Journeys into the bright world

Going back to my earlier preoccupation with the angels of the angles, I saw this process as one involving the coversion of the spherical vortex of the cosmatrix into the cubes of our building block universe through the tetrahedral (sixty-degree-angled) formative energies of the realm of archetypes. Of course the ninety-degree world is in one sense as illusory as the web of longitudes and latitudes which cartographers have inscribed on the surface of the globe, but at the same time it is necessary to our functioning. One can argue endlessly as to whether directions are "real" or "unreal" but we know that for practical purposes they exist.

To square the circle is a complex affair with which the metaphysicians of ancient times were compulsively preoccupied. Somehow the secret lies in elevating the square base of the material world into the triangle-faced pyramid of a higher-dimensional realm; hence the great pyramid of Egypt exemplifies the measurement for the irrational number pi. This is not the place to detail my many ruminations on this subject, but the idea was sufficiently compelling for me to take up a compass and ruler and lay out an idealized plan for Ananta Ashram/North with six hexagonal buildings, each one serving a different function, surrounding a central patio. The overall design was constructed in such a way that the six buildings could be inscribed in a circle with a seventh empty space of equal size in the middle. It seemed an appropriate concept, especially in view of the fact that the chemical formula for ketamine is two hexagons connected by a single band.

February's most interesting development was the sharing of our bright world with a number of old and new comrades. As we began to work with individuals and launched our Friday night "group samadhi" sessions my private journeys also began to take more account of other beings. It began with a visit from a successful writer whom we will call Bill. Bill, Howard and I decided to take a fifty-milligram three-way samadhi trip one evening in our livingroom.

Following the familiar lift-off into the subtler dimensions of perception the presence of other guiding intelligences began to tug at the corners of my attention. For years I had been amassing evidence that mankind is not alone in the cosmos and had long since become convinced that not only are we monitored by an executive "hierarchy" specifically connected with this planet, we are also subject to the scrutiny of visitors from elsewhere. Never before, however, had I so strongly sensed the quality of these benign beings, who, for the sake of discussion, can be labeled "space brothers."

The unexpected conclusion of this tuning in on the vibratory frequencies of the space brothers was the recognition that they were us! Or at least we were being used as instruments of their reconnoitering. Recalling a metaphor first suggested by my friend Isha Chandi, I saw our group floating down to earth like parachutists ejected from a speeding plane. Now, having landed in different spots we were stumbling about through the underbush of an alien terrain looking for one another in order to coordinate our efforts and carry out the assigned mission. Being with Bill now was like welcoming another member of the band. If only enough of us could reassemble we would be invincible, but first we had to close ranks. It was almost as though we were engaged in a military maneuver. Severe opposition did exist but could be met if we could stand together.

But why, if we belonged to this special task force, hadn't we known it? What had happened to the mental radios that might have kept us in touch with the commanders of our airborne squadron and with home base? For years, my own lack of the psychic gifts, dimly recollected from other lifetimes, had been a cross to bear. I wasn't even a good subject for regression and my intuition, especially about other people, often failed. Even meditation and breathing exercises seemed like trying to leaven lead.

Now, however, I began to grasp why the biomechanism assigned as my physical vehicle had been constructed of such peculiarly compact material which, through the years, had been systematically toughened. Evidently it was my place to go down to the very bowels of matter in order to anchor certain light energies in places where, under ordinary circumstances, it would be difficult for these rays to penetrate. For an anchor it is quite appropriate to be made out of lead. Even astrologically my horoscope is dominated by the leaden planet Saturn which, as a bucket handle opposing all the other planets in the natal chart, resembles an anchor holding them down.