02/28/1986
Home Up The Black Hole Literary Review Wm. E. Allendorf, Prop.

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TO: FILE
FROM: Wm. Allendorf
DATE: 02/28/1986
re: Shamanic Power Places
cc: Swami Bogananda Shamanic Research Institute, Seattle WA

Finding a new power place is always an exciting happening in
one's life. No matter how jaded the mask we wear, we come to
power each time as virgins. We cannot seek power; we find, and
we are found.

So it was for me one frosty October-past morning. I was out
clearing my mind of the refuse left over from a Friday night
All-Night Chant and Hot Tub Social at the Ashram. It was bearly
first light when I shouldered the Portable Hole, stepped over the
sweaty bodies on the floor and took off walking. Saturdays are
usually such a let down. We spend half the day scraping people
off the carpet. Most newcomers just can't take it easy on the
sacraments. I was determined to get in a walking meditation
before breakfast. Burnet Woods seemed like the place to be.

I had the cosmic zonograph in the Portable Hole. It had gotten
itself turned onquite by accident, but we had not been able to
find it in the depths of the bottomless backpack. At first we
thought the instrument would eventually run outof batteries, but
the techs back at Central Support in El Cigundo reminded us that
the zonograph was a crystal control affair--driven off
sub-etheric radiation. It's theremin-like sounds had become a
permanent part of the Portable Hole. It was turned up all the
way, and I could hear it plainly through the canvas and the
limitless void contained within.

The zonograph was picking up something--even above the
interference created by the Lone Star Pavillion--a prime example
of manifest cosmic noise. Without access to the controls, I
could not get an accurate bearing, but it did not takelong for me
to find the spot.

Power is a flock of geese flying overhead. Power is the mighty
Oak, who, having seen the nexus in time, has spent two human
generations growing a large surface root in just the right spot
so as to place itself in the driver's seat of my dharma. Power
is the done-everything seen-everything cosmic warrior falling for
the old goose-in-the-sky trick-- sucked in like a virgin again.

I came to with my head spinning, a twisted ankle, a bruised
elbow, and the boundless Love of All that so characterizes a
brush with Power. I saw through the eyes of the Laughing
Dimestore Buddha on wheels, and realized the destruction of ego,
and the transcendance to true Nurn-state.

The Buddha(me) had that fleeting thought of how wonderful this
whole Nurn-consciousness trip is, and how great it would be to
write Swami Bogananda and tell him that the advanced realization
training had not been a waste on me afterall and how everyone at
the Ashram would just gag with envy when they found I had
attained real permanent Nurn-consciousness. 

And then it was over. I was just another crazy Cliftonite hurting
badly over a clumsy fall on a tree root. I limped about,
gathering my self together. I found the zonograph in pieces. 
The Oak must have found its radiation so disturbing that it used
its superior powers to reach into the depths of the Portable
Hole's naked singularity and wrench it free. I was elated-- I
never did like the noise it made.

I have since built a small shrine at the base of the Oak. And I
recently took money out of the slush fund to purchase an offering
of Job's Tree Stake fertilzer for the tree. It will have a feast
of nitrogen plus for the coming Equinox.

It has been several months now since the Oak gave me my taste of
Power. I am back to being just another innocent faithful waiting
to be whammed, bammed, and Thank-you-Ma'am-ed by That-Which-Is.

Praise be to Nurn.




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