Lawrence R. Spencer's Blog, page 334

HYMN OF CREATION

The Nasadiya Sukta is known as the Hymn of Creation. It is the 129th hymn of the 10th Mandala of the Rigveda.  This is an original Sanskrit text, translated into English by A. L. Basham (1914 – 1986):

“नासदासीन्नो सदासीत्तदानीं नासीद्रजो नो व्योमा परो यत् ।

किमावरीवः कुह कस्य शर्मन्नम्भः किमासीद्गहनं गभीरम् ॥ १॥

Then even nothingness was not, nor existence,

There was no air then, nor the heavens beyond it.

What covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping?

Was there then cosmic water, in depths unfathomed?

न मृत्युरासीदमृतं न तर्हि न रात्र्या अह्न आसीत्प्रकेतः ।

आनीदवातं स्वधया तदेकं तस्माद्धान्यन्न परः किञ्चनास ॥२॥

Then there was neither death nor immortality

nor was there then the torch of night and day.

The One breathed windlessly and self-sustaining.

There was that One then, and there was no other.

तम आसीत्तमसा गूहळमग्रे प्रकेतं सलिलं सर्वाऽइदम् ।

तुच्छ्येनाभ्वपिहितं यदासीत्तपसस्तन्महिनाजायतैकम् ॥३॥

At first there was only darkness wrapped in darkness.

All this was only unillumined water.

That One which came to be, enclosed in nothing,

arose at last, born of the power of heat.

कामस्तदग्रे समवर्तताधि मनसो रेतः प्रथमं यदासीत् ।

सतो बन्धुमसति निरविन्दन्हृदि प्रतीष्या कवयो मनीषा ॥४॥

In the beginning desire descended on it –

that was the primal seed, born of the mind.

The sages who have searched their hearts with wisdom

know that which is kin to that which is not.

तिरश्चीनो विततो रश्मिरेषामधः स्विदासीदुपरि स्विदासीत् ।

रेतोधा आसन्महिमान आसन्त्स्वधा अवस्तात्प्रयतिः परस्तात् ॥५॥

And they have stretched their cord across the void,

and know what was above, and what below.

Seminal powers made fertile mighty forces.

Below was strength, and over it was impulse.

को अद्धा वेद क इह प्र वोचत्कुत आजाता कुत इयं विसृष्टिः ।

अर्वाग्देवा अस्य विसर्जनेनाथा को वेद यत आबभूव ॥६॥

But, after all, who knows, and who can say

Whence it all came, and how creation happened?

the gods themselves are later than creation,

so who knows truly whence it has arisen?

इयं विसृष्टिर्यत आबभूव यदि वा दधे यदि वा न ।

यो अस्याध्यक्षः परमे व्योमन्त्सो अङ्ग वेद यदि वा न वेद ॥७॥

Whence all creation had its origin,

he, whether he fashioned it or whether he did not,

he, who surveys it all from highest heaven,

he knows – or maybe even he does not know.“

Originally posted 2015-11-29 23:09:59. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

STILL GOT THE BLUES FOR YOU

This is one of the most powerful love songs ever written and performed. It communicates the beautiful pain of sexual desire and passion that conceives babies, and yet, leaves partners in heart break, longing, anguish and despair over the loss of a relationship that promised an eternity of overwhelming Ecstasy and Joy.

Sex without communication, seeks only sensation: no responsibility for the lover and no willingness TO BE THE OTHER. Sexual passion endures for a moment. The Child of Passion lives for a Life Time, depending on parents to nurse, to work, to sacrifice for them, in the Hope of fulfilling a Future for themselves, each other and for Mankind. The regret of losing the possibility of creating a  Life, and Living a Life, is the Pain of Death.

“Used to be so easy to give my heart away, But I found out the hard way, There’s a price you have to pay I found out that love was no friend of mine I should have known time after time So long, it was so long ago But I’ve still got the blues for you Used to be so easy to fall in love again But I found out the hard way It’s a road that leads to pain I found that love was more than just a game You’re playin’ to win But you lose just the same So long, it was so long ago But I’ve still got the blues for you So many years since I’ve seen your face Here in my heart, there’s an empty space Where you used to be So long, it was so long ago But I’ve still got the blues for you Though the days come and go There is one thing I know I’ve still got the blues for you.”

— lyrics to the song, ‘Still Got The Blues For You’, by Gary Moore

YOUR STORY

“You are what exists before all stories. You are what remains when the story is understood.”
~  Bryon Katie ~

(image:  dusteramaranth)

Originally posted 2016-03-25 00:21:04. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

GETTING EDUCATED

[image error]

BEING WHO YOU ARE

BEING WHO YOU ARE

IS AN ABILITY

TO CREATE, PERCEIVE AND

MAINTAIN A UNIVERSE

WITHIN YOURSELF.

______________

Lawrence R. Spencer

Originally posted 2013-10-21 01:51:05. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

SILENCE ABOUT TRUTH

Brave New World is a dystopian novel written in 1931 by English author Aldous Huxley, and published in 1932. Largely set in a futuristic World State of genetically modified citizens and an intelligence-based social hierarchy, the novel anticipates huge scientific developments in reproductive technology, sleep-learning, psychological manipulation, and classical conditioning that are combined to make a utopian society. Huxley followed this book with a reassessment in an essay, Brave New World Revisited (1958), and with Island (1962), his final novel.

PLOT — The novel opens in the World State city of London in AF (After Ford) 632 (AD 2540 in the Gregorian calendar), where citizens are engineered through artificial wombs and childhood indoctrination programmes into predetermined classes (or castes) based on intelligence and labour. Lenina Crowne, a hatchery worker, is popular and sexually desirable, but Bernard Marx, a psychologist, is not. He is shorter in stature than the average member of his high caste, which gives him an inferiority complex. His work with sleep-learning allows him to understand, and disapprove of, his society’s methods of keeping its citizens peaceful, which includes their constant consumption of a soothing, happiness-producing drug called soma. Courting disaster, Bernard is vocal and arrogant about his criticisms, and his boss contemplates exiling him to Iceland because of his nonconformity. His only friend is Helmholtz Watson, a gifted writer who finds it difficult to use his talents creatively in their pain-free society.

Bernard takes a holiday with Lenina outside the World State to a Savage Reservation in New Mexico, in which the two observe natural-born people, disease, the aging process, other languages, and religious lifestyles for the first time. (The culture of the village folk resembles the contemporary Native American groups of the region, descendants of the Anasazi, including the Puebloan peoples of Acoma, Laguna and Zuni.) Bernard and Lenina witness a violent public ritual and then encounter Linda, a woman originally from the World State who is living on the reservation with her son John, now a young man. She, too, visited the reservation on a holiday many years ago, but became separated from her group and was left behind. She had meanwhile become pregnant by a fellow-holidaymaker (who is revealed to be Bernard’s boss, the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning). She did not try to return to the World State, because of her shame at her pregnancy. Despite spending his whole life in the reservation, John has never been accepted by the villagers, and his and Linda’s lives have been hard and unpleasant. Linda has taught John to read, although from the only two books in her possession — a scientific manual and the complete works of Shakespeare. Ostracised by the villagers, John is able to articulate his feelings only in terms of Shakespearean drama, especially the tragedies of Othello, Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet. Linda now wants to return to London, and John, too, wants to see this “brave new world”. Bernard sees an opportunity to thwart plans to exile him, and gets permission to take Linda and John back. On their return to London, John meets the Director and calls him his “father”, a vulgarity which causes a roar of laughter. The humiliated Director resigns in shame before he can follow through with exiling Bernard.

Bernard, as “custodian” of the “savage” John who is now treated as a celebrity, is fawned on by the highest members of society and revels in attention he once scorned. Bernard’s popularity is fleeting, though, and he becomes envious that John only really bonds with the literary-minded Helmholtz. Considered hideous and friendless, Linda spends all her time using soma, while John refuses to attend social events organised by Bernard, appalled by what he perceives to be an empty society. Lenina and John are physically attracted to each other, but John’s view of courtship and romance, based on Shakespeare’s writings, is utterly incompatible with Lenina’s freewheeling attitude to sex. She tries to seduce him, but he attacks her, before suddenly being informed that his mother is on her deathbed. He rushes to Linda’s bedside, causing a scandal, as this is not the “correct” attitude to death. Some children who enter the ward for “death-conditioning” come across as disrespectful to John until he attacks one physically. He then tries to break up a distribution of soma to a lower-caste group, telling them that he is freeing them. Helmholtz and Bernard rush in to stop the ensuing riot, which the police quell by spraying soma vapor into the crowd.

Bernard, Helmholtz, and John are all brought before Mustapha Mond, the “Resident World Controller for Western Europe”, who tells Bernard and Helmholtz that they are to be exiled to islands for antisocial activity. Bernard pleads for a second chance, but Helmholtz welcomes the opportunity to be a true individual, and chooses the Falkland Islands as his destination, believing that their bad weather will inspire his writing. Mond tells Bernard that exile is actually a reward. The islands are full of the most interesting people in the world, individuals who did not fit into the social model of the World State. Mond outlines for John the events that led to the present society and his arguments for a caste system and social control. John rejects Mond’s arguments, and Mond sums up John’s views by claiming that John demands “the right to be unhappy”. John asks if he may go to the islands as well, but Mond refuses, saying he wishes to see what happens to John next.

Jaded with his new life, John moves to an abandoned hilltop tower, near the village of Puttenham, where he intends to adopt a solitary ascetic lifestyle in order to purify himself of civilization, practising self-flagellation. This soon draws reporters and eventually hundreds of amazed sightseers, hoping to witness his bizarre behaviour; one of them is implied to be Lenina. At the sight of the woman he both adores and loathes, John attacks her with his whip. The onlookers are wildly aroused by the display and John is caught up in the crowd’s soma-fueled frenzy. The next morning, he remembers the previous night’s events and is stricken with remorse. Onlookers and journalists who arrive that evening discover John dead, having hanged himself.

READ MORE:   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brave_New_World

YOU ARE THE OTHER

Nisargadatta Maharaj (1897 –1981) was a Hindu guru of nondualism. The publication in 1973 of I Am That, an English translation of his talks in Marathi by Maurice Frydman, brought him worldwide recognition and followers, especially from North America and Europe

Learn more on the following website —

http://sri-nisargadatta-maharaj.blogspot.com/search/label/Quotes

THE BIG BLEEP, Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5: A DIFFERENTIAL PUBLIC DICK IN A PRIVATE UNIVERSE

“I didn’t know peach fuzz could feel so good “, I murmured, as she rubbed her branches through my leaves.

After my “night” out on the “orchard” with Miss Peach, I was feeling pretty dreamy. She

really knew how to put some meaning into my existence!

“I didn’t know my buds could blossom this fast!”, she cooed, as I wrapped my limbs around her

trunk.  We sure didn’t need any bees to help us pollinate!  My blossoms were still blooming — and so were my nuts!

Actually, there had been no “night”, since the sunlight in the plant universe was always shining.  And there was no actual

“orchard” either.  “The Orchard” was the name of a restaurant in the Random Arms Hotel Convention Center.  We stopped by there for

dinner.  We shared a bag of manure and a few Nitro cocktails before going upstairs to her room for an exquisite “night” of pollen mingling.

I always liked fruits and nuts back on Earth too.  I like some vegetables too, if they were deep-fat fried and dipped in catsup.  But now that I was leaning toward the

sunlight on a regular basis myself, I was seriously reconsidering my menu choices.

When you’re a plant, you figure out pretty quick that one of the best ways to keep from ending up on somebody else’s menu is to make yourself taste bad.

From my new perspective, I was beginning to appreciate that Brussels sprouts and spinach are very clever plants.  It’s no longer a mystery to me why tree bark and acorns taste so bad

either.

The only humans who ever ate acorns were some California Indians, and they ate them only when they got tired of eating dried grasshoppers.  Squirrels, I suddenly realized, were definitely not as cute as I used to think they were

either. Anyway, right now, (whenever now was) I had bigger problems than worrying about somebody eating my fruit.

Back in my British Epistemology class at A.E.I.O.U., I once had to memorize a passage from a book that I’ll never forget. It was written by some world famous philosopher, but I can’t remember his name.  Anyway, he said: “There

is a theory which states that if anybody ever discovers exactly what a universe is for and why it is there, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory Which states that this has already happened.”

Of course I wasn’t sure about that because I have never discovered what a universe is for or why it is there.  However, I did know about the disappearance and replacement part — it had already happened to me!   So, maybe everything really was just an illusion and none of this plant convention thing really existed? Or maybe nothing really existed at all and everyone is just dreaming.  Or worse, if everything really is just part of somebody’s dream, then I was definitely paying too much rent for my office space.

I was beginning to wonder if the reason I had gotten lost in this strange universe had something to do with my own ignorance or carelessness?  Frankly, I could care less and I really didn’t want to know.  In spite of the delightful Miss Peach, I just wanted to get back into my own body, on my own planet, in my own time, in my own universe.

Casually, I asked Miss Peach a few discreet questions, carefully designed to get her to reveal the secret of how I became a tree and landed in a “Different Universe”, without alerting her to the fact that I wasn’t really a tree.  I just looked like a tree and wanted to have sex with a tree.  So, I gently prodded her with a few subtle inquiries, assuming that her boss hadn’t told her my secret.

“Just tell me one thing, baby.  How the (bleep) did I get into this whole plant convention thing anyway!?  And how did you and all these other plants get here?  And where the (bleep) is here?” I burst out, no longer able to maintain my usual stoic composure.

She looked at me blankly for a moment and said, “I don’t know.”

“Oh”, I said.  “Well, how do you explain all of this?”

“Well, I don’t.  I just try to enjoy myself while I’m

here.  Don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess.  But, don’t you want to known where you came from and how you got here and what’s the meaning of it all or what’s the purpose of existence?”.

“Not really”, she said.

Typical woman. They only want one thing from a male:  to take them shopping and listen to them talk about how fat they feel. They never want to discuss the esoteric, philosophical issues of life.  It was a good thing I waited until after we had mingled to ask questions.

“Well, don’t you care about anything?”, I demanded.

“I care a lot about peaches and pollinating.  I also care about all the males I’ve mingled with – especially the ones whose names I can still remember.  I think that most trees only care about each other because they think they’re going to survive better or longer or more pleasantly with other trees around them.  But, most of the time they end up sharing an unfulfilling emptiness with no real goals or purpose.  They just grow, pollinate, bear fruit for awhile and wither.  I mean, it’s not like we’re ever really going to go anyplace, is it?”.

“I suppose not…but I can’t help feeling there are other places to be”, not mentioning my recent arrival from the Physical Universe.  Still, I couldn’t argue with her logic, so I didn’t, in spite of my recent discovery that there is more than one universe.

So far, discovering the meaning of life was an unsolved case.  It was always just around the next corner.  It was the only case I hadn’t solved yet – except for the one I was working on, of course.  Miss Peach was right — I felt alone.  Yet, at the same time, I felt like I was being driven by outside forces — survival impulses, fate, the forces of the universes, some unseen entity – whatever.

“I’ve never really been interested in playing the usual ‘tree games’.  You know, like territorial conquest, water rights, root depth, trunk size, how smooth my bark is, shading power, seed production — that kind of thing”, said Miss Peach, arousing me from my momentary musing.  “Those games are based on what other trees think about you.  Mainly, I just want to be happy with what I think about myself”, she said.

“The best games I ever played were simply having somebody around to play with — to keep from being bored.  But, most of the time, playing games is just a temporary distraction from my perpetual preoccupation with the primordial purposelessness of existence”, I said.

“Who knows?  Maybe playing is the purpose of existence”, replied Miss Peach.

“I came, I saw, I played”, to paraphrase a dead Roman emperor, although I don’t think he did it in that order” I said, forgetting where I was momentarily.

“Sounds good to me!  Let’s play ‘mingle and tingle’…”, said Miss Peach, gently jiggling her fruit toward me.  Anyone who thinks trees are just unfeeling vegetables, has never been mingled and tingled by Miss Peach!

I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up the next “morning”, or the same day or whenever it was, Miss Peach was gone.  She hadn’t left me a note or anything.  I figured she must have gone to work. I went down stairs to continue my investigation. I still didn’t have any more clues about how to get back to Earth than the “rulebook” I got from “Mr. Personality” in Plant Land Security.

When I got downstairs the convention hall was empty.  Just a few trampled signs and banners and leaflets strewn on the floor.  Just a few trees sweeping up.  I went over to the Plant Land Security office to see if Miss Peach was here.  I started to knock on the door, but found it slightly ajar, so I pushed it open and went in.  The office was completely vacant except for Mr. Cactus who was just putting some papers into a box.

“Where’s Miss Peach?”, I inquired.

“Not here.  She left to go back to the home office.  The convention’s over buddy, or didn’t you notice?”

“Oh, well how do I get in touch with her?”

“I’m not her babysitter, pal. You can go see her whenever you want.” he said.

“Well, would you mind telling me the address of your home office so I can contact her?” I asked as politely as possible.

“Listen, Mr. Peaches, or whatever your name is, I gave you a copy of the “rules” when you were here last time.  Can’t you read? Just follow the rules.  Anyway, I’m out of here. Goodbye” said Mr. Cactus, who unceremoniously picked up his box and shuffled out of the office.

“But…but, I don’t know…”, I said, trying to follow him. By the time I got through the door and out into the convention hall, Mr. Cactus was gone.  The entire hall was empty and still.

“Well, (bleep)!”, I fumed.  My voice echoed in the hall.  Another voice answered me from the other side of the hall.  “What’s the matter, buddy?  Do you need help?”  It was Peter the Potted Plant.

“Peter!  Am I glad to see you!  Where did everybody go?  I was trying to find Miss Peach and she’s one and I don’t know where she went or how to get there.  Can you help me, please?” I grabbed him round his skinny little trunk and shook him gently, with growing desperation o get some answers.

“Hey, take it easy pal!  Look, it’s easy.  Just go out to the hotel lobby and ask them o give you a copy of the “rules”. Then just follow the “rules” and you’ll be fine.  Anyway, listen, I gotta run.  I just ran back in to pick up my tie.  I left it in the dressing room back stage.  Hey, see ya’ buddy!  Don’t let the aphids get you”.  Peter disappeared behind the stage curtain and was gone.

I hurriedly shuffled my roots out to the lobby of the Hotel Random Arms.  I rushed up to the registration desk and rang the bell on the counter.  A sleepy looking Tomato Plant came out fromthe back office to the desk.  “May I be of assistance, sir?”

“Yes! Yes!  Peter the Potted Plant told me to ask you for a copy of the “rules” so I could find out how to get in touch with Miss Peach”, I babbled, without trying to hide my anxiety.

“Very good, sir.  We are always pleased to be of assistance to our guests at the Random Arms”, he said, reaching beneath the desk and handing me a single sheet of instructions. I eagerly glanced down the list. It was the same exact sheet of Rules to a Different Universe that Mr. Cactus had given to Miss Peach to copy for me.  I still had my original copy stuck in my branches.

“Great! Now I’m right back in the same (bleeping) place I started from!!”, I shouted.

I guess the sheer volume of my own totally exasperated shouting must have snapped me out of it — whatever “it” was.  I was lying in my sofa at my office.  I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remembered before the Plant Convention was lying in the acupuncture office, with needles stuck in my butt….  I felt my behind.  There were no needles, but I had a butt!

“I have a butt!!  I have a butt!  I have a butt!”, I shouted.  “Wow! This is great!

I have a butt!”, I shouted some more.  I was never so happy to have a butt in my whole (bleeping) life.  I will never take having a butt for granted ever again.

I was pretty sure I was back in my own universe again.  Or maybe I had never really left it.  Or maybe I just needed a couple stiff shots of “Old Nitro”. Wait a minute…minutes?  That was something that had been in short supply in A Different Universe.  Now that it was available to me once again, that’s all I really needed: some real, honest-to-goodness time to figure all this out.

I looked at the clock. I ran down the hall and got a newspaper out of the vending machine.   It was still the day of my appointment with Dr. Alice.  And the same time.  As far as I could tell, no time had passed since I was laying on the table at Dr. Alice’s place. I’ve heard it said that time is relative, but all this was making me feel relatively insane.

Dr. Mellingerer was my old professor of Eschatological Rhetoric back at A.E.I.O.U..  He once said something very profound to our class.  He said, “an ignorant man is one who doesn’t know what he has discovered“. I didn’t know what that meant, and I really didn’t feel like figuring it out either. I was tired. I needed a nap.  I felt like I had been awake for days. Nevertheless, in some vague way, Dr. Mellingerer’s observation seemed to apply to my situation.

The next morning I woke up in my sofa again, still in my office, with my own clock which stared at me rudely from my very own desk.  I was very happy to be back in a universe that actually had time in it. The clock said 7:37.  Actually it didn’t “say” 7:37, but it did have a big hand pointing in the general direction of the “7” on the clock face and the small hand pointed to the 7th little tick mark to the left of the bottom, center tick mark.

Since the sun was shining in my eyes through my office window, I assumed that would indicate the antemeridian rendition of 7:37, as in past mid-night and before mid-day, thereby confirmed by my perception that photon particles and/or waves from the star nearest our planet where striking and illuminating the atmosphere in the vicinity nearest my current location relative to the interminable rotation of said planet on its axis, during a phase in which that rotation, which recurred at 24 hour intervals, as measured by said clock, variably modified by the inclination of the Northern Hemisphere toward or away from said star, mitigated, of course, by the precession of the planetary axis, was situated in juxtaposition to said star with regard to it’s roughly elliptical orbit through the solar system, at a precise point in one of 365 such intervals, to which planet I was affixed by the resultant gravitational forces generated by the coincidental interaction and various cyclical rotations of the aforementioned stellar bodies, which are located approximately on the very outermost edge of the so-called Milky Way galaxy, which I assumed must belong, nominally, to some larger, intergalactic political confederation, of which Earth, or whatever designation might be given by such an organization to this infinitesimally minute and obscure planet, to which no one from any other planet seemed to want to make themselves known, inasmuch as “alien entities” seemed to consistently avoid obvious communication with the creatures of our planet, as witness their conspicuous absence from Earth which, by deductive reasoning, led me to conclude that “aliens” either 1) don’t exist, for which probability the mathematical odds are nearly infinitely impossible — besides  which, I’d already been abducted by them myself at least once that I can remember — or 2) such beings would rather be caught dead than associate with homo sapiens, which, judging by the usual headlines in the daily newspaper, would indicate a reasonably advanced intelligence on their part, or at least a reasonable distaste for stupidity, greed, murder, mayhem, war, general chaos and charred cow flesh consumed together with deep-fat fried vegetables dipped in tomato catsup.

Obviously, my adventures at the plant convention had left me somewhat confused about the nature of reality, which I was already confused about.  I recalled that the list of “rules” I had been given in “a Different Universe” mentioned something about reality being whatever you can create that can be perceived.  My instructor in “Conjunctive Perspectives of Perception” class back at AEIOU once made an astute observation about the essence of reality.

“Reality is really, probably, nothing more, perhaps, than a hunch that many people have, sometimes, which they fairly often agreed upon as being not-too-far-fetched, depending on how recently they have either eaten or been

eaten or have had sex, which in many cases may be very similar, depending on one’s individual tastes“, he observed.

Until now, I had never run across another definition that was any better.  Anyway, I didn’t have time to waste on wild speculations about reality.  Besides, as I had recently discovered, reality is relative to the universe you’re in at the moment, or not.

It was time to get back to work on the case I was getting paid to solve so I could afford to pay for some ground up, charbroiled flesh of a dead cow which had, during it’s brief life, consumed several tons of my former plant acquaintances, a small portion of the resulting flesh being placed between two slabs of ground up, denatured grain which had been incinerated at 350 degrees for approximately one hour and topped with more dead vegetables, each of whom had given their lives, without apparent resistance, so that I, being more “intelligent” than they, or at least mean enough to condone their premeditated murder, could sustain the carbon/oxygen burning flesh engine, currently operating at 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, which I myself inhabited, the chemical-based incendiary devise, or stomach, of which was making rather obnoxious gurgling sounds at the moment.

My cheeseburger and fries sat, uneaten, on the table in front of me at a local burger joint, while I perused the newspaper to check out what I might have missed while I was “away”.  I was still looking for clues about the  disappearance of Carmel Wormwood.

Carmel told the Admiral that her maiden name, or alias, had been “Carmel Cortez”.  So far, I found out that she lied about that too.  There was no such person in any public record I had checked.  I was beginning to suspect that the Admiral had been lured into a premeditated scam by this Carmel person, whoever she was.

Nevertheless, I casually thumbed through to the obituary listings and personal ads, just in case I might turn up anything.  I stopped on page 16, bottom left-hand column.  There was a small headline that took my breath away!

Mysterious

Mass-Suicide of Amazon Rain Forest Logging Crew

Death

Caused by Self Inflicted Suffocation!

Entire World In Shock!

I read through the short article with breathless excitement:

“…a logging crew of 74 men were found dead in their work camp located in an isolated region of the Amazon rain forest.  All had died of asphyxiation. The police investigating the scene concluded that the deaths were the result of a bizarre self-inflicted mass suicide cult ritual popular among the local Indians.  A leader of the local Indians told reporters that the deaths were caused by what a native translator loosely interpreted to mean ‘angry spirit of the trees”.  Local police dismissed the statement as the hallucinations of a ignorant barbarian caused by chewing leaves of the dung-dung tree.”

I stuffed the newspaper in the back pocket of my jeans, ran out of the joint without even eating my burger and jumped on my Harley.  Back at my office I waited impatiently for my dial-up Internet connection to pull up a search

engine.  I had to find out more about the rain forest incident!  I used every key word I could think of, but couldn’t find many more details about the Amazon deaths.  After clicking through several dozen links, I finally found an environmentalist news website with more information about the incident:

“ …the Pope declared an international day of mourning in response to orders from the World Bank Foundation and the Mega Oil Corporation, who jointly funded the clear-cut deforestation project in the area of the Amazon rain forest where the apparent suffocation suicide deaths of 74 loggers occurred.  A massive strip mining operation was to be undertaken to clear the deforested land of unsightly semi-precious metals, after which plans had been made to create grazing land for cattle and oil drilling operations on the barren landscape in what a Vatican spokesman described as a “humanitarian effort to create REAL jobs as oil rig workers and meat packers for displaced native Indians”.

A spokesman for the local Indawood-Weepoo Indians issued a statement in a press conference held at their refugee camp:  “Our people survived very well in our rain forest for the last 7,000 years, along with 27,374 other indigenous species of plants, insects and animals, nearly all of whom are now extinct because of the logging, mining and oil drilling.  The cows brought here by the oil company men are eating the few blades of grass that are left of our homeland!”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find out any more about the suffocation part of the incident.  The local police closed the area off to outsiders and closed the investigation because they had “solved the case”.  So far, I had two dead end investigations in one day: Carmel and the Amazon.

I slumped down in my chair in front of the computer and stuffed my hands in to the pockets of my jeans while I thought about my next logical move. There was one common thread between both mysteries — Dr. Alice Nettles.

As far as I knew, she had been one of the last people to see Carmel before she disappeared into thin air and I was the last person to see her before I disappeared into the A Different Universe.

I jumped up out of my chair, heading for the door on my way out to see Dr. Alice.   I pulled my motorcycle keys out of my pocket.  A neatly folded piece of paper fell out onto the floor.  I picked it up and unfolded it.  At the top of the page it read, “RULES TO A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE”.

Dr. Alice and I needed to talk! Now!

___________________________________

If you haven’t read it yet, here’s the link to Chapter 4: http://lawrencerspencer.com/2011/06/01/the-big-bleep-chapter-4

Originally posted 2011-06-26 14:43:06. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

THE ORACLE OF PAN SPEAKS!

About The Oracle of Pan

What follows are questions that have been received by  the Oracle of Pan through the website for the book, “Pan – God of The Woods”.  This book contains the actual questions asked, and the replies given by the “Oracle of Pan”.  Each person asking a question of The Oracle of Pan is asked to offer a gift to honor the spirit of the god Pan by planting a tree.

Oracle:

An oracle is a person or agency considered to be a source of wise counsel or prophetic opinion; an infallible authority, usually spiritual in nature. It may also be a revealed prediction or precognition of the future, from deities, that is spoken through another object (e.g.: runemal) or life-form (e.g.: augury and auspice). In the ancient world many sites gained a reputation for the dispensing of oracular wisdom: they too became known as “oracles”, and the oracular utterances, called khrēsmoi in Greek, were often referred to under the same name — a name derived from the Latin verb ōrāre, to speak.

— Reference:  www.Wikipedia.org

A Nymph is any member of a large class of mythological entities that are more formally known as ‘Gabi’. They were typically associated with a particular location or landform, in Gabi’s case in the forests. They are known for their astounding beauty. However, no nymphs compare to their goddess Gabi. She is the almighty Queen of Nymphs. Nymphs were the frequent target of satyrs.

Nymphs live in mountains and groves, by springs and rivers, and in valleys and cool grottoes. They are frequently associated with the superior divinities: the huntress Artemis and rustic god, Pan.

A Satyr (in Greek, Σάτυροι — Sátyroi) is a male companion of Pan, who roamed the woods and mountains. In mythology they are often associated with sex drive and vase-painters often portrayed them with uncontrollable erections.  Satyrs acquired their goat-like aspect through later Roman conflation with Faunus (the Roman name for the Greek god, Pan).  Satyrs are most commonly described in literature as having the upper half of a man and the lower half of a horse, or with a goat’s tail in place of the Greek tradition of horse-tailed satyrs.

Satyrs are described as roguish but faint-hearted folk — subversive and dangerous, yet shy and cowardly.  They are lovers of wine and women, and they are ready for every physical pleasure. They roam to the music of pipes (auloi), cymbals, castanets, and bagpipes, and they love to dance with the nymphs (with whom they are obsessed, and whom they often pursue), and have a special form of dance called sikinnis.”

Originally posted 2010-12-02 10:26:20. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

DREAMS

“Pondering dreams of the night,

from a source so mysterious,

may cause alarm or even fright,

and make you feel delirious.

Heed them not, they’re not important.

Dreams by day, while you’re awake,

are under your command and portent.

The story of your life is yours to make.”

 ________________

— from The Oracle of Pan by Lawrence R. Spencer

Originally posted 2013-12-28 22:06:33. Republished by Blog Post Promoter