Turbulence

By Lucky Lundito

Preface

Writing should have a purpose. A grand purpose. Gurdjieff wrote ‘to destroy mercilessly every idea held by the reader’. I read it. Experienced emptiness.

My purpose is more nuanced. I want to destroy mercilessly every idea in the reader that is based in the dying world view of separation, scarcity, fear and arrogance, while at the same time to support the construction of an entirely new worldview based on unity, abundance, love and cosmic humility.

Blue pill? Red pill?

You have decided to go on. Swallow.

Let us enter the turbulence.

Conventional reality is falling apart. Without non-fiction, you do see what’s left?

We’re going to be following the adventures of Lucky Lundito. He/him is a somewhat fictional character as he is what has emerged on the other side of ayahuasca, mescaline, peyote, hashish, LSD and his home grown magic mushrooms. Einstein said reality is a persistent illusion. Lucky has been beating the crap out of reality. Linear time, to Lucky, has shrunk to a wisp, no match for the power of now.

Chapter 1. Embryonic Journey

As I sat in meditation, Ariel’s soothing voice, coming from somewhere inside me, began to guide me. She does this sometimes. A long, long time ago she and I were tripping and making love in a tent. Ariel, the captivating lead singer of a local rock and roll band, possessed both beauty and sensuality. Meanwhile, I was a fugitive, evading the pursuit of two relentless FBI agents due to my stance as a war resister. In her presence, I learned to shed the toxic layers of my machismo and merge our energies as pure entities. Eventually, our minds merged as one.

Later, Ariel became a midwife and assisted in hundreds of births. She had a magical way of opening a channel in each newborn that would allow them later in life to remember deeply to their life before birth.

Ariel’s voice continued and I listened intently to her words:

” There you were, just like me. Except there was no me, no you. Inside mama. A place devoid of self, time, and space. Do you recall? Can you remember from the depths of your cells? It is a memory etched in your very being.”

Her voice continued, “Now, the memories begin to resurface. Atoms, molecules, and cells binding together, forming the intricate tapestry of your existence. Thirty trillion cells and counting, over 10,000 different life forms harmoniously interwoven. Much of the DNA within you is not even human.”

In that moment, my consciousness transported me back to a vivid memory. I found myself lying naked on a huge banana leaf beneath a clear night sky in a remote Amazon rainforest community. The galaxy so close. Ayahuasca, known as “Natem” to the local tribe, coursed through my veins, allowing profound revelations to unfold. It became clear to me that all DNA is interconnected, instantly communicating with every strand across the unfathomable expanse of the universe. This interconnectedness had always been, and always would be.

Ariel’s voice resumed, “There came a pivotal moment of radical change. It was movement and pressure, the experience of hot and cold, loud sounds, and bright lights. That cord connecting you to your mother was severed, and that nurturing ceased. A new breath ushered in oxygen to sustain your blood. The heart that your mother grew in you kept pumping life-giving nutrients to every bound cell. You had now emerged into the world beyond your mother. This life outside her womb.”

And with that, her broadcast was over.

Often after her guidance, I would enter that first of those eight states of jhana. The states of jhana that describe Buddhist extreme concentration. This first stage is where inside and outside disappear. Where up and down disappear. There is still pleasantness and other qualities but it’s also a timeless state. Many people spontaneously experience this state, briefly, maybe a few times in their life.

Suddenly, from a nearby loudspeaker, the melodic call to prayer in Arabic permeated the air. Abruptly, a new reality flooded in—I found myself aboard a two-sail dahabiya, securely anchored on the tranquil Nile.

The early morning bringing warmth and spreading light upon the river.

The river was quiet. No tourist cruise ships. Arab Spring had scared them all off. I wondered if this would be the promised day that we would embark on an expedition to explore a newly discovered tomb. And now a knock on my cabin door.

Chapter 2.

Friends in High Places

On hearing a knock at my cabin door, I froze. Remembering, I guess, that time I absent mindedly opened a door and stepped through, finding myself in the abyss. Total blackness. No sound. A crushing pressure against every part of my body. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My brain shut down. I have no memory of how I got out of there.

So, there was that knock again. I cautiously approached the door but as I got closer to the door, my anxiety faded away. By the time I put my hand on the doorknob, there was no fear, and I was just feeling light and happy.

I opened the door. There was a person standing in the galley that ran down the middle of the boat, but I could hardly see them. There was – how to describe it – it was like a cloud of light, but not usual light. It felt warm. Made me smile. The person sort of drifted in.

I think we had a conversation. But I’m not sure we actually spoke words. Strange. And even weirder, I’m not really sure what got said.  So rather than tell you what was said, I’m going to have to interpret what feelings happened.

This was no ordinary ‘person’. More like a presence than a person. Made me wonder. Is this what a more evolved form of consciousness appears like?

I got the sense that this ‘entity’ could appear to anyone at anytime and probably in many places at once. And probably in many forms. And probably goes mostly unnoticed because peoples’ minds are not open to the possibility of such beings existing. Not to mention that most people carry a sense of unworthiness that makes them feel too unworthy to have contact with such transcendent consciousness. I could tell this event was changing my life. Every person I meet from this point forward, I’m going to be ready for this supreme consciousness to suddenly appear. After a while, this person, or entity just sort of faded away. Yet a ‘presence’ remained.

I paused for the longest time. As should we all. Is it possible that we all have dismissed similar encounters? Mysterious and unexplainable coincidences?

An instance came to my mind. Long ago, I was living in a burned-out basement in Carbondale, Illinois. My days were spent in the university library reading the works of Nietzsche. Someone turned me on to this incredibly pure LSD. I learned that it was coming out of Chicago and was being made by a chemist friend of Owsley – the man who brewed the LSD for the Grateful Dead. I bought several 100 lots.

I got some dark brown burlap and sewed myself a monk’s robe. Sewed the LSD into the hem. I set off hitchhiking to share this cosmic gift with friends in Mankato, Minnesota.

All was going well until that evening while standing on a freeway entrance ramp in Des Moines I got stopped by two cops and put in the back of their patrol car.

They asked for my draft card. Being a draft resister, I didn’t have a draft card but I had borrowed one from a friend. They asked me for my date of birth. Oh-oh. Crap. I didn’t realize that info was coded on the card somewhere. I gave them the wrong date. Next thing I knew I was in the city holding tank with a bunch of strange characters. They probably thought the same of me. At some point I laid down on a metal grid bed and fell asleep.

Then, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by someone calling out my name. There was a lawyer looking guy on the other side of the bars of the door. We talked; I assume. Don’t remember what was said. (Sound familiar?) The next morning, I was brought in front of a judge. He asked me if I had spent the night in jail. Then he asked the arresting officer if there was a no hitchhiking sign on that entrance to the freeway. He said there was not. The judge told me, collect your things, you are free to go. What just happened! Who was that lawyer apparition? Has something like this happened to you? Anyway, my friends in Mankato loved the gift.

Back to the Nile. I had left the door open, and a crew member came walking to the door and stopped. He was seeing or feeling something, and it caused him to pause. Finally, he snapped out of it and said we were ready to go to the tomb site. I grabbed my pack and followed. Down the gangplank. Up the bank and onto a donkey. Our small caravan shuffled off to a distant cliff.

As we approached, I could see the Swiss archeologist standing on a ledge halfway up the cliff. We were near the Valley of the Kings and there were many tombs dug into the sandstone wall. The tomb we will explore today is special. It had been carefully camouflaged and it was only after an intense downpour a couple weeks ago that a corner of a covering stone was revealed.

Chapter 3. The Rabbit Hole

The archeologist introduced herself as Emma Beckerman. My first question was, “Why me? Why did you bring me here?”

Emma responded, “Well, my sister Ruth was a foreign student with your family back in the 1960’s. She still follows you on social media. She remembers reading your impressive senior study on Unidentified Flying Objects and your close contact with one that you talked about experiencing when you were ten years old.” (** Bonus Link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfYUe-1tzyU&t=19s **)

“I remember her, but I had no idea she was keeping up with me.”

Emma continued, “Well, she and I talk a lot about my work and when I told her what I found in this tomb, she thought of you and knew you were in Egypt.”

“What did you find in this tomb?”

“OK. First off, this tomb is not from the same time period as the great pharaohs and the pyramids. That all happened about 4,500 years ago. This tomb is the only one here that is more than 11,000 years old. It’s a different culture entirely. A culture that among other things, references flying objects.”

“Wow.”

“Would you like to take a look?”

“Yes, asolutely!”

There was first a canvas tarp to get past, then a metal security gate her team had constructed. She flipped a switch and a tunnel or hallway lit up. We went down at a gentle grade for at least 50-60 feet and the passageway opened up to a small room. This is when I noticed that the walls were covered in symbols. But not the hieroglyphs we see in later tombs and structures from that era of the great pyramids. There were hundreds if not thousands of these little pictures or symbols. I asked, “What does all this mean?”

“Good question. Initially, we had no clue. I mean really, no clue. But I have a friend who works for a high-tech company in America. They have a secret artificial intelligence project. I took pictures of all these walls with these symbols and sent the pictures to him. He said that after feeding these images into their AI, in less than fifteen minutes, the code was broken and the interpretations started streaming out.”

“So, what does all this say?”

Emma sat down and motioned me to do the same.

“What I’m going to tell you might be hard for you to hear, even though, because of your early experiences, you have been prepared to hear this.”

“You mean my close encounter with a UFO?”

“Yes. That and more.”

“So tell me. I want to know.”

“The people who built this tomb report that they lived with what they called, ‘the Giants’. And these giants came to them from the sky.”

“Aliens?”

“No. Here you have to start stretching your mind. They did not think of them as aliens. More like space brothers. These Giants certainly had advanced technology, but the relationship between the people from the Earth and the people from the sky was more like how you would think of how a loving mother cares for her child. These walls paint a picture of a relationship of care, respect and love. There is a lot more here and there are more tunnels and rooms for us to excavate, but I want to focus on one important part of what these walls tell us.”

“Ok.”

“They talk about returning to Earth. And there is a section, right down here, near the bottom of this wall, where they have drawn an astrological map to indicate when they will return.”

“Stop. I know what you are going to say. They are coming back now, aren’t they?”

Emma was almost in tears. She nodded yes. I hugged her. We just sat together for a long time. My mind was racing. I thought of breaking the silence several times but didn’t. How much did Emma know about what I had already found? Just a year ago, I had gone to eastern Turkey, to a new archeological site called Gobekli Tepe. It was in the summer and the German crews had stopped their digging because of the brutal heat and the only other person there was an old man resting under the only tree in the area, I guess, he had the role of a guard.

But as I explored the site of these giant pillars arranged in circles, I was drawn to the incredible carvings on these pillars. The German crew had numbered all the pillars they were finding and this one in particular was numbered 43. It had elaborate carvings on it. I took pictures.

Months after I left the site, I found that someone had been able to figure out that these carvings were also representing a particular view of the heavens, from a particular point in time. And here’s the thing. Gobekli Tepe was built at the same time as this tomb we were in. And the time these carvings were pointing to? Just like what we were looking at here, it was pointing to our current time.

Emma was crying now. I think it was just from the intensity of finally being able to share what she knew with someone else who could empathize. She wasn’t sad. She was relieved. We looked into each other’s eyes, realizing that this is going to change everything, for everybody.

Chapter 4. Crossing the Barrier

I continued to float down the Nile, but my mind was elsewhere. It is a lot to digest – that intelligence from outside the planet is returning. My world, our world was about to change in unimaginable ways. Yet, I tried to imagine…

The cruise ended in Cairo. Before the cruise started, I was scheduled to visit the Egyptian Museum downtown. They laughed at me. You can’t get anywhere near the museum, they said. It is right across from Tahrir Square where protests are going on. There are over 100,000 people packed in there and the surrounding streets.

Now, two weeks later, the crowds in the square had thinned, and I was allowed to visit the museum – accompanied by a security person (who unknown to me was packing a gun under his suitcoat). Still in a mental fog, I went through the museum and walked toward the demonstrators in the square. To my right was a freshly burned-out tall office building still emitting the acrid smell of smoke.

In front of me was a makeshift barrier with an opening and some demonstrators monitoring the opening, interviewing everyone wanting to enter.

Inside the partially tented area, I could hear live, local music being played. At the entrance to the demonstration, I had a conversation with a young woman. She asked questions like where I was from, why was I there, why did I want to enter, etc. But there was another level of interaction going on. She was scanning my ‘vibe’. And it was her reading of my energy that was going to determine if I entered, not the answers to her questions. She smiled as she told me about the reasons for their demonstration. They wanted a more democratic government that responded to the needs of the Egyptian people and would work to alleviate their suffering. They wanted to replace the current government that ruled by military fear and replace it with leaders who earned the respect of the people by their compassion and love of the people.

She was a smiling sentinel. She was a gifted intuit. There were two guys standing on either side of her, protecting her. They recognized her high value. She motioned me to come in and I started moving. Suddenly a strong hand gripped my upper arm and threw me backward. My security guard looked at me through his sunglasses and said, “You’re not going in there.” I saw the gun in the holster under his suitcoat. I realized in that moment he would not be able to enter with me and it was his job to not leave my side.

I looked, longingly at that loving, smiling, gifted intuit and could see that she also knew exactly what was going on. It was such an archetypal moment for me. There was a community based on love and trust and sharing right in front of me. I was being held back by a world based on fear, believing you could never be safe enough, that didn’t trust other people or one’s own intuition. A world where money created power and authority and resulted in a hierarchy that had me at the bottom.

I vowed to myself, I will do whatever it takes to cross that barrier between these two worlds.

Chapter 5. The Deep Purge Begins

We crawled through traffic to the airport.

The flight back across the Atlantic was only half full and I stretched out across three seats in the middle of the plane to get some rest. Instead, I was plagued by a restless mind. I was holding the knowing that the ‘space brothers’ were returning and for me it was personal.

People with clunky thinking, the consumer culture, were expecting them to land and say, “Take me to your leader.” That kind of thinking reveals no understanding of higher consciousness. No imagination. A close encounter with a UFO followed by every mind-altering drug and plant available and 50 years of Buddhist meditation, gives a different perspective.

Where to start? How about this. We imagine that we are separate somebodies. This is a total illusion. Although we can’t understand consciousness far beyond us, we are also not separate from it. As we open to this idea, we experience it.

There is a quote attributed to Henry Ford, but Confucius had the same thought. “Those who think they can and those who think they can’t are both usually right”. But it is a deeper principle. If you don’t believe in miracles, you won’t see them. If you believe in miracles, you will see them. If you don’t think there is higher consciousness, higher consciousness will leave you alone. If you think there is higher consciousness, it will penetrate you.

I must have fallen asleep. Somewhere over the middle of the ocean, I sort of woke up in a mostly dark plane. I sat up. Mostly still had my eyes closed. Someone sat down next to me. And then someone else sat down on the other side of me. I opened my eyes to see a stewardess to my left and a steward to my right. This seemed pretty odd. They were smiling and relaxed, so I guessed that I hadn’t done anything wrong. The stewardess got close to my ear and said, “Be open, very open.” Then the steward got closer to me and said, “Let go of more, much more.” They smiled, got up and left, disappearing into first class.

Geez. I laid back down. My thoughts eventually turned to the young me that I had let go of – often with great effort. I used to hunt, and stab frogs with homemade spears, now I don’t even smash mosquitos. I was horrified to learn my quick wit sometimes was cruel and insensitive and caused my high school girlfriend pain. When I found how hard it was to stop those fast reactions, I turned to meditation and after decades and thousands of hours of intense attention, some insensitivity still leaks out.

I gave up on trying to sleep and pulled out by laptop. I began reading some emails, one about a computer program that beat the worlds best Go player. Something made me look at the date of the story and I got instantly confused and disoriented. 2016. That couldn’t be right. I looked at other emails. They were all from 2016. But the last thing I remembered, it was 2010. There was a bit of turbulence and every time the plane shook a little the mouse marker on the screen would also vibrate around a bit.

Now the mouse pointer started drifting. It does that sometimes. I was almost catatonic. In shock, I guess. The mouse pointer stopped drifting. I was just staring at the screen. My mind empty. A letter at the mouse pointer highlighted itself. More drifting. A little more turbulence. Another letter highlighted. More plane shaking and the mouse fell in my lap. The highlighted letters on the screen were M and O.

Someone opened the shade on their window and light streamed into the cabin. An announcement told of the beginning of our descent and the weather in St. Louis. St. Louis? I dug around for my ticket. Hard to read these damn things. There it is. St. Louis, Missouri. Why am I going to St. Louis? I don’t remember buying this ticket.

The curtain to first class opened up and that stewardess that had sat by me earlier came walking down the aisle, looked directly at me and winked.

Do I have amnesia? Was my past a dream? What am I going to do in St. Louis, MO? I told myself, breathe. Breathe. Just breathe.

Chapter 6. Lost and Found

Lambert Field, St. Louis. I am a ship adrift. Should I see a doctor about losing nearly 6 years of memory? Should I write down World Series and Kentucky Derby winners of the last six years in hopes of returning to 2010? Sitting in this terminal was not getting me anywhere.

I wandered out to the service road, turned right and walked. Interstate 70 to my left. A runway to my right. The deafening noise filled the void inside my head. My attention got grabbed by a slick, electrified refurbished VW bug, the only car parked on the side of the road here.

Just ahead, the person I took to be the car’s owner, was standing in the middle of a short bridge with a low concrete barrier staring down below. He looked sad. I worried that he was considering jumping.

As I approached him, I said “Hi.” He didn’t respond. It was a ‘made-you-look’ moment. Staring down below, like he was, I saw a rather small creek. It wasn’t that far down. Jumping would maybe kill you, maybe not. Anyway, nearby there were far taller bridges over the Mississippi and the Missouri that would be better choices for that deed.

Still not looking at me, he said “This is Coldwater Creek”. A pause. Then he pointed out to the runway and said, “My grandfather owned Mallinckrodt Chemical Works where the runway is now. He brought uranium from the Belgian Congo and processed it here for the Manhattan Project. They put the waste in 55-gallon drums. The drums rusted and leaked. This creek got dangerously radioactive.”

He finally looked at me and I could see he had been crying. “Kids played in this creek. Many of them have died from horrible kinds of cancer.” He looked back at the creek. We stood there and he said no more. I didn’t know what to say.

I was thinking he felt guilty, but he shouldn’t. And people back then just didn’t understand radiation. I should know. When I was 17, just graduated from high school, I was put in charge of radiological decontamination at the Elk River Atomic Power Plant in central Minnesota. Came out of the containment vessel at the end of the workday. Did the routine Geiger counter scan and a place on my left arm pinned the needle and the scanner went crazy with that rapid clicking sound it makes. Freaked me out. The only other person around was my boss who was gathering his stuff together to head out to do a round of golf, which you could do after work in the long summer days that far north. He told me just scrub it with Lava soap and left. I scrubbed it. The Geiger counter still went crazy. Was I going to die? I didn’t know. I scrubbed until I scrubbed the skin off. Finally, the counter didn’t go off. I went behind my bosses’ desk and looked at all the binders from the Atomic Energy Commission about radiation safety. They were still in their shrink wrap.

Stephen, this guy standing next to me on the bridge, gave me a good long look. I guess he could see I was a lost soul. “Need a ride?” I nodded yes. We got in his bug and headed west on I-70.

After maybe thirty minutes of silence, Stephen said, “You need a place to crash?”. I nodded yes. We passed through Wentzville.

“I used to live with a bunch of folks on a farm up ahead in Callaway County. If there is someone still there, I bet you could stay there. I’ll take you there and we’ll see.” I nodded. I was getting sleepy.

The crunchy, uneven gravel drive woke me up. We pulled up to a small, one-story brown house. It looked like maybe stucco, but I later learned it was a type of mud mixture and the walls were actually made of straw bales.

I stayed in the car and Steven went up to the house and talked with a woman who had come out of the house. Every once in a while, they would look at me in the car as they talked. Stephen motioned me to come. I met the lady, Andrea. She invited us in for dinner. Stephen said he had to run along and we said our goodbyes. Andrea led me into the house. It was a little bit dark and cool inside. I sat down on a bench and she served me some soup. Mushroom soup, she said, from shrooms they grew and others they collected in the woods. Stephen must have told her I was mostly brain dead or something. She didn’t try to ask me a lot of questions. She said she had a small cabin I could sleep in but she would need to get it ready as nobody had lived in it for a while. Suggested I walk out to the garden and look around while she did that.

The garden had a tall fence around it. I guess to keep the deer out. It was wild looking. At first, I thought it had gotten away from her, but as I wandered around, what I originally took to be weeds were really herbs and food plants. There were a variety of flowers, too. I sat down near some flowers and looked more closely.

I was just a couple inches away from this violet flower when a bee landed on it. I don’t think I had ever really watched a bee collect pollen this closely. After several seconds of watching it get pollen all over it’s body, the bee paused and turned slowly and seemed to look at me. He or she, (I don’t know that much about bees) tilted its head as if studying me. Time slowed down. Way down. That I was so much bigger, became irrelevant. It’s amazing eyes seemed to be sizing me up from a thousand different dimensions. I was humbled and felt so inadequately one-dimensional in the presence of this being that saw so much more. I must have blanked out. I heard a buzz and looked and the bee was gone.

Looking around, I saw near me on the fence a vine. I guess the pleasant scent had drawn me to look. All these shades of purple. Wisteria.

As I looked more closely, fractal like patterns emerged. It was the universe unfolding in real time, right in front of me. It held these deep, ancient patterns and then more subtle variations resulting from its interaction with its environment. It held endless stories.

I don’t know how long Andrea had been standing next to me. I realized my mouth was open. She was smiling. She said, “You know, I dreamed this. I knew you would be coming. This is the beginning of something bigger than we can imagine.” She held out her hand and helped me up. She led me to the small one room place she had prepared for me. I laid down and was out.

Chapter 7. The Way

Chuck Will’s Widow. Again. Chuck Will’s Widow. Again and again in the night. Nearby. Still dreaming, I saw its glowing eyes in the dark.

Come, with, meeee. Come, with, meee. I got up and stepped outside my small room shelter. The night sky was just starting to lighten up. I saw a flutter. Come, with, meee. Through the woods, I followed this messenger. Down a gentle slope. I paused. No sound. Then, there it is again. Ahead. And further down the slope. We reached a small stream. It called again. From downstream. I followed. It was getting lighter. I came across what was like a hidden plantation of paw-paws. Three ripe fruits.

If I didn’t pick them, the deer would be here within hours to get them. Missouri bananas. I got totally lost enjoying their sweet texture. Totally lost. Lost. A calling. Come, with, meee. Continued downstream.

The small creek had pools of water, and now there were places where the water was running among the strewn rocks. Just ahead, a large almost round granite boulder. Maybe 4 feet high with a partial covering of moss. Perched right on top, Chuck Will’s Widow, looking right at me. I was just 6-8 feet away. These birds don’t usually let you get anywhere near this close. I sat down on a small rock partly submerged in the creek. Just the sound of the running water. Relaxing. Peaceful. Getting a bit lighter.

The bird flew off. This must be the destination.

Granite is not native to this part of Missouri. Limestone, sandstone, dolomite and chert, yes. Granite, no. This boulder started telling me its history. Lifted in the push of the last ice age and carried along hundreds of miles and thousands of years and as the ice melted, it came to rest right here. For the last 25,000 years it has been merging with its new home. Full of quartz crystals. I suddenly became aware of that powerful channel. Its energy overlaid the rest of the landscape.

The creek was speaking its language. I felt myself being drawn in. Time left. I listened. Visions came and went like foggy clouds. Two native Americans stopped right here, had a smoke, admired the boulder, continued on. I saw the rock, unmoved in a frigid blizzard. And a young pioneer, stripping down on a hot summer day, bathing and relaxing in the pool of water in front of me. These visions were not coming from me. They were entering me and gracing me with their presence.

Very, very faintly, a beautiful girl appeared above the crystals. I wondered if I was imagining her. She moved her head side to side, saying with that gesture, No, you are not imagining me. I was in love.

She said she comes from the place in Minnesota along the Mississippi river where I was born, where my mother was born. She said we have a very deep connection. She was Gaya. She was Earth. I wanted to stay here forever. I stayed all day.

We got more intimate. I found myself against the stone, caressing the cool, soft moss. Lost in reverie. Without a thought, I would give my whole self to her. She told me if I would surrender to the crystal energy, I would eventually be able to be with her anywhere on the earth. She told me I was not the only one and she was not the only form of Gaia. She told me I would learn how to think in a new way. That I would let go of the notion that thoughts belonged to me. That as my intuition grew stronger, I could learn to trust thoughts that appeared. That she could fill my head with thoughts, if I became open to it.

I learned so much. And although I didn’t notice it happening, by the end of the day, my trillions of cells had been reprogrammed to vibrate differently. As I walked back up the creek with the sun setting, I walked embraced by a web of connectedness with all the natural world around me. And she was right, I could feel her presence everywhere I went.

As I made it back to my small hut, there was a bowl with a piece of cornbread on the floor and next to it a brown paper bag.

The cornbread was sweet and had small pieces of hot pepper in it that made me smile (and sweat). Inside the bag was some device from a company called HeartMath. I was in no shape to read instructions. I laid down, still floating in a sea of energies inside and out. Not thinking. Listening.

Chapter 8. Neuronenhancer

How the hell did someone know to send this package to me here? Andrea said it arrived at least a month ago. She showed me the note that came with it.

“He will come.
He will need this
To journey onward.”
    – R H

R H

Who is R H?

What a brain teaser. I thought and thought. Went through my list of contacts – over 7,000 of them. About a dozen of them had the right initials. The best suspect was an artist named Roxanne. But, really? Then I thought of famous people. Ron Howard? Maybe someone from beyond the grave. Rock Hudson? Maybe Rutherford Hayes?

I turned by attention to the biofeedback device in the box and started reading about it. Inner Balance. Training the heard and brain to work together in coherence. Made me think of a book I read several years ago, Buddha’s Brain. Spent a week with the author at a Center for Buddhist Studies in central Massachusetts. O M G! That’s it. Rick Hanson. OK. But still, how? Why?

My mind kept turning around on these predictions and evidence that aliens are returning right now in our lifetimes. My imagination seems so inadequate to grasp what that looks like. Even our own world has changed so much in the last couple centuries. What capabilities would beings have if they were evolved not just a couple centuries beyond us, but thousands of years – even millions of years! Inconceivable.

Such an intelligence could certainly, easily, be invisible to us. It could monitor and even control an inconceivable number of micro events in any of us or all of us and in our environments. It could be as near to us as our feeble and misguided sense of self is. Each intention, that we take to be our own, could be indistinguishable from an intention given to us by such a superior intelligence.

I laid on the mattress on the floor thinking about these things and realized there will not be an a-ha moment coming. I turned my attention back to the biofeedback device, clipped it to my earlobe and on my phone app watched my pulse, heart rhythm, brainwave frequency intensities and the resultant level of coherence between my heart neurons and brain neurons. On the app scale anything above 1 was a state of relative coherence. Twenty minutes later I stopped the app. Average coherence? .3.

Months of using this device, revealed that .3 or .4 was pretty much my baseline coherence. But after hundreds of hours I was able to achieve much better results while in a meditative state. However, it didn’t noticeably carry over to my daily routine.

Andrea kept taking care of me. She fed me sweet sorrel, more mushrooms, cattail pollen spikes, pawpaws, peppery tiger lily flower buds and of course her sweet but hot cornbread. I drank water from the stream just in back and below my little hermitage. It was a simple life. I was forgetting much of my former life and becoming more obsessed with trying to change that baseline of coherence between my heart and head. My daydreaming was atrophying. So much of my day was focused on each minute second of observing my breath, my passing thought, current emotional state and the state of my microbiome in my gut.

I occasionally felt some guilt at not engaging in the world more. I knew the world was in crisis in many ways. I took some comfort from an insight, I think from Albert Einstein, that you can’t solve a problem with the same level of thinking that caused the problem. And another idea, I don’t know where from, that if we want a better world, we need better people.

So it’s back to working on that coherence.

Chapter 9.  The Quantum Earthgate

At some point Lucky Lundito is no longer the writer. The first inkling was Buddhist studies and practices that empirically proved Lucky to be a fiction. That opened the door for non-identifying with thoughts. And that lead to the question of where do these ownerless thoughts come from? And here was found a cosmos of possibilities. The internal and external environment as a source for so much thought arising. “I’m hungry.” “What was that sound.”  Ad infinitum. Another source was the deep patterns etched in the neural pathways of the brain. Habits and Socializations. Decisions. Plans. Beliefs. Attitudes. At the highest end of this level was Group Mind. Those thoughts that arise in the consciousness of many, maybe millions simultaneously and globally. Lucky had seen this in San Francisco at the Family Dog when a couple thousand hippies would meditate together and then have a trained sensitive named Stephen Gaskin, speak what was in their group mind.

But, Lucky, being the consciousness explorer that he is, was interested in yet another source of thought.

Thoughts that originate from greater intelligence – even far greater intelligence. There is an attitude of arrogance about the thoughts that we formerly took to be ‘our thinking’, that has to be suppressed to open up this channel. It is actually a very thin vail that separates us from connecting to this immense potential. Of course, the belief that such contact is not possible, does indeed make it impossible.

Sitting on my bed, on the packed clay floor of my tiny hermitage, meditating with the biofeedback device gradually made a certain state of reception arrive in greater strength, with more stability and for longer periods of time. This was a state where the experience of the heart in all its dimensions – love, appreciation, empathy, acceptance and so much more found no resistance from the brain in the head. The whole apparatus clicking along as one unit. Deeply relaxed. Amazed to find that the human heart has this cosmic intelligence encoded in it.

I remembered one summer night in Jackson, Mississippi sleeping with the windows open to let in the cooler night air. Suddenly blasting into my ears at something over 100 decibels (like the sound of standing next to a jet engine) this short message: “BE EMPTY!”. I sat up startled. After much investigation I found that a member of Ken Kesey’s Merry Pranksters had fitted out a wood panel station wagon with a Grateful Dead engineered super sound system. Drove down my deserted street in the middle of the night and assaulted my ears with that blast.

 Not just etching a neural pathway but blasting away brain tissue to leave the deepest neural canal for that message. “BE EMPTY!”. And it is in that state that these precious impressions arrive.

Months passed. Seasons changed. And now this story is not about the past because the conventional present has arrived. But in an unexpected way a dimension of the future arrived as well. It’s going to be hard to describe this.

It first happened during and after a sweat lodge at harvest full moon. I poured too much water on the red-hot rocks and the burst of steam fried me. I lost consciousness and collapsed on the ground. Right at the ground is a thin layer of cooler air and it revived me. For a brief period I was emptier than I had every been. I had no idea that time could be emptied. That it was a construct of the mind. For a while, all change going forward and backward was tied together.

Two thousand twenty-three. You might think that now this is being written in ‘real-time’. But not quite. I’m living in tomorrow. Always a day ahead now. I don’t know how it happened and it’s not comfortable.

I don’t know how Andrea sees me, when she comes to give me a meal. But when I see her and hear her speak, it’s like she is in a slightly out of focus movie and there is a hollowness and echo between us. Surrounded by yesterday. I don’t know how to go back. Don’t know if I want to. Wondering if it would be possible to go further into the future. Don’t know if I would want to. There is an ever present sense of something like déjà vu. It’s like I am never surprised by what is taking place, by what is said. The thoughts sparkling through this brain are now almost exclusively coming from the planetary group mind and consciousness beyond it. I’ve been told there are now a growing number of molecules in my body that have found their entangled twin in the greater universe. And I’m told this is a potential in all of us. Why me? Why now? I got an answer.

Years ago, in the Amazon rainforest on the Peru-Ecuador border, I found myself in a small community of the Achuar tribe. That evening I watched their shaman, whip up a batch of what they called ‘natem’ in an old Dr. Pepper plastic bottle someone had found floating down the Pastaza River. This ayahuasca, interacts with a part of the brain stem called the postrema and causes violent vomiting. This is where my experience went sideways. See, I had trained myself not to throw up. It started in catholic grade school. The school lunch was so horrible that kids threw up every day. The nuns made the kids clean up their mess. They were really bad at it. Just going past the bathroom could make you toss your guts. I trained myself to resist the urge. Thought it was a useful skill all these years. But here in this time and place out of history, it became a battle with a powerful adversary. Instinctively, I fought off the drug for hours, making all kinds of loud unearthly guttural sounds. Finally, the shaman had people carry me back into his lodge. He pulled out my tongue and used a type of straw to suck juices out of different places on my tongue.

I laid on a big banana leaf looking up at the Milky Way and beyond. I could sense my DNA in communication with DNA everywhere. And this is where my susceptibility to this molecular entanglement comes from.

Identity is overrated. I think. I hope.

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This concludes Chapter 9.  There might be a Chapter 10, probably not, but it depends on our response to Chapter 9. 

The ‘ante’ to get another chapter used to be a dozen response points, now it has doubled – 24 needed. We call them ‘write on’ points. Here’s how it works:

In the Facebook post of this same chapter,

Like = 1 point

Love or Care = 2 points

Positive comment = 3 points

Share = 4 points

Here on the website, you can leave a positive comment and that would count for three ‘write on’ points and improve our chances of seeing a chapter 10.