Newton, Massechusets

Yesterday I met Orville Pierson and his wife. They both did work with a guru in the 70's that helped them understand their spiritual paths. After a few good conversations, Orville was to my surprise interested in my thoughts and compelled to point out that I was a very High person - that for my age both in this life and in the Dharma cycle, I was advanced greatly in my sense of larger understanding. While identifying with most everything I've been going through on that level, his suggestions to me can be summed up as listening to the universe by going inside yourself rather than projecting into the cosmos, as often times this is easier to do and is more personal in the experience and insight gained; Attending to the help of mantras and even music as a focus ; and to find my own guru to help sort through the spiritual planes, from either internal or external directions of entrance. Those kinds of journeys always need some kind of guide with some experience to help you understand and deal with what is encountered.

The poem below was inspired by a meditation last night where I removed myself from my thought stream in preparation for sleep. But as I was watching and even bemusing at my thoughts whilst they assembled into a pile of white noise (there was quite a bit of garbage data floating through my head) something disturbing and eventually paralyzingly frightening occured. I collected the resonant white noise of my thoughts into a little ball and watched them float away. The void in which my true self had centered was awaiting the flow of the Tao to arrive, on which it could take my spirit deep inside for a nice drift into sleep. But instead of a quiet stream of trickling and peaceful energy, that newly established void was quickly filled with the energy of external spirits that were not at all peaceful. My soul was paralyzed and my body stopped breathing properly. The void was under an accelerating invasion of feelings and entities only describable as fearful, sad, creepy, evil, moaning, pained, disturbing, and aggressive essences. I could only finally dispel them by forcing myself to breath, reopening my mindvalve a little ways, and calling on the mantra of Jesus Christ to come and help me cancel that shit so I could simply pass out.

The most unsettling thing about it was that it seemed like when I let go of my thought noise and prepared to meditate into the greater planes, I became momentarily vulnerable, as if being in that state of limbo turned me into a blinking red fish-in-a-barrel target for (I hate to use the cliched term here, but I somewhat applies) demonic possession. I know now what Orville said about the help of a guru guide. But it's still unsettling - why am I such a high priority target for external entities? Because that sort of thing had happened to be before, I just didn't register what it was at the time. I hope there are other external energies and spirits out there who are more kindly or better yet will just leave me alone.

Om Namah Shivaya, Jesus Christos.
Until I find a guru somehow, these mantras get me by for now -
"I submit to my inner consciousness"
to step away from the chattering of my mind
"Jeshua the Anointed"
to watch my back from behind
And why?

Because of what I find inside the void next to my mind -
The mind is a processor of information,
Input and Output;
The mind is a filter of perceptions,
Half truths and constraints;
The mind is a live wire,
60 Hz hum and distorted signals;
The mind is a distraction,
Data Buckets and misunderstandings;
The mind is the ugliest part of your body,
Frank Zappa;
The mind is a tool,
Numbers and Colors and Relational links;
The mind is Dual,
Id and Ego

But when I begin to step aside
and watch the chatter on that line
The void between gets filled with fear
and demons: Ill spirits, crowding too near
Blocking my Tao.

New York City (Supplemental 2)

Penn Station is like a shopping mall with 65% more creeps, 40% more cops, and 100% more Amtrak. Which by the way, is handled in a system of scheduled arrival and departure times because they go nation wide. NJTransit is a similar setup (state wide) and so unlike the DC metro where trains ran routes nonstop, I find myself with a ticket back to metropark that leaves in 15 minuets instead of three. Its not really a big dicotomy against the speed, noise and adreniline of manhatten though, becasue that waiting-for-the-trains bit is comparable to 300 tourists with explosive diarrhea waiting in line for a malfunctioning rollercoaster. I hope I end up having a decent evening tonight. It will be my last outing here in Jersey/New York and with Kristine until god-only-knows-when. I've got a Journey to continue and she's moving away from her Mom's place post-graduation. I'm gonna miss her.

New York City (Supplemental)

By the grace of God, he Amtrak reject equipment I was on stayed stable on it's NJTransit line, placing me somewhere in the tunnel dungeons beneath Penn Station. I emerged to the daylight, heat, noise, and carbon monoxide near the Borders' Bookstore at Madison Square Garden. The foldout map of the island in hand, I began the 40 block epic journey to the place I now sit: A bench dedicated to "Chuck and Christina Micheals" on the outskirts of the tree museum known as Central Park. Even as the latino bag lady sleeps on the bench over from me, the pidgeons and sparrows come by asking for food, and the more easy-going BoHo couples hold hands and stroll (there are only 2 kinds of young hip rich people here: Paris Hilton wannabes and arty bohemian hipster wannabes...oh, and well dressed gay dudes), I can still hear the Honking of the Yellow NYC taxi cabs.

Well fuck, it's raining now. And I really wanted to go see the Pit of Abbadon and check for thermite residue. Guess it's back to the trains.

New York City, New York

Imagine former nutjob ambassador to the UN John Bolton but a little chubbier and with a Bronx accent. He made little punch holes in an 8 Dollar slip of paper I bought from him after he questioned why I took the corridor line to Madison Square when I could have transferred to the 4170 Amtrak at the airport and hopped the RF line metro to wall street.

Dude...WTF. I just want to go to Manhattan Island; I don't know what you're on about. 33rd Street station is fine.

[Hand drawn depiction if the NJTransit guy punching my ticket and questioning my rail-line logic.]

Clark Township, New Jersey

Sitting at the local Barnes and Noble with this book in hand and my silly Gonzo hat drew a little more than its fair share of unspoken attention, though I can't really decipher the body language around here as its expertly masked under layers of tristate area misanthropic grit apparent at least a little bit on every local person. My only inclination is to take it as a mixture of indignation and some flavor of jealous derision - "How dare this gypsy scalawag show up in our town, drink coffee, and wax free-spirited in our hardened and somewhat conceited presence!" Not all are like that, but there are enough. A category of "Generics" as the Phiz would say. Generics with Lead feet and attitudes.

[Handwritten cartoon of the scene upon coming down off the Delaware Memorial Bridge]

Little do they know I was born and once lived here. I need to go find Kristine.

Its good to be back.

I95 North of Baltimore, Maryland

I'm at some truck stop off of I-95 in Maryland called "Perryville Travel Plaza". It's located immediately following a - get this - FIVE DOLLAR TOLL BOOTH for which I was monetarily unprepared. I was summarily informed that I should roll through the booth when upon pulling away my licence plates would be photographed and my address would be mailed the toll charge plus fines in a letter from the Maryland Transport Authority. I must be getting close to New York. Fuckin' bastards. Tom left this for me last night before I vacated his place in the late morning.

[Handwritten poem on a notepad scrap:
"Washed upon this distant shore
I've found myself wondering
why so vaugely familiar
a sunrise upon some place I've
been spit should arouse my senses so.
Step, stand, sunken sand footstep
suspicions suspended
past confirmed upon the sand
lay an apple once bitten"
-Tom Thrasher]

One of the most profound senses of spiritual peace a person can experiance is to recognise a key moment of existential deja vu, and place it neatly back into its Dharmic context to learn something needed. But Zen is very to manifest or come across in a place like Washington DC.

Unleaded Gasoline is $4.10 per gallon this afternoon.

Alexandria (Supplemental)

I'm sitting in front of a cafe next to the VA Square-GMU metro entrance in the middle of Alexandria. There is a middle aged dude in a ratty long sleeved shirt, worn cargo pants and a boonie hat. He's hawking the stairway down to the station with a change cup pacing around the passing politi-yuppies saying "any change for a homeless person? Can a homeless fella get a little respect and love?" Some folks have tossed him change but most just pass him by quickly and uncomfortably. He does look in a bad way, probably been out of work for a while and maybe a casual drunk. But interestingly the man's begging shtick also makes a point. Nobody wants to deal with the guy because they are either too class-consciously guilty to interact with him, they don't want to encourage his begging behavior, they don't trust his intentions, or they dismiss/are ignorant of his circumstances. Even the bums make political statements in this town.

Its interesting, about 2 minuets ago two Alexandria cops, one male and the other female, sat down at the table next to me for a smoke and coffee. As they approached the table they seemed to be discussing some rather Guilty-before-proven-innocent-crook-chasing anecdotes/underhanded bully banter typical of beat cops when they think no one else can hear them. As they took their seats I glanced over just to scan who the voices were and we all three of us caught eyes for a hanging millisecond. I noticed they were local police and they noticed that I was actively writing with pen in hand. Their chat promptly trailed off and slipped into more general and idle topics at lower volume. I was simply writing commentary on this homeless guy's soapboxy performance, but apparently just my passive display of a recording device (however primitive this pen and paper my be) was enough to cause the local Blue's to modify their behavior.

They say that a Government should be afraid of its people, and maybe the suits on the hill really aren't. It seems though, that there is always one good way to scare the Law's long-arm footsoldiers - let them know they're being monitored. All one has to do is watch the watchers. Homeless dude left. Its a shame, I was about to offer him ten bucks just to leave these metro folks alone for the rest of the day. I'm getting on the train back to Fairfax; the beltway still does and always will suck.

For all their R&R demeanor, those cops never really did stop keeping an eye on the metro beggar. Reminds me of that Monet painting.