Initiation In Immortality...
In the summer of 1978 the brakes in our van failed on highway 101 north of San Francisco.
We were heading out to Stinson Beach when the brakes began to feel a bit mushy.
We debated with our friends about proceeding or returning home, finally convincing everyone we should return to San Francisco while the brakes were still operable.
When the brakes failed we were going down a very long moderate grade, accelerating at about 60 mph. The road far ahead turned sharply to the left and then to the right, if we missed the first turn we would end up in someone's living room, if we missed the second turn we would go over the edge of a long steep drop.
Our friend from France, Alain, a truckdriver, panicked and pulled on the parking brake so hard he ripped it loose. He then reached around us and attempted to speed shift into a lower gear telling us when to operate the clutch. We could not get back in gear so we had no option but to continue accelerating.
We were reaching 80 mph as we approached a steep road that ran down the mountainside on our right to meet the highway at an acute angle of about 80 degrees.
This would be our only chance to survive, if we could get onto that road and use the steep hill to slow us down.
The highway in those days was only two lanes each way, undivided at the intersection.
Miraculously there was no traffic; we swerved into the far left lane on the other side and back around across all four lanes giving us the widest possible turning radius to avoid rolling the van.
The van began to roll as we climbed into the sharp turn; we let out the wheel to keep balanced but this made us collide with a high curb that threw our van into the air absorbing some of our momentum.
We landed on all four wheels in soft earth, rolling to a gentle stop at the very top of a small grassy hill, our momentum completely spent, with nowhere further to go but downhill in all directions.
A miraclous event!
We all died in that event in several horrific crashes; it took four 'retries' to find that miraculous avenue of escape that enabled us all to survive.
We were only vaguely familiar with dying and returning to life in this fashion, we were still blocking out most of our childhood memories about death, memories that undoubtedly helped us to unconsciously understand what was going on each time we died and returned from death unharmed.
Our friends were less well prepared for their experiences than we were, what they may have remembered in that wild ride we do not know. We remember dying three times before finding our way to the solution of the equation between gravity and our hurtling van that worked.
Our friend Harry had departed San Francisco, after introducing us to his brother Peter.
Each of our friends on that fateful drive to Stinson Beach had also departed, each going their separate ways once it was certain we could not afford to repair the van and resume our journey together.
Shortly before our brakes failed we had taken a job with Metrom Builders in San Francisco.
We were bunking with two new friends from our new job, Hector and Borrego, in a house they were rehabiliting for Metrom on their own time in trade for being allowed to use the house to live in.
We were returning home to Hector and Borrego’s house from Harry’s brother’s house, a sort of church or temple. Harry’s brother was a cleric os some sort in the Order of Man.
Brohter Peter had given us a bag half full of blessed fruits.
We wound up on the Upper Haight, having gone a bit of a long way out of our way. We were headed home, passing the doorway to the Haight Free Clinic on corner of Clayton Street where Clayton meets Haight, when we heard someone in the shadows of the clinic's recessed doorway cough.
We turned off of Haight street to see who it might be and to offer them a piece of fruit; that cough sounded bad.
There was a fellow in a poncho with long brown hair sitting on the steps leading up to the door to the clinic.
We said "hi" and gave him an orange.
He thanked us and introduced himself; our new friend was called Rick or Patches on the street.
We invited him back to Hector and Borrego’s house.
Along our way we found ourselves in a very animated conversation with Patches who was pointing out various men all with glowing blue eagle tattoos on their chests.
Patches explained the tatoos, “The tatoos show you these fellows have died and returned to life, they can transcend their death and choose to be immortals.”
The luminous blue eagle tattoos on each man's chest could be seen glowing very clearly through their heavy clothing; this was certainly an intriguing vision.
We trusted Patches although we could not say why we did so, especially since he was telling us we could kill these men and see them return to life.
Patches insisted that these men knew they were beyond any harm from physical wounds and that slaughtering any of them would not upset them in the least. They were revealing themselves to us with their glowing tattoos so that Patches could demonstrate the truth of this.
Patches drew a long wicked looking knife from beneath his poncho and thrust it through the heart of the next man we met who had a glowing blue eagle tattoo.
The man seemed to fall into himself and then step out of himself whole, un-bloodied, the spurting wound in his breast was gone along with all traces of the blood that had jsut been spilled.
The man nodded to Patches, gave us a wink, and carried on about his business totally at ease with what had just transpired
Patches slew a second man this way and he too seemed to crumple inward and then rebound out of himself whole, hale and hearty with no trace of the terrible wound Patches had inflicted on him only moments earlier.
“Now it’s your turn.”
We were scared. We’d never killed anyone before. We weren’t comfortable with this role reversal at all.
“You have to do it. You will choose to believe this has all been an elaborate trick if you don’t kill one of these men yourself.”
We understood what Patches was telling us.
We also saw that neither of the two men he killed had shown the least sign of fear.
They had not resisted or struggled in any way.
If these men could accept a knife thrust through their heart with such total peace and equanimity, then what harm could we possibly do?
If they resisted we would know it would be wrong to kill them. If they allowed us to kill one of them the way we had now seen Patches kill two of them then Patches must be telling the truth and we needed to prove it to ourselves now.
The knife glistened, well polished steel from end to end, solid and very heavy. The broad blade curved backward slightly, with a backward barb at the base of the curve, a barb that would drag the blade deeper into someone with a pulling stroke...
We slew the next man to appear with a glowing blue eagle tattoo, burying the blade deep in his chest, feeling the barb bite as we pulled the blade free, cutting deeper.
The man crumpled inward on himself, we could see him die, and yet, at the moment of his death he reconstituted himself and appeared before us as whole and strong as if we had never wounded him at all.
He smiled, gave us a wink and went on his way in total peace.
“He is the master of his life. You must be the master of your own life too.”
We were nearly home. We turned down the narrow alleyway between the houses fronting on Page Street and led Patches to the rear lot where Hector and Borrego’s house stood.
Hector and Borrego were home, listening to the radio and cooking a late dinner.
We introduced Patches to them and they invited him to eat with us.
After a short meal of beans and rice and tortillas Patches drew his wicked looking knife and stepped behind us. We knew what was coming next.
Hector and Borrego watched in horror as we calmly allowed Patches to cut our throat deeply from ear to ear.
Patches reached around us from our left side from behind to begin cutting our throat form our right side.
We felt the barb of Patches' blade reach below our carotid artery, catching the artery in the vee where barb and blade met, severing it with no hesitation.
The wicked barb on Patches blade helped drag the knife deeply through our throat, tearing through our left side carotid artery as Patches pulled his blade free..
We heard a roaring noise fill our ears as our life fled our body.
Hector and Borrego tried to stand to assault Patches but they could not move.
We died before their eyes.
And then the miracle occurred, a miracle we had been prepared for.
We saw it was our choice to return to life and to carry on as if we had not just been slain.
As easy as that, it was just our choice.
We chose to live.
Our torn throat was mended, all our blood returned to us; it was now as if Patches had never run his wicked knife deeply though our throat severing our carotid arteries. We felt wonderful! More than wonderful we were filled with a spectacular elation, a giddy sort of high unlike any we could remember.
And what we remembered!
We remembered other times we had died and returned to life. We returned to life by our will to do so, by the power of our choice to live.
Hector and Borrego were appalled; they had seen a terrible miracle, a miracle they could not live with.
We watched as their minds explored al the possible rationalizations for what they expereinced before agreeing to simply forget and never speak about it.
Hector and Borrego chose to forget what had just happened, but they could not forget their fear or loathing of Patches; they insisted that we make him leave right away.
Patches left without another word, his deed was done.
We had been initiated into our own immortality.
It seems we had violated our friends by getting them killed with us.
We had to learn more responsibility for our own life and our effects on other people's lives.
We did not know it then, but we would meet up with Patches again several years later, and nearly 2900 miles away, back in Philadelphia, our hometown...
WARNING: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
You may know you are immortal, you may want to believe you are immortal, you may want to prove your immortality to yourself or to others, however, there are very serious consequences for suicide.
Typically, a suicide loses their family, friends, and all their material possessions except perhaps the clothes on their back and whatever they may carry away with them.
Typically, successful suicides become homeless after they resurrect themselves.
Suicide is usually a last resort of those seeking to escape intolerable pain, a renunciation of life.
The universe reads suicide as saying that you do not value anything about your life so you lose it all when you die.
It may take a few days or weeks to lose it all in the 'real' world after you return from death, but events transpire that will typically strip you of every love and comfort in your life.
You might think that knowing you are immortal is worth such a heavy price, but the odds are you will not remember killing yourself, you may most likely find yourself losing it all for nothing.
We were trained from infancy in many, many incarnations to become aware of our immortality.
|A CHILD'S TALES, A Journey from Darkness Into Light|
Can you say the same?
If you wish to remember your immortality, then simply remember.
You have almost certainly died many times in this lifetime already.
Simply ask yourself, before bedtime, to remember your most recent deaths.
Memories of your deaths may be extremely traumatic.
Also, learning you are immortal changes everything you believe about yourself and reality.
Schizophrenia or psychosis are common results of remembering your immortality.
Explore your memories of death at your own risk.
Do not experiment with killing yourself.
If you fail to return from death your families and friends will lose you.
Your families and friends will most likely lose you anyway if you do return.
Suicide is always cruel to your families and friends regardless of whether you successfully resurrect yourself or not.
The knowledge of your own immortality alienates you from all people who do not know they are immortals.
It typicall takes a long time to learn to identify fellow immortals, a long, lonely time...
In any event, you will die again without suicidal intention, in accidents, or by misadventures, by murder, or by disease.
You will routinely die many times in 'natural' ways that do not require you to take your own life to learn to remember you are an immortal.