(Sir William Russell Flint – The Girl with the Sickle)
Well, it looks like a move is coming soon, we bought a new webhosting package, and will be moving soon to the new addy. I will keep you posted. Morgan Miller and I will be sharing space on the new server, and more than likely collaborating on some new projects, so stay tuned.
Hung out last night with our friends Ed n Janice, as well as their friend Carol having mojitos’ and food late into the evening. lots of laughs and giggles.
Rowan finished up with his SAT test, and just bounded into the house. All quiet has now fled.
I talked to Tim from The West Cork Writers Group via Skype. Amazing really, to have this technology to communicate around the world!
More coming, though it may be in bits and bobs due to the move.
Blessings, Gwyllm
Sunny Afternoon
DMT and Hyperspace
Poetry From The Gaelic
The Kinks – A Well Respected Man
Artist: Sir William Russell Flint
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Sunny Afternoon….
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(Sir William Russell Flint – Waves)
DMT and Hyperspace
by Peter Meyer
In this section and the following one I shall present a view which
elaborates on interpretations 2, 6 and 7. This is speculation but
nevertheless provides a preliminary framework for steps toward an
understanding of what the use of DMT reveals to us.
The world of ordinary, common, experience has three spatial dimensions and
one temporal dimension, forming a place and time for the apparent
persistence of solid objects. Since this is a world of experience it
belongs more to experience than to being. The being, or ontological nature,
of this world may be quite different from what we experience it as.
Psychedelic experience strongly suggests that (as William James
hypothesized) ordinary experience is an island in a sea of possible modes
of consciousness. Under the influence of substances such as LSD and
psilocybin we venture outside of the world as commonly viewed and enter
spaces which may be very strange indeed. This happens as a result of
changing our brain chemistry. Why then should we not regard ordinary
experience too as a result of a particular mode of brain chemstry? Perhaps
the world of ordinary experience is not a faithful representation of
physical reality but rather is physical reality represented in the manner
of ordinary brain functioning. By taking this idea seriously we may free
our understanding of physical reality from the limitatons imposed by the
unthinking assumption that ordinary experience represents physical reality
as it is. In fact physical reality may be totally bizarre and quite unlike
anything we have thought it to be.
In his special theory of relativity, Albert Einstein demonstrated that the
physical world (the world that can be measured by physical instruments, but
is assumed to exist independently) is best understood as a four-dimensional
space whch may be separated into three spatial dimensions and one temporal
dimension in various ways, the particular separation depending on the
motion of a hypothetical observer. It seems that DMT releases one’s
consciousness from the ordinary experience of space and time and catapults
one into direct experience of a four-dimensional world. This explains the
feeling of incredulity which first-time users frequently report.
The DMT realm is described by some as “incredible,” “bizarre,”
“unbelievable,” and even “impossible,” and for many who have experienced it
these terms are not an exaggeration. These terms make sense if the world
experienced under DMT is a four-dimensional world experienced by a mind
which is trying to make sense of it in terms of its usual categories of
three-dimensional space and one-dimensional time. In the DMT state these
categories no longer apply to whatever it is that is being experienced.
Some persons report that it seems that in the DMT experience there is
information transfer of some sort. If so, and if this information is quite
unlike anything that we are used to dealing with (at least at a conscious
level), then is may be that the bizarre quality of the experience results
from attempting to impose categories of thought which are quite
inapplicable.
The space that one breaks through under the influence of a large dose of
DMT has been called “hyperspace” by Terence McKenna and Ralph Abraham and
by Gracie & Zarkov. I suggest that hyperspace is an experience of physical
reality which is “closer” to it (or less mediated) than is our ordinary
experience. In hyperspace one has direct experience of the
four-dimensionality of physical reality.
Parenthetically we may note a mildly interesting case of historical
anticipation. In 1897 one H.C. Geppinger published a book entitled DMT:
Dimensional Motion Times, Development and Application (reprinted Wiiley,
1955), an appropriate title for our current subject. However, he was, of
course, quite unaware of what the initials “DMT” would later come to mean.
When reflecting upon his mescaline experiences Aldous Huxley suggested that
there was something, which he called “Mind-at-Large,” which was filtered by
the ordinary functioning of the human brain to produce ordinary experience.
One may view the human body and the human nervous system as a cybernetic
system for constructing a stable representation of a world of enduring
objects which are able to interact in ways that we are familiar with from
our ordinary experience. This is analogous to a computer’s production of a
stable video display — for even a simple blinking cursor requires
complicated coordination of underlyng physical processes to make it happen.
In a sense we are (or at least may be thought of as) biological computers
whose typical output is the world of everyday reality (as we experience
it). When our biocomputational processes are modified by strange chemicals
we have the opportunity to view the reality underlying ordinary experience
in an entirely new way.
Einstein’s four-dimensional space-time may thus turn out to be not merely a
flux of energetic point-events but to be (or to be contained in a
higher-dimensional space which is) at least as organized as our ordinary
world and which contains intelligent, communcating beings capable of
interacting wth us. As Hamlet remarked to his Aristotelian tutor, following
an encounter with a dead soul (his deceased father), “There are more things
in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Should we be surprised to find that there are more intelligent,
communicating, beings in the higher-dimensional reality underlying our
ordinary experience than we find within that experience?
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The “elves”
Hyperspace, as it is revealed by DMT (revealed to some, anyway) appears to
be full of personal entities. They are non-physical in the sense that they
are not objects in the three-dimensional space to which we are accustomed.
Some of the beings encountered in the DMT state may once have been living
humans, but perhaps such “dead souls” are in the minority among the
intelligent beings in that realm.
In his classic The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries, W.Y. Evans-Wentz
recorded many tales provided to him by local people of encounters with
beings, variously called fairies, elves, the wee folk, the good people, the
gentry, the Sidhe, the Tuatha De Danann, etc., who inhabit a realm normally
beyond our ken. The belief in this order of beings was firm among the
Celtic peoples of Britain and France at the time Evans-Wentz conducted his
studies (c. 1900), but has since been largely supplanted by the beliefs
instilled in the public by the rise of materialistic science and
technology. Evans-Wentz collected numerous reports of elf-sigting, such as
the following (which is part of an account given by a member of the Lower
House of the Manx Parliament):
…I looked across the river and saw a circle of supernatural
light, which I have now come to regard as the “astral light” or
the light of Nature, as it is called by mystics, and in which
spirits become visible… [I]nto this space, and the circle of
light, from the surrounding sides apparently, I saw come in twos
and threes a great crowd of little beings smaller than Tom Thumb
and his wife. All of them, who appeared like soldiers, were
dressed in red. They moved back and forth amid the circle of
light, as they formed into order like troops drilling (pg.113)
Reviewing his data, Evans-Wentz writes:
We seem, in fact, to have arrived at a point in our long
investigations where we can postulate scientifically, on the
showing of the data of psychical research, the existence of such
invisible intelligences as gods, genii, daemons, all kinds of
true fairies, and disembodied [i.e., deceased] men. (pg.481)
He then goes on to quote an earlier researcher:
Either it is we who produce these phenomena [which, says
Evans-Wentz, is unreasonable] or it is spirits. But mark this
well: these spirits are not necessarily the souls of the dead;
for other kinds of spiritual beings may exist, and space may be
full of them without our ever knowing anything about it, except
under unusual circumstances [such as a sudden change in brain
chemistry]. Do we not find in the different ancient literatures,
demons, angels, gnomes, goblins, sprites, spectres, elementals,
etc? Perhaps these legends are not without some foundation in
fact. (Flammarion, quoted at Pg.481)
Evans-Wentz concludes (pg.490) that a realm of discarnate, intelligent
forces known as fairies, elves, etc., exists “as a supernormal state of
consciousness into which men and women may enter temporarily in dreams,
trances, or in various ecstatic conditions,” such as, we may add, the
condition produced by smoking DMT.
I suggest that the fairie world studied by Evans-Wentz and the objective
space into which one may enter under the influence of DMT are the same.
From Psychedelic Monographs and Essays #6, p50
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Poetry From The Gaelic….
(a favourite poem starts this selection, that I have shared before…. I hope you enjoy! G)
Time, the deer, is in the Wood of Hallaig
-Sorley Maclean
The window is nailed and boarded
through which I saw the West
and my love is at the Burn of Hallaig,
a birch tree, and she has always been
between Inver and Milk Hollow,
here and there about Baile-chuirn:
she is a birch, a hazel,
a straight slender young rowan.
In Screapadal of my people,
where Norman and Big Hector were,
their daughters and their sons are a wood
going up beside the stream.
Proud tonight the pine cocks
crowing on the top of Cnoc an Ra,
straight their backs in the moonlight
they are not the wood I love.
I will wait for the birch wood
until it comes up by the Cairn,
until the whole ridge from Beinn na Lice
will be under its shade.
If it does not, I will go down to Hallaig,
to the sabbath of the dead,
where the people are frequenting,
every single generation gone.
They are still in Hallaig,
Macleans and Macleods,
All who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:
the dead have been seen alive
the men lying on the green
at the end of every house that was,
the girls a wood of birches,
straight their backs, bent their heads.
Between the Leac and Fearns
the road is under mild moss
and the girls in silent bands
go to Clachan as in the beginning.
And return from Clachan,
from Suisnish and the land of the living;
Each one young and light stepping,
without the heartbreak of the tale.
From the Burn of Fearns to the raised beach
that is clear in the mystery of the hills,
there is only the congregation of the girls
keeping up the endless walk,
coming back to Hallaig in the evening,
in the dumb living twilight,
filling the steep slopes,
their laughter in my ears a mist,
and their beauty a film on my heart
before the dimness comes on the kyles,
and when the sun goes down behind Dun Cana
a vehement bullet will come from the gun of Love;
and will strike the deer that goes dizzily,
sniffing at the grass-grown ruined homes;
his eye will freeze in the wood;
his blood will not be traced while I live.
—
Be As A Tree…
Martin O’ Dierain
Man who makes poems,
Keep back their true import,
Conceal by three
Be as a tree,
Gather in all thats known,
Man who makes poems,
Dont stir, dont bend
Before this present tempest.
Stay steady,
Unswaying,
Watching the weather
Until the right day.
Let the wind disarray,
Maker of lays,
All your outer foliage;
Your trunk dont budge.
A tree is alone
In the woods midst,
Among people a poet
Above all is loneliest.
A tree is steadfast
In its portion of land,
Poet, set yourself, man,
Take a stand!
Save your frame,
Gather your knowing,
Focus in every way
Prepared for the poem.
Maker of poems,
You are half womanly,
Be male, be whole,
Be as a tree.
—
All That Came In That One Coracle
Aonghas Dubh MacNeacail
cast every stone to the ground,
let the weeds grow wild
theres a breath remains in the earth
still the tongue with force,
keep the mind oppressed
the body will not be a corpse
every current
will carry a vessel
put a seed, like memory,
into the vessel
like the breath of a people
in the vessel
carrying a home
in the vessel
from high derry
of tenacious oaks
a seed-candle came
in the slender coracle
a dove was vessel
for the seed
that came across
the bald-browed sea
that seed burst out
on slope and lawn,
its green green leaves
like a dancer, bold
that was the stream
spread through the land
a peoples words
went through the land
the power of knowledge
went through the land
the leaves of knowledge
through every land
and though the light
had lost its peak,
in the grey mist trail
of the black black flame
of empire states,
the seeds cargo
flowed underground
the smallest threads
of flowing veins
kept the fluid voice
through a cave of pain,
the unquenchable voice
sang a nursing sun
for the bloom of light
and did you count,
bold dove,
in your slender ship of skin,
the leanest days
that fell on us
since you sailed out
across the moil, with
your great embroidered book
wrapped in your language,
impenetrable shield
against devastation
and though the shepherd went,
though the ploughman left,
this ruin remained, like a husk
awaiting its seed
and see, over here, between
birch wood and salmon sea,
all the glass and stone
rising like new blossoms,
the golden light of next year,
fort of hopes, fort of promise
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The Kinks – A Well Respected Man
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(Sir William Russell Flint – Madamoiselle Sophie)
