During the Vietnam war, I had many protestor friends who thought of
themselves as peace warriors. Some of them were, but most were not. I came
to understand that most "peace movements" arise in opposition to wars.
Motivated by the spirit of resistance, these movements take on the character
of warfaring. They become wars ... other ways of "warring for peace."

The warriors of resistance are still warriors of darkness, no matter how just
the cause. They are not as dark as those they oppose perhaps, but they are
still "in the dark."

The real peace warriors are those who develop the ability to "go beyond"
resistance. In order to develop this ability, it may be helpful to understand that
you do not need to fight anyone or anything in order to create what you want
to create in life, unless of course you want to create fighting. You have every
right to defend yourself, of course, and sometimes you have to do just that ...
but war is a tool no longer needed in your workshop of creation.

There are two reasons why war is obsolete. One reason is pragmatic. "I will
war no more," said Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce at the end of his long war
with the whites. Chief Joseph and his people were involved in over 200
engagements with the U.S. Cavalry ...and they won, or escaped from, every
engagement except the last. By saying "I will war no more," Joseph was not
only observing the obvious, that he no longer had a capability for making war,
he was also recognizing the truth that war is not a successful tool in reality
creation.

To go to war against enemies results only in the creation of bigger and

bigger enemies. This is what Chief Joseph found. "I will war no more. I will find
better ways to get what I want."

The second reason war is obsolete is "metaphysical." The New Biology

teaches us that who we really are is a metaphysical and not a physical reality.
Our bodies are biological robots. Who or what we really are is not the body, the
puppet ... it is the puppeteer. Whatever happens to our bodies, who we are
cannot be destroyed. From the perspective of New Biology, war is an exercise
in futility.

For anyone with a true science understanding, war is nothing but violent
puppet theater. The puppets smash each other to pieces and call the whole
thing "glorious." It is not glorious. It is just stupid. What does it mean to be
the dictator of the world? It means only that you are the nastiest puppet in the
the theater.

The End of Human Evolution

For a long time, the Europeans called the Americas the "New World." In the
beginning, Europeans thought of the Americas as Eden rediscovered. The
natives were their long-lost cousins. This idea was actually not so far from the
truth. Throughout human history, aboriginal peoples everywhere
were the part of the species that agreed to remember the ancient wisdom.
They were the people who stayed "at home," so to speak, while the other part
of the species went adventuring, went looking for new truths.

One day soon, these two parts will come together again, and that will be
the end point of human evolution. By "coming together," I mean that many
people will blend, very consciously, the philosophy of the aboriginal peoples
with the high-tech true science understandings of Western civilization. This
blending has been happening unconsciously for a long time now. Most of us
have lived many lives as aboriginals and many lives as "civilized" beings. In this
lifetime, we get to work on the blending very consciously.

When you begin to look around for signs of this blending, you will find a
great many, especially in literature and the other arts. The blending became a
major literary theme in the work of James Fenimore Cooper, who lived in the
old Iroquois Confederacy country. Do you remember Hawkeye and his Mohican
blood brother? The best men of two civilizations bound in blood brotherhood.
This is the blending.

Today, on the white side, one living example of the blending is the poet
Gary Snyder. Snyder is part-white, part-Indian, part-Zen.

There are many other whites who prefer the Amerindian philosophy and
lifestyle. Some, myself for instance, are ghostshirts. You can read about the
old ghostshirt ceremonies in Black Elk Speaks. The idea was that if the Indian
warrior put on a ghostshirt, he would be protected from the bullets of the dog
soldiers. In truth, the ghostshirt ceremony worked, but not quite the way we
thought it would work.... Today we ghostshirts walk around, protected from the
white man's bullets by the fact we have become white persons! Now the dog
soldiers are protecting us! It's very funny, when you think about it.

On the Amerindian side, there are numerous wonderful persons working on

the final phase of species evolution. The Amerindians have been consciously
involved in this work for a very long time now. The great work started with the
white roots of peace teachings of Degandawidah and Hiawatha.

Near the shore of Lake Onondaga in what is now Upstate New York, these
great teachers brought together the nations of the Iroquois in the formation of
the famous Confederacy. The teachers then had the peoples uproot a big tree.
Into the hole where the tree had been, the people threw all their warclubs and
other weapons. Then they put the tree back. The ceremony is called the white
roots of peace.

The tree represents the family of man. Uprooting of the tree and then
putting it back conveys the idea that we humans can give our species a new
basis ... a new philosophical base. The tribes of the Confederacy came to a
new understanding, that any disputes arising among them could be settled
without recourse to war. The Confederacy was the first United Nations.

Today, there are many wonderful Amerindian "ambassadors" of the old

aboriginal philosophy. One of the most influential of these is the Hopi elder
Thomas Banyancya. Many centuries ago, a prophecy was given to the Hopi
people, and this is known today as "The Hopi Prophecy." It has proven very
accurate. Thomas Banyancya has carried the prophecy to the ends of the Earth
and to the hearts of people everywhere.

It is the mission of the Hopis, the prophecy says, to "unify the minds and
spirits of all true peace-seeking people of the Earth" in the understanding that
"the truest and greatest power is the strength of Peace ... because Peace is the
will of the Great Spirit."

According to the prophecy, an ambassador from the Hopi people will go

to the "Great House of Mica" seeking to deliver the Hopi's message of peace.
On four occasions, the prophecy says, the ambassador will knock on the door
and ask to speak to the peoples of the world. On four occasions, he will be
denied.

The Great House of Mica is the United Nations. The prophecy says the Hopi
ambassador will be denied four times, and as a result of this refusal to hear the
Hopi messenger, the purification of the planet will be especially severe. I first
met Thomas in Washington state, when he was on his way to knock on the door
of the United Nations for the fifth time!

You're probably wondering what this "purification of the planet" is all about.
It's a kind of planetary recycling program that happens every once in a long
while. You've probably noticed the many weather changes in recent years.
Those are part of the program. Ptesan Win (my preferred name for this planet)
is telling the humans that she is back to find out who got the message she left
when she appeared as White Buffalo Calf Woman--and who didn't.

People and nations that didn't get the message, that don't understand that
the planet and all its life forms are divine realities and not things to be used and
abused, are being recycled.

If there's something in existence that doesn't evolve, it gets recycled into

something that does evolve. That's the rule!

I wrote the above sentence yesterday morning, and then broke off .... to
contemplate a long list of others I should write about as warriors in the great
Rainbow Tribe movement that is now occurring, the coming together of the
nations of the world in the understanding they are one family. There's Ed
McGaa, of course ... Eagle Man. And Robert Morning Sky, and....
 I had to take a walk, to clear my head. I decided to go visit a lady friend of
mine who was babysitting in the next town. She told me over the phone how to
reach her. She was at a cabin about a mile off the road, in the woods. I found
that the access road to this cabin was flooded, and so I parked my car, waded
the water, and walked the rest of the way. I hadn't been on this road before,
and when I reached the end I still couldn't see the cabin of my friend. I went to
knock on the door of a little log hut I saw nearby....

Before I could reach the door, a voice called out to me from the chicken
coop. "Hi! Come here! I'm collecting eggs." A few steps in the direction of
the coop and I saw that the beautiful voice was coming from a most beautiful
young goddess ... "Sky."

Sky arose smiling and embraced me, giving me a hard hug. "It's about time
you came to visit," she smiled. I had met Sky several months earlier, at a New
Year's ceremony, and she had invited me to visit her and see her magical nature
kingdom. Several times, I went out the door to visit her, but my journey took
me other ways ... until .... the time was right.

"It's a surprise to me I am here," I said to Sky. "I'm looking for Leila." Sky
just smiled.

"Come and see some of my art," she said. I followed her into her hut.
Inside are two small rooms, a kitchen and ... a medicine room.

For the Amerindians, "medicine" isn't yucky stuff you take when you're sick.
Each person has his own medicine, and the medicine is what gives you greatest
joy. If it's being in solitude, in the pure frequencies of nature, that gives you
greatest joy, then solitude-in-nature is your medicine.

Sky's medicine is nature and nature art. Her medicine room is filled with
wonderful art creations, many traditional. She showed me a medicine shield
she had just finished--on it the head of a bobcat. Then she showed me a shield
with the head of a rooster. And then a photograph of her favorite ... a shield
with two dolphins on it. My heart took a skip when I saw this shield.
The symbol of the dolphin is one of the most sacred symbols of those in the
Rainbow Tribe.

"This is where I do my healing," Sky said, pointing to a spot in the room

where the energy was very strong. There were four stones on this spot,
signifying the powers of the four directions. I felt the healing energy of this
place for a moment, and then looked up, my eyes resting on the photograph of
an aboriginal. "Who is that?" I asked.

"That is Te Hau Takiri Kanariera Wharepapa. He is my great, great great

grandfather," Sky said proudly. "He a was a Maori."

Suddenly, my eyes were opened. Now it all made sense ... the medicine
shields on the walls, the books on New Physics in the bookcase. The Great
Spirit had led me to the door of one of the daughters of Ptesan Win, one of the
beautiful children hard at play in the solitude of nature, combining the wisdom
of the Old Ways with the science of the New.

In my mind, I asked Sky the question, "Are you Ptesan Win?" She spoke to
me aloud, "My name is Moon Rising."

Just then, my friend Leila came to the door looking for me. She wore a
necklace. Suspended from the necklace was a white dolphin.

The Kiwi

It was in the late summer of 1992 that I first met Judith Louise. I looked
out the back window of the McKenna house I was living in, and there she was--
sitting on a trampoline and basking her face in the afternoon sun.
 I went to the window to get a closer look. A beautiful woman! in her late
forties. Thick auburn hair falling over her shoulders. Her face glowed ... tanned,
weathered, but angelic somehow. "Who is that woman?" I asked. "Oh her?--
that's Judith Louise."

I introduced myself to Judith and we got to talking. We talked until the sun
went down. Judith is a "kiwi," a person from New Zealand. I had never met
anyone from the Kiwi Tribe before, and I was much impressed. There is an
amber quality about Judith. It's in her looks, in her voice, in her lack of self-
concealment.

The kiwi is the national bird of New Zealand. It is a nocturnal bird and has no
wings. No predators, so it doesn't need wings. My kiwi friend Judith once had
wings ... her daughter Karla. Judith and Karla were well known, and loved, in
New Zealand. They were joyous, creative spirits, and they soared in their
special heavens. Then, in 1989, Karla was killed in a plane accident on Great
Barrier Island.

It was a tragedy the whole country felt. Karla was a wonderful dancer, and
she died just at the start of a career in musical theater. Her body was
cremated. Judith scattered the ashes of her beloved daughter in the ocean.

Judith felt she had lost her heart. She had to leave New Zealand. She came
to the United States. Somehow or other we met, in the land of the Salmon
people. We became fast friends.

Judith and I loved to take long walks, especially along the banks of the
Nisqually River. This river originates in the Nisqually Glacier of Takhoma ...
breast of white milk waters, Spirit Home.

There is great healing power in the Takhoma country, and for a long time,
Judith wanted only to be in the woods, in the frequencies of nature. A friend of
mine by the name of Brazo had set up a tipi among old growth cedar and fir on
a mining claim not far from Takhoma. Judith went to this tipi and lived there for
about two months. I would visit her once a week and we'd play in the woods
like children.

We spent many happy hours "in the nature" as she called it, among the
giant tree sachems. It was always difficult for me to return to the "plastic
fantastic world," where, in the words of Judith, "if you couldn't be exploited
somehow, then you were out the door."

Judith is one of the most direct people I've ever met. She grew up having to
suppress her feelings, and now she sometimes goes the other way ... to balance
out.

From her, I got a perspective on Americans very different from those I grew
up with. "Lord, you Americans think you're God Almighty! You're hated around
the world for your meddling and your warmongering, your plastic fantastic has
littered the planet from one end to the other, and you
sit around watching TV and babbling like idiots while the resources of your
country are being ripped off! Lord!!"

Despite the fact I was occasionally roasted for my "bloody ignorance," I was
very thankful for my friendship with this fiery person. The Power of the West
had sent her to me, to open my eyes to a few things.

In New Zealand, she told me, the native peoples--the Maori--were not rubbed
out or herded into reservations, as they were here in the States. The European
settlers of New Zealand respected Maori culture and civilization. As a result,
New Zealand today is a great healing country. It is what America set out to
be ... a light unto the world, a grand example of the ability of different peoples
to live together harmoniously.



The Spirit of St. Louis and the B1 Bomber

Back in the early eighties, I met a fascinating man by the name of Biro.
He is the father of a college friend of mine, Diane Biro. I drove to Red Hook,
New York to visit my old friend Diane, and then found myself chatting away all
day with her father!

Biro told me that he had had a most interesting job some years back ...
figuring out for Boeing how the B1 bomber was made.

I was quite puzzled when he told me this. "What do you mean" I asked.
"Boeing makes the B1. Why should they hire you to find out they make it?"

"All that management really knew about the B1 was that it was being
made ... somehow," Biro said. "Parts and workers went in one end of the
factory, and B1s came out the other end. Believe it or not, they actually didn't
know exactly how the B1 was made!"

"Come on," I said. "You're pulling my leg."

"No ... I'm quite serious. You see, it was like this ...." Biro went on to
explain that every worker in the B1 assembly process became very very expert
in his or her job. Often, these workers would create special tools, or develop
especially efficient techniques, to do their jobs. Only now and again did the
workers tell others about their inventions! "No one asked them about their
secrets!" Biro said.

"You mean," I said, " if Mike the wing widget fastener doesn't show up for
work one day, the whole assembly process shuts down?"

"Yes," Biro said. "It could and did happen, which is why Boeing hired me.
They needed to know how it was Mike managed to fasten tightly the wing
widget when no one else could even get a wrench on it."

"Mike had his own special wrench."

 "Exactly," Biro said.

By the time he finished his work for Boeing, Biro had filled two hundred feet
of wall with flow charts! For the Boeing management to find out how their own
B1 was made, they needed to hire on someone with abilities they didn't have ...
the ability to understand how big things really get done and the ability to sit
down and talk with the people who are actually doing the creating.

The story of Biro's work with Boeing made a strong impression on me.
I had always gone along with what I believe is the common consensus, that the
managers of the big corporations are pretty bright people, people fully aware of
the workings of their companies--from smallest details to the big picture. I was
pretty naive.

Within a a few years of my conversation with Biro, I myself had a few stories
from my own experience about the ignorance (and idiocy even) of some of the
big corporations.

For instance ... for a year or so, I became a promoter of inventions. One,
called the Inertia Power System, draws energy from heat in the atmosphere and
stores it in a flywheel that is suspended magnetically. Strange to say ... most
ofthe big companies in the power industry didn't even want a peek at the
plans. They weren't interested in anything that was not being developed by
their own R&D people. One company (General Electric) said they'd look at the
plans, but only if we agreed not to demand more than $500 if we ever brought
suit against them for patent infringement. Unbelievable!

Ever wonder why America has fallen behind in just about every field of
production? Just before giving up the invention promotion business, I met on
Martha's Vineyard a very rich inventor. This fellow had made a fortune on
decals of rainbows and unicorns, but even with a lot of personal wealth behind
him, he had failed to interest the big corporations in his important inventions.
It got so he didn't even try to sell his inventions any more. They just piled up in
the basement!

It became clear to me in that time that the spirit of the big corporations
is not "pioneering." Indeed, old John D. Rockefeller summed it up once by
saying, "Pioneering doesn't pay." No matter what their PR departments say,
the corporations--especially the big international corporations--are focused on
one thing--the acquisition of power.

What's the standard sort of structure of organizations dedicated to the

acquisition of power? As you might suppose, they follow the military model ...
strict top-down management, "chain of command" and all that stuff. As a point
of real interest ... when an organization is natural, tribal for instance, then the
intelligence of the organization is the combined intelligence of the members.
Every member is honored. Any member is potentially "warrior of the day"--the
individual who finds what the tribe needs. A military-style organization,
however, is only as intelligent as its leaders. The "brass" are the big chiefs, and
everyone else is a dog. The dogs do what they're told and that's it.

Military-style organizations are good for some things--attacking other

organizations, for instance. What Mr. Biro found out was that this kind of
organization has a fatal flaw ... it is divided. The brass intelligence is not
connected with the dog intelligence.

After the Second World War, a very creative American by the name of
W. Edwards Deming suggested to the Japanese how they could build natural-
style corporations, and they liked the idea. Soon the Japanese corporations
operated on the basis of "quality circles"-- gatherings of management and
workers in which everyone was equal and everyone had a say.

The Americans didn't listen to Deming. They didn't need quality circles, they
thought. They had won the war. The military model was great, they thought.
America became the land of the big dinosaur corporations, all based on the
military model. Who has proven more innovative over the past forty years, the
Japanese or the Americans? Who builds the higher quality products?

Today, I hear, the big brass in the government have told the dogs to paint
over the pictures of the Founding Fathers in the Library of Congress. "Let's
forget about the old warrior-dogs," they say. "Individual dogs are not
important. It's the dog-pack that counts. Good dogs do what they're told, and
that's it." This sort of view is socialistic. The socialisms all originated in
London in nineteenth century--as a reaction to American individualism.

American individualism, or "egalitarianism" as it's sometimes called, is

based on the idea that Nature (rather than the Bible) is the best expression of
the word of God, and those closest to Nature--the common people--are closest
to God. Hurray!--the whites had learned something from Indians!!

The kings and queens and kissmyaristocracy of Europe didn't like that view,
however. "No!" they said, "the church and state's the big important thing ...
and the common people are nothing but dogs!" When Darwinism came along,
the Euro-brass loved it!--for it said Nature is a madhouse and the only way to
keep the dogs from eating each other and eating up all the planet, was to have
a very strong State. This idea is the basis of socialism.

I have to laugh ... because at the same time the brass are painting over
the pictures of Washington and his boys at Valley Forge, the movie makers
are creating busloads of "Indiana Joneses." It may be the days of American
individualism are not ending, they are just beginning....

When I was growing up, one of the greatest of all symbols of American
individualism was Charles Lindberg. Lindberg was given an Indian name by the
people ... the "Lone Eagle." Lone Eagle was the first aviator to fly alone
across the Atlantic.

Lone Eagle's plane was called "The Spirit of St. Louis," but a better name
would have been "The Spirit of American Individualism," or for short ... "The
Spirit of America."

My father was a great admirer of Lone Eagle. In 1927, he made a sketch of

him in charcoal. You can see for yourself, from the sketch, that Lone Eagle is
an individual and not a corporation. If he was a corporation, he never would
have made it across the Atlantic. He would have been too fat and too stupid.
Capitalism and
the Candle that Lights the World

Most of my very important dreams have titles. My dream vision about

capitalism was called "The Candle That Lights the World." In this dream I and
my cousin R.C. Hall were walking past an immense stone pillar outside the gate
of a big estate. "R.C." stands for Ruloff Carlton. I called him "Radio City."

Suddenly, in the dream, R.C. walked right into and right inside the stone
pillar. "Radio City," I said, "you can't do that!--just walk right inside stones."

"Yes, I can," he said from inside. "This is a dream. Come on in. There are
some stairs inside. Looks like a subway or something." I felt a little foolish, but
tried it anyway ... and ... suddenly I was inside too.

"This is really weird," I said to R.C., "a subway entrance right here in the
middle of a stone pillar. Wonder where it goes...." Soon as I thought that, a
sign appeared and an arrow pointing down. "Capitalism" the sign said.

R.C. and I walked down those stairs, and as we went down further and
further, the stairway widened and everything became lighter and lighter.
We came to the bottom of the stairs and stood a few moments, allowing our
eyes to adjust. When they did, we saw what appeared to be something like an
endless airport bathroom. The urinals stretched for miles, it seemed, and facing
them were toilets. R.C. and I looked at each other, puzzled. At that moment
someone just appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of us, sort of smiling.

"What's your business?" the sort-of-smiling figure asked.

"You look kind of familiar," I said. Then I recognized him .... Richard Nixon!
"Mr. Nixon!" I said. "You know I heard you lost to Kennedy. Is this what you're
doing now?"

Mr. Nixon smiled. "This isn't the White House," he said, "but it's closely
connected. Let me show you around."

As soon as he said this, a bell rang--a huge alarm clock bell. Suddenly
the whole place was like Grand Central Station at rush hour, people rushing this
way and that, pushing, shoving, fighting to get to the urinals and toilets.
I was amazed. "What are they doing?" I asked.

"They're just doing their duty," Mr. Nixon replied.

"Oh," I said, and gave R.C. a sideways look. When I looked back to the
people, I saw something even more amazing. They were not only "doing their
duty," they were totally disintegrating into the urinals and toilets ... literally
disappearing with their waste ... and those next in line would flush them away!

"Stop this!" I said to Nixon. "This is monstrous! Those people are dying!
People aren't poop! "

Mr. Nixon smiled. 'Of course people are poop ... the excretions of what it
termed evolution."

"But, but ...." I stammered. I looked to R.C. for help, but he was nowhere to
be found."

"But ... nothing, my dear fellow," Nixon said. "Look there." He pointed to
overhead pipes. "Those pipes carry all the nasty excrement hundreds of miles
and deposit it right in the National Treasury, where it is turned into hard cash!
The miracle of Western capitalism."

Suddenly I saw R.C. in the crowd. He was being carried away by police to the
toilets. I tried to reach him, but there were too many. "Run," he shouted, "run
while you still have a chance!!"

Well I did just that, ran like a jackrabbit ... and by luck and pluck I found
myself running back up the stairs by which R.C. and I had entered. A throng of
angry people ran after me, but fewer and fewer were able to follow me as the
steps narrowed toward the top. Finally, I reached the top ... panting.

Below me, climbing fast, were some mean-looking cops. As they reached up
to grab me ... just as I thought I was done for ... I had an inspiration! I pulled a
hard-on out of my pants and pointed it toward the cops, like a cannon. They
all fell back, shocked. My cannon began to glow, and then it began to sparkle.

"What the hell is that!?" one of the zombie cops said.

 This," I replied, "this is the candle that lights the world!"

That's the way the dream ended. I got away. R.C. didn't. About ten years
after this dream, in the waking dream we call "real life," R.C. was
permanently institutionalized as, in his words, a "pairanut shitzophrenic."

It was very sad for me to visit him in the institution. "I'm in the toilet bowl
now," he used to say. "Just waiting for the flush."

I sure miss Radio City. He died six years ago. He was a great guide for me.
I cannot think of all the strange things he introduced me to without becoming
weepy.

About the time R.C. passed away, I began thinking again of the "Candle
that Lights the World" vision-dream, and the point of it sort of shone forth out
of the darkness. In that dream, R.C. and I had been down in the balls of
corporate capitalism! Capitalism converts people into capital!--into seed
money. Perhaps ol' R.C. wasn't so crazy after all. "Capitalism," he once said,
"is penis envy."
How I Became a Breatharian

I first met Wiley Brooks, the "Breatharian," in February 1993. I struck up a

friendship with him right away, not as a result of his breatharianism, but
because of his high awareness level. Most people seem to go through life
fixated on a small range of interests and oblivious to everything else. Wiley was
clearly very different from most people. Nothing that passed him by on the
dusty road of life went unobserved by Wiley Coyote.

Wiley liked the nickname "Coyote." It really fit. In Amerindian legend,

Coyote is a big trickster. He lives by his wits, and he's equal to any situation.
There's nothing in life that Coyote can't master. Even death. For Coyote,
death is no more than a temporary inconvenience. Kill Coyote one day, and
he's right back the next.

Wiley is in his early sixties now. Back when he was a young man, he
began to suffer arthritis. At the time, he was a diver with championship
potential. The arthritis made it difficult to even walk.

Wiley went to many doctors, but they could do nothing for him. "You'll have
to resign yourself to living in pain," they said.

"No I don't" was Wiley's reply.

Even in his late twenties, Wiley had a pretty good idea as to the fact we live
in a trick society. If society says something is good for you, probably
it isn't. If it says it's bad, probably it's good. "Everyone was so certain that
there was no cure for my arthritis," Wiley said, "I knew there had to be a cure."

Wiley's old mom kept pushing more and more chicken soup on him. In her
view, chicken soup was the only hope. "It occurred to me that if people
believed putting so-called 'foods' in your system was the way to health, then
probably the real way to health was not putting foods in your system."
 Wiley stopped eating. Just stopped eating. He knew he was on the right
track when after a few days, all the relatives were convinced he was killing
himself. "You're gonna die!" his mom and everyone else said.

"After a few days off food, I began to feel better," Wiley said. "After two
weeks off food, I was not only able to walk without pain, I could run around
Manhattan island without having to stop once to catch my breath!"

Wiley went back to work in the music industry. He invented the modern
recording studio ... the studio as a kind of spaceship Enterprise. He signed on
with Motown as recording engineer and worked with many top performers.

Eventually, however, he had to leave conventional business. What he had

discovered about the human body was too big, too momentous to leave on the
back burner. Wiley had to tell the world.

Over the next few decades, Wiley worked to develop his discovery into a
technology of self-empowerment. He gave the name "breatharianism" to this
technology. He worked the expo circuits, demonstrating the power of
breatharianism by lifting a thousand pounds in weight. "The Strongest Man in
the World!" Wiley is thin as a rail. People were amazed.

Despite the fact Wiley lifted tremendous weights and did other incredible
things, many people came to think of him as a big fake. This was because he
was seen eating now and again. "I saw Wiley Brooks eat a Twinkie! He's not a
real breatharian!" The cry went out. "Wiley's a fraud!"

"It was I who invented the term breatharian," Wiley chuckled, "and here were
all these people telling me I wasn't a breatharian!"

Time and again in his lectures, Wiley would define a breatharian as one who
knows that real food-- the real energy source-- is the "Breath of Life," and not
the substances that people call "food." "A breatharian can be a fat pig who
gorges himself on fried food," he said to me once. "However, what usually
happens is ... when someone realizes what real food is, he starts to get away
from the stuff think of as food. He now prefers the food his body was designed
to consume--sunlight and air."
 In other words, a breatharian is not someone who gives up "food." He is one
who gives up "poison" and starts to live on food. "Everything people call food
is poison."

Don't get alarmed when I quote Wiley's definition of food ... as "poison."
In our society, the idea that food is nourishment is so strong, so fixed, Wiley
had to come up with a really shocking definition, to sort of jolt people into
looking at the matter with new eyes.

"Anything external you take through the mouth is poison," he said. "If you
take small amounts, it kills you over a long period of time. If you take large
amounts, it kills you sooner."

I asked him once why it is that external "foods" are poisonous. Is there
some kind of law that hamburgers and shakes have got to be poisonous?
"Everything in nature has a self-defense mechanism," Wiley said, "and if you eat
it you'll be poisoned."

"Wow," I said. "That explains why the aboriginals go to elaborate lengths to

propitiate the spirits of the animals they kill! They're asking the spirits to dis-
arm the defense mechanisms."

"Native people are far healthier than so-called civilized people," Wiley said.
"You see the degeneration set in to the degree they have contact with the
civilized."

"Why is that?" I asked. "Lack of respect?"

"Yes," Wiley replied, "that's a big part of it. "And the fact that they're
addicted to the most common poison of them all."

"What's that?"

"Sugar," he replied. "In the vegetable kingdom, the most common self-
defense mechanism is sugar."

* * *
 When I first met Wiley Coyote Brooks, I had no interest in becoming a
breatharian. Even after I'd heard a dozen of Wiley's lectures, I had no interest
in becoming a breatharian. My interest was in writing a book on
Wiley and his discovery.

Darned if the old Coyote didn't trick me into becoming a breatharian! I

never saw the trap ... until it was too late.

Wiley baited the trap with challenge. He always began his lectures by
saying, "I am THE breatharian. I am the ONLY breatharian." Whenever he said
that, I just sort of smiled. But, you know, after a time, it began to get
at me. "What arrogance!" I would say to myself. "What bloody arrogance
for this human rail to suppose he's the only one who knows he lives by the
Divine Breath!"

Bit by bit, I started to employ the breatharian technology!

Wiley had told me he had been off poison for as long as eight weeks. I
thought of eight weeks as THE record. Wiley formed a small class, a class that
included a beautiful West Indian woman by the name of Cleo. At the time, Cleo
was a long-distance runner a "master" in the Ramtha School of Enlightenment.
The R.S.E. is in Yelm, Washington. Cleo was a very brave soul. She went off
food entirely.

Over the two-month period that Cleo was in Wiley's class, I observed her
closely. Physically, she became more and more beautiful as the weeks rolled by.
She didn't seem to drop any body weight whatsoever, after an initial loss of a
pound or two. I was impressed. After five weeks or so, she began to look
almost radiant. I was getting hooked....

After Cleo passed the eight-week point, Wiley was still exclaiming that he
was the one and only breatharian! However, he added the phrase ... "that I
know of." "I am the only breatharian that I know of." Typical trickster talk.
I began to catch on.

Cleo left the class after another five weeks. She and her husband moved to
Canada, I heard. She may have continued in her long fast. She may have gone
back to poison. I don't know. What I do know is that she not only survived
thirteen weeks without poison, she thrived on her new diet of air and sunlight.
 A year later, I learned that Cleo had been taking some high-powered
vitamin-mineral pills during her thirteen weeks in breatharian boot camp.
This was a good idea, I think. I believe that Wiley's experimentation with living
off sunlight and air led to mineral deficiencies. He complained that
his teeth were ruined, for instance.

In any event, I regard Cleo as a genuine breatharian. Cleo convinced me she

knows that she is a spiritual being, that her life force comes from the
metaphysical realm and not the physical. Knowing this makes you feel very
light and joyful. The world is no longer a big burden. It becomes a stepping
stone to the higher realities ... and for this reason very sacred.

Shortly after Cleo departed for Canada, I had another of my big vision
dreams. In this dream, I was standing in front of three very tall robed entities.
These entities had no bodies. Just robes. They said nothing. I felt a little
nervous, as if I was being tested. Suddenly a blue flower appeared before me.
It was a rose, or carnation, or both. Then I received a telepathic question from
the entities .... "Are you ready to eat this?"

"Eat this?" I said (telepathically). "Surely you jest." No response from the
entities. They just stood there, looking at me. Then, with feelings that were
somewhat mixed, I reached for the flower, tore some petals off and put them in
my mouth. In the next moment, the three entities vanished ...
in a swirl of blue light. I was left alone--with a mouthful of petals.

The next morning, I told Wiley about this dream. He sort of smiled, but had
nothing to say. We talked some about the book I was putting together based
on Wiley's lectures, and then went off about our business. Wiley went to
Seattle to set up a lecture. I went camping for a few days.

I returned on my birthday (July 23rd) to find that the old Trickster had split.
Wiley and all his stuff ... gone. I was mad as hell. Four months work on a
book!--four months down the drain!

Later in the day, I found a legal notice tacked on the front door. I was
invited by the landlord to leave within three days. Non-payment of rent.....

Boy was I mad! I couldn't believe I had been so unprepared for this sort of
thing. I couldn't believe that Wiley Coyote could walk away from the book we
were working on--a book that was looking more and more like a best seller.
 Two days later, I was packed and ready to leave myself. On the evening of
the 25th, I threw a little party for a dozen or so friends. What a sunset we had
that evening! The clouds were the colors of all my favorite wines!
The wine flowed below as well as above, and pretty soon we were dancing
around a roaring bonfire, fed continually with fresh supplies of breatharian
literature!

Before long, I was whooping and jumping over the fire. The exhilaration was
so great I felt I had to make some kind of important announcement. But what?
What could I announce? Then it occurred to me ...

"I would like to make an important announcement!" All gathered round. "I
would like to announce that as of this date, July 25th, I have become the
world's ONE AND ONLY ... true breatharian!"

"I'll drink to that!" someone said.

"I'll eat to that!" another said.

We all laughed. What a joke....

In the midst of our merriment, Viola, one of my UFO contactee friends,

pointed to the stars and shouted, "Look at that!" All eyes turned upward.
There, way out in space, a point of light moved steadily toward the stars that
form the dipper part of the Big Dipper.

"That's confirmation!" Viola said, pointing at me. "You're a breatharian!"

"Hey," I laughed, "don't jump to conclusions. We need a better sign than

that."

Viola looked back to the UFO, which was now in the center of the four stars
forming the dipper. "Do something more!" she yelled.

Barely had she finished when the UFO shot directly down, in a flash like
distant lightning. Momentarily, the track of the UFO formed the number 1.

"You got it now," Viola said ... "O one and only breatharian."
 Dogs began to howl. A kind of chuckling sound came out of the shadows of
distant trees. It was Coyote, I knew.

"Damn you!" I shouted. "You tricked me!"

That's how I became a breatharian. I was tricked into it.

In the following months, Wiley did a few lectures up in Seattle, I heard from
friends. Then he just sort of disappeared.

For some time later, stories of Wiley's alleged trickery in Seattle trickled
down to me in the Valley. "Wiley was seen eating hamburgers at Jack-In-The
Box! Some breatharian." "There was a guy who was going to build a temple
for him on one of the San Juan islands ... until he caught Wiley at a
7-11 with a Twinkie in his mouth."

Most people just didn't get it. A breatharian is not one who lives on air and
sunlight, end of story. A breatharian is one who knows that he or she is
a spiritual entity. Wiley's one and only mantra was, "I am a spiritual being,
sustained by the Breath of Life." When you know this for sure, life becomes
exciting, joyful. You don't want to eat poison any longer. You don't want to kill
yourself. You want to breathe deep the fragrances of life and dance in the
light.

"Our collective mission here," Wiley has said, "is to spiritualize the planet."
In order to our job here, "we've got to realize we're God. God-realization ...
that's the only way to go to do what we have to do. We are the Earth. If we
want a more divine Earth, we must develop a more divine consciousness. By
loving things, we spiritualize them. Only by loving things. Breatharianism is the
art and science of opening the heart chakra, of learning to be God."
A Few Remarks From Wiley Coyote ...

Digestion: "What's called digestion is a form of warfare in which the body

first kills invading substances with hydrochloric acid, then body-bags the dead
materials and ships them off down the intestinal track."

Human Evolution: "The big problem in human evolution is to transcend

binary mind by utilizing binary mind."

Exercise: "Exercise is a mode of depleting energy, which increases appetite,

which leads to eating, which results in further energy depletion. The greatest
exercise you can do is nothing."

Closer to God: "The closer you get to God, the funnier everything seems."

Love and Marriage: "Love relationships are excellent, but the attempt to
freeze romance into a permanent pattern is deadly. Marriage is a terrible curse
on this plane."

Eating Meat: "It's okay to eat meat ... just so long as you don't swallow it."

Meditation: "Meditation is a form of eating--a metaphysical cuisine."

Monofood Diet: "Most of the problems of the body disappear if you're on

just one food. The body can handle one poison a lot more easily than dozens at
a time."

Opinions: "Every time you give an opinion, you give up your power. Why
even entertain opinions?--when you can experience the universal consciousness
just by being still."

Pain and Gain: "This idea of 'no pain, no gain' is wrong. The truth is, 'No
joy, no gain.'"

Poverty: The best way to help the poor is not be one of them. Money is
simply another measure of your god power."
 Self-sufficiency: "Everything is conscious, everything is self-sufficient.
Everything that the body requires can be produced by the body."

Sleep: "Sleep is a mode of detoxification. It's in the surrendering to sleep

that we are enabled to get our power back."

Truth: "Every great truth starts as a possible truth. You may not be able to
believe you are God, but can you believe there is a possibility you are God?"

Best Behavior: "We save our best behavior, and the best silverware, for
strangers. We ought to treat our friends better than strangers."

Helpaholics: "Ever heard of 'helpaholics'? These are people who divert

themselves from their own paths in life in order to assist others in staying in
their traps."

Lying: "Lying--especially self-deception--keeps your energy divided. Earth is

a planet of liars and thieves. If you think you're better than your fellow human
beings, you're deceiving yourself."

Divine Art: "The really divine art is minding your own business."

Death: "All death on this plane is suicide ... self-execution following self-
judgment.

Depression: "A form of meditation. We go into depression when we have

to face a truth we've been denying."

God-realization: "You become god-realized when you realize you are

God."

Hatred: "A system for trapping you into becoming what you hate."

Power: "The greatest power of all is allowing. The Supreme Being is all-
powerful because it is all-allowing. The most powerful thing you can do is
nothing. If you do nothing, you're really doing something."
Fractal Man

There were a couple of things that the great breatharian Wiley Coyote just
couldn't figure out....

The one that bothered him the most was ... he couldn't determine why it
was that his eating hamburgers, fries and all the other poisons people eat,
seemed right somehow. He knew that eating the poisons was the wrong thing
to do, if the goal was optimum health. How can something so wrong as eating
a hamburger feel so good?

Soon after I met Wiley, I learned of his preoccupation with this question. In
early 1993, a child from Tacoma died after eating a hamburger at a local Jack-
In-The-Box. Wiley felt a strong compulsion to go to Tacoma and have some
burgers at Jack-In-The-Box. This is just what we did.

We had no problem finding a parking space at the restaurant. We were the

only customers. I ordered a fish sandwich. Wiley got three burgers and onion
rings. Then we sat to eat.

Wiley unwrapped his first burger, opened it up, looked at it this way and
that, then took a bite. I watched closely as he chewed. "Good?" I asked.

"Hmmmm,--very good."

I nibbled my fish as Wiley ate his burgers, chewing slowly, meditatively.

Now and again, a certain puzzlement crossed his face. "What is it?" I asked.

"Hell of a thing," he said. "I can understand why people are fooled. This
tastes real good. But I can't understand why I keep coming back to it."

"Ever try health foods?" I asked, jokingly.

"Health foods is a contradiction in terms," he replied. "It's all poison. If

you're going to eat poison, why not buy the cheapest poison?"
 Wiley was really puzzled. He knew , without doubt, that all the stuff people
call "food" is poison, and yet he, Wiley Brooks the breatharian, put it in his
mouth and swallowed it, just like everyone else. "Why do I feel compelled to
put poison in my system?" Wiley wondered and wondered ... burger after
burger, Twinkie after Twinkie.

Wiley came up with many possible answers to his question, but none was
really satisfying. Until he came up with the right explanation, he knew, he had
to keep on eating those burgers. I speak in all seriousness. Wiley has the
mentality of an obsessed scientist. He had to find the truth. Why did he still
crave food when he knew it was poison? Why did he still eat it?

During the time we traveled together, Wiley never came up with a good
answer to that question. A year or so after I became "the one and only
breatharian," however, I myself stumbled on the answer, in the Santa Cruz
mountains.

The fellow who was first to find the information that would eventually
provide an answer to Wiley's big question is a cell biologist by the name of
Bruce H. Lipton. "Fractal Man" I call him.

Like myself, Lipton was born not far from Manhattan, the island that our
white former selves bought from our Amerindian former selves for $24. Bruce
earned his doctorate at the University of Virginia, and then taught and/or did
research at a number of universities, including Stanford.

In the early eighties, that Fractal Man earned his handle. Bruce was in the
lab one day studying cell structure. He focused his microscope on a cell, as he
had done a thousand times before. He observed the various components of the
cells, as he had done a thousand times before. He made a mental note to
discuss in his next class the fact that the simple cell contains all the physiologic
systems that are found in the human body ... and then it struck him ... "The cell
is a fractal of the human body!"

"What's a fractal?" Good question.

Draw a circle. Inside that circle draw another circle. Inside this circle draw
another. Keep going. Okay, that's enough. Now you have something that
looks like a target. Each of the inner circles is a version, a fractional
version of the first circle. Same shape, different size. Another name for
"fractional version" is fractal.

The word "fractal" was coined by the mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot.

Mandelbrot published Les Objets Fractal in 1975, then followed that book with
another which describes the fractal nature of the physical world. If you take a
photo of a coastline from a space station, and then another from a blimp, and
then another from ten feet off the ground, you'll find the three photographs
show the same jagged contours. The three contours are fractals of one
another.

Are you familiar with "Chinese boxes" or "Chinese eggs"? Boxes within
boxes, eggs within eggs. Each box, or egg, can be described as a fractal ... a
version similar to the others in shape, different in magnitude.

Mandelbrot is Fractal Father, the discoverer of fractal mathematics and

fractal geometry, the basis of "computer modeling." Lipton became Fractal
Man when he saw the application of fractal studies to the science of evolution.

Now (believe it or not) orthodox evolutionary theory--Darwinism-- looks on

biological evolution as a haphazard process. The only principle of order the
orthodox see is "Natural Selection," which means "Nature tends to select for
survival those individuals who are more advantaged in the combatative
struggle we call life." Life is a big fight, the Darwinists think. Nothing but
chaos. "Chaos" comes from the Greek and refers to a state of great disorder.
(Contemporary "chaos theory" looks for patterns in the chaos.)

The Darwinists see only chaos in the realm of things biological. They do not
see the patterns in the seeming chaos. The chief of all the Darwinists these
days is Richard Dawkins, author of The Blind Watchmaker. In this book, Dawkins
says that the Creator of life must be blind. Every biological organism is an
accidental tourist on Earth, Dawkins claims. Dawkins is himself so blind to the
fractal order of life, he thinks that the first biological organisms, the
"primordials," came into being by chance.

When Bruce Lipton saw that the biological cell is a fractal of the human
body, he was seeing something really momentous. It was more momentous
than Columbus' first sighting of America. To understand why this is so, let's
look at a cell through the orthodox eyes of Richard Dawkins, and then through
the eyes of Fractal Man.
 Okay, Richard is first. Richard looks through the microscope at a cell.
What does he see? He sees nothing unusual, nothing unorthodox. He sees a
cell membrane. That's the "skin" holding the cell together. He sees the nucleus
of the cell. The nucleus ... that's the really important thing
for Richard. Why? The nucleus contains the genes, the "genesis factors."
All biological expression, Richard believes, comes from the genes.

Let's look over Richard's shoulder as he's looking at the cell. "What is it
you're so focused on? Richard."

"I'm focused on the genes," Richard replies.

"What are genes?"

"Genes are the Generals of the cell," Richard says. "As everyone knows, or
should know by now, all biological organisms are fighting machines."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. If we regard the single cell as an army, then the Generals of that
army are the genes. They direct the cell in the battle of life."

"Okay Richard, thank you very much. You can go."

For over a hundred and fifty years most biologists have been saying that the
only ordering principle in evolution is Natural Selection. Life, they say,
is a big battle, and the winners in that battle tend to be more evolved.
"War is the mother of evolution." Now once the Darwinists accepted as truth
the conjecture that life is war, they all sought an answer to the question,
"What it is that enables certain organisms to win in the war of life?" The
answer they came up with was advantages. Wow.

Okay, where do advantages come from? Eventually, the Darwinists' search

for advantages took them to the genes. Certain genes are advantaged, they
believe, and other genes are disadvantaged--defective.

That about summarizes the whole of Darwinism, from so-called classical

Darwinism to current neo-Darwinism. Once the biologists put on the blood-
colored spectacles of Charles Darwin, all they could see was war and gore. It
never occurred to them there could be a principle of order in evolution that
was unrelated to warfaring. It never occurred to them that Natural Selection
might be something other than an instrument of destruction.

Okay, now it's Fractal Man's turn. "Bruce, you have a look through the
microscope and tell us what you see." Fractal Man has a look.

"We're looking a a single cell. If we're going to use analogies, this cell is far
more similar to a juke box than a fighting machine."

"A juke box?"

"Yes. The cellular membrane contains the equivalent of the play buttons.
The musical selections, the records, are the equivalents of the DNA. Let's play
Misty. We put a quarter in, then hit the play button that calls up Misty. Here it
comes.... Nothing mysterious about it, nothing haphazard."

"I can understand the genetic records, the DNA, as equivalents of musical
selections, but what exactly are the play buttons?"

"The play buttons are integral membrane proteins, or IMPs," Bruce explains.
"If we think of the cell membrane as a bread, butter and olive sandwich, the
IMPs would be the olives. Most of these olives are designed in such a way that
they are exposed at both surfaces--exposed to both the external environment
and to the internal domain."

"Who or what operates these IMP buttons?"

"The environment, signals from the environment. Those signals might be

material particles, energy, light, or even thought."

"Thought?"

"Sure. If I put you under hypnosis and tell you you're being burned on the
wrist, you'll react just as if you were in fact being burned. In fact, your body
will even go so far as to create a blister and to activate an immune response to
the phantom burn. What does this illustrate? Thought is a determiner of
biological behavior, perhaps even the primary determiner."

"How do these IMPs operate?

 "Each receptor IMP [receiver] is designed to do three things--to detect a
certain signal in the environment, to 'capture' that signal, and to process the
signal. Some IMPs are designed to process material things, and others to
process non-material signals, such as light. Altogether, the IMPs constitute
what is called the 'nervous system' of the cell. The term 'nervous' emphasizes
structure rather than function. If we wanted to emphasize function, we'd called
it the 'acquisitions' system perhaps, or the 'intelligence' system. The idea is
that the IMP network does the shopping for the cell, obtaining all that the cell
requires in order to maintain its life, its viability, in the environment."

"If the cell is regulated by environmental signals processed through the cell
membrane," I said, "then Richard is wrong. The genes are not the big generals,
not the primary determiners of all biological expression."

"Yes," Fractal Man replied. "Primacy--primary control--is in the environment

and not in the genes. To use again the analogy of cell as juke box, the
Darwinists maintain that the musical selections create their own play list. Not
true. The environment does the selection, presses the buttons; and the
genetics supplies the tunes requested."

"Let's note along the way, however, that the Darwinists' view of genes
as generals has a certain validity. But generals aren't the top guys. Who
directs generals? In our country, the Chiefs of Staff. And who directs the
Chiefs? The President, the commander in chief. So, by the Darwinists' own
analogy, the gene-rals are third in line in the chain of command."

"All analogies aside," Fractal Man continued, "the DNA genes are simply
plans, patterns for the organism's components. The simple proof that
physiological primacy is in the membrane and not in the genes lies in the fact
that if you remove the DNA from a cell, the cell will continue to survive and
express appropriate behavior. However, if we cut the receptors of the IMPs
from the membrane, the cell goes comatose--and all overt behavior ceases until
the damaged receptors are replaced."

"What would be your understanding of 'Natural Selection'?"

"What 'Natural Selection' really is ... is environmental signaling. 'Nature,' the

environment, selects what genetic programs are played by the organismic
jukebox."
 "Where do fractals and fractal math come into the picture? Fractal Man."

"Which picture?"

"Biology. What does fractal math have to do with biology?"

"Think of the cellular membrane as planar--a two-dimensional surface.

The cell itself if three-dimensional, of course. Fractal math offers the most
efficient mechanism for packing two-dimensional surface area into three-
dimensional space."

"How about evolution? How is fractal math relevant to evolution?"

"The operative principle underlying evolution is repetition in different scales

of magnitude. We may measure magnitude in terms of size. The first cell that
nature created, the 'prokaryote,' is very very small. The end product of cell
evolution is a cell thousands of times as large--the 'eukaryote.' Same concept,
unicellular organism, but different size. We can call the eukaryote a fractal of
the prokaryote, or the prokaryote a fractal of the eukaryote."

"But size by itself isn't the measure of evolution, right?"

"Right. In the case of unicellulars, the greater the membrane surface area,
the more IMPs that can be situated in the membrane; the more IMPs, the
greater the potential intelligence of the organism. So ... when we're talking
size, we're talking intelligence."

"Unicellular organisms have intelligence?"

"Yes, they do. Intelligence means literally the 'taking in' and proper
utilization of data. How do cells take in data? Through the IMPs. The IMP
complex functions as a molecular perception mechanism."

"Then the main theme of evolution is the increase of intelligence?"

"Correct. Evolution is 'all about' increasing intelligence. In the case of the

unicellulars, the basic way by which intelligence was increased was through
expansion of the membrane. When the membrane could be expanded no
further without compromising the strength of the cell, nature had to find
another way to increase organismal intelligence."

"And that was?"

"The creation of multicellular organisms, i.e., the networking of single cells

into a greater self. The multicellular level begins with relatively simple creatures
and it ends with us ... humans."

"Does evolution have an end, a telos?"

"On the basis of what we see, we can infer that the end of evolution is the
attainment of ultimate intelligence."

"If humans are the final products of multicellular evolution, what will be the
next step in evolution?"

"We're already much involved in the next step. Through such means as the
Internet, we individual humans are networking ourselves into a great multi-
individual entity. One day in the not distant future we humans will understand
ourselves as members of one family."

"So, the aboriginals have been right all along ... we're one tribe."

"Yes. A primitive knows he is a member of a very extended family, one

which includes all life. We civilized people have seemingly forgotten the
primitive wisdom, and now ... now we are in the process of rediscovering it."

"Thank the Great Spirit for that! Not long ago it looked to me that Homo
sapiens didn't have a chance."

"We have more than a chance ... our evolution into higher understanding,
higher consciousness is inevitable."

"Thank you, Fractal Man. You've explained a lot. About the fractal stuff,
though ... well I'm not completely certain...."

"We can discuss fractals and biology for months. There are many many
facets to the subject. Where evolution is concerned, the key understanding is
this: The very first life forms were unicellular organisms. The living cell is an
astonishing success story. The single cell contains all the life support systems
we find in the human body, and this is the tip-off ... to the fact that the human
body is a version--or fractal-- of the single cell. The human body is a very
sophisticated version of the cell,-- just as the latest high-tech radio receiver is a
version of the original crystal set."

"Evolution is not, as the Darwinists say, a haphazard process, the result of

blind Natural Selecting acting upon genetic variations. Evolution is very
systematic, along the lines of fractal mathematics. It may be thought of as a
fractal ladder. Each rung on the ladder is an organismic series. Unicellular
organisms, for instance, may be said to form a series. They are one rung on
the ladder. The prototype cells are the prokaryotes, and the end-product cells
are the eukaryotes. Eukaryotes are fractals of prokaryotes. The design
'improvements' that the eukaryotes exhibit are each and all innovations
made in the ongoing work of evolution, the increasing of organismic
intelligence."

"After nature completed her work of maximizing unicellular intelligence, after

she could do no more to make a smarter cell, she had to find a new way of
increasing organismic consciousness. It took awhile ... about three billion years.
The solution appeared in the form of a burst of creativity. All of a sudden,
Earth was populated with zillions of multi-cellular creatures! The solution was
simple--in hindsight. Program the unicellulars to stay together in a mass, rather
than drift off on independent paths. Birth of a new series, a new rung on the
ladder!"

"Okay Fractal Man, I think I've got it! The multicellular rung is a fractal of
the unicellular rung. Each rung is a fractal of the other rungs"

"Yes, that's it. Analogies go only so far, of course. It's important to note
that in our analogy, the ladder and the climber are one. The fractal ladder is
grounded in gross matter, and it builds upward toward the stars, toward the
ultimate intelligence."

"It is Great Spirit climbing the ladder of Itself to greater and greater
understandings of Itself. Thank you, Fractal Man, for your vision of how this
happens."
 I learned many fascinating things from Fractal Man, and the thing that made
the greatest impression on me was his statement that "The immune cell is the
cell of evolution."

What he meant is that this cell we call the immune cell has a special mission,
to know the unknown and to handle the unknown. When invader organisms
come into the body, the immune cells jump on them. Immune cells learn all
about the invaders by embracing the invaders, covering them head to toe.
When they've got the invaders' numbers, so to speak, then they create genetic
patterns for antibody cells--proteins whose job it is to immobilize the invaders.

Okay, let's go along with the idea that the planet is one big self, our Super
Self. Super Self is a fractal of the human body. It's got to be that way. Now
what is the planetary equivalent of immune cells?

You and I. People. The job of people is to know, and to deal with, the
unknown.

When immune cells attack the body they are supposed to defend, the
condition is called "auto-immune disease," an example of which is AIDS. When
people attack the environment, when they cut the rain forest and poison the
seas, what is this? It is planetary auto-immune disease.

When this understanding came to me, I knew at long last why my friend
Wiley Coyote "just had to eat" those Jack-in-the-Box burgers. What Wiley was
operating on was the old immune cell job description program. He was
being a responsible planetary immune cell.

One of these fast-food burgers had killed a child. How does an immune cell
learn all about an invading organism? It embraces it, like a glove over a hand.
How does a planetary immune cell learn all about a potential threat to the
planet? It eats it.

If a human body can live on sunlight and air, why does it need a mouth and
alimentary canal? Why does it need a stomach and intestines? What we call
the eating-digestive system is designed as much for learning about the
environment as it for acquiring nutrients. We eat to learn.
There Will Really Be a Morning

When I was a child of eight or nine, I saw a film called "Come and Get It."
The film, released in 1935, stars Frances Farmer. Frances plays a double role--
mother and daughter. In one scene, as mother, Frances sings "Aura Lee." "As
the blackbird in the spring, 'neath the willow tree, sat and piped I heard him
singing, singing Aura Lee. Aura Lee, Aura Lee, maid with golden hair, sunshine
comes along with thee, and swallows in the air."

I remember watching that film as a child, and being very entranced with both
Frances and the song. I asked my mother who Frances was, and she said, a
little sadly, "She was a film star of the thirties. I don't know much about what
happened to her."

From this, I gathered that something had happened to Frances, something

not so good. Mother was very sad at this time in her life, and I didn't want to
make her sadder by talking about Frances ... so I let the subject drop. My
mother's name was Lillian. Lillian was the name of Frances' mother, too.

I found out a lot about Frances Farmer when I read her autobiography, which
is called Will There Really Be a Morning? This book was published in 1972, two
years after her death. I learned that Frances was a big success in the movies,
but she didn't really want to do movies. She wanted a career in serious theater.
She was born and raised in Seattle. She should have been born where I was
born, not so far from New York.

She spent one of the happiest summers of her life doing summer stock
theater in Westport, Connecticut. I discovered Westport when I returned to
Connecticut in 1979, after teaching almost a decade in Ohio. I liked the town
very much, and worked there for seven years. While there, I wrote my first
play, a musical, and published a one-scene dramatic piece called "Human
Growth and Development." I wrote the piece as an exercise for a writers'
workshop taught by the late Lehman Engel.

Most of my life I was an East Coast person. When I went West Coast in
1992, the first West Coast town I landed in was Chico, California. I stayed a
week or so. I thought about applying for a position at the state college there,
but then decided that my final destination would be the Puget Sound
country. Later, I learned that Frances had spent two childhood years in Chico.
Those were happy years for her.

I read Frances Farmer's book in 1992, after seeing the film "Frances," in
which Frances is portrayed by Jessica Lange. The book gave me chills, from
the very first page. The details were so familiar. As I turned page after page, I
felt those old deja vu blues. I saw parallel after parallel in our lives, starting
with the fact our mothers had the same name.

Every place Frances had lived in in her life, I had been drawn to in my life. In
the seventies, I was teaching in Ohio and felt very drawn to Indianapolis. I kept
an eye out for teaching positions in that city. It was in Indianapolis that Frances
spent the last years of her life. She died in August of 1970. A year later, I was
U-Hauling it out to Ohio from New York State,--to become a teacher at
Muskingum College.

Today I live not far from Steilacoom, Washington. There is a mental

institution there called "Western Washington." For years of nightmare, Frances
was in this institution. The "old hospital," where Frances was incarcerated, is
now a heap of rubble in the middle of a park. All the places of darkness and
torture in our civilization will have the same fate.

For a time, Frances Farmer was America's "golden girl." Everybody, and
especially Frances' mother, wanted Frances to play this golden girl role in the
movies and make a big success. Frances didn't want to play this role. She had
no interest in being a sex symbol or a gold symbol or American dream symbol or
anything like that. She wanted a stage career, a career in serious drama. The
more Frances fought to be herself and do what she wanted to do, the more
people--especially her mother--attacked her.

Frances started to get into trouble with the police in the year I was born.
She had a biochemical problem that could be remedied today very quickly, by a
good nutritionist. She couldn't handle alcohol. She liked to drink it because it
gave her the feeling that she powerful and could not be dominated by all the
people who were trying to dominate her. When she drank alcohol, she became
aggressively self-assertive--and even nasty. When Frances became nasty with a
police officer, she was hauled off and thrown in jail.

Everyone, it seemed, judged and condemned Frances Farmer. Frances was

the golden girl gone wrong. "Blame and shame on you, Frances Farmer. Instead
of playing the golden girl role we all want you to play, instead of winning our
approval by going along with our desire that you fulfill our fantasies, you insist
on being self-centered and disobedient! You don't obey your mother. You
accepted a free trip to Russian over your Mother's protest.
You're an associate of Lefty Odets and his left-wing theater group. You give
money to migrant laborers! You insult important political people by calling them
hypocrites! You use foul language. You have no respect for the movies! You
have no respect for the great American movie-going public, you have no
respect for the police. Blame and shame on you, Frances Farmer. You need
psychiatric help ... and we're going to see that you get it!"

In 1942, Frances was arrested on a routine drunk driving charge. She was
hauled into court, and without benefit of a breath test or an attorney, she was
convicted as charged and sentenced to 180 days in jaul, suspended.
The tabloid vultures had fresh road kill. In the '40s, celebrity drunkeness was a
big deal. They flocked around her "case." A bad situation became worse,
Frances was re-arrested in Los Angeles and ordered to serve the
180-day term. A psychiatrist wanting to get in the act convinced the court to
permit him to render his professional judgment in her case. This was
allowed, and Frances was pronounced a "manic-depressive." Subsequent
hearings disclosed something even more awful ... Frances Farmer didn't have
any money. She had given away all her money to family, and leftists, and
migrant workers. Frances Farmer could not defend herself....

In time, the case of Frances Farmer went to her home town, Seattle. In
Seattle, there were important people who had been waiting a long time, waiting
to play important correctional roles in the life of Frances Farmer.

There was an important psychiatrist by the name of Donald A. Nicholson.

Nicholson was president of the Washington Society for Mental Hygiene. In
1930, Nicholson participated in a Washington D.C. convention of psychiatrists
from around the world, a conference that concluded that "Psychiatrists alone
possesses the superior intelligence and know-how with which to alter materially
and permanently human behavior.... Psychiatry must now decide what is to be
the immediate future of the human race ...." It was Nicholson who was
assigned by Judge John A. Frater to the Frances Farmer case.

In the 1910s, Frater had been counsel for the Union Pacific Railroad. He
became the nemesis of the Wobblies, the Industrial Workers of the World.
During the Red scare of the '30s, this man was a member of a group called the
"American Vigilantes of Washington."

For Judge Frater, Frances Farmer was symbol of everything detestable. He

is remembered as having denounced her in numerous speeches. "As a Christian,
he had been shocked when she won a national award for writing an atheistic
essay as a child. As a patriot, he had been appalled when she was a
controversial University of Washington student traveling to the Soviet Union
under the auspices of the Communist Party. As a citizen of Seattle, he had
been outraged when she had spit in their faces after the success of Come and
Get It ...." As a judge, he found himself in 1944 with a wonderful opportunity
to set in motion the wheels of correction.... Judge Frater was designated to
preside over the sanity hearing of Frances Farmer.

I am amazed often by the strength of the life force in some people. I have
a wonderful sister who suffered a "nervous breakdown" when she was in her
early twenties. She was put in a mental institution and subjected to more than
thirty-five electroshock "therapy" treatments over the course of two years.
This sort of brain-scrambling "therapy" has no proven medical value.
Sometimes it seems to help, sometimes it has no effect. Often, it has a
negative effect. Following her institutionalization, my sister was disoriented for
years and years. She came out of it, though. Today, her memory is fine. She
has something like full recall of many periods in her life. Despite all the
electronic butchery she was subjected to, she remained and remains a sweet,
compassionate person.

My sister got off light. Incarerated at the Western Washington state

hospital at Steilacoom, Frances Farmer was subjected to experimental "insulin
shock therapy," which was soon discredited ... playing with insulin levels is a
guaranteed way of turning anyone into a lunatic. She was then
dumped in a tub of frigid water, where she was forced to remain for hours.
On one occasion, she practically bit off her lower lip. When that didn't cure her,
Frances was subjected to an endless series of electro-shock treatments.
When she not being bludgeoned into unconsciousness by electrical shock, she
was routinely and repeatedly raped by "orderlies" and by soldiers from Fort
Lewis.

Despite all this official and unoffical abuse, Frances Farmer became a
respected symbol of resistance in the hospital at Steilacoom. The authorities
who put her there needed one more authority--to quiet her, to prevent her from
becoming a powerful, outspoken critic of American psychiatry. The last of the
psyches to enter Frances' life was America's star lobotomist, Dr. Walter
Freeman, head of the neurology department of Georgetown University.

There were no witnesses to the lobotomy of Frances Farmer. Frances was

wheeled into a private room, where Freeman was waiting for her. To render her
unconscious, electroshock was employed. After her short visit with Dr.
Freeman, Frances was never the same. She became a meek, submissive person
who tended to blame herself for all the bad things that happened in her life.

The lobotomy of Frances Farmer was never authorized by her legal

guardian--Lillian Farmer. Indeed, both mother and father had threatened the
psyches with lawsuits if lobotomy was attempted. Isn't it interesting that
there's no official record of the lobotomy?

Today, Frances is still remembered at Steilacoom. All of her torturers are

long forgotten, but Frances is remembered. "That's where they kept Frances
Farmer," says an old attendant, pointing to a pile of rubble that was "the old
hospital."

All those who were party to the persecution of Frances Farmer, whether by
act of commission or omission, have tried hard to blot out her memory.
The alcoholic attorney who had been appointed to represent Frances at the
Seattle hearings, and who failed to do so, blotted himself out. Death by suicide.
Even her alma mater prefers not to remember her. She is the most famous
graduate of the drama department of the University of Washington, and yet the
University has not had the decency and guts to remember her with even a
simple plaque. Indeed, the University now maintains that its drama department
was started in 1941! The embarrassing thirties have been conveniently
ignored.

The memory of Frances Farmer will not be blotted out. One day there will a
Frances Farmer Foundation, and its mission will be to help people know that
when the Constitution says the rights of the people are
"inalienable," that's what it means. If an American is in the service, or in
prison, or in an asylum, that American still has his or her rights. It's not okay
for officialdom to treat those people under its control as guinea pigs.
 "Where is Frances today?" I asked Elan in 1993. "Elan" is a space cousin
who is channeled by a good friend of mine. Channeling is not a weird thing in
my view. In my time of working with Bruce Lipton, I learned that the human
body is a fantastic electronic robot. Who we are isn't in the body. Who we are
is intelligence encoded in the environment. This intelligence operates the body,
like a puppeteer operates a puppet. Did you know that there are crystals in the
pineal gland? This gland is the master input. It regulates the pituitary, which is
the master output gland. At any rate, in the experience of channeling, one
puppeteer simply hands over the strings to another puppeteer. No big deal.

"The entity you call 'Frances' is now in the non-physical," Elan replied. "She
is quite happy--now that she knows who she is."

"I'm very happy to hear that," I said. "For a long time I've had ... certain
feelings for her...."

"We know," Elan said. Elan is from a "fourth-density" civilization. We

humans are now in the third density, heading into fourth. Those in fourth
density are fully linked up, in consciousness, with all other members of their
society, and so each individual is in a sense a "group consciousness." Elan is an
individual, Elan is a group ... just as a Christmas tree light is at the same time
individual and part of the whole string.

"You know?" I replied. I was puzzled by the fact that my interest in Frances
Farmer seemed to be well known to Elan, even though I had never discussed it
previously--with anyone. Then it began to occur to me that I might have a
connection of some sort with Frances. "Are Frances and I connected in some
way?" I asked Elan.

"Don't you know?" he responded, playfully.

"Gosh, we're all connected really, but ... well the connections can be close ...
kissing cousins ... or distant or ...."

Elan stopped me cold. "She is your counterpart," he said.

I choked up instantly. "My soul mate?" I asked quietly.

"She is your female counterpart," he replied.

 I had no more questions. I was sort of stunned.

When this revelation really sank in, I had to find a quiet place and cry.
They were tears of release that I cried ... release from the pain and darkness of
life on Earth in the twentieth century. In the not so distant future, the present
era will be seen for what it is--the Darwinian Dark Ages, an era of foolish
pseudo-science and stupid warfaring. The current moment is what is called the
darkest hour, the darkness before the dawn.

"Will there really be a morning?" Frances asked. She took this question from
an Emily Dickinson poem and used it as the title of her autobiography.
Only now can an answer be given....

"Yes, Frances ... there will really be a morning. It is beginning now, and soon
all the world will be bathed in morning light, in the knowledge that all life is
divine, and that whatever we have endured on the physical plane has been for
the purpose of self-evolution, which is ... the way by which we express and
serve the divine source from which we arise, time and again--forever and ever."

"Yes, Frances, yes. There will really be a morning. And we will see it
together--I through your eyes, and you through mine!"

The age of tyrants and the victims will soon be over. Those who cannot see
the light, those who remain ignorant and destructive ... they will disappear from
this reality, vanish like mists. It is time for the great change that has been
prophesied. It begins even now ... the enlightenment, the first light of the
morning of the resurrected world and the Age of God.
III
A Chat With Chief Seattle

Chief Seattle changed worlds in 1866. His one and only child, "Princess
Angeline," passed away in 1896.

The winter of 1996-97 was a difficult one for a great many people, from the
flood victims of central California to the mudslide victims of Portland and
Seattle to the snowbound of the northern tier from South Dakota to Buffalo.
For me, it was a quiet winter, spent in a snug mobile home with a good view of
Mt. Takhoma.

On a few occasions, the Chief joined me by the woodstove fire for a spell.
He never said much, except on one occasion. I had just finished the story of
Frances Farmer....

It was about midnight, the 13th of January. I had dozen off by the fire.
I dreamed I was standing on a road at the base of Takhoma, trying to hitch a
ride up the mountain. It was beginning to snow hard. An old Model T came
chugging up to me and stopped. An ugly old woman was driving. Perhaps it
was Princess Angeline. Seattle, sitting in the rider's seat, rolled the window
down and spoke to me: "Say there, Two Horses, are you looking for an owl?"

I had to laugh at that, in the dream. Years ago, an excellent "life reader" in
Connecticut had told me that one day I would stand on top of a sacred
mountain and all would become clear to me. "An eagle will sit on your right
shoulder," the reader had said, "and an owl on your left...."

"Sure!" I said, "I could use a good owl!"

"I'll send one along," the Chief said. He had a good laugh as he rolled up
the window, and then ... off they went!

"Hey!" I shouted after them, "what about a ride"!" The car disappeared
behind curtains of snow....

"You can't fly too high if you fly on your own wings," the voice said.
 "What?" I said, awakening from my nap.

"If you fly on your own wings, you can fly as high as want. Those were
great words. William Blake ... Boston poet." I recognized the voice, and the
special humor, of Chief Seattle.

"English poet, Chief. "He was an English poet."

"Well he may have been, but he's a Boston poet now!"

"Ha! ha!" I reached back for the rocker and pulled it to the fire. "Have
a seat, Chief," I said.

The spirit chief sat. I opened the door of the stove, threw a couple more
sticks on. The fire spat, then settled down.

"Leave the door open," the Chief said. "I like to stare in the embers."

"Sure," I replied, and sat back in my over-stuffed chair. "Nice to have a

little company, Chief."

"Thanks. Listen, Two Horses, I'm here to say that we all like that story
about Frances Farmer."

"Who's we?" I asked.

"Uhh ... you know, We ... the Great White Council."

"The White Brotherhood! You made it to the White Brotherhood, Chief?!"

"We don't call it that anymore, Two Horses," he replied. "And you know ...
sometimes I think 'Horse's Ass' would be a better name for you. I didn't 'make
it' to the Council. I always was with the Council!"

"Sorry, Chief."

"Apology accepted." The Chief rocked a bit.

"Well ... what was it you like most about that Frances story?" I had to ask.
 "Now don't let this go to your head, young fellow.... What we appreciate
is the fact you have the mental and emotional capacity to understand that what
you are is a multiple phenomenon. Haven't you ever given any serious thought
to the meaning of our own name ... 'Two Horses'?"

"Well sure," I replied. "Two Horses ... it has something to do with ... with
shamanic journeys, --or with strength!" I could feel the Chief shake his head
sadly....

"Son, you really do need an owl!" Seattle replied.

Trying to save face, I said, "How about ... 'With two horses, you can get
about anywhere'"?

"How about being still for a moment? And leaning something."

"Okay," I replied, quietly.

"Now you understand, I presume, that your body is just a costume. It's
something you wear when you're among the so-called 'living.'"

"Yes," I said, meekly.

"What you are, really, is a spirit, and this spirit can, if it wants to, jump
into many different costumes at the same time."

"I follow you."

"In the visible world, you are an entity who was given by your parents the
name 'Theodore.' In the invisible world, you are an enity that has no name ...
that used to be called 'Frances.' Am I making sense? It's really very simple...."

"Yes," I replied. "So the basic meaning of 'Two Horses' is ... I am in reality
two different entities...."

"One substance ... but two major expressions in this particular reality you
call twentieth century Earth."

"And before this century...."

 "Many, many incarnations. In the time when I walked the visible world,
we were ... friends."

I brightened up considerably. "Yes! I knew that!--and that's why you've

been such a presence in my life! Who was I? One of your loyal warriors?"

"Hmmmm," the old one murmurred. "No. In fact, you were one of my sub-
chiefs ... a disloyal one."

I felt felt a constriction in my throat. "Disloyal?"

"Yes. They hanged you--the whites. Even though I tried to stop them."

This was a lot to take in. Quietly, I replied, "Thanks for trying, Chief."

"Think nothing of it," the Chief replied. "I felt a certain responsibility. It
was I who warned them of your planned attack on Seattle."

"What!?"

"Yes. My commitment was to peace. I believed the old stories, that we red
men were to be teachers of the whites... despite ...." He stopped.

"Despite?"

"Despite all their lies, their greed, their ignorance. Their arrogance. I was
right, but sure as blazes, when I was in the visible world, I had my doubts."

"Who was I? Why did I go against you?"

"You were a Squally chief ... by name, Leschi."

"Les--."

"Yes. Les. Back then, the Squallies were farmers. They needed good land.
Land for farming. Governor Stevens gave them a reservation that was rocky
end to end. Leschi demanded that his people be given suitable land, and
Stevens refused. Stevens was a stubborn ass."

"So Leschi went to war."

 "Well he tried to. His attack on Seattle came to nothing. The whites had
been warned ... by myself."

"Thanks a lot!" I exclaimed, momentarily caught up in an old irritation.

"If it's any solace ... there was a time, there was a time when I thought that
maybe you had been right. The whites should be rubbed out."

"A little late...."

"But when I returned to the invisible world, I saw right away you had been
wrong." The Chief gave out a long, silent laugh. The old rocker shook.

"What's so funny?"

"I can never forget your face when you met me on the other side! You
were still mad as wounded mountain lion!--mad at me, mad at life, mad at the
Great White Council. Ha, ha, ha. You were just plain mad."

"If that so, how come I don't feel any anger or upset when you speak of all
this? When I did past life regressions to other lives, I felt the emotions
of those lives right away. Regarding the Lechi lifetime, I don't feel much of
anything. In fact, I feel very peaceful."

"I know. That old life is not a problem for you anymore. And do you know
who you have to thank?"

"Thank? My mother maybe, maybe ...."

"Nonsense!" the Chief snorted. "Your female counterpart ... is the reason
you are so peaceful today."

"Frances?"

"Yes. Frances. It was Frances who expressed all the anger, the bitterness
you had inside you. A bottomless well of bitterness ... so it seemed to me
from time to time."

"You were with her, too?"

 "Of course. I have looked over her as I have looked over you."

I gulped. "Wow ... I don't know what to say. Chief ... thanks." A tear
formed in my eye. In the moment I wiped it, he departed.

"Good-bye, Chief," I said quietly, to the empty chair.

The words of the poet Attila Josef came to mind: "We live on a diamond
mountain, but our pockets are filled with pebbles."

I had the fleeting fear I would never see the Chief again.

"Don't agitate yourself, Two Horses," a voice in a my head spoke. "Many

from the old days are around you, in the visible as well as the invisible world ...
many others ... they are closer than you might think. You can find them if you
desire ... in your imagination, in your heart, in your coffee bars ... in the great
school near you. You are never alone."

"
Takhoma

"One day," the life reader said, "you'll stand on top of a sacred mountain.
An eagle will sit on your right shoulder, and an owl on your left. Special
glasses--crystal glasses--will be put on your face, and for the first time, you will
see everything clearly. You will know the whole story of life on Earth."

September 28th, 1996, was a very special day for me. A perfectly blue
and brilliant Indian summer day. I and my beloved Cordula decided it was
a good day to hike on the mountain. We packed up some sandwiches, apples,
cookies of course, juice, and off we went....

We arrived at "Paradise," the uppermost lodge at Takhoma, to find only

a handful of people there. "Yippee!" Cordula exclaimed. "We have the
mountain all to ourselves!" The name Cordula is unusual. It's pronounced Cord-
you-la, and it means "Little Heart."

Cordula is petite pretty woman with blue eyes and reddish brown hair. She
was born in Germany in the war, during an Allied bombing of the city of Bremen
in fact. Her seven-months pregnant mother had to run from the city to save
her life. She jumped in a car, and that's when the contractions began.

Something in the character of that moment, I think, became part of the

character of Cordula. When Cordula is not in meditation, or communing with
animals or children or flowers, she is flitting from this to that, here to there, like
a bird.

"Quick! Quick!" she said, as she elbowed me in the ribs. "Get out of the car.
The mountain is waiting for us!"

From the Paradise lodge, steep paths ascend through Alpine meadows.
They terminate at the snowline, the glaciers. Huffing and puffing, I followed
Cordula up and up, up, up and up some more.... My lungs were aching. My legs
felt like rubber. Cordula went on ahead, while I struggled stop and go,
go and stop, up and up.
 "Yoo-hoo," Cordula called from the top of a high over-look that was our
destination (I hoped). "Hurry up!--only another mile from here!"

"God!" I exclaimed, with the last of my breath.

"I'm only joking!" Cordula laughed. "But hurry up ... you're missing the
view."

The view was indeed spectacular. I had never climbed this far up, never
experienced the awesome panorama of mountain peaks that now presented
itself to me,--from west to south to east. Sitting on a shoulder of Takhoma,
mountain of mountains, I saw with my waking eyes that which, before, I had
seen only with the eyes of dream .... the mountains as singular entities, great
gods wrapped in blankets of purple haze. And also I could see that all of them
were, at the same time, one ... the motionless tips of waves of the One
Sea from which all arises.

An eagle dropped from the cliffs behind and glided over our heads. "My
eagle!" Cordula exclaimed. "O thank you my god, thank you Ramtha!"

"What do you mean my eagle?" I asked playfully. "I saw it, too."

"I saw it first. You can have all the crows we saw earlier. The eagle is my
symbol for the arising spirit!"

I laughed. "We can go fifty-fifty--half the crows for each, and half the
eagle."

"No, darling," Cordula replied, "you can have all the crows. They are really
very wonderful symbols for you. You know what Ramtha says about the crows?
He says they are gossips--and spies."

"Caw, caw!" I protested.

"I see you remember your old language," Cordula said. Then gave me a little
kiss, and a poke in the ribs.

"How can you kiss a crow?" I said, in a sad tone.

 "Don't worry, darling," she replied sympathetically. "Don't you know that
some day the eagle will be your symbol too? I will do something for you. I will
speak tonight to Daskalos in my meditation. He will send you an eagle."
Daskalos means "Teacher." Daskalos, who went into the invisible world not long
ago, is known generally as the "Magus of Strovolus." He is known to a few as
"White Eagle."

"Thank you, Little Heart."

"Not at all," she replied. "Somewhere in the world there must be an eagle
who is willing to be your symbol." She laughed merrily.

In Germany, years ago, Cordula had been a spiritual counselor. She was
invited by Daskalos to form a healing circle in Germany. She felt honored by
this offer, but had to decline. Her journey was taking her west ... to the school
of Ramtha.

In the teachings of Daskalos, all matter is "Mind" in various expressions,

modes of vibration. From Mind arises the basic ideas of creation. These are
called "archetypes." In the words of Kyriacos C. Markides: "One such
archetype is the Idea of Man. Once an emanation from a 'Holy Monad' passes
through this archetype, human existence begins. The eternal soul is dressed
with a noetic body, a psychic body, and finally at conception and birth, a gross
material body."

What is the purpose of our living life after life on Earth? Daskalos was
asked once. Again, in the words of Markides: "Daskalos claimed that the aim of
the cycles of incarnations is to acquire experiences and develop 'individuality
within Oneness.' Through Karma, or the law of cause and effect, the ego will
grow spiritually until the attainment of Theosis or the realization that one is an
integral part of God or the Absolute...."

Theosis. A big word. The words of old Wiley floated back, out of the
past ... "You are God-realized when you realize you are God." Little words,
but a big idea. But how? How is it possible for us Homo saps to realize that
we are God?

"It will be easier for the generations to come," said a voice in my head.
"When science is truly science, when the true science vision of life becomes
the vision of the people ... when the Gaia hypothesis is no longer just an
hypothesis, when it is the Gaia Truth...."

When two-leggeds can believe, wholeheartedly, that they are integral parts
of the one organism that the planet is, it will be so much easier for them to
believe they are integral parts of the All That Is!

"Ooooh!" Cordula exclaimed as the shadow of the eagle passed in front

of us. We looked up. The eagle rose in the golden sunlight on sunlit wings, and
then soared into the unseen ... to some jeweled perch in the high cliffs
of the mountain's crown.

We sat for a long time, two embers of the great fire. The sun glowed its
splendor, its emanation of perpetual unconditional light....

"One day," I said to Cordula, "I will stand on top this mountain. An owl
will be my left shoulder, and an eagle on my right."

"They must be very big birds," she said.

"Why?"

"To carry you up that mountain!" she laughed.

"No, no, divine child," I said. "They will fly up there to join me. The life
reader, Mary-Ellen, said I will stand at the base of the mountain for a long time,
wondering how to get up. Then ... a tramway will magically appear,
and zip, zip--up the mountain I will go."

"What's a tramway?"

"A cable car, like they use in the ski resorts."

"Oh. Have you put on so much weight, darling, a cable car is your only
chance to get up the mountain?"

Cordula is in my life, I know, to keep my ego from getting too big. It is

easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than an Inflated Ego to
enter the gates of Heaven.
 "Do you think I should go on on a diet?" I asked.

"I love you the way you are," she replied, "whether you're thin as some
Himalayan yogi or fat as the Buddah. If you think you're fat, though, and want
to change, don't diet ... that's only a treatment of a symptom. Go to the
source of the matter ... You've got extra weight because of all your waiting
around! If you really want to get to the top of that mountain, you'll go The
School." The School is the Ramtha School of Englightenment, also known as
the American Gnostic School.

"Lord, it seems I've been to school all my life...."

"Maybe you should go to a school where you can learn what you really need
to know," she said. "This Northwest United States is such a precious place. It
is all that is left of old Lemuria, and it here that the next Christs will come
forth--right out of The School."

Interestingly, one of the world-famous "crop circles" was created in 1996

not far from "The School" ... in a field just west of Chehalis. The Chehalis crop
circle depicted the seven seals.

"Darling," Cordula continued, quietly, "sometimes you seem to me to almost

lose yourself among the spirits of the past. Whatever you have been in your
past lives, however great you were, you were never as great as you are in this
moment. And this place was never as great as it is in this time. People from
over twenty-five countries have come here! This is the place to be for the
spiritual people--here is the gathering of those who desire to enter into the
Christhood--to leave their human-hood behind."

"Yes, but not all of these are in the School," I said.

Cordula laughed. "I know, Mr. Two Horses. Most of those who are in the
Ramtha teachings were with Ram in his one life on Earth."

"Ramtha ... the inventor of modern warfare," I said, "who in his seven years
of recovery from a grievous wound learned to go out of body at will,
and learned in time to take his body with him."

"Yes," Cordula said. "And now he is back to teach those he could not teach
back then, so ignorant were they. For 120 days, on the banks on the Indus
River, he spoke to his peoples. Twenty feet in the air he stood! as he spoke
that last time. Talking, talking, talking to the people ... trying to make them
understand that they could learn what he learned, they could do what he did.
Then, when he had said all that could be said, he ascended."

"And the Homo saps went on living their old lives."

"Yes. They went on being 'just human beings.'"

"I may not be so much outside the circle as you think, my darling," I said
softly.

"I know. It's just ... sometimes I wonder! I want so such to go back through
the grid, back through the templates by which I came here, to
be all that I am ... and not this illusion I am sitting in!"

"Funny," I mused. "Just when you're ready to check out--"

"--Ascend, dear one, not 'check out.'"

"Ascend. Just when you're ready to ascend, I feel like I'm just falling in love
with this Earth experience."

"Ascension doesn't mean you're departing! It means being beyond time,

being in awareness of other dimensions and you will never ascend unless your
love this plane! It means you have the option of being physical or non-physical.
I want to sit on this mountain for a year if I want!--not just a few hours every
once in awhile. I want to explore the unknown, the infinite ... not just this
planet, beautiful as it is."

"Perhaps, lady, you are my eagle."

"Can't you see what Earth has become?" she continued--"an amusement
park for the children, a loony bin for adults, a nightmare for the old. This isn't
the Earth of your old Indian friends. It's their Earth I would like to find again,
the one that's so beautiful in your own memory...."

I put an arm around this divine orator friend of mine, and kissed her cheek.
She was not in a mood for little intimacies. She turned her gaze to the
mountains to the South. In her eyes there was a very determined look.
 "Years ago," I said, "when I was a sad person, and desired to feel what it
was to be joyful, I told my dream guides, 'Show me a lifetime ... when I was truly
happy, truly joyous. That night in my dreams, I found myself in the country of
the Iroquois. Hundreds of years ago,--before the whites. I was a young brave, a
runner. Hour after hour, I ran through forests, and along a wide river, and the
lakes. Like the wind I ran. I was exuberant! My heart beat in my chest with
joy!"

"The trails are still there," Cordula said quietly. "They are waiting for you,
my darling." Both of us sighed, and embraced with a laugh.

On the way down the mountain, everything seemed especially vivid. Two
deer grazed near the trail, and did not run as we walked by them quietly.

As we drove home, we spoke of the summer, of going to Mt. Shasta. By

many reports, Shasta is the home base of the Brotherhood, the White Council.
Planet Earth being a one organism, it has its seven seals, just as we humans do.
The seventh seal is referred to by some as the "crown chakra." It is the seal
that interfaces between the physical and metaphysical realms.

The "Holy Land" of our planet is the place of the seventh seal. So far as I
know, the seventh seal is at Shasta, not Jerusalem. The old Holy Land is not so
holy any more. It is a place of religious strife and of warfare.

As we drove, along the ever-beautiful Nisqually River, I thought of the many

many grand teachers who have been in my life, who have guided me to this
current moment,--to the momentous currents which flow from the
star-covered peaks of the great unknown we call "God."

One by one, two by two, sooner or later, we all return, like our brothers the
salmon, to the sacred places which gave us birth.