Well, I have to say, Damien Echols gave me a boost in the … er, well, he gave me some inspiration, as far as this project went.
Naturally, when three cub scouts turned up dead in that small pitiful town, all official eyes swiveled towards Damien and his best friend Jason Baldwin, who had nothing whatsoever to do with the crime. That was irrelevant, according to the Puritanical Salem Witch hunters of West Memphis. Thanks to a coerced confession out of a third teen with an IQ of 72 – a teen who obviously knew nothing about the case and was merely repeating what the police wanted him to say – by an incredibly corrupt and hopelessly incompetent West Memphis Police Force, (and thanks also to an evil and hopelessly corrupt judge), Jason ended up sentenced to life without parole, and Damien ended up on Death Row without a shred of physical evidence against either one of them. Were it not for an HBO film crew who caught this backwater explosion of appalling nitwitted evil stupidity on film, Echols would have been dead by now.
They are, thankfully, both quite alive and now free (see previous entry), thanks to an outpouring of intense revulsion directed at the State of Arkansas by practically the entire planet, after that film aired. And you know when even the drug lords of Columbia, South America are nauseated by the actions of Arkansas officials, things have gone pretty far afield. Particularly when the residents reward such appalling corruption by sending the key perpetrator – see evil and hopelessly corrupt judge, above -- off to the U.S. Senate. (See Senator David Burnett, Senator from Arkansas. And then people wonder what’s wrong with Washington, D.C. Look no further. He is still protecting his own corrupt hindquarters by sending minions – mostly women - off to post anti-West Memphis Three sentiments on message boards to this day. The guy needs help.) Then there’s another batch of obsessive women who so desperately want to see Damien back behind bars you’d think he turned them down for the high school prom or left them at the altar. Hell hath no fury and all that …
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| Damien Echols and wife, Lorri Davis Echols |
After a very brief stint of understandable self-pity, Echols pulled himself together. Got married. And what emerged into the sunlight not all that long ago was an enormously creative and spiritual man who had spent nearly twenty years educating himself, studying, writing journals, writing and publishing an autobiography, writing lyrics and short stories and gathering to himself a huge body of supporters, readers and admirers. (Not to mention the supporters who helped to finance the DNA analysis which proved that none of the three teenagers were anywhere near the crime scene.)
For me, he was basically “Mr. Signpost”! I was ambling in one direction; came to a crook in the road, was cheerfully sideswiped by Damien Echols one morning in August and ended up pointed in a relatively different direction altogether. My very own Carl Frost moment, minus the snow.
As you’ll recall (or probably you won’t, so I’ll remind you), everything had stopped at the “write your negative thoughts down on small scraps of paper and burn them” instructions. I still have a metal mixing bowl sitting on my dining room table with small scraps of paper in them. I had so little faith in my own luck and so MUCH faith in my own clumsiness, I just didn’t want to start a fire in a bowl in my apartment; and have been seriously dragging my feet since then. In fact, it’s been so long, I can’t even remember what I wrote on those scraps of paper, and ought to open them and read them one of these days.
One way Damien sent me flying off in another direction was by mentioning Michelle Belanger in one of his journal entries. I didn’t realize I already was (vaguely) familiar with her until I’d already taken his lead and ordered one of her books. From there, I logged onto her website and uttered the somewhat insulting, “Hey, that’s the chick from Paranormal State!” Which is true, but she probably could have gone without being identified as a “chick”. Oh well, too late now.
Michelle had written several books, one of which is entitled Psychic Dreamwalking. If I’m not mistaken, I have had a few (and far between) experiences of becoming conscious while dreaming, if only for a micro-second. As I read her book, I began to suspect the experiences I had weren’t episodes of "dreamwalking", I suspect they were episodes of "lucid dreaming" – moments of being aware that you are dreaming while you are still in the middle of the dream.
At the same time, I had begun re-reading anthropological articles and books about the ten days of the Eleusinian Mysteries, which occur right around the time of the Autumn Equinox. Why I was doing that, I will explain momentarily. Nothing I read divulged the true Mystery of the Mysteries, because in those days people could die for releasing any of those secrets or mysteries, and it must have been a believable threat because no one did.
The Greeks must have had one hell of a “Homeland Security” system in place to scare that many people into silence for that long. Or … here’s my suspicion: the awe inspiring Goddess Demeter is … wait for it … REAL!!! … and people protected her secrets out of love for 2000 years until the Southern Baptists of Arkansas showed up and murdered everybody! Hmmmmm. Things to think about.
Anyway, I knew all about the theory of the ergot on the barley causing hallucinations after initiates drank the kykeon, but I also knew all of the arguments AGAINST the ergot on the barley: (a) if that was all it was behind the Mysteries, people would be recreating the Mysteries at home, and didn't, and (b) all of the women initiates would be spontaneously losing infants all over the place, because it causes all sorts of horrible side effects. And how did the awesome huge jet of flame go flaring up into the sky over Eleusis? This was Ancient Greece. Flame throwers weren't around, and no one has found pockets of gas under the town. People would have noticed initiates erecting a huge pine tree and setting the top of it on fire, so I’m pretty sure THAT didn’t happen … someone would have mentioned it and didn’t. I found myself thinking, "Wow, I wish I could have been an initiate in those Mysteries to see what really happened ..."
And then, all of a sudden it occurred to me: [insert "Eureka!" music they always throw into cartoons when a light bulb goes on above some character’s head] Hey! Is it possible to dream walk into the past, into history?
And speaking of which, why is it that winnowing baskets – the same baskets the initiates carried into the Eleusinian cave as part of the initiation - all looked the same no matter where on the globe they were created? Like, how is it that the Ojibwa winnowing baskets in North America look the same as African winnowing baskets, before 1492? Or did they start looking the same after 1492? More importantly, do I get an award for the most irrelevant question set in the middle of a paragraph of 2011? Yes? WOO-HOOO!!!
But I digress. Belanger didn't discuss dreamwalking into the past - only how to pass along important messages, how to have sex in the dream space (well, that would cut down on wear and tear on the sheets, I guess), and most importantly, how to always ask permission first, or you could scare the *&^%$ out of someone, dreamwalking in on them when they weren't expecting it - but nothing about dreamwalking into history.
Trying to figure out what the difference between dreamwalking and lucid dreaming was, I also went and bought Mark McElroy’s Lucid Dreaming for Beginners. In answer to the question of the benefits of lucid dreaming, he says, “Live your fantasies … visit third century Rome. Go sky diving – without a parachute. Give yourself magic powers. Buy everything your heart desires. Meet your favorite celebrity. Heck, seduce your favorite celebrity! …)”
Ohhh-kay. On one hand, visiting third century Rome was closer to what I was seeking - the Eleusinian Mysteries went on for 2,000 years and so started waaaaay back in Greek history - but no, on the other hand, this really isn’t what I was hoping for. Exception: seducing your favorite celebrity? Helllllo, Viggo Mortensen!! No, wait. Hellllllo, Gil Birmingham! No, wait. Helllllo, Stephen Bowman! No, wait … (just kidding!) This sounded like an interaction with your own imagination, not dreamwalking.
Using Viggo Mortensen as an example, would the real Viggo Mortensen wake up the next morning and wonder who that ravishing succubus (humble, aren’t I?) was that he was boinking all night in his dreams? Not likely, as I would have been interacting with my imaginary version of Viggo Mortensen, not the real thing. I think we’re still discussing dream walking, not lucid dreaming.
Speaking of succubi, this raised another question I couldn’t find an answer to. Why is it always assumed that succubi and their male counterparts (incubus-es? incubi?) are demons? You come across people raising the question in all sincerity on Ask.com and getting answers from even more annoying church ladies (or maybe they're the same ones from Arkansas) with withered-up and desiccated nether regions protected by sterile granny panties, and sniggering prepubescent boys trying to play “Skeptic”.
No one ever answers the simple question. Why the assumption of evil? Are they just passing along old wives’ tales? Has anyone ever seen one? Why assume they’re evil? Because they think sex is evil? Why do Westerners (translation: Christians) automatically think sex is evil? Too many people in this world just don’t question their own assumptions. Bottom line: why aren’t succubi/incubi merely spirits who enjoy the activity for what it is? More importantly, does this count as yet another completely irrelevant question in the middle of a paragraph? Yes? WOO-HOOO! Twice in one entry! And where is Damien Echols when you need an answer to something??? The guy is supposed to be really smart after all that self-disciplined studying he did for the last 20 years. Oh, right, I think he’s in New Zealand. (*sigh*) Someone tell Peter Jackson to quit showing him “Lord of the Ring Outtakes” and shove this question under his nose!
THE DAYBOOK
Back many, many years ago I had started a Day Book. There is (or was) a witchy little shop I loved, on East 9th Street in the Village, Enchantments, where I went through Wicca 101. Another reason why, when I read about Damien, I thought, “Thank goodness I lived in New York”, where they tend not to arrest you and throw you on Death Row for going to Wicca 101 classes.
If you ever find the store, not only is it the best-smelling store on the planet, they have the coolest stone carving of the “Green Man” hanging from the wall in the back of their tiny garden; something you never expect to find in lower Manhattan.
Anyway, I’d started the Day Book back in the Enchantments days, in lieu of a Book of Shadows (the book where witches are supposed to keep their spells and recipes) since I was pretty green around the gills (much like Elphaba) and had no spells or witchy recipes to record, beyond the usual, “Oops, I just accidentally set fire to the kitchen …”, or “Darn, I just blew up another cauldron.”
I was not a talented Wicca student in those days. Or these days either. Ever seen those funny Halloween decorations of a witch who has just crashed into a tree on her broomstick? That would have been me for real.
As it was, I went through the course, enjoyed it for the most part, made some new friends and then forgot about it until now. I’d also forgotten I still had that Day Book and spent an entire evening searching for it, hoping to start making entries again – I didn’t even expect to find it, but I did.
Anyway, the reason I’d pulled the Day Book back out again was to record one of the most beautiful examples of lyrical prose I’d ever read. Damien had written:
“On August 31st I’ll sit up all night long to see September in. At midnight she’ll begin to stir and stretch. When September opens her eyes I’ll be the first thing she sees.”
I absolutely loved that when I first read it. Now HERE was a guy who definitely should have been born and raised in the northeast instead of Arkansas; we are definitely a part of the country that makes a big colorful to-do about Autumn and fall leaves. But back to my dream-walking into history idea, I may be closer to being able to do that than you might think! Check this out!
The good news of the week is:
"Particles shot from European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN) labs near Geneva, Switzerland to Gran Sasso, Italy, reportedly surpassed the speed of light by 60 billionths of a second. The experiment was part of OPERA, a project designed to test the oscillation of small particles called neutrinos." (URL: http://marquettetribune.org/2011/09/27/news/speed-of-light-comes-to-halt/)
“The report has sent scientists into a tizzy because "a particle traveling faster than the speed of light would violate causality. In other words, an event can have an effect on an earlier event," Michael Witherell, vice chancellor for research at the University of California, Santa Barbara, physics department, told TechNewsWorld. Though the difference of speed compared to light is small, it could challenge the entire law of physics, open up the possibility of time travel and play havoc with longstanding notions of cause and effect. A lot of science-fiction stories are based on the concept that if the light-speed barrier can be overcome, time travel might theoretically become possible." (URL: http://www.ibtimes.com/articles/219577/20110925/particles-faster-than-light-neutrinos-opera-cern-einstein-s-theory.htm)
So, either (a) we've just discovered warp drive and can act out "Star Trek" for real, or (b) we can go backwards in time (yay! I want a ticket for THAT ride!) OR – (c) the Swiss miscalculated and their findings are incorrect. But think about it ... the Swiss miscalculating??? Come on - Just not possible. I'm leaning towards time travel. Or … well, okay … being a Ferengi might be fun for a day, too. :) And the really sad news was that most American media sources thought the idiotic Republican candidate squabble for president was more important than this news story!!??? I don't get it. Most exciting scientific news story in the last 100 years and it ended up mostly on the back pages. Unbelievable.
More URL’s:
So … the Daybook was something like this: if you were Hindu, this is what you might have posted on October 1st: that being the first day of the Festival celebrating Durga, the personification of the active side of the divine “shakti” energy of Lord Shiva, the ferocious protector of the righteous, and destroyer of evil. Durga is usually portrayed as riding a lion, and carrying weapons in her many arms.” So … for my Daybook entry on October 1st, I would record everything I could find about Durga, perhaps her picture, and some ideas as to how to celebrate her festival next year, (And yes, I agree with you, that graphic above DOES look like “I Dream of Jeannie” when she’s inside the bottle.)
Whle I was recording that, I made another brilliant discovery (I am learning the strangest things lately, thanks to that kid from Arkansas): why does frankincense smell like … cloves and anise and grapefruit? And what IS frankincense? (Pitter, patter of feet to “Google”): Hmmm. Resin of the Boswellia tree. Obtained by slashing the tree. Over harvesting is endangering trees. (blink) (gasp) They slash a tree for it???? The poor trees! Oh, lovely. Frankincense going the way of the American buffalo because human beings are so greedy and stupid.
Why Women Who Don’t Know Their Roots Should Never Make Daybooks: So I was over at Whole Foods. Reason: one of the root recipes for harvest time I recorded many, many years ago required burdock root, which I’ve never tasted, as I had no idea what it was, what it looked like or where you’d buy any. Only that it was supposedly very good for you. Someone said they’d seen some at Whole Foods, so off I went. 
Produce packed in the stands very tightly together, so I picked up something that looked like it might be a root only to discover it was actually a radish, although it sure didn’t look like the small red, round radishes I was familiar with. Long, white, huge – looked like an albino carrot on a diet of excessive growth hormones. But since I’d picked it up already … I had to buy it, and was now stuck with daikon – a Japanese radish. A rather costly mistake. Had no idea what those tasted like, either. Never even heard of it. Brought it home, scrubbed it off, cut off a slice … {chomp!} … {chew, chew, chew} … {pause} …. {face turns bright red} …. {insert sound effect of five-alarm fire bell at local firehouse} … OH, JUST KILL ME RIGHT NOW! Like I don’t have enough body parts catching fire at the moment. (See knee socks of fire, previous entry somewhere)
Bottom line: if you love torturing yourself with really spicy stuff, try one of those, you’ll love it.
* *Apparently, cooking them reduces/eliminates the bite. Grated a root, added half a Bermuda onion and garlic, egg, bread crumbs added some spices and made some decent patties out of it – like those grated potato pancakes. Fried it up in olive oil. Not bad at all. Another recipe for the Day Book, October 1st, still celebrating the Autumnal Equinox!
Next entry: what all of this has to do with my Search for My Soul Mate!
Next entry: what all of this has to do with my Search for My Soul Mate!
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