The Magical Quarantine

of Fr. Ramose at Pacifica, CA

This is the only autobiographical article I have written thus far, and in that,
my heart forces me to provide at least some semblance of an explanation.
It was originally never my intent to share any part of my life with anyone.
The closest I have come thus far would be my article "Experiences in
Magical Warfare," but this is more of an action-based perspective, and while
the experiences therein are scientifically interesting, there are not personal
or even particularly insightful for the average student. Before reading this
article, I must warn any potential reader that in this article will be several
things which can be perceived as self-agrandisement. If you are more
worried about being part of the Ego-Police squad than attempting to learn
something from my experiences, have at it, but do so knowing the article
was not written for you. I can not help that some of my experiences while I
was gone were incredible, and would push the boundaries of believability for
even a seasoned magician. Because of that, I don't expect most people to
believe everything I am going to share here. I do hope, though, that
everyone gets at least something out of the read.

My single intention of writing this article is to inspire. I don't intend to spark

controversy or anything of the sorts, so if you do not like the article then
please refrain from commenting. I recall my own path when I was first
beginning, and how difficult it was at times for me to find inspiration. The
best I could often do would be to turn to Levi's "History of Magic," or
Bardon's "Frabatto the Magician," but even that was difficult. As
extraordinary as the things attributed to some of those great magicians
were, they lived in a distant time, in a distant place. Some accounts seemed
outright legendary and antique in their age. This made it hard for me to
connect with the reality of their accomplishments, the manifestations of their
hard work along their path. Ultimately, I had to rely upon myself for
motivation, and find inspiration from my own experiences. In the process of
doing this, however, I had an identical twin brother who was with me every
step of the way, and a friendly sibling rivalry always wound up pushing us
out of any stagnancy and onwards down our path.

It is my hope that this article will be more relevant for the average beginning
student than some ancient reference book, or this or that legend. I am not
some great adept from a distant land of enchantment. I did not spend my
years in a monastery or the likes. My childhood and teenage years, with the
exception of little things here and there not uncommon to most eventual
students of spirituality, was normal. My parents weren't magicians, and I
didn't grow up under the tuitilage of some great adept. In essence, I grew
up just a "normal dude." I am hoping that this fact, as well as my
reachability (you can contact me through email or MSN messenger), will
make these stories more inspirational to the modern student. So we can
start, I suppose, with the fun event which signaled to me that I was to go on
a quarantine.

A Message from Metatron

Metatron is the Lord of the Chariot, the throbbing heart of the path back
to God. His lower manifestation as Enoch, a Hebrew word which literally
means "Initiate," is sacred to all magicians. Every student on the path of
the divine science is under his watchful eye, whether they are away of it or
not. Sometimes he communicates directly, to those who have cultivated the
kind of heart which allows them to hear and understanding. Often, he
communicates through members of the White Brotherhood. Either way, he
is there. In my own life, I call him playfully "The Boss," because any edict I
have ever received from him invariably comes true. On one occasion he has
appeared to me visibly without being called, and communicated his wish. In
most other scenarios it is through indirect means, varying from materializing
letters to omens. The truth is that if you make yourself open to it, the
universe and its many emissaries will constantly speak to you through
various signs and symbols. Every decision you ever make can be verified or
struck down, if you know how to ask the right question, and how to perceive
the answer.

At the time I was working Security as the Lieutenant-in-Charge over the

Tallahassee branch of the company. Since I lived in Alachua, this
necessitated about four hours of driving a few times a week. On my way
back home some afternoon in June of 2009, I was suddenly overcome by a
wave of disorentating energy, a phenomenon I had come to associate with a
message being sent to me etherically either by another magician or by a
spirit, when it was important to get my attention no matter what I was
doing. Instantly my mind turned to thoughts of a retreat, a magical
quarantine as it is called in my tradition. This confused me at first.
Admittedly it is in my nature to want to "get away" from all the noise of
society from time to time, and I had contemplated a quarantine on several
occasions before, but not in recent history. I had erased all plans for a
retreat into the wilderness three years earlier, when God made it clear to me
what the purpose of my current incarnation was for. This was not a life for
leisure and enjoyment, taking strolls through the woods; it was a life of
action, dedicated entirely to the spiritual evolution of others. Realizing that
it was impossible to do this locked away in a cave somewhere, I sacrificed it
in that ancient Fire Pit called "The Greater Good," and was done with it
except for in occasional fantasy. Yet there I was, driving down I-75 in
Florida back home from Tallahasse on a blazing summer afternoon, and it
was all I could think about. Any objection I raised was instantly defeated my
an entirely logical answer. My main objection was of course what I just
outlined. How could I help people understand what magic was if I was gone
from the world? But the answer came through clearly, "Before you can
advance others, you must advance yourself as far as possible." Images of
the next few decades of work that had to be done flashed in my mind.

My response to this was reasonable enough, I believe. If I was going to

change my life around for some undesignated length of time (which I
wrongly assumed to be a year or so, since it turned out to be much shorter),
then I required a little bit more than some funny ethereal phenomenon and
a mental voice. If it was really that important for me to go, then some
suitable sign would be given. Thus, I prayed in earnest to Metatron, who I
believed to be the bearer of this news, that if I was correct in believing the
nature of this message, that I should be given a clear sign. I say without
the slightest exageration that as the very last breath of that prayer left my
lips, my radio in the car started working. This radio had not worked in
months. It was technically always on, but it was never making any sound.
Yet here it was, working perfectly out of nowhwere, as though some
mechanical gremlin had found a soft heart and replaced the missing parts.
This alone would have been interesting enough, but I found myself listening
to the main chorus of the song, which was playing at the moment. My
attempts to locate exactly which song this was have failed, but I remember
the lyrics clearly: "I'm putting one in front of the other, I'm hittin the road.
Lookin for God, I ain't lookin back." This verse repeated over and over,
assumably the end of the song, and when the song ended my radio resumed
its usual silence. Stunned, I looked back up at the road in time to see a
giant camping trailer being towed by an SUV passing me. Written in light
blue across the side of the trailer were the words, "God-Traveller," and on
the back of it was written "Travel for God." Suddenly a little brown sedan in
the left lane cut in front of me, with a bumper sticker on it that read "When
God Talks, Listen!" All of this happened, from the radio starting to the
Sedan cutting in front of me and the camping trailer going by, in about
fifteen seconds. To be within context, I should say within fifteen seconds of
ending my prayer for confirmation. The decision seemed settled for me, and
I wasn't going to argue.

To California
I left August 1st on a flight for San Francisco, California. This may seem
a strange destination for a magician intent on a magical quarantine, and
indeed it is. I had chosen California as the location because it was the pit of
summer, and I loathe hot weather. California along the coast of San
Francisco and Los Angeles down to San Diego stay comparatively cool during
the summer by my Florida standards. Apart from this, I love the ocean and
I love mountains, and California had both of these in abundance. In a
previous trip to CA I had spied a couple of caves that I intented to migrate
between. The Bay Area was cool enough during summer, but I was
particularly interested in its "Indian Winter" effect, where it warms up for the
first two months or so of what should be winter. Figuring I would be on my
own for a while, I had intended to spend up until the end of November there,
then move down to Encinitas for winter and spring. There are also a number
of ashrams, hermitages, and magical orders which have their main lodges
and headquarters in California, and I was intending to visit as many as I
could throughout the time I was there.

My trip was uneventful save one instance. When I arrived in Washing

D.C. for my transfer flight, my plane came in late. I had eight minutes to
get across the entire airport, which required taking shuttle buses, and board
my next flight. I came running out as fast as I can, and prayed to God for
some guidance. A security cart pulled up beside me and asked me to stop
running, and I informed him that he could either give me a lift or chase me
into the next plane, but I couldn't slow down. He laughed, and had me hop
onto the back of the gulf cart, giving me a quick ride to the correct shuttle (I
had NO idea where I was going). I came out of the shuttle in the proper
terminal, and raced to the area of the plane boarding just in time to hear the
stewardess announce that there was now only one seat left on the entire
plane, and that they would be living in two more minutes. I rushed over,
gave her my ticket, and rushed on board to claim the one seat left, which
was not my seat at all, but I certainly wasn't going to complain.

My first task when I arrived in San Francisco was, understandably,

getting the Hell out of San Francisco. It was a city I already did not like, and
which I grew to like even less in the coming month. I had decided to try a
small, comparatively isolated town named Pacifica. When I arrived, I was
shocked at how cold it was. The first investment of my small monetary
supply was a better blanket, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater, which I
immediately donned. I had left my home only nine hours earlier that day,
and already I had spent over $100 between the taxi and the clothes.
Considering I only had a few hundred total, this was a depressing thought.

The First Day

I learned alot about myself after spending my first night on the beach,
and awakening to my first morning. Particularly, I learned how untough I
was, and how unprepared I was for an undertaking like this. I was an avid
camper already, but there is a large different between sleeping in a tent on a
sleepingbag under treecover and sleeping wedged into the beach sand under
the open sky. That alone would not have been bad; I've done it before in
Florida. I was unfamiliar with the unique weather of this part of California,
and that was the source of my misery. Pacifica is cool during the morning
and evening, only clearing up for a handful of hours of during the day. It is
overcast most of the summer because a thick fog that rolls in off the ocean
throughout the day. Much of it rolls in during the night, and the moisture
and cold caused by this effect can only be appreciated by someone who has
been soaked by it while trying to sleep under the open sky. The mist is so
thick that it will throw a layer of water over everything you have on you, and
if you move hardly an inch, it will soak into the cloathing. I learned over the
coming nights that if you stay perfectly still when you wake up during the
night, the inside of your blankets will stay dry. Either way, it gets cold and
wet at night. This, combined with the natural discomfort of sleeping in sand,
caused me to wake up probably fifteen times that night.

By the time the sun came up that first morning, I was not a happy man.
I was cold, I was soaked from head to toe, and I was as tired as I had ever
been in my life. My first thought wasn't God, or magic, or spirituality. It
was "Denny's." There was a Denny's Resturaunt two miles away from where
I had slept that night, and it was all I could think about. I had to warm up
my insides, and I needed a hot meal for that, as far as I was concerned. I
realized as the days went on that this decision was made entirely out of
misery, not reason, and that a brisk walk in the morning warms up the body
as well as anything. None the less I marched, somewhat angrily I must
admit, to have my breakfast. On the way I considered how nice just one
night in a hotel would be, and I gave myself a hundred reasons to follow up
on it. Fortunately for me, some eggs, toast, and hot tea put my thinking
straight. I realized all was not lost, had a long and much needed laugh at
myself, and worked my way back to my campsite (if it could be called that).

The rest of the day continued normally. It was cold and overcast, so I
decided to spend the day walking around the town, up around the hills,
familiarizing myself with my temporary home. I found a beautiful plateau
that peaked right over the ocean, and was high enough to get out of the fog.
It is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen, and I chose it as the
location for my morning and evening magical practices with the sun. It was
far enough out of the way to be empty most of the time, and since the only
way to get to my practice area was by scaling the side of the hill at a slant of
about 40 degrees for ten minutes or so, it provided ample daily exercise as
well.

That first day I spent acclimatizing my mind and body to the new
environment, and to the many downsides of living on a beach under the sky.
I wanted to emphasize this point, because in truth things never got "better,"
per se; I simply got use to them. There is nothing romantic about waking
up ten or fifteen times a night, every night. There is nothing epic about
waking up shaking from being wet and cold. There is nothing magical or
mystical about waking up with small bites all over your body, and with
innumerable cramps and pains. To get to the magical side of a period of
isolation like this, you have to learn how to pull yourself up to a level above
all of those miseries. They won't go away; the nights won't get less cold,
nor the days less hot, etc, etc. But there is something intelligent in the
Universe, and even a small period of genuine surrender in a retreat of this
time will prove this to anyone with an open mind. There is something out
there that is wonderfully intelligent, and it, or them, appreciates the effort
and the suffering that a person undergoes in the name of finding God. If
you endure the misery, and learn to accept it and learn from it, then the
universe pours forth blessings and grace in abundance. This, I think, applies
just as much to life in a cubical as it does to life in a cave.

A Glowing Island and a Rising Serpent

My second day was much more eventful. I woke up that morning just as
tired, cold, and wet as I had the night before, but I had learned a few things
from the night before that allowed me to at least sleep at little easier. As
soon as I woke up I popped to my feet, ran down to the ocean, and hopped
in. It was outrageously cold - I dare say I've never been in water so cold -
but it woke my entire body up. I put on my sandles and took a long walk up
and down the beach, about two miles total in that little bay. By the time I
came back to my little hovel, the sun had come up over the mountains in the
distance, and I did my morning adorations. I was actually excited to be
there that morning. My back hurt, my head hurt, and my eyes were heavy,
but I was happy.

I sat down and began my meditation. The day before, which had been
my first full day, I had only spent about an hour meditating. This day was
entirely different, though. I was filled with a new zest, and dove into four
hours of meditation that morning. Infact starting that day, I never practiced
less than eight hours a day for the entirety of my stay there. This
meditation was fantastic; I felt free. I had already become acustomed to the
sound of the rolling tide and waves of the ocean, which was only fifty feet in
front of me. I matched my breathing to the sound of the waves, and the
meditation continued effortlessly.

After about an hour I noticed for a moment that the beach seemed
somehow quieter. It was as though some blanket had been pulled over the
entire area, and all of the sudden I felt like I was the only person on the
entire beach. Interested, I opened my eyes slowly and gazed out over the
ocean, where I felt a strong magnetism pulling me in. There, off in the
distance but still very visible, was what can only be described as a glowing
island. The details of the island were hard to make out clearly through the
fog, which had only just begun to clear up some that day. There was a clear
golden glow outlining the place like an aura, and occupying the center of the
island was some manner of fortress. The tooth-shaped ridges where it
seemed like lookouts would be placed were discernable along the top level of
the structure. I had not noticed it the day I arrived, nor had I seen it the
previous day. Considering that fact for a moment I realized that the fog
must have obstructed my view of the island before, and with the fog clearing
up some that morning it must have been visible for the first time since my
arrival. Content with my own investigation, I closed my eyes and returned
to my meditation.

As my meditation continued, I began to feel a familiar old friend: a

serpent, twisting along my spine. It had been an entire year since my
Kundalini had risen to the Manipura chakra permanently. I remembered
distinctly all of the sensory phenomenon associated with the movement of
the Kundalini: I had felt all of its activities over the years keenly, from the
time it first awakened, to the time I rose up to Svadhisthana and then later
up to Manipura. It is not a feeling a person easily forgets. First one is
struck by an immense heat at the location of the Kundalini, which continues
for a time and then gives way to definite cold. Within the cold, one then
discerns the reason for the serpent depiction of the Kundalini: suddenly the
meditator feels something writhing within the plexus where the Kundalini
resides along the spine, and it feels like a veritable snake is constricting and
releasing your spine.

I was thrilled. The ascent of the Kundalini basically has two divisions: the
lower three chakras and the upper three chakras. The lower three chakras
form the material trinity, the upper three form the spiritual trinity. As the
Kundalini ascends the lower chakras, various psycho-emotional subjects are
conquered and overcome, but once it rises above the lower trinity to ascend
to the first point of the upper trinity in the Anahata Chakra, one begins to
reach significant spiritual states that continue permanently. For the Anahata
Chakra, this pertains to universal love. I decided that I would not quit
meditating, that I would not so much as move a muscle from that exact
location, until the process worked itself out and I felt my Kundalini rise into
Anahata and establish itself there. As the Manipura became more active and
my stomach began to feel like it was on fire, I turned my mind to the
masters of the divine science throughout the ages, and prayed to them. At
the height of my prayer I saw clearly, like a movie projected onto the back of
my eyelids, a certain master adept of the White Brotherhood whose name I
can not share. I heared him laugh at me, roll up his sleeves, and then stick
his hands into my stomach. Slowly but surely I began to feel the incredible
sensation of the serpent rising up to the Anahata chakra by the grace of this
great master, and after about five minutes, the deed was done. I thanked
the master in my mind many times, bowing to him and touching his feet in
my mental body; he touched me on the forehead, smiled, and left.

The feeling was unlike anything I had ever known. Love surged over me.
Not empty love, or temporary love, nor was it the love of something
individual, or of anything in particular. It was a beautiful, selfless,
undiscriminating love. Every single person in sight, to me, seemed like a
little god pretending to be a person, and I loved that god in everyone, and I
loved how sly he was by playing the role of a human in so many different
bodies. I couldn't stop smiling, and I talked to everyone that I could, and
did anything I could to make their day somehow a little better. My mind was
effortlessly on God in all sorts of forms: Odin, Shiva, Horus, Bacchus, and all
other things I could imagine. I could hardly see the ground in front of me,
because it felt like there was nothing to see. My eyes were open, but I was
looking at something entirely different than what everyone else could see. I
was in a different world entirely, it seemed. None the less at the end of the
day I am a practical man, and as euphoric as the ecstatic energy of this
experience was to me, I realized that I had no continuing use for it. I
meditated a little longer on internalizing this newfound kind of love, and
letting it blossom into understanding and wisdom also, instead of just
ungrounded emotion. To aid me in this I decided to get up and eat
something heavy, then drink something bad for me, to ground the energy
back into my body some and return me to a slightly more "worldly" state of
mind, allowing me to more easily review and appreciate the experiences of
the morning. A Taco Bell I noticed that was actually on the beach, with a
porch looking out over the ocean, served my purposes perfectly.

Materialization and Dematerialization

So I got up and headed to Taco Bell, resolved to eat some cheap thing
from their menu, down a coke, and reflect on the morning. The day now
had cleared up entirely, and it was beautiful out for the first time since my
arrival. With the fog gone I was reminded of the island I had seen earlier
when I peaked out during meditation, and looked out over the ocean
towards it. It was gone. I looked all over as far as I could see, in every
direction possible, thinking maybe it was just a bad angle. No luck, my
mythical morning island had disappeared. Thinking that there must be some
suitable explanation, I approached someone who seemed to be a local
walking along the beach and asked him about it. He happened to be a
fisherman, and took his boat out of that bay and all around the surrounding
area every week. He told me that there weren't any islands anywhere
around the area, nor had he ever seen anything that would fit my
description out in the distance. I thanked him for his time, and inwardly I
thanked the masters for what they had shown me. I would come to know
later, through means of an evocation, that the "island" I had seen was a
ethereal fortress populated by the spiritual beings who ruled over that part
of the United States, and that it was partially because of the magnetism of
that location that I was attracted to Pacifica. I tested this before leaving by
praying to be shown the island one more time during my last day there, and
when I opened my eyes from the prayer I could see the island again, still
with that unearthly glow to it, and I performed the concentration exercise
known as trataka on it for an hour.

Content with the explanation of the fisherman, I resumed by quest to Taco

Bell. I was still in a highly euphoric state very much akin to the "high" of
marijuana, but much more pleasant. As nice as this was it made it nearly
impossible to function well in my body, and I must have looked like a
stumbling fool to anyone else. I tripped, skipped, and tumbled my way to
Taco Bell, where I conjured the concentration on the physical world required
to order a chicken burrito and a coca cola, when the worst happened: I was
told I was 21 cents short for a Coke also, so I had to settle for a burrito with
no drink. Forlorn I accepted my fate, told the nice cashier I wasn't going to
order anything, and slinked over to a nearby table, predicting with misery
the inevitable thirst I would face, and the terrible fountain water I would be
pitted against. Suddenly my thought pattern was interrupted by what
should have been an impossible sound: the sound a quarter makes when it
is dropped on a surface. What was stranger was that this sound was coming
from under my hand, which was laying casually on the tabletop. I moved
my hand, and much to my surprise discovered exactly what I needed to
remedy the situation: a quarter. Relief washed over me in an awesome way,
and I returned to place my meal order.

The "materializing quarter" incident is quite unexplainable by any means

beyond the magical. I was wearing my meditation pants at the time, which
had no pockets, and I was wearing no shirt. I had grabbed two single dollar
bills to bring with me to the restaraunt, which I had clutched in my hand the
entire time. When I was told I was short on the cost of the soda I had
originally decided not to order anything, so I had no change on me
whatsoever. The table was cleaned off, and even if a quarter had been left
on the tabletop it would not have just picked itself up and dropped itself
under my hand. I heard the sound while I was wishing I had a quarter so
that I could get something to eat and drink, and it seems to me viable that
the altered state of consciousness I was in was sufficient to materialize that
wish, even in as extreme a way as making a quarter drop out of thin air.

If I Was A Betting Man....

I had been living on the beach for a few days now, how many I don't
quite remember. It is nearly impossible to keep track of the flow of days,
and in order to break free of the human obsession with time I had stopped
recording times and dates in my journal. my self-proclaimed home was an
an interesting clay formation on a far corner of the beach, about a mile's
walk through soft sand away from the nearest public access. A clay and rock
hill that peaked at perhaps 150 feet high began on that side of the beach,
and some kind of erosion had created features that looked like large bowls in
the side of the hill when the sand of the beach thinned and began to turn to
dirt. It may have been left over from dynamite blasts, since I heard while I
was there that this little bay was man-made. Either way my little hovel
shielded me from view on all sides except for straight ahead in the direction
of the ocean. It not only gave me ample privacy to sleep, change clothes,
and practice, but it kept me out of the wind at night. Locals were use to
homeless people occupying this part of the beach occasionally, since it was
impossible to see from the nearest road and therefore allowed seclusion
from police and the freedom to have fires on the beach. I only saw one
other homeless person the entire time I was there though. It was as I was
laying down to sleep one night, when an older man approached my area,
stopped, laughingly said "I see this is your home now then," and walked off
elsewhere.

Even though I had fallen into a routine, was essentially comfortable, and
had developed all sorts of techniques for staying warm and dry during the
misty night, the conditions were obviously still not ideal. One morning I
woke up with a throbbing earache, bad enough to make it impossible for me
to meditate. Earwax had leaked out into the hood of my sweater (a.k.a., my
pillow) during the night, and the color indicated an infection. Stuck in the
middle of nowhere with no real money and no health insurance, this did not
bode well for me. I had never in my life been scared of being sick until then,
when the prospect of a simple earache ruining my quarantine seemed as real
as anything.

Stubbornly, I resolved to meditate anyways. Certain aspects of my

practices greatly accelerate the healing process, and I figured I could well
enough rely on that and God to get me through it alright. It was early in the
morning; the sun had not even come out yet. Sitting down and closing my
eyes, I instantly felt that familiar ethereal envelope come over me, as is
usually the case when something powerful is trying to get my attention and
begin clear communication with me. Suddenly out of the darkness of the
black of my eyelids I saw a powerful face with deep eyes emerge. He had a
dark blue and purple complexion, a thick but flowing white beard, and a
golden crown. Golden earrings framed his face, and from a silver chain hung
azure pendants in the shame of the zodiacal Pisces. Three horizontal lines
highlighted his prominent brow from his hairline down to his eyebrows, and
his demeanor was friendly yet royal. His eyes were of an utter darkness that
I have only seen rivaled by the abysmal spheres set in the eyes of the King
Ghob, the ruler of earth elementals.

When you are exalted in meditation, and drunk from days of inner serenity
and divine energy, you do not think like a normal person does. Add to this
the ingredient of being a magician, who should always strive to be familiar
with the many beings of all the spheres pertinent to his own, and you are an
entirely different species of creature altogether. I nodded my head in
acknowledgment, and greeted simply, "Good morning Poseidon, you're up
early." With my physical ears I heard what sounded like a deep and
powerful laugh coming out of the water, but it was tucked away in the
clashing of waves against rocks, and the unceasing roll of the tide.

Poseidon's question was simple and sincere. He told me, "You have not
completely immersed yourself in my waters since the second day you came
to this beach, yet here you are in a town special to me." I thought about
this statement for a moment, and realized that the town's name was
Pacifica. For the first time it dawned on me that Pacifica was a goddess of
the ocean, and therefore a female counter-energy to the male kingly aspect
of Poseidon. Some of the features of the harbor than began to make a little
bit more sense also. It was somewhat unique, in that the harbor was graced
by an Arctic Current which bent far in towards land at that spot, so much so
that I had even seen migrating whales rolling in its stream in the distance.
This contributed to the freezing waters of the area, which were significantly
colder than surrounding beaches. Considering the incredibly diverse species
who could be seen any given day by looking out from this bay (whales,
elephant seals, harbor seals, sharks, pacific otters, and a wide variety of
birds), I could understand why a place like this may have been unknowingly
sacred to the Sea King, and my vision of the spiritual palace out in the
distance on my second day made a little more sense. The founders of the
town could have never known that they named their community "Pacifica"
because of telepathic influence and a subconscious understanding of the
area's energies.

I laughed, and responded. "The water is extremely cold, and I have come
down with an earache. I apologize for not being braver, and endeavoring to
conquer your harbor mentally before engaging in a quarantine here, but
instead letting the cold waters deter me. It should have been my first
priority."
 "I will bet that you can not enter slowly and completely into the waters of
this harbor with no protection (i.e., naked), and stand in it for even thirty
seconds," Poseidon replied with a laugh. None the less I saw an opportunity
here that peaked my interest and fit my needs, for if the chance arises to
engage in friendly competition with a great spirit, one is often wise to accept
and get out of it what he can.

I told him, "I will take that bet! If you win, then you can tell all of your
undines in this region of the Earth that I am a coward, and failed the test of
the water element during my quarantine. But if I win, then you must
completely relieve me of this earache so that I can continue peaceably."
Poseidon agreed, and I stripped down on the early morning beach, no one
around but me and my challenger.

The water was extremely cold. The entire time I was there, I never saw
anyone go completely into it without wearing a full wet-suite to protect their
body temperature. People would come down to the beach when it was nice
and sunny out for a few hours each afternoon, but I never saw any of them
go more than leg-deep into the water. Most were simply content to walk to
beach with their feet in the water; some could not even manage that. So I
waded in at a leisurely pace, since the parameters of the bet implied that I
could not incrementally make myself use to the cold. I can not stress how
much it felt like I had been dumped in a tub of ice, but I did not have much
choice in the matter. My earache already hurt more now than it had just ten
minutes earlier when I woke up, and it was beginning to have the rotting
warm feeling that an infection takes on when it is in full swing. A few
seconds later I was in chest deep water, and had bathed my head and face
to be fair. I waited and counted for thirty seconds, and then shouted out
loud, "I've won! Now take this pain from me like you promised!"

No sooner had I finished the sentence than a giant wave, the largest I
ever saw while I was on that beach, piled up in front of me. It towered over
me completely, and I thought once more that I had heard a laugh come from
somewhere far off in the ocean. The wave slammed down directly on my
head, and it felt as though someone had bludgeoned me with a hard object.
I was swept completely off my feet and tossed in circles and spins around in
the water, completely submerged and with no sense of direction. My ears
hurt immensely, as though they were about to burst; it was unbearable, like
something had enhanced their pain many fold for those few seconds.
Almost as soon as this began my feet found the ground once more and I
stood up out of the water. Instantly, all pain was gone. I was standing right
where I had been, though this didn't make sense and the wave should have
carried me at least fifteen feet further towards shore, and I was facing the
exact same direction I had been. The water was completely calm, and for
the first and last time during my entire trip, I looked out across the bay
without seeing a single wave. This lasted for about sixty seconds, and as
intriguing as it was, I was far more appreciative for what I had really
received: my ears were completely healed, and I had no further problems
with normal sickness during the entirety of the trip.

The Theophany of the Wind-God

It is not unusual when in deep meditation to have a vision of various
gods, saints, angelic beings, or masters, whom you have past life
connections to. People who have worshiped Ishtar in some distant life may
have the starry lady appear in all her splendour in their mind's eye, and the
student would then have to go and research who he saw if he was not
already familiar with the images of that persona. Images of adepts and
masters one has known or studied under in various incarnations also tend to
appear, not always in the form of the incarnation you knew that soul as. You
will see them "step in" through the black of the closed eyelids, like a picture.
They will usually silently gesture something to you, smile or laugh, sit next
to you quietly in meditation to accompany you, or bless you in some way.
There is an experience called the Theophany, though, where an aspect of a
god-force appears to you in a physical body; this is much more rare.

At this time I was still staying on the beach at nights. Most nights I slept
more or less comfortably, only waking up a few times a night and each time
able to go right back to sleep without problem. This particular night,
though, the mist was coming in hard, and a strong wind was enforcing it. It
was the hardest the wind ever blew during the night while I was there, and
no matter how hard I tried to escape it in my little hole the wind would blow
the watery mist around any walls I had and straight over me. I was getting
wet quick, and the mist almost felt like a light rain at this point. I realized
that if I had any hope of sound sleep should this continue, I had to relocate
right then. Thinking back, I remembered that a dirt path that crossed by not
too far from where I slept, and which would be easy enough to spot even in
the darkness I was in, also passed by a grove of thickly leaved trees which
created a sort of hollow opening. It was, in effect, like a tree-made cave,
and I had made particular notice of it earlier as a possible new location for
sleeping at night. I packed up quickly and resolved to climb up to my new
area for the night.

By the time I got there, which involved a bit of a climb, my body had
been reinvigorated by some exercise and I could not sit right down and go to
sleep. The view was beautiful, and at this new height I could look out over
the entire bay in one direction, and see the entire town in another direction.
 The speed with which the seemingly deep purple fog was being blown over
the area was somewhat mesmerizing, and the shapes the mist made looked
like sylphs dancing across the beach and hills. The wind was blowing pretty
hard now, but the safe cone that the limbs of these trees formed kept me
completely out of it. In a way I felt like I had bested the wind, and content
with myself, I resolved to meditate for a little bit before going back to sleep.

After about ten minutes of meditation, a series of images began to

present themselves before my eyes. They were images of a past
incarnation, a life I had lived in India long ago. People, places, names, even
parts of the Hindu language, rushed back to me. The images slowed and I
began to notice that what I was now seeing was a temple filled with air-
element symbolism. I saw myself and others sitting prostrate in front of a
large monkey-shaped statue, the image of the Monkey-God of the Wind and
of Pranayama, Hanuman. Then it went dark once more, and I felt an
atmospheric shift in the air around me. I knew the wind was still blowing as
hard as it had been, but now it sounded muffled, like I was hearing it from
underwater, or through a thin wall. Curious, I opened my eyes to look out
from my enclosure.

There, crouched at the entrance to my little tree-cave, was Hanuman. It

was dark, but how many people could have the silhouette of a monkey-man?
I could just barely make out his face, which looked pleased with me. He
had his right arm up, touching one of the limbs of the tree which arced over
the entrance, and had his left arm down with his hand on his left leg. His
tail curved along his back and came up over his left shoulder, next to his
face, which was surmounted on the forehead by what seemed to be a golden
band. He was shirtless and muscular in figure, with shorts that came down
just past his knees, and a red sash tied across his waist. Short, human-like
hair ran across the top of his head, and followed down either side of his face
in what became sideburns. His head, except for the nose and brow region,
was distinctly human, and he seemed full of love. It seemed like as
suddenly as he was there, he was gone, and the strange atmospheric bubble
had vanished also. So powerful was his presence, though, that in the ether
one could clearly see exactly where he had been, outlined in what looked like
heat-waves of subtle colors. I though that this might be a Theophany,
hoped it was, but had assured myself I would be just as fine if it were simply
come kind of overpowering vision. None the less I leaned forward and
crawled over to where Hanuman had been standing, and there saw all that I
needed: a pair of large, ape-like footprints. I prayed, gave thanks, and as
content as I had ever been, fell asleep. I couldn't help but notice that the
wind had calmed completely as I drifted off.
The Beach Yogi to the Rescue
The days rolled on, each one with its own little experiences that kept my
heart lifted, my mind turned upwards, and my practices solid. I had begun
to develop some local popularity, bearing the title "Beach Yogi" to those who
saw me regularly. This popularity came with some advantages, admittedly:
people would make a point to swing by and drop some food of for me, or
would come out with a few friends and talk to me for a little while to learn
about who this strange looking person was. I didn't mind being called a
yogi, though I would call myself a magician. It is a kind of technicality, and
in their defense, how could they know? During the day all I did was
meditate or take walks, and I was always in my complete spiritual regalia: a
cloth wrapped around my legs and hips, tied around the waist to form what
in India is called a Dhoti, with a larger, thicker cloth thrown over my
shoulders and hanging freely over the front of my chest and stomach, all
brought together by a mala of large rudraksha around my neck and a brass
bangle on my right wrist that had in Sanskrit "Aum Namah Shivaya." They
didn't know about my night practices; no one did. I made sure no one was
ever around late at night, when the moon was high as the only light; no one
ever saw the circle in the sand, or the magus with his wand and staff. So to
them I was the Beach Yogi.

In retrospect, it seems like common sense that I would develop into a

curiosity of the area. The town had very little tourist activity, so almost
anyone that was on the beach was a local from very close nearby, and it was
inevitable that they would notice the newest lawn ornament on their beach.
Some things were hard for me to get use to, like having pictures taken of
me, which occurred quite often, or having other people come and try to
meditate next to me (they invariably left after about five minutes). Other
things I didn't mind, though. Occasionally a group of people would meet up
and come out to see me at night, and sit with me around my fire. I would
ask them about themselves and the area, and they would ask me about who
I was, what I was doing, why in Pacifica, and other things to be expected.
With luck the conversation would eventually turn into spiritual discussion,
and they would stay with me late into the night to hear a lecture on some
subject they were interested in. I remember one night four people, two
guys and two girls, were looking all over the area for an expensive hair-
pendant that had fallen out of a girl's hair earlier. They had not noticed it
was missing until they returned home, and had set back out immediately to
look for it. I decided to locate the object for them magically, got up and
walked over to it, took it out of the sand, and returned it to them over where
they were searching. When they asked, I just told them I had seen it earlier,
and figuring someone might come back looking for it, had put it next to my
stuff. It is easier to mentally locate something that is very valuable to a
person, especially if that person is currently stressing out about it, because
of the mental tension created between the object and its owner. If she had
not really cared about it, I would not have been able to find it (finding
objects is not my fort'e).

It was late in the afternoon, and approaching time for my evening

practices with the sun, when I realized that there was quite a commotion
being stirred up just forty feet or so away from me. I was meditating, but
judged in the back of my head from the voices that it was probably a group
of people in highschool. I decided to listen in, and see what was going on.
There turned out to be about fifteen people, assumably all a group of
decent friends at some point. But now there was a rift in their little family:
one of the guys, eighteen, had slept with the little daughter (who was
sixteen) of one of the other guys, and had clearly violated some manner of
unspoken code in the mind of the group. The group seemed torn in two: on
the one side were mostly girls, with a few guys, defending the young man
who was in this instance the offender, saying that it was natural, assuring
the big brother that it was consensual, spontaneous, and wouldn't happen
again. The other side of the group, though, could not be consoled: that man
had committed some manner of heinous sin in their eyes, and their
champion, the big brother, would not rest until the other guy was puking
blood.

I am not a particularly charitable person, and I have an extreme interest

in the natural sociological behavior patterns of individuals and groups.
Those two factors came together to keep me content sitting there in the
sand. I had no bone to pick with either group, and figured I would simply
listen. I reasoned that if I had gotten involved then my own safety may
have been jeopardized; the angry big brother seemed to be the kind of guy
who would go back home, grab a baseball bat, come back during the night
and try to beat me to death. After all he was threatening something quite
similar to the other guy. It began to feel like the situation was coming to
some kind of resolution, with the Big Brother group physically pulling their
hero away from the Little-Sister Guy group, and beginning to successfully
walk off. Then I heard a kind of silence familiar to anyone who has ever
been in an actual street fight where someone really wants to hurt you: the
silence that occurs the moment the angry person breaks away from those
who are holding him, rushes over, and begins the fight. Its the natural
silence of the surprise of the onlookers, the concentration of the attacker,
and the fright of the attacked. I glanced over and noticed, happy day, that
they were rolling towards me on the ground. The girls, very concerned, all
began to yell at the two boys not because they were fighting it out in the
sand, but because they were disturbing "the beach yogi." They bumped into
me, and for whatever reason, they both became perfectly still. I laid my
right hand over the chest of the boy who was on the ground, the one getting
the Hell beat out of him by the angry guy, and looked at the victor of the
battle. I asked him if he was done, and in a strangely submissive tone he
told me that this person had slept with his little sister, and had to be taught
a lesson. His words indicated aggression, but his voice, his eyes, and his
demeanor all clearly indicated that at that moment he was subject to me for
some reason, almost like it was important to him that I understood why he
behaved the way he did. Like a little dog, trying to explain by his eyes and
wimper to his owner why he tore up the couch cushion, to stem the
expected punishment. It was pitiful. I asked him nicely if he was done, and
surprisingly he said yes, and walked back to his group. I helped the poor
boy on the ground back to his feet, and asked him if he personally felt like
what he did was wrong, and he said yes, that he was ashamed of it, and that
is why he did not defend himself when he was being pummeled. Incidentally
I had noticed too that when they were rolling around on the ground, his
hands had remained by his side the entire time. Content that in the days of
Hammurabi the judge would be satisfied with the outcome, I walked with the
young man back to the large group, who all looked confused by the sudden
end of the fight.

The tension between the two men who had been fighting had visibly
lessened, and it was clear that I had everyone's attention, if for no other
reason than that I was dressed strangely. Taking the opportunity up I asked
if anyone would like to learn a basic, quick exercise to relieve stress and
anger so that something like this would not happen again, and to my
everlasting surprise ten of them said yes. The others left and went back to
the parking area by the beach to wait for their friends. Thinking a little bit of
exercise would calm everyone's nerves we all hiked up to my usual evening
and morning sun-practice area on the plateau, and I taught them a
beginner's version of the exercise. They did it with me, thanked me, asked
me a few questions about myself and my practices, and we all walked back
down to the beach together. That night a few of them came out to where I
was with some food and money for me, and I was very thankful for the
opportunity. I found out that two of the girls were blackbelts in martial arts
like myself, and one of the guys had been to Mount Shasta and Sedona, two
places I very much wanted to visit eventually, so we had a nice night.

The Flute of Krishna

It is not a strange thing to hear sounds when one meditates. Each chakra
vibrates at a different frequency, and acting up the psychic channels created
a certain kind of sound depending on the purity of those channels. Some
chakras buzz, others whistle, one sounds like a flute, another like a
tambourine, and some sound like a lion's roar or a storm. Add to this that a
magician with developed clairaudience may hear various ethereal
phenomenon being caused by the energy generated from the meditation,
and some practice sessions can get quite noisy. Even with the best
clairaudience, though, there is still a distinct difference between "real"
sounds and spiritual or psychic sounds. Anything being perceived by
clairaudience will sound as though it is happening in the hollow of the ear.
This does not mean it is loud, simply that it seems like it is happening
within the ear itself. The sound may still have distance and depth to it, but
it would be like recording a sound made at a distance, then putting the
recorder near your eye and playing the sound. A sound made in nature will
have more defining characteristics to it, will sound natural and at its proper
distance, and will have physical vibrations associated with it the way a
person's voice may naturally have bass. On this particular occasion the
sound was definitively real, but its source was certainly spiritual as far as I
have been able to reason.

By this time I had already migrated to my cave. I had seen it from the
distance on my first day, but it seemed to small to be of any real use, and it
was very close to a steep cliff which, if I slipped and fell from, would have
put me in the hospital or left me laying on rocks to die, too far away from
anyone to be noticed. After spending a few nights tucked away in the trees,
though, I became uncomfortable with the slant of the ground I had to sleep
on, and the exposure to people walking the trail that passed by in front of it
during the day. I inspected the cave and found that though the entrance
was very slim it opened up considerably inside, at least enough for me to
comfortably lay down, sit up and meditate, and still have storage room for
my things. Perhaps the best thing about it, apart from keeping me out sun
during the day and the mist during the night, was that it provided a smooth,
cool wall for me to lean against during meditation. My back had begun to
give me some problems from the hours daily spent sitting upright with no
real support, and the muscles running down along my spine had not
sufficiently been able to rest and rejuvenate themselves. My meditation
time had taken a small cut in length because of this, and a comfortable seat-
like formation against a smooth section of wall solved this problem and let
me meditate even more than I had been.

This particular day I had not left my cave yet. I resolved to meditate and
stay away from any contact with people for the day, fasting until the next
morning. This was partially because my cave was such a long walk from the
nearest place I could get food, and partially because I was running out of
money and still had to expect another taxi ride or two. Content with the
situation, I took up my asana, laid back against the wall, and closed me
eyes. No sooner had my eyelids shut than when I heard, very distinctly, the
sound of a flute. It was a beautiful sound, and whoever was playing it could
play it well. I was curious, and remembered that there was a small path not
too far form my cave, maybe 150 feet. The flute sounded much, much
closer than that, but I reasoned that such high-pitched sounds can probably
trick the ears. I resettled my asana and went to close my eyes again, but
just as I was getting settled back in I heard what sounded distinctly like the
laugh of a soft voice, followed again by a string of musical notes from a
flute. This time there was no questioning: an image of Krishna was burned
into my mind, and everything seemed to remind me of him. I felt some
disoriented, but get up to my feet and rushed outside. I looked around to
find the source of the flute, but to no avail. When I looked in front of me, it
came from behind me. When I looked to the left it came from the right,
when I looked below me it came from somewhere above me, and above me
from somewhere below me. Again I heard a laugh; not a mocking laugh,
but the gentle laugh of a good friend who is enjoying a bit of harmless fun at
your expense. Joy overwhelmed me, and soon I was laughing to. I shouted
out a hymn of praise of Krishna, who incidentally is not a god I have ever
meditated upon nor whom I particularly identify with. Content washed over
me and I went back into the cave, feeling exhilarated and spiritually uplifted,
as though I had been cleaned by something from head to toe, inside and
out. I reached a new depth and serenity in meditation that afternoon, and
deepened my understanding of the nature and true purpose of magic.

Gliding Down the Mountain

As was mentioned earlier, my morning and evening routines involved a
hike up and down a high hill that, at many points, would be too steep to
climb or descend on anything less than your hands and knees. I had found
an agreeable path that wound around the hill diagonally, and it allowed a
comparatively safe ascent and descent every day. Occasionally I would see
other people up near where I practiced, but not often, and it was usually a
couple waiting for a romantic sunset, content enough to be far away from
me and out of sight. Near the base of this hill though, beginning with a dirt
path that passes by in front of the trees I had stayed under for a few nights
previously, was a paved walkway wide enough for several people to jog side
by side on, and probably intended for essentially that. Bikers, hikers,
joggers, dog-walkers, and people out for an invigorating walk, used this
walkway regularly, and there were usually at least a handful of people on it.
I realized before I left that the strange attention this seemingly random spot
by a hill was given was because it was a designated tsunami escape route,
and that hill was the highest accessible ground in the area.

This particular day I was very exhilarated. I had reached a new level in
my magical practices, and with a solid day of great meditation was in as
blissful a state of being as ever. I climbed the hillside, taking my usual trail
all the way to the top where I would walk out on a ledge that extended away
from the main part of the plateau and made you feel like you were floating
over the ocean if you looked straight out. My prayers to the sun were
completed, as were my solar practices for rejuvenation and revitalization. It
was particularly beautiful out, and since I happened to have brought my bag
with me up the hill I took a few pictures. There was still another two hours
or so until sunset, so I stripped to an undercloth wrapped around my waste
and down to the knees and practice martial arts for a little while, ending with
some Qigong. I had not really exercised at all, other than walking through
sand and up and down a hill, so I enjoyed the feeling. When I was done I
sat down and did another half hour or so of meditation, then threw all my
clothes back on, put my bag over my shoulder, and proceeded to go back
down the hill to my usual area.

Like some other days previously, I was particularly "gone" this day. My
eyes were not on my surroundings, and I was not thinking entirely logically.
On a hill with several drop-offs and deceptive slopes, that means I wasn't
thinking safely either. I went back to the start of the trail that I habitually
took up and down the hill, but saw that several people were all trying to
work their way up it together. It certainly was wide enough for even two
people to pass each other on without some danger, so I decided to go
elsewhere. The sensible thing to do would have been to wait, but instead I
saw what seemed to be another, smaller and much less used trail. I only
realized later, when I went back to that spot, that the "trail" was actually a
foot-wide line of small pieces of rock, which had broken off a collection of
boulders further up the hill and rolled down the side, collecting together
naturally. Seeing nothing wrong with this at the time, I began my walk
down with great ease, wondering why I had never taken this way before. I
wasn't even looking at where I was going: my eyes were turned slightly
upwards, towards the sky in the distance above a mountain, where mist was
rolling off in a intriguing fashion. I resolved to visit that spot in the distance
later (which I did the next day), and happily, carelessly strolled my way the
rest of the way down to the paved walkway at the base of the hill.

The words that greeted me when I stepped onto that pavement were
straight forward and well enough deserved: "Are you mad!?" Something
sobering about those words brought me at least a little back to reality, and I
realized that a veritable throng of people had gathered on the walkway, had
watched my descent, and were waiting for me with a piece of their mind.
Some people looked outright amazed, others looked angry, and others
seemed just interested. "You could have killed yourself, be more careful" an
older lady shouted at me, and then walked off. A few other people said their
mind or made various gestures, and left as well. It was another hiker, a few
years older than me, who came forward with his jaw dropped as the voice of
several others behind him who looked equally confused. "How the Hell did
you do that?" That was his only question. He explained to me that he
himself had tried on several occasions to both climb and descend the hill at
that same slope, and had only succeeded once in climbing it on all fours. I
told them I honestly didn't know, but confessed that I had paid no attention
to the steepness of the hill, and had thought that I was on a trail. He
explained what my "trail" really was, and said that this should have caused
me to slip and fall, sliding down to the walkway below. That's when a
woman behind him, his same age seemingly, piped up and told me that she
was waiting for me to fall, but in doing so had noticed that no little rocks
were rolling down the hill. Indeed the entire thing seemed completely
undisturbed, as though no one had set a foot on it. A single movement of
any sizable piece of broken rock along that decent should have sent a
number of them rolling down, but nothing of the sorts had happened.

I assured them it was just luck, that I had strong ankles and
good....sandals.......and that the only reason I wasn't looking where I was
going was because I had walked that path several times. A good enough lie,
and though it didn't seem to convince them, I walked off before they could
throw any more questions at me. The truth was, I didn't remember rocks
under my feet at all. I didn't remember anything under my feet. I just
knew my legs were moving, and I somehow descended the hill. I began to
attempt this again at a later time, but quickly lost my nerve after
experiencing first hand that it is impossible.