About Me

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I am a mystic madman, a wandering wildman, scholar of esoterica, dilettante sadhu, dready-headed hippie (only have a few jata on the back of my head right now, though more be forming of this third set of knotted hair), gentle yogi, fierce foe of falsity. I was a preacher, but I renounced that. I was married, but she renounced me. I was a grad student at one of the top universities in the world on my way to becoming a professor, but I realized they taught lies there too. I am protector of souls, lover of mountains, smoker of herb, fond of hot springs, oceans and lakes and rivers and rain and sunshine, devotee of Devi.

Hindu Gods and Goddesses

Friday, August 4, 2017

A Fantastic View . . . Who Might You Be . . . True

Superheroes and saviors, villains and tricksters.  All of us have our roles to play in this grand lila, this Divine Play that is eternity.  Intricate plots that last ages long, a Dance that is what we are really doing with forever, and the afterlife is in truth our here and now as nigh all of us have died and taken rebirth many many times. There are heaven realms and hells, but in truth the afterlife is here and now as much as it is some future thing.
Forever is immanent and already.  Such a shame that so many people await the "pie-in-the-sky-by-and-by," when every moment, "the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand."  All the magic and wonder and bliss of God and eternity is to be found being here now, finding the Divine at play in your everyday and discovering that heavenly bliss is what we are meant to know in the moment, right now!

As Joseph Campbell did imply by his work, Myths to Live By, there are within the ancient and abiding archetypes, those figures and figurations of myth and sacred story, heroes and gods of renown, patterns worthy of contemplation and even emulation, if not clues to one's true path extent in and to be embraced
in whatever given life.  The truly inspired and well writ myths and tales of heroes and gods grant a view of templates that already order reality, patterns that we unconsciously repeat as if ingrained in our DNA--whether or not that is whence such information is conveyed to and through people through generations.  One example of such a repetition might be exemplified by how the elements and mythemes of the Ramayana are so succinctly repeated in the story of the Trojan Horse (though it is possible that such similarities are a result of an intentional rewriting of the original, I ought note).  Some archetypally rife stories beg to be played out again and again . . .

In my personal trip to figure myself whilst exploring the variety of constructions and tellings proffered by the world's religion's and myths, I have found that indeed my own life seems very much inscribed with preordained patterns applied from amongst the most ancient of mythologies.  I do not assume that everyone will find such succinct parallels, homonyms and nigh cognates to grant each precisely the same sort of insight I have been granted thus, but perhaps such a way of reading of the mythemes and mythic figurations writ o'er the mundane factors of one mystic's life lived will provide inspiration for others to seek and discover how the potentially extraordinary secrets of any given soul's sacred role in this life might be already manifest and waiting to be unveiled in little clues and hints clearly enough told in one's life story as lived and, perhaps, as anciently writ.

Bhairavi is a particularly terrifying form of the Great Goddess.  Most often depicted doing devotion to a Shiva linga set in a gazebo shrine, Bhairavi is perhaps most noted for one mode of battle She employs when fighting a horde of demons:  Bhairavi, normally very beautiful in appearance, turns Her appearance so terrible that the demons puke and shit their own guts out, eye balls popping out, etc.  Bhairavi is also very much into wordplay, and I do suspect She is behind many of what I have determined to be subtle spells somewhat surreptitiously planted within any number of languages to keep the people intoning these hidden mantras to help tune their lives to the eternal, to invoke the ancient Divine despite the speakers' ignorance.

 The sound represented by the Devanagari letter ई, or "I," is touted to be one of the names of Devi Sri Lalitha Sahasranama, Maha Shakti, the Great Goddess of the Universe.  Thus, every time someone in the English language uses the personal pronoun "I" said person is invoking the Great Mother!!  Another intonation, mantra, "cheer" and I would argue, spell, somehow subtly slipped into the American English vernacular is "Hooray!! Hoorah!!"  Hari-Hara is a form of God when the Maintainer and the Destroyer, Vishnu and Shiva, are manifest in one Body.  Every time a crowd cheers, "Hooray!! Hoorah!!" they have intoned an ancient and potent expression of the Divine.  According to the Vedic understanding of reality (not unlike the perspective of quantum physics, not to mention as implied by the artifact of "magic words"), sound vibration is the source of the manifestation of reality, as the ॐ (properly pronounced AUMñ) is touted as the Primal Sound.

Utilizing a consideration of such wordplay, I have found some very intriguing clues in my bid to understand myself, to discover the weave of words that along with other indicators has helped me to find my proper "myths to live by."  Again, such a method is not necessarily a template to uncover clues in every life examined for clues to who one really is, but in my own case and in relation to my experiences this lens has revealed some extraordinary coincidences.  In my fantastical view of my life and story, a particular pattern has emerged to my eye that seems to figure me, archetypally, anyhow, as Hari-Hara, if homonyms and homophones are indeed a factor worth considering.

My mother (deceased) and father are named Dorothy Janet Archer (maiden nickname J. Schroeder) and Vernon Shelby Archer.  In Hindu mythology, the mother and father of Krishna are Devaki and Vasudeva. Krishna's foster mother is known as Yashoda.  My first and middle name, Jeffrey Charles, does sound phonetically rather close to Hari-Hara.  I have a small melanistic patch on the left side of my torso that seems indicative of human mosaicism, a genetic skin condition which is portrayed in murtis (sacred pictures/representations) of Hari-Hara, as Krishna (the left side) is a black guy, and Shiva (the right side) is generally light skinned.  Said condition sometimes indicates tetragametic human chemerism which is a condition where two separately fertilized eggs become one person, again fitting the figure Hari-Hara.  The only surgery I've had in this life was the removal of a benign tumor removed from the right side of my throat, perhaps reminiscent of Shiva as Nilakantaka (the Blue Throated One).

My son with Holly Kay Archer (now Wood) was given the name Kieran Drew Archer, which does sound quite like the name Kartikeya, the son of Shiva and Parvati who was conceived on the edge of the Ganges River.  Kieran Drew Archer was conceived on the edge of a waterbed, as I recall quite succinctly walking into the bathroom after a particularly intense bout of love-making wherein I was kneeling beside the waterbed with his mother lay on the edge thereof, and realizing we had just made a baby.  My younger sister Lisa Susan Archer to some degree seems to fit the archetypal role of Subhadra, Krishna's younger sister who married Arjuna.  Any number of other nigh homonyms and homophones and other factors seem to fit with the parallels between my life and the figures of the Hindu Gods Vishnu and Shiva, as well as the fact that I unwittingly began to act out something of the plot of the Pine Forest Myth of Shiva, a pattern of rather perverse or at least unseemly practices that some tantric sadhus are touted to enact in emulation of God the Destroyer, well before I was introduced to Hinduism to any degree.

Whether such are merely cool coincidences or are cues planted to assure me that I am on the proper path of devotion, are in fact indications of self-realization or even of the state of being an Avatar, these exercises have inclined me to consider it certainly legitimate to explore the subtleties of a given life with the expectation that somewhere therein and by whatever number and means of hints and clues granted by some playful expression of the Divine are answers to many of any given life's quest for meaning, to expect that there are subtleties writ between the lines that might well tell important secrets of one's true path.  As many tout (whether accurately or no) that the lines on the palms of your hands and one's date of birth can give many clues to a persons fate, certainly such clues are also inscribed in the names and words woven into one's life and associations, memes and mythemes granting meaning to one's life.  Explore your own life with the expectation that indeed, in the mundane facts and factors of any given life is a wealth of information of the true history and fate of any given soul, and at the very least an interesting exercise in archetypal explorations...

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

We Are Not God's Children !!! (With a very few exceptions)

One of the more bizarre little revelations or startling religio-cultural-historical discoveries I've made in my inquiries into the religions of the world led me to the conclusion told in the title, that there are significant reasons to eschew the idea that we are God's children. I came to the above seeming stark conclusion via an analysis of a particular and rather peculiar cultural artifact.

The Hebrew right of circumcision, attributed by the Judeo-Christian tradition to Abraham, is likely derived from or somehow related to one Hindu myth that tells why Brahma is not much worshiped in India. According to the myth, Brahma, the Creator, was Himself created by Brahman, the Universal Divine Self. The Creator was birthed from the bellybutton of Vishnu. Early in the process of creation, Brahma the Creator got bored or lonely or whatever and so created this hotty, all Weird Science style, whose name was Shatarupa. So then he started to lust after this beautiful woman He had created, and even grew a “fifth head” to continue to gaze upon her when she sought to evade His lustful gaze.  Well, Shiva (The Destroyer), who is Brahman/“God” (as is Vishnu the Maintainer, the Fellow who birthed Brahma out of His belly button), showed up and said something to the effect of:

“Yo Brahma!! Here's the skinny on that: that sexy mama you did manifest . . . You directly created her, so that girl's your daughter!! Therefore, my good Sir, you cannot lust after nor fuck her, a'ight?!” said Shiva, if perhaps phrased rather differently, and He then severed Brahma's fifth head with the tip of His little fingernail.
Shiva normally severs heads that need to be parted from bodies with a trishul (trident) with three big blades, so why did He use His pinky fingernail? It must have been a rather small head which Shiva did cut off of Brahma, perhaps a “fifth head” that grew erect upon Brahma gazing upon Shatarupa that Shiva did cut off with His pinky finger nail. The Hebrew Patriarch Abraham has been noted as somehow and in some guise related to the Person of the Creator Brahma, Abraham's wife Sarai to Saraswati and handmaiden/co-wife Haggar to Ghaggar, a tributary to the Saraswati River of Hindu myth.

What I am implying is that the Hebrew rite of circumcision is essentially an incest taboo rite, as derived from the mythology of Abraham's forefathers, whom the Bible does tell “worshiped other gods”; and corollary to that, it is to be noted that if you directly create someone, that person is thus your child, and therefore not someone to be related to as an object of sexual desire. This is one of many subtle clues to the apparent ties that do abide between Abraham, and thus the Abrahamic religions, and the religion of Abraham's ancestors (who were essentially what has come to be known as Hindus—a term less than a thousand years old for a religion much much older), hints of myth and meaning to be considered from between the lines of a rather ancient genealogy of culture and religion that tell of both God's Potency and Desire, and of how human traditions are derived from and expressed in such ancient archetypal constructions and perhaps even historical events, acts of the Gods.

Both Vishnu and Shiva (God the Maintainer and God the Destroyer) are well enough known for their respective sexual exploits, as Shiva is worshiped as the linga (phallus) and is wellspring of male virility, and Vishnu as Krishna is known to have made love to ten-thousand women all at the same time exactly as each would wish to be made love to, and is married to the Goddess of Beauty and Wealth who is also Goddess Mother Earth. If those many women God Brahman (and men who Goddess Brahman, Uma Himavati and other Avatars of Her) had made love to were “God's children,” God would be an incestuous creep!! Thus it might be accurate to state, “We are the Creator's children,” but it is definitively inaccurate to state, “We are all God's children.” Part of the reason for the Creator being in some guise separate from the Universal Divine Self is to allow the Divine and humankind to realize even  the intimacy of transcendent lovemaking whilst maintaining integrity in relationship and the bounds of Rta, Sanskrit root of the English word “right” as in universally correct.

Brahman (God) has certainly procreated, i.e., God does have some children whilst incarnated in various forms, though only a handful, including Kartikeya, Ganesha, Jyoti, twins Cush and Luv, Ashoka Sundari, Manas, and Ayyappa, also known as Shasta (who I believe to be the true identity of Jesus Christ, by the way, as I've mentioned in other posts), and perhaps to be included are the 160,000 children of Krishna. I would posit that God Brahman created the Creator Brahma so He/She could enjoy creation, and so creation could enjoy Him/Her. It is also much more accurate to state “We are/I am God” than to state that “We are God's children.” And in fact it is the goal of many millions of Gopis, devotees of Krishna, to be born as beautiful women so Krishna will make love to them just the way they truly desire, so were they in truth “God's children” God would be incestuous, which He/She is certainly not!! and in fact by careful and thoughtful design. and in fact by careful and thoughtful design to manifest and maintain an integrous reality. The arrangements of reality are sat-cit-ananda, righteous-mind-bliss, and those basic motives and righteous patterns that guide humankind are expression of the Divine that we all, in truth, are, and which do keep human societies and the Divine array and subtle workings of reality together.  The proper term for Hinduism is sanAtana dharma, which translates loosely as "keepin' it together forever."  I do assert these truths because, well, God likes to get laid too, thank you very much!! and some devotees want God to fuck them, too, so . . .

Namaste, kids!!!

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Sasquatch in the Snoqualmie

(Chapter 4 from Memories and Musings of a Post-Postmodern Nomadic Mystic Madman)

Long before the white man wandered into the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains and to the west, the native peoples were aware of the existence of another intelligent hominid sharing the forests, and they generally respected and revered these cryptids as close cousins and even brethren (despite scattered stories of certain tribes that rather fearfully portray these mysterious mythical beasts). The Yakama tribe called these shy furry forest dwellers ste ye mah, words which denote “a spirit hidden by the woods.” The Quinault refer to these behemoths as tsadjatko, and the Salish language names them saskets (thus the English derivation “sasquatch”), both of which translate into English simply as “the giant” or “giants.” The Lakota call them shiye tanka, or “Big Elder Brother.” The Tillamook (the tribe, not the cheese-makers) named them yi dyi’tay (not Valençay nor fior de latte nor cheddar), which means “wildman.” Indeed, there are stories about and appellations for these massive yet nonetheless elusive animals throughout the lore of North American Indians.10

As any average American boy, I was fascinated by tales of encounters with Bigfoot. Episodes of In Search of . . . and various books from the Laramie Public Library inspired my youthful imagination and embedded a proverbial itch deep under my skin to seek out evidences proving the existence of this secretive species. I devoured reports regarding unexplained sightings of said cryptid, certainly a favorite amongst the menagerie of monsters and mythic beasts that trod the forested paths and swam the dark depths of my youthful imagination. I decided somewhere around the age of ten that I must indeed someday have an encounter with the mythical sasquatch.

Fifteen years later, give or take, I was with two others hiking back to base-camp in the wilderness of the Upper Sauk River drainage in the mountains above Darrington, Washington (an established hotspot for sasquatch sightings), when a chill or tingle rose up my spine, and I felt compelled to utter a proclamation of my prescient sense that we were going to “have an encounter.” My companions and I were clearing trails of old growth deadfall and brush in the lush rain forests of the Cascade Mountains, and of course talk of sasquatch was regular fare for late-night chats amongst our crew whilst we passed pipes or joints, sipped beers and shot the shit ‘round the firepit.

On this day, as my coworkers and I were casually chatting about the subject of sasquatch on our hike back to camp, said sensation of the presence of prescience pleasantly stimulated my central nervous system, alerting me to the gravity of a mini-revelation.

“We’re going to have an encounter!!” I announced excitedly as Jonah and I and a local kid on our crew were marching down the trail, laden with two-person (crosscut) saws, axes and bow saws. “I just know it!!” I added with a rather giddy laugh.

Jonah and I had met at a coffee house in Bellingham, Washington a number of months previous. We chatted and played some drums, smoked some herb and became fast friends. It was Jonah who had discovered this amazing employment opportunity when he and a friend had been forced to abandon their intentioned backpacking trip covering a section of the Pacific Crest Trail, as the pair and all their gear got soaked in a storm of sleet and cold rain up in the high country. He and his companion had thus been forced to follow an alternate trail down to the nearest Forest Service road, and upon reaching the trail head happened to encounter a man and a herd of goats wearing saddles and loaded with saws and axes and winches and such. In spite of weariness and a wish or want to return to civilization, the two saturated hikers stopped to inquire about the oddity of saddled goats. Gary the goat-herding Forest Service contractor offered employment on the spot.

Meanwhile, I had been biding my time on the sidewalk in front of Stuart’s Coffee House in downtown Bellingham, waiting for something to happen. In spite of the mostly pleasant company of other birds of the same feather—un- or underemployed hippies, ravers, punks, freaks of whatever flavor, students, and various and sundry sorts of coffee addicted (mostly-) potheads—I was feeling anxious, and sensed somehow that Jonah’s return would herald an end to the rut I had slid into in this cloudy city in the northwestern corner of the continental United States.

As soon as Jonah arrived at Stuart’s one sunny midday, just returned from the mountains to the southeast, I was already ready to go. We made a few last minute arrangements, Jonah said a few-hours long hi-and-bye to his girlfriend Cristina, and we hit the road sometime around midnight. We were bound for the Sauk River drainage, twenty-miles or so southeast of Darrington, Washington, a wilderness area where stands of enormous old growth timber still touch the sky in the lush rain forests on the western slopes of the Cascades.

After cruising through Darrington, a quaint hamlet immediately surrounded by picturesque towering peaks on three-sides, we met the end of the pavement and continued into the forest on a wide dirt and gravel road in the dark of night. Jonah kept his eyes open to search for the turn into the trail head campground whilst we blazed multiple bowls of beasters (British Columbian Cannabis) and jammed out to Jimi Hendrix or Dead Can Dance or some trance tune CD of Jonah's played on the stereo. Erstwhile entranced by the rhythms and vibrations of the road, Jonah realized we had missed our turn after we wandered winding up several switchbacks, so I spun the truck in a quick U-turn and we started back down the zigzagging road.

Jonah cautioned me to slow just as we reached our turn, which was at an exceedingly sharp angle from the truck’s trajectory. As I tried the turn after something like a second of hesitation, I had to bring the truck to a halt as the 1963 Dodge Power Wagon’s turning radius was quite a bit too wide to complete the turn in one motion. We were facing the forest, sitting perpendicular to the proper direction of traffic on the dirt drive that led to the trail head, when suddenly I had the sensation that we were rolling backwards. I pressed harder on the foot brake and engaged the parking brake at the same time Jonah uttered an urgent appeal,


“The brakes are on!” I replied to his anxious plea with an equally anxious response.

We were not rolling. The wheels were quite firmly planted on the hard-packed light-brown dirt drive, and yet we both continued to feel as if we were moving backwards. I gazed as if in a trance at the trees directly in front of us, which appeared to be moving away, but in a continuous motion that never quite caused them to recede into the distance. Jonah reported the same sensations, both visually and in terms of the sense of inner-ear balance.

It seemed to both of us as if we only lingered thus for a few minutes before I put the truck in reverse, then completed the turn. Shortly after we parked for the night, however, we noted that the drive from town to this site had taken well over an hour. Upon later clocking the distance of this drive—and even factoring in the fact that we’d passed the turn on this first time traveling to the trailhead—we concluded we had lost somewhere approaching an hour whilst we’d observed this anomaly of a forest repetitively or continually fading back from our perspective, both seated firmly on the bench seat of the Miraculous-Beast-Shanti-Mama.

Had we been abducted by aliens? Was it a “vortex” or a “wormhole” or some such time-space anomaly we had experienced on this mountain road during the dark of night? Had we perhaps entered a portal into another dimension? Certainly the extraordinary experiences we were to have over the coming weeks working and playing in this enchanted rain forest would lead us to conclude that one or another of these odd options was indeed a distinct possibility.

Next morning we met Gary, his partner Lucy, and their goats. Gary had long graying hair in a ponytail, and wore the appropriate facial hair to match his occupation. Lucy had slightly curly mid-length dark-hair, and as I recall from our brief meetings a rather pleasantly curved figure (and no goatee or other ungulate-like characteristics, I am happy to report). The pair had been contracted to clear several kilometers of trails here and elsewhere in Washington and were quite pleased we had shown up, as apparently good help was hard to find in this particular neck of the woods.

Our job was to remove deadfall from across the trail and cut the brush alongside to a few inches in height. Some of the fallen trees that blocked the pathway into the high country were upwards of five to six feet in diameter, and were no little task to cut through and winch or leg-press out of the way of hikers and horses (and goats) hoofing it up or down the mountain. Granted, these were not redwoods or giant sequoias, but as this area was designated wilderness we were required to use manual saws and axes on the still massive fallen trunks. Though this obviously required an extra expenditure of human labor, the relative quiet of a crosscut saw compared to a six-foot long chainsaw allowed us to encounter wildlife which otherwise would have hightailed it to the next valley over.

Just past the trailhead was a small swamp filled with ferns and devil’s club, a wide variety of funguses, mosses dripping from tree limbs and quite a number of species of aquatic plants growing in the still pools of water. Old growth cedars and Douglas fir grew to great heights above the marsh, rendering this part of the trail darker than pitch as soon as the sun would set behind the high peaks and allowing only a little sunlight to filter through so many layers of needled boughs and fringed fronds above even at high noon. A boardwalk and small bridges made up the better portion of this lower stretch of the path into one of the most magical patches of forest I have yet been blessed to experience.

After this marshy fern-filled portion of the pathway, the corridor through the massive moss-embellished trees ascended sharply into a much younger forest. A steep scree slope to one side, and a likewise steep decent to the river beneath and to the other side, the trail twice crossed rushing spring- and snow-fed creeks that were tributary to the larger flow in the valley below. On one occasion we watched a small black bear scurrying up the rocky slope, rather startled by the scarcely seen sight of humans on this lightly travelled trail.

The packgoats were generally a bit reluctant to cross the rushing waters of the rivulets, and would often hesitate at the banks with the proverbial stubbornness of a mule. These billies and nannies would scarcely even lower their bearded muzzles to partake of the clear cold drink, as their desert-dwelling ancestors had adapted to acquiring most of the moisture they required from whatever vegetation they might manage to locate in the barren scrub of their homelands in northern Africa, and the vegetation here in the Pacific Northwest rain forest was saturated. The parched and sawdust covered primates accompanying said cloven-hoofed beasts of burden, however, were always happy to arrive at these streams after long hours of sawing and chopping and winching variously sized logs and limbs and lumber out of the way and to one side of the trail, splashing the cold and refreshing flow on soiled faces and arms and even sometimes chancing a case of beaver-fever to taste of these revitalizing waters.

On the day of my prescient epiphany, we were heading downhill and had just crossed the second stream, carrying on with the usual bullshitting and banter, when my intuition indicated the certainty of the coming encounter. Indeed, Native American lore tells that sasquatch are “spirit beings” and not mere animals, thus I’m supposing it likely this spiritual beasty transmitted the psychic message that let me know of his or her intentions to visit.

That night, as Jonah and I sat next to a roaring fire, sipping tea and smoking herb and cigarettes after a filling meal of brown rice and veggies, I began to get the feeling that we were being watched. Several times I scanned the forest around us with my headlamp, focusing the beam of light on a particular point between two trees where I sensed our voyeur was located. Jonah commented that I was wasting my batteries, so heeding his advice I turned off the lantern. No sooner had I set this headlamp down on the ground beside me, when a booming “CRACK” resounded through the forest from nigh exactly where I had suspected someone or thing was watching.

Now, this was no ordinary din in the darkness. Something exceedingly large had quite obviously broken an exceptionally large branch. We had been cutting and chopping and breaking and dragging all manner of lumber by saw and axe, hand and foot and winch, from one-inch-thick sticks to fallen trees nigh six-foot in diameter cut through twice and winched away to clear this trail of obstacles, and the noise this breaking branch made in the still and dark night indicated something quite exceeding heavy had either stepped upon a freshly fallen tree or limb of no small girth, else had become night-blinded by my lamp’s light and had thus broken a large unseen limb on a standing tree. I immediately hopped to my feet.

“HOLY SHIT!” I proclaimed in surprise, “Jonah, that was something really fucking big!”

Jonah still sat, staring into the darkness.

“C’mon, man. Let’s get in the camper, dude,” I urged, as if the thin aluminum sheets, fiberglass insulation and pine paneling that made up the camper’s walls would prevent a thousand-pound-plus beasty from getting at us if it had the urge.

“Naw. If it’s a bigfoot, I wanna meet it,” Jonah said somewhat nonchalantly.

I continued to adjure that he join me in the illusory safety of the piggyback house on wheels, until I finally enticed him inside to smoke a bowl. I turned on some mellow tunes at about half-volume on my CD walkman with remote speakers and we sat there casually puffin’ some nuggets and philosophizing as was our usual fare, till suddenly a din that at first seemed the thunder of a distant explosion sounded over the stereo’s volume. I immediately turned off the tunes, and quietly uttered,

“What the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” was Jonah’s simple reply.

“Was that an explosion? What the fuck would be—” my query was cut short by another “BOOM,” or perhaps more accurately, a heavy “THUD” that shook or vibrated the camper, à la Jurassic Park when the footsteps of T-Rex sends shock waves through a glass of water sitting on a table.

“Oh shit!” I said with a worried whisper, “What the fuck was that?”

“Uh . . . I dunno,” Jonah answered, likewise in an alarmed and under-the-breath utterance.

The sound and vibration had issued from just the other side of the thin walls of the camper, right next to where I sat. Something exceedingly heavy had seemingly stomped upon the forest floor, something quite massive that stood mere inches from where I sat upon the lower bunk. Neither of us even dared peak out from behind the curtains to see what had made such a monstrous noise in the night. I was quite certain that were I to move the curtain aside, I would be staring at a hairy chest at seven feet off the ground, and Jonah’s want to meet bigfoot had met with a wariness of things that go bump in the night—especially really big things that can shake a nearly three-ton truck with the stomp of a foot—and the wariness won out.

We sat petrified in the silence for a few minutes, till said silence was broken by four or five more heavy bipedal footsteps that proceeded to the back of the truck. We sat still for nearly half-an-hour more, listening intensely before either of us had the guts to look out of the windows to see what we might see. We heard a few more noises, the clattering and clanking of some pots and pans we’d left on top of the picnic table and assorted other slight dins and disturbances in the still of the night. When we finally dared to look outside, we saw nothing suspicious, and then went to sleep after another bowl or two to counter the adrenaline. Jonah didn’t sleep in his tent that night, and took the top bunk instead.

Next day when we awoke, I noted that the pots and pans and utensils were still all piled together in the largest pot as we’d hastily left them the night before, but were moved from the table top onto the bench of the wooden picnic table. We offered an account to the others, who reported they’d had a quite quiet and undisturbed sleep. Though I had some suspicions someone had played a trick on us, upon testing whether a mere human might be able to stomp or drop a heavy rock on the ground to manufacture the sort of sound and vibrations that would shake a three-ton truck and camper, we concluded this was not a viable explanation. We even took turns climbing to the side of the pickup bed then leaping off and onto the forest floor to try to make even a tiny vibration detectable to the other, seated on the lower bunk inside. Indeed, neither of us could even tell when the other outside had hit the ground, both endeavoring as much force as our respective weights could create upon stomping or leaping down from five feet high.

Gary informed us he had to go to town to get some supplies, so we concentrated on clearing brush from the sides of the trail not far from base camp. As we weren’t venturing far into the forest we didn’t bother to pack lunch, and instead returned to our respective campsites to replenish and rest during our midday break. As we then began to hike back up the trail to resume working, walking on a side trail that later met the main, I spotted a large brown humanoid-shaped figure through a corridor where the undergrowth was absent, standing and staring straight at us from some seventy yards away.

“Whoa!” I said, lifting my hand to halt our group’s progress, “What is that?!”

Jonah and the local kid who was working with us stopped in their tracks to attend to my alert.

“There’s something up there!” I said, squinting to attempt to make out the details of the tall thing I was observing in the dim forest light, which again, appeared to be the dark brown shape of a humanoid standing and facing my vantage.

The local kid, whose name I can’t recall with certainty, said he saw the same something from another vista, a few yards ahead. As I started towards his perspective he likewise started towards mine to discern if we were indeed viewing the same something. Whilst no one was watching for no more than a few seconds, this bogey took the opportunity to make him or herself scarce, for upon returning to my original point of view I noted that whatever had stood staring at us had made a hasty withdrawal, and local kid said the same of his sighting. We immediately started towards where whatever it was we’d seen had stood, and upon arriving at said spot, right next to an alternate trail sign, I gauged that what I had viewed (judging by the height of the trail sign and such) must have measured between eight and nine feet tall. Local kid agreed, and still in investigative mode, we started up the side trail towards the top of Lost Mountain.

The trees along this trail were tall and thin, and though the sun was shining, only patches of the forest floor were illuminated by rays unfiltered by broad-leafed and needled boughs. A distinctly magical quality imbued the light and air and sounds we experienced as we stalked the tall, dark, and assumedly furry beast we had briefly viewed from below. I felt like a native brave, hunting some illusive and magical totem animal as we walked with slightly crouched postures, gazing side-to-side and stalking this specter with stealthy strides, thoroughly enjoying this playful excursion in search of sasquatch—now that we were in the light of day.

After hiking a mile or more with no further sign of our quarry, we decided we ought to retrace our steps and return to work. Just as we began the descent, we heard a call echoing through the woods unlike any animal’s vocalization I had ever heard before. I have spent a great deal of time in the wilderness, and have ravenously consumed every nature program I’ve happened across on television since early childhood, from Marty Stauffer’s Wild America, Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom to pre-cable National Geographic televised specials to the Nature Channel and Animal Planet. I’ve fished and hunted from the mountains of Wyoming to the hills of Oklahoma, studied birdcalls from bird watching guides and time in the field, listened to Elk bugles echoing in the misty fall mornings of the Rocky Mountains, observed various species of owls—the source of sometimes ominous seeming sounds in the forest—in both daytime and night, and hiked in the hills and high country from the West Coast to the East. This resounding mid-pitched “hooooooooooo” fit no category of creature call I had ever heard or read of, and conveyed a quality that seemed to indicate it issued from an exceedingly deep and billowing chest. Perhaps the closest analogue I can think of would be a howler monkey’s eerie cry echoing through the rain forest, except as one long and unbroken sound.

We paused to listen for a second call, and I decided to mimic its sound to see if I could elicit another. Sure enough, a second sounding followed, a bit closer and louder than the first. We resumed our hike down the trail, trading calls as the source seemed to follow alongside at a distance. By the time we reached the turn to our trail the calls had again grown quite distant, so we returned to our work trimming shrubs and removing overhanging branches from the sides of the trail.

Cristina, Jonah’s girlfriend at the time, and several others from the Bellingham coffeehouse crew came up to visit and camp with us on various occasions, and we made a couple of trips back to the city to replenish supplies and socialize, but had no more encounters with sasquatch in the Sauk River drainage. We did, however, have a somewhat more questionable and less up-close and personal possible encounter on the occasion of a little “trip” into the woods near Mount Baker on one weekend-off, and also experienced a few other amazing and anomalous incidents at our worksite, such as observing odd little blue lights in the swampy section of the trail which would dart through this darkened old growth section of the forest like tiny dancing stars, and chancing upon a sasquatch totem embossed on the burled trunk of an ancient tree.

The other possible “encounter” with sasquatch occurred on the occasion of a reggae festival held annually at the River Farm, a longstanding commune about twenty miles towards Mount Baker from Bellingham. We picked up a batch of the Stuart’s Coffeehouse crew on our way, and after arriving and wandering the festival grounds purchased a couple of ounces of boomers (shrooms, magic mushrooms, fungus of the genus Psilocybin, don’t ya’ know) and distributed these amongst our cohorts. After a while hanging out in the camper, we decided we wanted to wander in the woods to play and explore. Unfortunately, however, the forested area around the festival was off limits, so we agreed to take a little drive to a spot where Jonah and I had searched for chanterelles on an earlier occasion. I had personally only eaten a (relatively) small amount of fungus at this point, by the way, as I had the foresight to recognize I might have the need to get behind the wheel.

Once we arrived at our destination, our crew of nine hopped out and started to wander up the winding trail that led to the top of a heavily forested ridge. The first section of this trail was thickly wooded with willow thickets and various other deciduous trees and undergrowth, and as the ridge cut off the sun, the area was quite enveloped in shadows. We played amongst the thickets, and then found a circle of nine large trees where each of us took a seat, leaning against his or her chosen trunk. After several minutes of quiet meditation and intoning a group AUM or two, we again started meandering up the trail. Jonah and I decided this might be a good place to experiment with the sasquatch call we had heard and learned to imitate on the aforementioned occasion, and were much encouraged to do so by our companions. We took turns making the long wailing call, pursing our lips in a simian fashion as we did our best simulation of the sounds we’d heard a week or two before and a hundred-miles or so to the south.

We continued on the narrow pathway, and at the first switchback heard a most peculiar noise issuing from a bit beyond this turn in the trail and through an impenetrable thicket. Said odd sounds seemed somewhat like those made by cows, yet more like an imitation of cows than actual bovines. We all agreed on the unusual nature of this din in the dark forest, and I immediately recalled having read a book as a child that claimed sasquatch often imitate cattle “mooos” when traveling in a group to mask the noise of multiple massive and heavily laden feet treading upon the heavily littered forest floor. We continued past this first switchback and these “cows” seemed to be following our progress, a bit behind and upslope from our trajectory.

One of our crew decided to run up ahead to see if he might surprise our stealthy pursuers around the next switchback. He soon came barreling back down the trail to excitedly report that he had startled “something really big” that was bedded down up ahead. Jonah and I went ahead to check out the bedding area, and noted that indeed, something large had flattened a significant area of tall grasses. As we rejoined the rest of the trippers at the second switchback, the crew consensually concluded it was time to turn around and head back to the camper. Whatever was tagging along turned back towards the first switchback precisely when we did, always just out of sight and continually uttering off-tone bovine-like vocalizations. The family of big beasties had somehow continued to evade our gaze, leaving us with a mystery will never be solved.

Now I will admit, auditory hallucinations and distortions are part of the package when magic mushrooms are ingested. Nonetheless, a couple of significant facts caused me to believe it likely that what we were hearing were not four-legged domesticated bovines, but a tribe of sasquatch coming to our calls. First of all, cows are by no means stealthy—especially when in the numbers we heard, and can easily be approached even in the wildest of settings. Second, the fact that all of us agreed that what we were hearing sounded more like something pretending to be a herd of cattle than actual cows seemed to add weight to this assessment. Still, this “encounter” is obviously to be regarded as more suspect than the encounters Jonah and I had previously experienced for the simple fact that mushrooms do undeniably alter mental and sensory faculties.

After another day or two off Jonah and I returned to work in the Sauk River drainage. Cristina joined us for this stint in the wilderness, collecting conifer cones for seed to sell for a reforestation project of the Schwarz Wald in Germany whilst we worked on the trail, as there was a woman in Darrington paying fifty-bucks a burlap bag-full. During this span in the big woods, I was blessed to see one of the little blue lights Jonah had seen on a few occasions in the swamp just after sunset. Unlike fireflies, these lights were exceedingly fast fliers, and were not intermittent in their bioluminescent display. Said anomalous flying lights would only appear after deep darkness had fallen in this magical marsh, swiftly soaring in spiraling erratic patterns between the tall thick-trunked trees and ferns and devil’s club. The little light I observed zipped across the trail a few yards ahead as I was slowly making my way through the darker than night shadows under the old growth cedars, then performed some amazing aeronautical acrobatics, looping and spiraling away and deeper into the swamp.

Insofar as other encounters with suspected faeries, whether or not this adds any credence or context to the aforementioned account, once whilst engaged in shamanistic play with a group of friends from Laramie next to a pile of boulders known as Eagle Rock, a lovely sprite named Mandy laughingly led me to a bush from which sang something that sounded precisely like the flying faeries in the 70’s cartoon movie Wizards. Mandy also once dragged me into the women’s restroom at the Ranger Bar, led me into a stall and pulled her jeans down to display a large tattoo of a winged faerie on her thigh. I also believe I glimpsed one more Cascades faerie before we left this forest, out of the corner of one eye.

We soon finished cleaning this section of trail and moved on to another sight nearby. We remained at this second location for only a week or so, and then packed up to depart from the Sauk River drainage for good, as there was no more trail to clear. Of notable discoveries at this second site, Jonah and I happened upon a large forked tree that bore a massive burl about five feet in diameter on its trunk that bore a certain similitude to a primate’s face—and specifically rather resembling an orangutan’s visage—with two large symmetrical eyes, a continuous furrowed brow, and a decidedly simian mouth and chin clearly portrayed through the bark and burls of this totem tree.

On the day of our departure, I sat beside the river to chant and meditate and to say goodbye to the magical wilderness of the Cascade Mountains and to offer thanks to the kindly and playful creatures and spirits we had encountered amongst the ancient trees of the rain forest. I paused from my chanting to take some deep breaths and contemplate the wonder of this delightful and mystical place, perhaps a few tears of joy falling onto my cheeks, when out of the corner of my eye I spied something flying by a few feet to my right. Translucent lacy wings conveyed this tiny creature up and into the branches above, and I swear I saw two tiny human-like legs dangling from this flying form. Indeed the forest’s magic was seeming offering a parting appearance via said slight soaring emissary, responding to my grateful sentiments expresses in chants and pranam by offering a magical farewell, a gracious goodbye, conveyed from this ancient forest’s wondrous, wild and weird inhabitants to one merely open enough to see and believe.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

In Search of the Beloved (excerpt)

(Excerpt from Chapter 7 of Memories and Musings of a Post-Postmodern Nomadic Mystic Madman)

In Search of the Beloved

     Brightly colored veils were a blur, or was it my vision that was smudged by a rush of transcendent desire, elation elicited by this encounter sublime?  Entranced by rhythmic motions conveying transcendent love stories and mystical secrets superlative, beautiful bare belly and swaying hips expressing movements and vibrations as ancient as the first pangs of desire, those most primal longings that bring forth and maintain existence itself.  Shakti.  
     I remember rich purple, shimmering gold and soft pink—though I could be mistaken regarding the precise shades.  I remember beautiful dark locks of hair flowing like a night waterfall under an ocher moon, wistful brown eyes and sparkling visage expressing emotion in certain time with body’s certain movements, facial expression matching mood and motion, and breasts and belly and buttocks swaying and trembling so perfectly timed to the smallest increments of the drum’s beat.  
     Every muscle and curve and strand of hair and cloth and step and even breath seemed to move in such idyllic synchrony as one would expect only of a dream or psychedelic hallucination or Hollywood special effect.  And her laughter!  Her lovely laughter fell upon my ears like the peal of the perfectly tuned bells of an Himalayan shrine, like the sound of a mountain waterfall echoing off canyon walls, like the song of a spring breeze blowing o’er bright green spring leaves and bearing the scent of jasmine or lilac or apple blossoms, as melodic and genuine and pure as laughter can be.  She seemed unreal, beyond mortal, a Goddess, unapproachable, unavailable, and it seems, unforgettable.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Inside The National Rainbow Gathering (excerpt from Memories and Musings of a Post-Postmodern Nomadic Mystic Madman)

To offer a glimpse inside the mist-shrouded and mysterious camps of these many and variegated magical peoples who migrate to alternating states’ wild places each summer for this celebratory rendezvous: wander with me now, if your imagination will allow, down a mountainous dirt road, sometimes only one lane-wide. You’ll notice stone cairns denoting that you’re on the right track, else indicating where to turn. At main gate you’ll be met by someone or other likely wearing tie-dies and uttering the traditional greeting “Welcome Home,” and likely offering a hug and maybe a toke off a joint.

Between parking and the main meadow you may encounter “A-Camp,” the only place where alcohol is acceptable at a Rainbow Gathering (one of very few basic guidelines or “rules” at Rainbow Gatherings other than common decency and respect). This is certainly the least mellow fire-circle to sit around at night. Said group might be described as not unlike bikers without hogs to ride and who also happen to have heightened environmental consciences,6 else as gutter-punks who left the gutter behind for a seat by a rushing mountain river, but couldn’t yet leave the 40oz back in the city. Bus Village(s) are obviously located where there is viable parking, thus also towards the outskirts, and are often site of a veritable art exhibition with VW Bugs and Buses and even sailboats soldered atop old school buses, as well as other modern gypsy-style hippy wagons custom-designed and embellished as if the certain product of an intense acid trip.

After a mile or two hike towards the interior of the gathering, you’ll notice an increasing density of tents and hodgepodge campsites with Buddhist prayer-flags or tie-died tapestries bearing depictions of Hindu deities or Jimi Hendrix or a Grateful Dead bear or peace signs flying from tree branches. Music from distant drums or from a flutist making merry whilst wandering in a nearby field of flowers or spilling out from a guitar held tenderly by some brother or sister kickin’ it by a smoldering log or the din of some random crew crying out “We love you!!!” in order to elicit the same peace-cry from some other kitchen or fire-pit circle, else some likely synchronized combination of these sounds meets your ears as you get closer to main meadow.

Kitchens begin to appear randomly amidst the forest’s kaleidoscope camouflage, complete with cooking-fires, countertops built of woven sticks, and sometimes earthen-ovens to bake pizza or brownies for the masses. Community fire pits also increase alongside the trail, and all sorts of beautiful people start to manifest out of the forest greenery and the shadows of tall trees. Naked earth-goddess-mammas wearing only glittery body-paint and fairy-wings walk by, gazing at backpack-clad newcomers with exceedingly dilated pupils and blissful smiles as they offer the appropriate “Welcome Home,” and often offer a bare-breasted hug to whatever random homecoming hippie, male or female. Keep in mind, however, this is no free-love fest in the late-60’s sense, and respect and reverence accompanies the nakedness here, through and through. Adults and children play in the field and forest, and wild people in many states of dress and consciousness sit and dance ‘round wild drum circles that often last all night.

If you pass by Yoga Meadow, you might see a certified tai chi master giving lessons for free next to an Ashtanga yoga instructor, likewise teaching willing practitioners an ancient healing art for no charge. You would almost certainly hear chants of “Hare Krishna . . .” if you passed near the ISKCON tent (they make really tasty if over-sweetened Indian food, and pretty descent chai, by the way), hymns to Jesus if you happen by “Jesus Camp,” or perhaps pagan chants to Mother Earth or a Hebrew prayer or random (or synchronistically spoken) Sanskrit mantras issued from some circle or other within the greater circle of the gathering site.

Laughter and kind greetings and the smell of weed are in the air just about everywhere, and an overall harmony generally ensues in the midst of so much diversity. I’ve never yet heard of a skirmish between the Jesus-campers and Fairy-Camp (gay/lesbian camp) at a gathering, nor of any pitched battles between Serenity Ridge (an AA/Twelve-Step kitchen) and A-Camp.

I admit I have yet to see a Halal camp pop-up at such an event, though I once happened upon a Kosher camp called “Jerusalem Kitchen” at a National Rainbow Gathering. Indeed, I’d imagine there’d be a much better chance of peace in the Middle East if you sat Jerusalem Kitchen down with whatever Islamic crew might consent to come to a Rainbow Gathering—“Mecca-Camp,” maybe (yes, there is certainly such thing as a Muslim hippie). Simply fill a hookah with some good Lebanese hash and passed around some mushroom tea, and then let these peace-loving tree-huggers come up with the solution to the Palestinian/Israeli conflict. Else perhaps bring Israel’s Knesset together with the Palestinian National Assembly on a small tropical island and dose the falafel or matzo for a similar outcome—though likely with a higher dosage required.

In the somewhat-center of this site of several thousands camped together peacefully there is a large meadow with a “Peace-Pole” posted in the middle, symbolizing the central theme of these gatherings. Food is free here, though everybody’s s’pose to lend a hand where they can. Exchange of cash money is anathema here (unless to contribute to the “Magic Hat” fund for food and other necessities), and credit cards are not accepted. Trade-circle is the central marketplace, where blankets laid-out display hand-made drums, blown-glass pipes, hemp everything, tools and cool hippie clothes and chocolate bars—for trade only. Cannabis is the most stable currency (though that’s the case in the U.S. generally), weed is smoked freely and reverently everywhere, and psychedelic explorations are not discouraged—though drugs are not allowed.

Shanti-sena, or “peace-force” (à la Gandhi), made up of anyone and everyone at a gathering, keeps good order and deals fairly with conflicts. If any responsible adults happen to hear someone call out this Sanskrit mantra they are obliged to make a beeline to the scene of whatever conflict to help resolve, and might be noted that the mere intonation of these syllables is supposed to invoke peace. Nonetheless, the Fed’s can’t seem to stay away, sending in the LEO’s with firearms to harass the peaceful under the guise of “protect and serve.” These “forest-cops” with their side-arms are often told, generally politely, that we don’t much appreciate “guns in our church,” and these intruders are always preceded by calls of “Six-up!!!” to let others down the trail know they ought to extinguish and pocket all pipes and joints till the nuisance passes. Other Forest Service personnel who sometimes show up, biologists or botanists or water-quality surveyors and so forth, are generally received as less intrusive guests than the ones who think we need policing and who carry pistols into our peaceful assemblies and places of prayer.

I have actually heard of more than one “defection” from the Fed’s ranks to the freak-side. Indeed, I’ve been made privy to multiple reports of forest rangers deciding it wasn’t too late to “tune-in” and so forth, stripping off light-green uniforms and joining their long-lost family in a joyful reunion (often after having been offered a tiny piece of perforated paper or a chunk of chocolate covered fungus).

All in all, this rag-tag gathering of peaceful dissidents maintain a pretty tight ship, with no leaders and no designated or elected representatives, no centralized planning to speak of, and consensus as the primary “rule of order.” On the Fourth of July, upwards of twenty to fifty-thousand freaks stand in a massive circle round the “Peace-Pole” to utter the sacred syllable “AUM” (which is, by the way, the root of the Judeo-Christian “Amen,” and Muslim “Amin”—there is a subtly pronounced “ñ” at the end of AUM) intended to promote world peace and harmony.

By the time clean-up crew is gone, scarce a trace of these thousands is left to sully the wilderness scene, and even skeptical forestry bureaucrats and field agents are generally surprised that a bunch of pot smokers and trippers are so fucking conscientious and such responsible stewards of the land. No fire pit is left intact, shitters and compost holes are buried and concealed, trails unmade and reseeded with native seed, and every last trace of human habitation or litter is remediated or removed. You’d be hard-pressed to find even a single cigarette filter remaining amongst the natural forest floor debris by the time we’re all gone.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

The True Identity of Jesus Revealed: Avatar of Ayyappa the Protector of Created Beings

As this is perhaps the most pertinent issue I have determined to address, I decided I ought pen (type) a more complete and pleasantly penned composition than the previous post(s) addressing this issue, detailing why I have become convinced of such a paradigm shattering theory.  So here I present to you truth seekers a rather more detailed telling of why I have come to believe that Jesus Christ, more properly known as Jeshua ben Joseph, was in fact an Avatar (embodiment of the Divine) of Deva (God) Ayyappa, also known as Shasta and Aiyanar.  
It has been well enough noted and touted that there are many uncanny similarities between the Persons of Krishna and Christ.  A Quaker named Kersey Graves (1813-1883) compiled a list of some 346 elements in common between Krishna's story and Christ's story.  Indeed, none can reasonably deny that some of the analogies are quite convincing, not the least of which is the phonetic similarity of the names.  Nonetheless, something never quite seemed quite right with that attempt to tie those two purported God-men.  Though I believed that these connections were not without merit, I somehow had a sense they were NOT the same Dude.  Only fairly recently in my own spiritual pilgrimage did I come across accounts of the God named Ayyappa/Shasta, Son of Krishna/Vishnu (when He was manifest as a She) and Shiva, Son of God the Maintainer and God the Destroyer.  Almost immediately something in my intuition else rational faculties told me that Ayyappa was a very likely candidate for the more ancient and abiding identity of the person/Person called Jesus Christ.  Consider as you continue, especially if reading this from a Christian persective, that Jesus is touted to have said to his/His disciples, “I have sheep in other pastures . . .”
During my undergraduate years I was for a time a Southern Baptist preacher.  Though this might not seem a good starting place for a seeker of truth, it was in fact somewhat due to clues proffered by the mostly Southern Baptist professors at Oklahoma Baptist University that I began to question the dogmas of that faith.  Years later after I was introduced to the teachings of  sanAtana dharma I still felt that somehow Jesus was a legitimate expression of God and one who well enough presented and the teachings of eternity (quite literally, “sanAtana dharma”).  Ayyappa was the Person I was eventually drawn to that seemed to present a legitimate connection between my first religious impulses and the abiding truth of sanAtana dharma.  
Ayyappa/Shasta is indeed a unique Son of God, as the Christian title, “the only begotten Son of God,” does tout.  Vishnu (God the Maintainer, known as Krishna in His most popular form), this one time, did come to earth as a Woman in order to deal with a particular menace, a dangerous demon named Bhasmasura.  After Vishnu had defeated Bhasmasura, Shiva asked Him to show Himself again as Mohini, His female form.  Well, as Shiva is the essence of masculine virility, He ends up desiring the lovely and seductive Mohini.  They end up hooking up and Shiva empregnates Mohini/Vishnu with Ayyappa, also known as Shasta.  This certainly seems to fulfill the “only 'begotten' Son” scenario proffered by the Christian religion, and in fact does fit rather well with the “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” trinity of Christianity.  

I mean, if your Divine Mom is generally a Dude, what might you refer to Her/Him as?  Also of note in this guise, as Vishnu is the Paramatma, the aspect of God that dwells in everyone as Atman, God indwelling, then how would Jesus/Ayyappa refer to this Being if not as a “Holy Spirit?”  The first little clue, by the way, seems very likely to explain the rather confused masoginistic tendencies of Christians, even despite the New Testament statement that “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, neither man nor woman, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  

Thus, assuming my identification of said Persons as the same Being is legitimate, Jesus's real Mom (again, Mary was a surrogate mom) is generally a Dad, and is to whom Jesus was refering when He refered to “the Holy Spirit.”

Another Christian understanding of Jesus is that He was “the Word,” as their scripture says, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God, and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”  Ayyappa is very much associated with AUM, the Primal sound (which is almost certainly the origin of the Judeo-Christian “Amen”) another quite obvious correlation between Ayyappa and Jesus.  Yet another obvious similarity is that one of the most prominent stories about Ayyappa is that as Manikantan He healed a deaf and blind boy, as Jesus would later be said to have done.

"Upon completing his princely training and studies when he offered 'gurudakshina' or fee to his guru, the master aware of his divine power asked him for a blessing of sight and speech for his blind and dumb son. Manikantan placed his hand on the boy and the miracle happened."  (http://srinagaroo.blogspot.com/2013/04/lord-ayyappa.html?m=1)

Raising the dead is another miracle attributed to Ayyappa, as His name Lakshmanapranadata, which means Reviver of Lakshmana's Life, clearly indicates.  Indeed these many indications incline me to believe that the two mythological figures are the same Person, as they have such attributes in common.  

The similarities between Krishna and Christ might well be explained by the aforementioned theory, as well, as “the Son” was endeavoring to fill the roles of Krishna/Mohini (the Divine Mother of Ayyappa/Jesus) in His/Her absence.  Again, Shiva is “the Father” in this scenario.  

One last thought along this line of reason is that during the “missing years of Jesus” was when He went away to the east to learn from His Guru before returning to Palestine to teach.  Many other connecting factors wait to be unravelled with this identification of Jesus as Ayyappa in mind, factors which give clue to the history and dance and pilgrimage of peoples and the play of the gods and of God and Goddess throughout history and eternity.  

More from this researcher in later posts and in an upcoming book.  Please do feel free and encouraged to explore these strands, these potential clues, on your own, and if you come upon any connections of seeming significance please let me know by leaving a comment.


For a glimpse of His Divine Brothers' exploits, see 

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Liberation From Rent Serfdom: A National Renters Coop

In my musings and considerations of such things as shelter, if I'm not mistaken first considered whilst living on the streets and sometimes sleeping by the river in Chattanooga, habiting coffeehouses downtown, on the bluff and in the North Shore, I considered the absurdity and futility of so many young people who are trying to find their place after leaving family home, bouncing from city to city and throwing away thousands and thousands of dollars on rent before they might finally find a place to purchase a home.  I had myself sworn off rent for many years, preferring a mobile abode, whether an rv or a boat, to what I dubbed "rent serfdom," at least until I came back from a second rather harrowing and disheartening journey out east.  I might note, I'm soon to reembark on adventures in a mobile abode, again escaping "rent serfdom," but I though it pertinent to share a notion I had whilst considering this normative lot of young people, whether in the university, professional or service industry oriented or blue collar, and wondered if there might be a way for such young people (not to mention other more established renters) to cooperatively utilize their collective equity to purchase the apartment building they abide in that the moneys that would be profit for the land owner would go into a collective fund that would be invested in the sustainable and environmentally friendly improvements on the tenement and invested similarly, that after a certain period paying market rate rent the renter would be able to have the return of a certain percent of the rent paid over however many years, perhaps with dividends!

If this model might be successfully begun with a few reasonably sized apartment buildings or complexes, high rise tenements or such, the cooperative organization could then help other cooperatives to purchase their apartment building in other cities, with either a nationwide organization or agreements between coops that would allow individuals to carry their coop account, and that investment they have made with whatever portion of their rent moneys, with them to their new coop-tied apartment in another city.  There would certainly be an option to cash out after a certain period renting through the coop, and perhaps other ways to access said investment for other purposes.

Though I am quite illiterate regarding  the ways of finance, the basic idea is that if the profit received from a renter paying market rate rent is an investment rather than enriching corporations or tenement owners, the renters will thus have a nest egg upon the cessation of their lease, rather than starting from square one each time they move.  Though this is just a rough estimate, if someone pays say $50,000 on rent in a coop owned building over five years, they might have $10,000 or more they could take with them upon ceasing to be a coop renter, else could perhaps eventually purchase the apartment they abide in with the coop.

Obviously I haven't worked out the details insofar as either the financial or legal considerations, but it has occurred to me this means might be a way for people to be free from the cycles of "rent serfdom" and quit throwing their hard earned money to the wind.

PLEASE feel free to develop this idea and share it with others that such a means might manifest to empower our brothers and sisters, mamas and papas and others as they endeavor to make a go of it in this world of mobility.  

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

The Ramayana: Why is Ram such a jerk to Sita . . .?!

The Ramayana: Why is Ram such a jerk to Sita . . .?!

Though I've been turned on to the “Hindu” religion (more properly known as sanAtana dharma) since Shivaratri of 1997, I only recently purchased and perused a copy of one of the pinnacle sacred texts of said religion, the Ramayana. This epic tells of a King named Ram, who is in fact an incarnation of God, who loses His kingdom because of a jealous stepmother and then loses His wife to a demon king who kidnaps Her and takes Her across the sea to his kingdom Lanka (Sri Lanka). Ram battles many demons through the course of the story, and then with the help of the Monkey god Hanuman, Ram battles the demon king Ravana and then returns to rule His kingdom Ayodya.

A few things very much impressed me about the true tale told in the Ramayana, perhaps foremost (in a positive regard), that of the demons Rama slays through the course of the action, some find redemption delivered them through the wrath of God being exacted upon their hides. The first of these demons redirected towards dharma who find deliverance by Ram's wrath as mentioned in the tale told is the demon Mareecha.

Mareecha and Subhahu were a pair of huge and terrible demons who had desecrated the sacred fires and prayers and devotions of the sages at Vishwamitra's ashram. Ram and Lakshmana promised to protect the holy sages and their ashram, and laid in wait for the two vile demons to attack the sages. When they appeared, they looked like great hills of stone, hair red as blood and rotting flesh dripping from their claws. Rama and Lakshmana realized no ordinary arrows would fell these massive demons. Ram chanted a mantra Vishwamitra the great sage had taught Him, and His Manavastra weapon flew towards the demon Mareecha like lightning and thunder. The Manavastra struck Mareecha and conveyed him miles away and into the sea, where he sunk deep into the water and into the caves at the bottom of the sea, though to his surprise, Mareecha was still alive. Subhahu was readily slain and became but a pile of ashes.

Later in the story we discover that Mareecha had turned from his evil ways and was living as a hermit in a hut in the forest caring for the birds and animals. It turns out, Mareecha was uncle to Ravana, the villain of the story. Ravana comes to Mareecha to order him to disguise himself as a golden deer to help Ravana enact his plot to kidnap Sita. After attempting to disuade Ravana from his evil plan, Mareecha consents, recognizing it is his fate to be slain by the arrow of Rama. Mareecha does his duty and is indeed slain by Ram's arrow after leading Rama and His brother Lakshmana away from Sita, that Ravana might steal Her away to Lanka.

On another occasion, Rama and Sita and Lakshmana were wandering through the Dandaka forest, when a great and terrible demon came out of the forest covered with the entrails of dead animals and charged at them. Viradhha had blood dripping from his mouth and certainly stank of rot.

 Ram and Lakshmana flung many arrows at the raging demon, though none seemed to stay his rage until Ram aimed an arrow at the center of the demon's forehead, just above the brow. Rama placed His foot upon the throat of the fallen and dieing demon, when suddenly with a flash of light, the disgusting demon disappeared and a handsome young man with a kind visage rose from where the body had fallen.

The young man told Rama and Lakshmana that he had once been a Gandharva abiding in heaven, and had been cursed to become a demon living in the forest. Ram slaying him had freed him, and this angel freed from a curse soared away into the sky to assume his proper place singing and playing music in heaven. Gandharvah and Apsarasah are what in the Western religions are known as angels, the Gandharvah as heavenly musicians, and Apsarasah are flying nymphs who generally present themselves as chaste “angels” to the children of the Western traditions, due to the relative immaturity of most of those folks.

A third demon that Ram saves by savaging is a fellow named Kabandha, a rather curious demon who had his mouth in the center of his belly. Rama and Lakshmana slayed this foe, as they always did and do, and Kabandha said in a kind voice that he had been awaiting that day for years, cursed by Indra and Holy men for being a punk-ass, turning himself into an evil form to frighten people.

 A golden chariot drawn by six white horses appeared from the sky to convey Kabandha to heaven, though not before Kabandha tells Rama to seek Sugriva, the Chief of the Monkeys and thus directs Ram to Hanuman, the Monkey god, who both later help Rama to free Sita from Her bondage.

Indeed, from the account proffered in the Ramayana, it becomes apparent that sanAtana dharma, aka “Hinduism,” does offer a greater grace than the Abrahamic religions, as by performing their dharma even the demons can find redemption.

 What benificence!! What gracious and kind means this Divine!! Then why is Ram such a jerk to Sita, His purportedly beloved Wife, once He and Hanuman and the army of monkeys save Her from the clutches of Ravana?!
Upon Sita being rescued, She willing goes through the fire to prove Her purity and faithfulness to Ram, somewhat at His insistence. They return to Ayodya, and despite Sita having already proven Herself true, upon Ram's subjects calling Her into question Ram sends Sita away to live at the ashram of Valmiki, where She gives birth to Rama's Sons Cush and Luv.

What a jerk, right?!

Once Ram's servants, including Hanuman, come across the adolescent boys Cush and Luv in the forest, and are readily defeated by the scrappy boys, Ram goes into the forest with an army to confront these purported foes, and then discovers them to be His Sons.

 Though pleased to have found His Sons healthy and well trained and taught by Valmiki, and willing to take them to rule Ayodya with Him, Ram still refuses to take Sita back as His Wife and Divine Consort. Sita bows to Ram's will and apparent rejection, and chooses to return to Mother Earth from whnence She came.

WHAT A JERK!! Right?! After so many years of faithful devotion, and even after Ram's initial rejection, Sita still gives way to Ram's will, and returns to the earth from where She had emerged at Her infancy.

 What a jerk!!

 Lest you remember that said Divine Pair were for many lifetimes at play in love, and that They would return to earth as Radha and Krishna, again at play in their abiding love in the forest, as Radha, one of many Gopis, does follow Her Most Excellent Lover, pining after Him as He wanders the woods even as He's blessing so many other women with His loveplay, and again blessing Laksmi, Mother Earth and Goddess of Wealth and Beauty as She did manifest again to play with Her Beloved Vishnu.

Many lessons are taught in the Ramayana, if some require some patience and the surrender of notions of decency and propriety and what devotion means to discover. Among these lessons is that our life stories are not ever to be contained in one lifetime lived, as everyone's karma and dharma spans many lifes and many loves, even sometimes through very dispicible lifetimes and incarnations lived. Our dances with eachother and with “God” are to be read over lifetimes and in fact over the span of ages and eons . . . 


Wednesday, April 12, 2017


Devanagari letter I, as in the English personal pronoun . . . one of the most curious spells of modern history, truth be known.  The Devanagari letter and the sound it represents is one of Lalitha's names, Maha Shakti the Great Mother.  Lalitha is particularly known for Her playfulness . . . Every time somebody intones said personal pronoun they are invoking Her, not unlike when people cheer "Hooray!! Hoorah!!" they are invoking Hari-Hara" . . .
Consider how curvy ई is compared to the i and I . . . This might be indicative of the "Western" approach to "God," which the Abrahamic religions attempt to render as a monologic, "straight," figure, as opposed to the playful and variegated and multifaceted Divine presented in sanAtana dharma, a Divine that is real as we are real, not so easily delineated or readily inscribed . . .

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Ganesha and Kartikeya's Big Race (initial draft of a chapter for upcoming book)

Ganesha and Skanda's Race Around the World

One day as two of God's Sons were engaged in blissful play on Mount Kailash, and their Father Shiva suggested they have a race to settle a dispute over who might partake of the nectar of immortality. Not just a race to yonder mountain, nor merely a contest of normal childish proportions. These two of God's Sons determined to engage in a race around the whole world.

Kartikeya set out with all due haste with hopes of victory. More concrete minded in many respects than His Brother, Skanda set out to the west, across the sea to the southern part of Africa. Their he met the Zulu's and they recognized His Divinity by His radiant aura. They bowed themselves to the ground before this god who had come to them from the waters. Due to the passage of time and differences in pronunciation, the Zulu people now know Kartikeya as Unkulunkulu, and tout His birth in a bed of reeds by Umvelinqangi as their greatest day of celebration, the anniversary of the birth of their God. Kartikeya was born in a bed of reeds when His Father Shiva, full of all the male potency of the Universe, ejaculated whilst on the banks of the Ganges, and His seed floated into a bed of reeds whence Kartikeya was born.

In the meantime, Kartikeya's brother Ganesha sat pensively pondering His strategy. Skanda was fast, faster than Ganesha. One of Ganesha's names, Lambodara, betrayed His weekness, an enourmous belly!! In a fair fight, Ganesha could easily defeat his Brother, as none other than Their own Father Shiva had ever defeated Ganesha in single combat, but Ganesha was rather a heavy set boy and not the swiftest on His feet. Ganesha gladly received a meal from His Mother Parvati, and enjoyed the rice and lentil dal and reita that His Mother provided Her Big Boy as He pondered His strategy.

Kartikeya continued on His path, apparently north across the expanse of Africa. The young Skanda met and befriended many peoples along the way, and taught the tribes and civilizations along the way skills and technologies that transformed their lives mostly for the better. Skanda was born a warrior, and a leader of legions, and the peoples He encountered that embraced Him the most were often warrior peoples. It is likely due to their devotion to Unkulunkulu (Kartikeya) that the Zulus defeated the British in the battle of Isandlwana, the last major defeat of an army with modern armaments by people with “primitive” weapons. In the north of Europe, an entire nation was named after Skanda, as the ancient peoples there, precursors and likely ancestors to the Vikings, grew enamored of His teachings and the blessings in battle He did likely bestow upon Him, and thus still today this land is known as Scandinavia.  It may be that Alexander the Great had something to do with Skanda's meandering journey, as Alexander is "Iskandar" in many tongues, and thus telling that Alexander did get turned back when invading India.

Ganesha thought again of the race, and wondered if there was any possible means to yet defeat His Brother in the grand race. His Mother and Father were seated nearbye, relishing eachother's company and their conversation sounded like sweet song, more moving than any love ballad ever sung. Ganesha turned away shyly as His Mother leaned to lay a kiss upon He Beloved Husband Shiva's lips. Suddenly it came to Him, His Mother and Father, Parvati and Shiva, were in fact the whole world. Ganesha had no need to travel the whole of the globe in order to win this race! All He had need to so was run a leisurely circle around His Parents, and the race would be won. Ganesha missed His Brother, as Kartikeya was His best friend and favorite playmate, but He still wanted to win this contest. He stood, and then paced a circle around Parvati and Shiva, and thus won the “race around the world” whilst His Brother Kartikeya was still out on His path around the globe.

Kartikeya, also known as Skanda, had made His way across the Atlantic Ocean and had met many peoples who seemed very familiar. Kartikeya was surprised to discover that the peoples of these lands spoke in a tongue which shared many words with the people of His homeland. He taught many things to the peoples of the Americas, as these lands later came to be known. Kartikeya became known as Quetzalcoatl and Kulkulkan and many other names as He imparted teachings to the tribes He encountered. Whether or not Kartikeya would win the race around the world, whether or not He would defeat His Brother was becoming irrelevant, as Kartikeya had experienced so much beauty, both in the peoples and places he encountered along the way, vast deserts and wondrous jungles and grand mountains Skanda had explored.

By the time Kartikeya had reached the Americas He had fully grown into manhood, and wore a thick beard, an unusual feature to the beardless peoples he met amongst those later called American Indians. Thus it is Kulkulcan and Quetzalcoatl are depicted as bearded amongst the beardless...Kartikeya who'd came from across the sea, and indeed from across two oceans, the Indian and the Atlantic. Quetzalcoatl is associated with the “One Reed” cycle, according to the Aztec calendar, again alluding to Kartikeya's birth in a bed of reeds. An analogous deity to Quetzalcoatl in the America's is a god with the very Sanskrit sounding name Viracocha, rather phonetically nigh two of Kartikeya's names, Virasutaya (Eminent art Thou in the Universe) and Viraghnaya (Vanquisher of heroic opponents).

There might be some question as to the order of Kartikeya's journey, as the first depictions of Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent, are amongst the Olmecs, who many posit traveled to the Americas from Africa, and thus it might be Kartikeya spent time in northern Europe to inspire the appelation “Scandinavia” before He went to abide amongst the Zulus.

In the Pacific, Skanda appeared in a great ship when the Tihitians were battling the Hawaiians. He is touted in the Polynesian myth to have walked across the water to shore, and was received as god Rongo. Rongo taught peace to the Maori, healed people and discouraged them from sacrificing humans to Him, and offered them knowledge of the Kumara (sweet potato) as a substitute for the rampant cannibalism that had been a common practice. Kumara is one of Skanda's names as He is known in India.

When and how Kartikeya finished this race to finally arrive at Mount Kailash, this writer has yet to determine. It does seem likely, if not certain, that this grand “race around the world” may in fact describe the movements of peoples, metaphorically, though it is my belief that Kartikeya, His Brothers Ganesha and Ayyappa (who most Westerners know as Jesus Christ, by the way), their Sisters and Parents Shiva and Parvati (and in Ayyappa's case, Mohini/Vishnu), and the other Devas and Devis are real beings who sometimes manifest amongst the peoples of this world, living in real human history and often as those who make history.


Dedicated to my son, Kieran Drew Archer . . . and to Ganesha . . .

Monday, February 20, 2017

Ayyappa, Most Famously Known in Recent Centuries as Jesus . . .

Ayyappa, also known as Sastha (Mount Shasta?) shown seated between two of His Brothers, is the Son of God Shiva and Goddess/God Vishnu (Krishna sometimes comes as a Goddess named Mohini), and is the Protector of Created Beings. 

Jeshua ben Joseph (aka Jesus Christ), pictured with Krishna watching over Him, is said to have said "I have other sheep that are not of this fold..." (John 10:16) indicating He had followers other than Christians, and thus that He had lived other places/lifetimes.

Jeshua pictured with His real "Mother" Krishna looking over Him? 
The Virgin Mary thus the suitable surrogate mother to birth the Avatar of Ayyappa known as Jeshua ben Joseph?
Vishnu/Krishna (Who is Paramatma, the Supreme Self who is the source of Atman, God seeded in all beings, and Ayyappa's Mother) as "the Holy Spirit"??
Shiva as "The Father"? 

Ayyappa heals the blind:
Upon completing his princely training and studies when he offered 'gurudakshina' or fee to his guru, the master aware of his divine power asked him for a blessing of sight and speech for his blind and dumb son. Manikantan placed his hand on the boy and the miracle happened.  (http://srinagaroo.blogspot.com/2013/04/lord-ayyappa.html?m=1)

Ayyappa raises the dead:

One of Ayyappa's names is Lakshmanapranadata generally meaning Reviver of Lakshmana's Life,

Ayyappa Mantra

Bhootha natha Sadaananda
Sarva Bhootha daya Para
Raksha Raksha Maha Bhaago
Sastre thubhyam Namo Namaha

The protector of all created beings
Ever blissful and merciful to all
protect me, SASTA, prostrations
unto Thee Oh Great warrior !!!

Friday, February 17, 2017

Madman's Task revised . . .

A Madman's Task, But Somebody Gotta Tell The Truth

A madman's task, this. An errand knight's endeavor, a sorcerer's conjuring secrets from the depths of our memories ancient and sublime, stark and dark truths that do invert assumptions and paradigmatic presumptions proffered by the Official discourse; upending religious predispositions and spells spun to lull the minds of the people to sleep, disturbing those subtle taboos surreptitiously existing between the lines of discourse which somehow prevent us from seeing the obvious stories of history; challenging, in fact, assumptions of which end is up and which is down, in terms of the common paradigms proffered, and indeed challenging those constructions which purport to tell which way is to heaven and which to hell; and telling long obscured tales of collusion and subtle twists to the tales of the world's religions, where indeed true tellings of the politics of the gods and stories of transcendent passion and compassion often leave the truth sounding more like a puzzle or a riddle, a science fiction or fantasy rendering than what is supposed to be “real life.” This madman's task has seeming fallen upon this humble wanderer, this grad school dropout, this foolish dilettante, to deconstruct some of the pivotal points of the religious paradigms that are held by nigh half the world's peoples.
Indeed, for what I have come across in my studies and searchings has implications which overturn the array of world mythologies and world religion(s) as these stand in the minds of most, and thus has quite startling implications for culture and society as a whole. This only scarcely hidden story I have uncovered would/will/ought unravel the myth of “the West” as it is constructed, and present a quite inverted construction and mythic typology compared to the current, and if considered and critically examined shall likely inexorably alter the common cosmology of much of the world.
Essentially what I contend is that the Abrahamic religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam represent rather deliberate inversions or at least twisted versions of the religion of Abraham's ancestors, which I shall assert to be sanAtana dharma or “Hinduism.” Central to this lila, this rather absurd play, is the very construction of who and what is “God” and who or what is to be taken as the opposite of God by our collective and common mythological understandings.

These are facts no one affiliated with any of the religions involved would reasonably call into question:
-brahman is Sanskrit for the Universal Divine Being, and atman is that Divine Soul as is manifest in each.
-Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva are the Creator, Maintainer and Destroyer expressions of God according to sanAtana dharma (Hinduism).
-Buddhists generally taut abrahman and unatma, that is, they do not believe in God nor the seed of God already present in each and all.
-Abraham and Sarah and Hagar and their tribe originated from Ur of the Chaldese, the which has been determined to be in far southeast Iraq, rather near Indus Valley Civilization, which was in fact waning at the time Abraham is tauted by the Torah/Old Testament to have departed his homeland in Ur to venture to the west, somewhere around 1900 BCE.
-Brahma and Saraswati are the Creator and His Consort according to Hinduism. The Hakkar is a tributary river to the Saraswati River. Abraham and Sarah and Hagar sound rather like Brahma and Saraswati and Hakkar, likely too much for this to be mere coincidence.

-according to Judaism, “the Righteous” go to a place called Abraham's bosom or Sheol after they die to await Judgment Day. Sheol translates toHades” in Greek, i.e., “Hell.”
-The Hebrews worship Yahweh. (find purported origin of name)
-The Lord of Death and Hell in Hinduism is Yama, who was the first mortal to attain knowledge of brahman and thus became a Deva (a god) and was given charge for schooling other mortals not devoted to the Divine already, as well as charge over the underground Hell, supposing any mortal souls need such harsh schoolings as are therein proffered.
-The Horned God of Europe, who many have identified with the horned figure on the Indus Valley Seal or Pasupati, Protector of animals and souls, an ancient Avatar of Shiva, has served as the model for much of what has been constructed as “the Devil” in at least the Judeo-Christian lore (and also, I might note, in pop-culture inversions—or re-inversions—in their representations of the mischievous “Devil”).
I first had my questions regarding the heaven and hell of the Christian religion, and specifically the place the Hebrews calledSheolor the Bosom of Abraham, when or perhaps even before I was a Christian minister. I was not alarmed enough about the potential implications of that underground place as the holding place of righteous dead Jews (Huh? I thought the underground place some people go after they die is Hell?! Why does the Bible say that the Bosom of Abraham is “down?”) to give it a great deal of thought at the time, assuming perhaps that some theologians must have already worked that problem out at some point in the long history of the church. To spell it out for you, what I am thus contending is that Abraham's covenant of loyalty to Yahweh (i.e., Yama) was essentially the beginning of a grand inversion by which the Lord of Hell is being held up as God . . . and then the Being previously considered the Universal Divine Self was rendered “the Devil.”
I was also given clue to the importance of the connection between Abraham and Brahma, if rather as a warning than as a heads up, when I was attending Oklahoma Baptist University. A religion professor had been giving a lecture about Abraham and company traveling across southern Asia to settle in Palestine and the class was about to let out. Dr. Dawson then said, with rather an odd glint in his eyes,
“Now there may be those who tell you that Abraham is somehow connected to the Hindu god Brahma . . . but we know better than that, now don't we?!”
I resigned my ministry and largely ceased my affiliation with the Christian church before my last year in college at OBU largely as I had determined that what they taught is largely untrue, both in terms of their understanding of language and Divine truth and in terms of history, though I had no idea to what degree they were in err, if not covering up the truth of the story to bolster their spin. Again and most startlingly, it is actually their god that is the Lord of Hell. According to sanAtana dharma, those who are not otherwise devotees of brahman in whatever guise, via Shiva or Krishna or Parvati, etc., then Yama is in charge of their dharma/schooling. As the Abrahamites left the place and religion of their homeland in Ur and it seems from the name of their patriarch rejected brahman, they thus became attached to Yama as their Lord, and they called him Yahweh. The God of the “polytheistic” Hindus is actually the God of Abraham's forefathers, brahman, both and neither male and female, “God” to Abraham's forefathers.

Essentially, one might see the dispersion of people and specifically religions from India and from sanAtana dharma as a dialogue that is essentially the question “to Be or not to Be.” Buddhism tauts Nirvana, non-Being as they see it, as bliss, and Abrahman, no-God, as a philosophical hypothesis or supposition around which entire civilizations were built.

Though not so bold or forthright with their statement of the question or challenge to the established notion of brahman (nor perhaps generally much aware of this aspect of said root to their religions), the Abrahamic traditions nonetheless have been bound on that task to find means of interpreting the world without those more ancient and more abiding understandings of what this all is as expressed in brahman. It is as if Abraham and crew said, as they departed from Ur and the world according to sanAtana dharma, “If indeed, Abrahman (no “God” as we were taught) then what?” As would be predicted by sanAtana dharma, Yama becomes their Lord and the Deva (god) responsible for their dharma (schooling), again as alluded to by the place the Hebrews believe they go after death, the underground place they call Sheol or the Bosom of Abraham, and the name of their God “Yahweh” so phonetically nigh to “Yama.” If viewed from the broadest perspective, it is as if humanity is playing out the “question of God” or perhaps “To be or not to be . . .” in the play of peoples and nations, tribes and myths, experimenting with how whatever really is the truth will respond to the presentations proffered. A discursive play of words ordering the play of nations. At least as played out in the Abrahamic religions, the answer or apology proffered to that rejection of brahman is fitted to within the context of the religion they left behind, sanAtana dharma, still certainly prominent in the wandering tribe's constructions of reality after leaving behind Abraham's ancestors who “worshiped other gods” (Old Testament/Torah), and thus the “Hindu” Lord of Hell, Yama, becomes their God as “Yahweh.”

I suppose I ought to note that Muslims obviously do not worship Yahweh (Yama), but in fact seem to have unconsciously endeavored to return their devotions to the Gods of their ancient forefathers by worshiping “Allah,” a name rather starkly near the name AllA, an appellation attributed to Durga, Consort of Shiva, that means “Mother” in Sanskrit. The all important confession from the perspective of Islam is called one of the kalimas, again rather quite like another name of Shiva's Wife, Kali Ma (“Black Mama”). Ummah is the central tenet of Islam translates as “community.” Uma Himavati is yet another of the names of Shiva's Consort, a Woman the Upanishads tout as Brahman in Female Form. Before Mohamed, it might be argues that Arabia was essentially “Hindu.” One of Allah's Daughters', according to the pre-Islamic mythology, was named Manat. One of Shiva's three Daughters is named Manasa. By these evidences and many more, it appears that the cycles of the three Abrahamic religions rather succinctly follow, else are response to and despite their intentions bound to within the context of sanAtana dharma. The above information is among the many reasons I am a practitioner of yoga (translates as “yolk” and is root to said English word), a practitioner of sanAtana dharma, “keeping it together forever.”

In essence what I am proposing is a unified perspective of mythology and religion and culture and history that recognizes that many of the figures of various mythologies may well be/are actual conscious entities, else at least deserve consideration as something more than merely imaginary characters, indeed more than merely abiding and intrinsic archetypes. In order to adequately analyze a mythology's purport, one cannot approach without some faith in the reality of what you study, it's verity and that at some level and in some guise, its gods are real. With that in mind, what I would propose to do is to in some guise trace the play of the gods across recorded history. Exemplary of this would be examining relationship between the Hindu maya/Mahamaya and the Greek goddess Maya, daughter of Atlas according to said mythology. The relationship between Lalitha (Hindu tradition) and Lilith (Judeo-Christian lore) is another example of the tantalizing possible secrets of the Gods are there to be discovered, as are traces of Pasupati/Shiva on a cauldron found in Scandinavia, far away from Indus Valley Civilization as we know of it, thus identifying the Horned God of Europe with Shiva, not to mention the Baba Quiveri Indians along the border in Arizona who worshiped Bairabu and Viraseva, Bhairavi and Great God Shiva, etc.
Whether transmitted by social and cultural means available to the description of the social scientist or else manifest by esoteric and occulted and “supernatural” phenomena, these seeming lineages of mythology do indeed exist beyond mere coincidence. That these nigh cognates and such so soundly connect seeming disparate mythologies as traces in the narratives and plays of peoples and cultures, myths and religions and the play of the Gods/gods, is well enough evinced. Indeed evidence indicates the possibility of a continuous and contiguous plot that supersedes individual cultures and religions and civilizations and the rather narrow purview of most histories writ, and might discern the subtle discourse that tells history in terms of the mind(s) of God/the gods, whether they be merely us or no.

Dance of Dualism in the Kali Yuga
(Rough outline for book)

To Be or Not To Be : brahman or Abrahman
Yugas, Kalpas and the age of the Earth
Tropes and archetypes: Kali Ma and Gauri Ma myth and the Kali and Gauri Yuga, illusory dualims...
As Above so Below: tribes and nations representing/presenting various angles on that question, the play of peoples as God pondering, mind played out in matter, in intrigues of state and in everyday people's lives.
Buddhism touts Abrahman and unatma
Abrahamic religions indirectly posit or subtly posit the theory of Abrahman, represented in Abraham's departure from his homeland and the religion of his ancestors, who touted brahman.
Hebrew myth of Abraham meeting Yahweh to sacrifice Isaac is his meeting with Yama, as would be expected by the paradigm of Abraham's ancestors. Why else would the “bosom of Abraham” be underground?! Jeshua thus likely was an Avatar of Ayyappa, the Protector of Created Beings and Only Son of Shiva and Vishnu (i.e., when Vishnu was a Woman named Mohini) come to the Hebrews (Abrahamic/Abrahman touting people) to “save them” . . . from the error of the rhetorical position they play...? Islam a last ditch attempt to revive the Abrahamic/Abrahman thesis, calling on Kali Ma (kalima) and Uma Himavati (Ummah)... “Mommy!!!!”
Dispersion theory, and why European historiography rejected such, i.e., racism and sexual repression and fear of their own origins (thus they came up with the Aryan invasion myth)...

Dispersion of Indus Valley Civilization: The Race Between Ganesha and Skanda.
Northern Europe: Pasupati and the Horned God, Indus Valley Seal and Gundestrup Cauldron
American Indians
Zulus: Kartikeya and Unkulunkulu
Abrahamic religions
Buddhism, the question internalized

The Lila (Grand Play) of history in this age is a rhetorical question . . .
Responses to theodicy, “Good God, all-powerful, so why is there suffering

Dispersion of the thesis “to Be.”

Dispersion of the antithesis “not to Be.”
[The Panchen Lama on Mao Tse Tung (note the similarity represented in Judaism and their modern day Nebuchadnezzar, Hitler) . . .]

*The question is an oversimplified tension, a shallow binary dualism
Foucault on inescapable arrangement of power in binary arrangement of power

Derrida's “differánce” the solution

Tandava the cure for the delusion of dualism and is the truth that transcends it . . .

Shiva-Kali Ma are not opposites, despite One as “Effulgent” and the Other as “Black/Dark,” One a Male and One a Female, and are in fact the selfsame Self . . . Differánce Divine. Similarly, though there are overt differences Kali Ma and Gauri Ma, and metaphorically and otherwise the Kali Yuga and Gauri Yuga (the Golden Age in the midst of the Dark Age), these are not properly understood as opposites, but in fact are the Same and same when one sees beyond the veils of Maya. As Ma Gauri (“Golden”) emerges from Ma Kali (“Black/Dark”) and Both remain in essence the same Beautiful Goddess Mother of the Universe, so the Gauri Yuga in the midst of the Kali Yuga is in truth not so different nor in truth separate from the essence of the encompassing Kali Yuga. This truth of Advaita is indeed the saving grace might yet be found in this “Dark Age.”