true hallucinations.htm - Shroomery

true hallucinations.htm
Chorrera. Belem means Bethlehem in Portuguese. My perceptions, sensitive to any messianic possibility, seized on this. Belem is Bethlehem;
it lies at the delta of the Amazon. Delta is the symbol for change in time; delta in Joyce's fiction and among graffiti artists throughout history
represents the vagina. Dennis was born in Delta, Colorado. Was it possible that all of our experiences could have been a premonition of an
event at a time and place two years hence in Brazil? Was this why, absurdly, at the conclusion of the experiment at La Chorrera, the strains of
"Oh Little Town of Bethlehem" had come echoing through my mind? By late spring of 1972, I knew everything that I have just mentioned.
Why did the wave point to December 22, 1973? And why was there such a stream of coincidence pointing to that time? Had I known of the
impending eclipse on some unconscious level? Had I known it would achieve totality over Belem? Why did the dates that were important to
my life line up with that date according to the wave I had learned to construct in the wake of the UFO encounter at La Chorrera? To me
it seemed impossible that I had somehow known these things and manipulated my conscious self to imagine that it was "discovering" these
things. I was like a snow-blind traveler caught in a blizzard of coincidence.
Finally, in the early spring of 1973, an event occurred that offered perfect proof that something larger than my unconscious, seemingly larger
even than the total collective consciousness of the human race, was at work. This was the discovery of the comet Ko-hotek, heralded as the
largest comet in human history, dwarfing even Halley's Comet.
"Brightest Comet Ever Headed Toward Earth" was the headline in the San Francisco Chronicle. As I scanned the article, I actually let out a
yell of amazement. The comet would make its nearest approach to the sun on the twenty-third of December! A non-periodic comet, unknown
to anyone on earth until March of 1973, was hurtling toward a rendezvous with the sun within a hundred hours of the solstice and the eclipse
over the Amazon. It was a large coincidence, if we define a coincidence as an improbability that deeply impresses its observer. This
coincidence is not diminished by the fact that Kohotek never really lived up to expectations, for the expectations alone became a wave of
millenarianism and apocalyptic restlessness among the fringes of the population that would die only as the comet returned to the darkness out
of which it emerged. Did anything happen in Belem on the day of the eclipse? I do not know; I was not there. I was by then a prisoner of
mundane obligation. But I do know that the compression of events that occurred around that date, and the way in which the charts predicted
this, were uncanny.
Only with the development of personal computers was I able to understand the way that the timewave describes the ebb and flow of novelty in
time over many different spans of time: some last scant minutes, others endure for centuries. Now anyone who becomes operationally familiar
with the theory can join me in this intellectual adventure and see for themselves the immense challenge involved in predicting a concrescence.
I have not been content to merely understand the theory: I have continued efforts to apply it specifically to predicting the course of future
events. If over years of study one becomes convinced that the wave does
show the future course of novelty, then the ordinary anticipation of the future is gradually replaced with an almost Zen-like appreciation and
understanding of the complete pattern.
Was the above series of events the first intimation that I had that something of importance was connected with a specific date in time and the
city of Belem? Strangely, no; it was not. I must mention the following incident in order to connect the history of my own unconscious
processes with the curiously specific and puzzling piece of information that was seeking to emerge from me.
In the spring of 1970, I had been in Taipai, Taiwan, readjusting to city life after a long, butterfly-collecting ramble through the outback of
Indonesia. I was killing time awaiting a traveling companion, who I had last seen in Bali several months before. One night, I had a very
peculiar dream. It occurred, though I did not know it, on the very day that my father and Dennis were told that our mother was dying of
cancer. That was something that I would not learn until nearly a week later. My journal records the dream as follows:
May 24, 1970
Dhyanna and I were walking up a gentle, grassy slope. Below us on all sides the valleys were filled with scudding white clouds, tops
brilliantly reflecting the sun back into thedepthless azure. Ahead of us the steeply rolling hills ascended—many miles away, as I remarked,
into the main range of the Rockies. We were in dream geography, somewhere in Western Colorado [where I was born and lived until I was
sixteen]. As we continued upward, Herr B. [an Indonesian acquaintance], came to meet us wearing white tennis shorts and drew our attention
to several small meteorological balloons whose dangling nylon cords had caught in nearby wind-bent trees. To our left, upon a crest, deeply
dimpled, blazing white, and perhaps thirty feet high, was a large balloon perhaps three-quarters filled with gas. The ropes enclosing the gas
bag cut deeply into it, sectioning it as though it were a great, bleached orange. As we gazed, Herr B. depressed a lever that had appeared from
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